#i genuinely think my experimenting with stained is helping me learn colors

[batfossil-fr]

I’ve been really thinking of reopening my art shop soon… I’ve been taking some practice doodles (hence all the posting lately) while I shake off my rust and I’m finding things I enjoy working on again. I miss trying my hand at more dragons/OCs and colors. my shop’s so broken rn lmao but that’s a problem for a later date it’s just nice getting back into art

[sanatoris]

Had he known what goes on behind their eyes, the GUILT ripping their chest at past mistakes, maybe unintentional for it is the human nature: make one to learn and correct , to prevent in the future. Or intentional for no one is perfect, everyone has a STAIN on the heart with a distinct color to them, even him.

They are like two sides of a coin; their faults lie in the past, buried and hopefully fixed, corrected or at least learned from. His own lie in the future, in a DESTINY many believe him incapable of escaping, a DARKNESS that shall not only stain his heart but EAT it whole with the darkest of veils, becomes one with it. The man who once was the beam of hope and light to many shall become the demise and darkness of all, the shadow lingering, the shackles around freedom’s ankles. The One. That is a story for others to tell. For him? It is a nightmare to futilely try to escape from.

❝ Oh believe me, it is only in the eyes of others that the things you do seem effortless, sometimes- sadly, even trivial. ❞ He could only hope the honesty in his opinion would not be mistaken for anything else. ❝ I just hope it will help them in a way or another. I mean- isn’t that why we share experiences? ❞ He doesn’t linger in the thought for long before they speak their last sentences, a confession that clasps his attention like a child’s at anything new, anything forbidden. ❝ Oh! ❞ It is obvious on his face how exited he is about this knowledge, yet it doesn’t live long for he can sense and see the regret on their face, the hint of it coating their words too. ❝ I don’t presume knowing you well enough to assume anything, but I have a feeling you would have made an exemplary one. I mean, your dedication is apparent in your current job, so is your love. ❞ A little smile, wider this time to lighten up their spirit and mood as he humorously resumes with words. ❝ This should stay off record; I don’t want them to get jealous now, I’d have loved to have you on my team. ❞ He almost laughs at his own humor, silly him.

He adjusts a little, not uncomfortable but a little hesitant for he does not wish to accidentally reopen wounds or add salt to them, yet he doesn’t want them to think, or worse feel, as if he does not care, as if he is not interested in knowing the reasons for them not to archive that dream, not out of curiosity, no, but out of CARE and genuine concern. ❝ You have no obligation to answer this, please don’t feel like you do- ❞ He starts, gaze soft at theirs. ❝ -but, why? ❞ He keeps the question simple, open for them to decide on what to do with it.

speaking off record was the best way to reveal someone's intentions , they soul was bared . it was interesting of all the people she met , almost everyone changed the moment she closed her notepad . some revealed their monsters , their demons , their true self . . . others revealed loneliness , pain , suffering because of the actions of the enemy . then there's the few that revealed trauma , rage and shellshock . but not him . he's the same . almost ordinary .

she shifts uncomfortably in the chair , funny . . . she's never really had a mirror held up to herself like this . not for a long time . almost afraid to see the woman she had become , how many lives had she ruined with her words ? how many times did she justify that through the pursuit of truth ? a long time ago , she had thought of becoming a nurse . to support the aid for those in recovery , those that needed care . but alas , she was destined to use truth to open the eyes of the world .

❛ i try to not be like those vultures . the gossips ; the invaders of privacy . that's not me . ❜ except it was her . but in a different context . for so long , lois lane had been blinded by the truth , forgetting that sometimes her words could have catastrophic consequences . words linger between them for a moment , clearing her throat . the guilt creeps up her throat . her justification was more of reassurance to herself . . . for herself . the loneliness of her world was difficult to comprehend , she was a household name in metropolis . but in her apartment , there was just the four walls and objects of materialistic value . she questioned sentiment . lacking the one thing she deeply wanted : to be loved . ❛ there's so many facets to your life , doctor . i'm sure our readers will be interested in all of it and how you make it all seem so effortless . ❜ she's in awe to a degree . she's never seen the face of kindness be so humble , so quiet and softly spoken . genteel . he's refined and decorous .

❛ before i decided on journalism , i wanted to be a nurse . it never panned out . ❜ there's a hint of regret laced in her vocals , the life that could have been . how she could have slept with a clear conscience .

[h2bakugou]

Ahh hey!! Okay so um..can you do Bakugo helping reader who has severe family issues and she’s trying to put on a brave face but when he asks her if she’s okay she just breaks down in tears. (Omg I’m sorry if this sounds so personal 😭💜but thank you for your time!!💗)

a/n: hey hun! of course! i think i wrote something similar to this with todoroki? i can’t remember but that’s beside the point lol. much love to you anon <3 !! i’m sending hugs n kisses <33

headcanon: them comforting their s/o who breaks down in front of them

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, angst, mentions of family issues, mentions of trauma

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Shutting things out and putting on a brave face was just how you learned to deal with your past, with your family.

It was easier to act fine when you weren’t. 

Letting yourself be vulnerable, how could Bakugou ever like someone like that?

He never seemed to suspect anything, at least that’s what you thought, what you believed.

You didn’t want to put your burdens on him, he had his own things to worry about. 

Bakugou noticed the little things. 

How you would instinctively flinch when someone raised their voice at you, or how you always acted obediently when elders were talking. There was no hesitation or disagreement, even when it seemed unfair.

Even more so, when your parents showed up for some parent-teacher meeting, you looked like a deer in headlights, frozen in time.

You barely spoke, you acted like the perfect daughter, and every stare in your direction caused your posture to stiffen, a smile to rise to your quivering lips, your trembling hands were forced to stay still as you handed them whatever it is they asked for.

Bakugou couldn’t keep ignoring these signs. It wasn’t like he was blatantly just unbothered, no it bothered him a lot. He bit his tongue when he watched your father’s scolding gaze burn holes into your hopes in dreams when he called your hero career ‘unnecessary and pathetic.’

He couldn’t fight it any longer when you sat quietly in his dorm, having just talked to your folks on the phone.

You were mostly quiet the entire conversation, he could hear your parents yelling at you through the speaker despite it being pressed to your ear.

“Are you okay?” Bakugou asked, completely out of the blue. You glanced over your shoulder at him and closed your eyes.

A shaky breath passed your lips and you turned to crawl over to him.

“No, no.” You cried, hugging him like a stuffed animal. You held him as close to you as you could, your hands grabbing handfuls of his crimson-colored shirt.

Bakugou was quick to grab you, holding you to his chest as you sobbed, your tears staining dark spots onto his shirt.

“What’s wrong?” Bakugou’s voice was soft, an opposing feature to his usual demeanor.

“I’m so tired.” You mumbled, wishing you could just ignore what was going on. 

It was a constant battle between you and your parents. You just wanted them to be proud of you, you wanted to see them smiling at your graduation, cheering you on as you landed your first gig at an agency, hell maybe be those over-bearing parents that blab about how their child is amazing at book-clubs and sports bars.

But you’d never experience that.

“I just want them to be proud of me.” You could barely speak, you were shaking and it was hard to breathe, tears were spilling from your eyes like a broken faucet, and your nose was beginning to run.

“I know.” Bakugou’s quiet voice paired with his gentle hands began to calm you down as you wept.

“It will never be the same, but I’m proud of you.” Bakugou couldn’t give you parental love, all he could provide was his own form of love. But he knew someone who could.

It wouldn’t be the same as your own parents, but he knew more than anything that you were loved so dearly by his own folks.

So later that day, after wiping your tears away, he made a quick call and the two of you rode over to his house.

“It’s so good to see you again! I hope he’s not being too much trouble.” Mitsuki gave you a warm hug, one you wanted to last forever. You didn’t even realize you’d started crying again as you hugged her.

“Let’s-oh, hey are you alright?” Mitsuki’s red eyes filled with worry as she hugged you close to her. Bakugou turned at the sound of sniffling.

“Y-yeah. I’m all good. Just happy to see you.” You pulled away, quickly apologizing for staining her peach-colored shirt.

“Let’s look at embarrassing pictures of Katsuki!” She grinned, knowing just how to cheer you up. Bakugou erupted with anger as he quickly tried to salvage the photo album but it was too late.

Bakugou let it slide though. Watching your face light up, hearing your laugh as you looked through pictures of him as a kid doing silly things, he was happy to see you smiling again.

“You’ll have to bring over a photo album so he doesn’t feel so left out.” Mitsuki laughed. Your smile began to sink.

“I uh...” You stared at your lap. Bakugou looked up from preparing lunch to look at you.

“I don’t have any pictures from my childhood. At least, none in an album.” You admitted, embarrassed. Mitsuki’s heart dropped. Sighing she quickly stood and scrambled through a felt storage cube on a shelf.

Humming satisfied, she yanked Bakugou away and practically tossed him over the couch onto you.

You stared at him for a few seconds before hearing a click.

Snapping up to the sound, Mitsuki stood with a camera in her hands, smiling.

“Starting today, we are making a photo album! Katsuki! Smile!” Mitsuki yelled at her son, forcing the blonde boy in your lap to smile. You began to smile again as you wrapped your arms around him, tickling his sides as Bakugou hunched forward, a genuine smile on his lips.

The sound of another click set off.

It was the beginning of a plethora of photos. You began filling up an album with the Bakugou’s, ones on holidays, even on class trips.

Your favorite was one Mitsuki took of you and Bakugou asleep on one another from a long holiday road-trip.

With your head on Bakugou’s shoulder, his head resting over yours, Mitsuki had turned back and snapped a photo while Masaru drove.

Time began to heal old wounds, though there would still be scars. But even with scars, you could look back at memories from the healing process, and find good that had blossomed from the bad.

You loved Bakugou more than words could describe, and for this, and so much more, you were smitten.

As was he for you.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[merry-thieves]

Christopher and Grace scenes in Chain of Gold and Chain of Iron

“In the end it had been Christopher, looking more frightened than he had during the demon battle, who had offered to take Grace back to Chiswick in his carriage-”

““Christopher - was everything all right, dropping off Miss Blackthorn?” He tried not to sound as if he were too invested in the answer. Matthew raised his eyebrow but said nothing. “Oh, perfectly,” said Christopher. “I told her all about culturing bacteria, and she was so fascinated that she never spoke a word!””

Christopher is simply an icon and no one can change my mind about it

““Miss Blackthorn! Miss Blackthorn, what happened?” It was Christopher Lightwood, of all people. Grace knew him mainly as Jame’s friend; he seemed the least alarming of the three.”

“Christopher laid a hand on Grace’s arm and began to steer her from the room. Normally Grace heartily disliked being stressed, but Christopher did it in a kindly, not a domineering, sort of way. “Are you all right?! he said as they reached the staircase. “I was startled,” Grace said, which she supposed was truthful enough.”

“The chapel doors opened a crack - everyone looked up, but it was not Cordelia; it was Grace, escorted by Christopher.”

Well, at least Christopher isn’t afraid of her anymore ;) 

and she thinks he’s kind (which he obviously is!) <3

“She stepped inside - and jumped. There was Christopher Lightwood, perked in the corner on a wooden stool, turning a peculiar object over in his hand. What is he doing hiding in a corner? she thought furiously. Couldn’t he sit at the table like a normal person, where she could have spied on him properly?”

“- when Christopher turned and blinked at her. “Oh! It’s you,” Christopher said with his usual sunny smile. “I thought it might be rats again. Hullo, Grace.””

““But - aren’t you going to ask me what I’m doing here?” Grace asked, approaching the worktable. “Why would I do that?” Christopher seemed genuinely puzzled. “You’re affianced to Charles - surely you have a right to be here.””

““Would you like a quick tour of the laboratory? I dares it’s the best-equipped scientific workshop in London.” Grace was nonplussed. She hadn’t compelled him to offer her the tour; he’d come up with that on his own.” 

“She didn’t like using her power, really, she thought, as he led her a series of shelves containing tiny jars full of colorful substances and started telling her about a table of chemical elements...”

“She didn’t quite follow, but she surprised herself by wanting to know more as he talked about the purpose of various objects and instruments, the experiments he and Henry conducted, the things they discovered. Grace was reminded of the time he had given her a ride homeroom a picnic last summer during the demon attacks. He’d told her then about his love of science without being the least bit condescending, as her male admirers often were, or self-important in the way Charles always was. Christopher treated her as an equal whose enthusiasm for science was not only similar to his own but unsurprising.”

“Christopher blinked his unusual violet eyes. “Just because it looks like a stele doesn’t mean anything - especially if its purpose was meant to be disguised for some reason.” “Hold out your arm,” Grace said impulsively.”

“She touched the tip of the pithos to his skin and hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself. She momentarily wished she had used her powers on him; she was sorely in need of the confidence they would bring her. Slowly and awkwardly, she drew the enkeli rune, the rune most Shadowhunters learned to draw fist. Angelic Power.”

““This Creation rune here on your arm,” she said. “Are you terrible fond of it?” “No, not really -” Grace took the pithos and, with the tip, traced the Creation rune on Christopher’s arm. He watched her with interest, and then some surprise as the Creation rune shimmered - and vanished. Christopher’s eyebrows shot up into his hair. “What ho,” he said, sounding pleased-”

““No, I mean-” Grace wished she hadn’t said anything. “I only meant that you didn’t seem surprised to see me out a rune on myself.” “Why would I be?” Christopher asked, obviously confused- “You’re a Shadowhunter. It’s what we do.” Grace’s heart sank- Now Christopher probably thought she was completely peculiar - and for some reason, that bothered her.”

“Christopher gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m still in the early hypothesizing phase of my investigation.” He gestured excitedly as he talked, his hands - covered in stains and burns and scars - slicing the air.”

“Suddenly he stopped, looking stricken. “I’m sorry, Grace, this must be tremendously boring for you.” Grace gathered that boredom was the reaction Christopher was accustomed to from most people. But Grace wasn’t bored, not in the least. She wished he would keep talking”

“Very well,” Christopher said. “I am in your debt for helping me discover this device’s purpose, and happy to oblige.”

I have so many thoughts on this scene I’m probably going to do a separate post about it, just imagine me squealing and jumping up and down while reading this

Also, next to him being a huge science nerd, Grace seems physically attracted to Christopher, too : D

I think this is the only time we actually see Grace self-conscious 

But Grace, confoundingly, seemed to see Christopher clearly. Talking to her had been so easy that he’d forgotten to filter everything he said, going over it to make sure it would come out right before speaking. He would tell anyone about her sneaking into the lab, not until he’d had more time to think about it.”

“- not the way Grace seemed to be. She’d been so eager to look through the microscope at the gunpowder compounds he’d been studying; so curious to see the contents of his journals. But it was silly to dwell on it. Grace would likely never visit the lab again. It was too bad - many great discoveries had been made by teams working in tandem. Look at the Curies, who had just won the Nobel Prize for their experiments with radiation. Perhaps if he told her about the Curies...”

Aaaaand Christopher likes her too <3

I’m so ready for a Shadowhunter science duo 

So, any ideas what kind of scenes I should filter out next? Also, please tell me your opinions, theories, etc, about this lovely pair! I’d love to read them<3

@axoloteca @my-lady-of-roses @kit-12 @originalwinnercheesecake @woodworkjosie

[mxvladdy]

heyy i just read your fic Case of the Munchies on ao3 and im Loving it!!!! its amazing!! i was wonder if youre accepting requests and if you haven’t done it could you write the same for the rest: mammon, levi, satan, belphi, dia, barbatos and smth for simeon and luke (ofc platonic) like how angles have a true form and that means they can never relax around mc and how solomon has so much power at his fingertips he can just snap and end them or smth like that? pretty please and thank you!!!!

A/N: Of Course! Of Course! I already did Mammon and Levi HERE so I’ll do the other four in this request! You sent me a lot of good ideas and I’ll sprinkle them out into other requests soon!

Hope you like it!!

Case of the Munchies prt 3!

Word Count: 4.2k

Characters: Satan, Belphie, Diavolo, Barbatos

TW: Mentions of eating and cook humans, very mild gore

Satan

As the only full-blooded demon of the seven, he has thought about it...just hypothetically of course. When you were new to the Devildom he did find your scent more appetizing than the others. It’s a good thing he has the most restraint and control of all his kin, especially when it comes to his more base urges.

He doesn’t hide this knowledge from you. It’s readily available in the library and his own room in the history books. He just won’t bring it up. So if you don’t say anything, he won’t either. What would he say anyway? “Yes, I’ve thought about it, up until it was outlawed it was a staple of our diet after all…” Ye, probably not the best thing to say.

When you finally brought it up he was exasperated. Did you have to bring it up during the few hours he had alone with himself? He wasn’t going to lie but the thought of hurting your feelings would just about do him in.

He will alleviate your worries if you have any. If Satan was anything, he was genuine.

Mini Fic

His wine curdles in his stomach, turning sour along with the take-out he had nabbed for the two of you to enjoy tonight. Drinks and dinner were becoming a staple in your T.V. night tradition. If one of you had had a rough day you would drop by your favorite shop of the hour and pick up a meal to share while you vent.

Today in particular had been a shit day for him. Failed experiment after failed experiment, and one bottle that didn’t explode on impact with the potion he dropped. Sigh. At least your comforting words soothed his wounded pride a little. You chuckle at his escapades glad to see he is not hurt at least. It was nice to have someone to see the humor in something that normally would have dampened his mood.

“You’re a pest.” He laughs at you while snapping his takeout chopsticks in half to use. “I need sympathy-hours of work wasted.” You snort into your own bowl of udon.

“You need words of praise like Beel needs another stomach.” Satan gasps in mock insult pointing a sauce stained chopstick at you.

“How dare you insult your host! After I toiled over this meal of-” What did he get exactly? Honestly, when he placed the order he was near boiling with rage at his careless fumble. It was to be a surprise for you, something to give you a bit of magic while supervised by himself. He knew how frustrated you were with your lack of magical ability in class so he wanted to gift you something grand. Now he has to wait months to try again.

Ah, well...nothing ventured nothing gained as they say.

You watch him sulk over his soup dumplings, his mile away from the comfort of your company and his room. “Come on blondie.” You poke him with your foot before burying them under his pajama-clad thighs on the couch. “Eat your ‘hard earned’ meal before I do.” You snatch up his D.D.D forgetting your own food for a moment to set up your favorite streaming service to cast to his small T.V. “Want to watch a bunch of humans fail miserably at baking?”

"I thought you would never ask."

Satan feels you stiffen in his arms two hours into your bake-off marathon. Your takeout boxes are cold and forgotten on his coffee table, a bottle of wine gone between the two of you. He glances down at you curious.

You were transfixed on the screen. The novice baker on screen was struggling to keep his monstrosity of a cake upright. It was the annual Halloween episode and this fool went for a Silence of the Lambs inspired cake. A good concept really, but very poorly executed. The fake body parts and sugar blood weighted the pastry down dangerously. If he were, to be frank, the cake was also tacky as hell. Heh, he'd have to try to make this for Lucifer.

"Does his abuse of the piping gun offend you that much?" He jokes wrapping an arm around you.

Your laugh is breathy and lacks its usual warmth. "It is excessive isn't it?" You look up at him. "Hey, Satan-have you ever eaten people before?"

"Uhh…" Great, how eloquent. This came out of nowhere, did Lucifer set you up to this? No-no you wouldn’t. Would you hate him if you knew? “I have.” He admits through clenched teeth waiting for your reaction.

“Didn’t Diavolo ban it?” He can tell you are doing the mental math in your head.

He chuckles dryly. “Well, you never asked if I did it legally.” You move away from his touch and pause the show. “I mean...I did it legally! ” His mouth runs freely, his brain screaming at him to shut up.

“Satan.” You cross your arms unimpressed.

“It was a new law and I never meant to eat it for the most part. It was at a time where I was still struggling to control myself.” Young and stupid as Lucifer had said defending him every step of the way when he would slip up. Was it sold on the black market now? Yes. Did he know how to get it? Sure, but he would never nor would he tell you about it either.

You nod thinking about his words. “I can empathize.” Oh, thank the Devil. “Have you thought of eating me?”Ahhh. “Oh my God, you have.” You chuck a pillow at him with a laugh.

He catches the pillow and clutches it to his fiery hot face. “Everyone did at first!” If he was going down then he was going to take every one of his brothers down with him. “I wasn’t going to act on it! It was a spur of the moment-why are you laughing!”

“Sorry, sorry.” You wipe at the tears in your eyes wishing you had your phone to take a picture of his blushing face. “I kind of figured you did.”

Satan looks at you incredulously. “Shouldn’t you be a bit more torn up over this?”

You shrug. “After everything we’ve been through? I admit it was a shock to think at first but I mean, you would have done it by now right?”

“Well, thank you?” He flops back on the couch, still clutching the pillow to act as a barrier between you two. He’ll take it as a compliment.

You scoot close, nudging his knee with yours. “You ok?” He nods. “Can I touch you?” He nods again eagerly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and squeeze. “Sorry, I made you uncomfortable.”

Satan chuckled, dropping the pillow to hug you back. “It’s ok.” He peaks your forehead. “Now, with that out of the way. Shall we finish this?” He swipes up his phone to hit play. You nod, flinging your legs over him to snuggle closer. “Good, I’m dying to know how he tries to save that thing. I’m putting money on icing.”

“You know.” You break the silence once more, unable to stop yourself. “I wouldn’t be opposed to being eaten...in some ways.”

Belphegor

After your first *ahem* encounter, he doesn’t bring up the whole food thing. He is afraid that if you learned about it, it would be the last strike for you and his relationship. Perhaps it’s paranoia on his part but better safe than sorry.

In all honesty, he didn’t eat it that much anyway. Killing humans was something he did often in his youth as a demon. A stupid attempt at revenge on his part. It filled the holes in his hearts to hurt those he believed killed his sister.

But to eat their flesh? Disgusting. He tried it a few times and it turned his stomach with every mouthful. He just hated them too much to even stomach them. He’s mellowed out with time but still never got a taste for it.

When you asked it was a shock but welcomed in a way. Like he could finally get this weight off his shoulders every time he looked at you.

Mini Fic

“It’s gross.” Belphie yawns, jumping up to sit on the high garden wall. He bends down to help you up placing you gently next to himself. The wind catches you by surprise threatening to topple you back from the wall before he rights you. He tosses his sweater over you with a nod of satisfaction.

You snuggle into the fleece lining burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled of elderberries and honeysuckles. Belphie watches you curl up into his side with a fond smile. “Seriously, you all are nasty.”

“Ouch!” You push his shoulder with a grin. “I feel like I should be offended on behalf of all humans.”

Belphie snorts, looking up into the bright colors of the night sky. “Good. Be offended. You, humans, are slimy.” You squawk indignantly. “It’s true, never in all my years would I willingly ingest it.” He shudders theatrically.

“Rude.”

“Shouldn’t you be happy? Lest I eat you?” He growls playfully, taking a swipe at you. He pulls you close to kiss the pout off your face. He stops only when your face is hot and your smile threatens to pull a muscle. “I’ll keep you safe, always.” He vows resting his chin on your head.

“Do you think other demons would try to eat me?”

“Have you met my twin?” He teases. He takes your jab to his ribs with a smile. “But if one of those lesser demons even tries to breathe in your direction I’ll kill them.”

“Ok, Mister sleeps till dinner.” You joke. His vow warms your heart a little, chasing away the small bit of fear that had rested itself in your chest. You saw how some demons looked at you at R.A.D, the longing and hungry looks got to be a bit much sometimes. A few older demons would discuss it loudly when they knew you were close by. Apparently, it was a long standing tradition of demons eating humans both body and soul when a pact was concluded.

Imagine what those brothers would do to them…

You shake your head hugging Belphie closer. You had nothing but his word that he would keep you safe, yet that was enough for you. Besides, he wasn’t one to follow the rules even at the best of times.

“I’m serious. You're off limits for everyone.”

You nod into his shirt, closing your eyes to enjoy the peace of the moment. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Diavolo

It is so far from his mind that when you say something it is like a rug was taken out from under him. He could be diplomatic about it, but you deserve better than a half-truth.

He was a wild child in his youth. Sometimes he would overindulge in his father’s heritage and gorge himself on his newfound powers and privilege. He would dine with the elders and eat with abandon under their proud eyes.

He regrets it now, in your company it brings up a slurry of emotions. Sometimes when he looks at you he sees flashes of his past behavior.

The urge is stronger in him than the brothers, a constant nagging tug in his guts, but he is strong. Stronger both in willpower and sheer physical prowess than them so the pull is more of an annoyance than a burning need. He can temper the hunger in other ways if need be *wink*

He fears what you might think of him if you ever found out the truth, but however you take it he will handle it in stride. He loves you too much not to.

Mini Fic

Dinners, when Diavolo could eat alone, were a rare and special treat. The solace of just being allowed to exist without constantly checking his posture or presentation was a blessing, just him, his thoughts, and a good meal. It was nice to have no paperwork to worry about staining this time or a tedious meeting where he couldn’t savor his meal. No, no this was good. He looks down at his heavily laden plate and smiles. Well, almost… Pulling out his phone he snaps a quick picture and sends it to you with a simple question. Join me?

Private meals were wonderful, but with you, they were perfect.

You arrive faster than he expected, flushed face and clutching a stitch in your side from rushing over. He almost felt bad before he saw the eager look in your eyes. Barbatos helps you with your school bags and coat before placing another plate of food across from the young lord. He winks at the prince before disappearing back through the door.

“Thank you for the invite!” You beam taking your seat across from him. “I hope you don’t mind that I'm not dressed for the occasion. I was just wrapping up a study session with the boys.” You look down at your rumpled lounge clothes.

Diavolo waved his hand disregarding your concerns. “I would emulate you if I had the time.” He looks at his own pressed school uniform. He had another meeting this evening, much to his distaste. “You look rather comfortable.” You smile in delight before tucking into your own plate.

You eat in a comfortable silence reading the room well enough to tell that he wished for some company but not needless chitter-chatter. Barbatos arrived moments after you put your fork down and left with the plate leaving behind a delicious smelling hot drink. You couldn’t put your finger on the flavor but it tastes spicy like cinnamon and coats your throat like warm honey.

Whatever was in the drink seemed to work some magic on the prince. His shoulder droop, his back sinking into the chair as his legs stretch out till they are close to brushing against yours. He starts talking over the drink, eyes slowly lighting up with delight. You drink, nodding along with him as he builds up steam. It was nice to see him so unguarded and light. You listen to him talk about simple innocent topics. You knew how he tried to have these conversations with the others to no avail. The brother’s always tried to stay clear of him, and Lucifer simply dismissed these things most days. Barbatos and the angels were a bit better but still listened mostly to placate him.

“Ah!” Diavolo stops mid-sentence as his door opens once more Barbatos holding a small platter in his gloved hand. Dia claps his hands in delight. “I’ve been wanting to have you try this with me for forever. The human palate is so different, but I hope this is tasty.”

“What is it?” You eye the covered plate curiously.

Dia says a word in infernal. It is harsh and guttural in his throat but his delight was evident in his tone. “It is like...a roasted nut? Sorry, it is difficult to explain but it has been a favorite treat of mine since I was a boy. I hope you like it too.” He opens the lid with little ceremony and tilts the bowl to you. Inside were several golfball sized pods piled on top of each other. Even from across the table you could feel the molten heat radiating from the porous black shell. It looked...ugly. Like a hunk of dried lava. You eye it suspiciously as Diavolo picks one up with his bare hands and bits it. The shell cracks under his sharp teeth, a fang catching in a weak spot with a noise that makes you shiver. Underneath the thick casing, you could see a dark red and fleshy core. He hums in delight pulling put the meat of the seed and discard the shell pieces onto an empty plate. He makes quick work of the innards already reaching for another by the time you casually pick up a seed.

The seed itself was dense and warm to the touch. You squeeze it, noting that the porous coating felt like a mass of steel in your hand. “Dia-how do I open it?” No way you could bite it, not without breaking your jaw in the process.

“Allow me.” He takes it from you and effortlessly cracks it. “It is a tradition to break them with teeth, instead of hands or utensils. Something about a show of strength. I just find it fun.” He shrugs, handing you the broken seed.

“Fun!” You marvel at his pearly fangs. “Those are some big chompers.”

“All the better to eat you with my dear.” He chuckles.

You blink in shock, eyes widening. “Would you? Eat me?”

Diavolo’s smile drops. “No.” He lies on reflex, his political nature kicking in. “No-no wait.” He shakes his head. “I...at a time would have without hesitation.” He feels you recoil. “It was common practice back in the day. To the common demon it was a great meal and for the ruling class a show. He looks down at the broken fragments of shell on his plate. Breaking the shell was far too reminiscent of other things. He squashes the unwanted wave of memories coming up. Instead, he looks up at you.

You sit quietly mulling over his words. You haven’t run yet. “Why did you stop?”

He leans back with a loud exhale. Why did he stop? There were many reasons, none he wished to divulge into at the moment, but he had to say something. “I grew up, and began to resent and regret it.” He used to read human stories of demons and his kind. They hurt their characterizations of him and his people. Yet, they had all been scarily accurate. He wanted to prove that they weren’t stagnating beasts, slaves to their desires. Even if it wasn't a popular opinion.

“I see.” You pick up the seed again. “Thank you for telling me. You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to, and to apologize… such admissions must have ruined your appetite. If you wish to retire-”

“Is it weird if it didn’t?” You cut him off. You felt-not apathetic to the knowledge but close to it. It confirmed a lot of things for you and put certain things in perspective. You still felt safe with him even with this new bit of knowledge. Without a second thought, you pop the treat into your mouth. You gasp in delight. The flavor and texture were not what you were expecting, but was delicious all the same. “Can you open another for me?” You push your plate over to him.

“Of course!”

The food was as wonderful as his company.

Barbatos

You knew he cooked it. He probably knows a million different ways to prepare a human. He is also very blunt about his dabblings in the market.

He doesn’t eat it, hasn’t ever. He sees no reason to, especially since he doesn’t need to eat anyway there is no temptation. He did find the meals he created beautiful though.

Once he lived for the praises of the courts and his young lord. He was a master at all mediums he cared to work with. Time, decorum, or of the flesh.

He is 100% unashamed of his past with the dark side of the Devildom’s history. In fact, he is damn near proud of it. He is a demon and it was a part of his life, if that frightens you, well there is nothing he can do about it.

He’ll entertain your questions and will try to put any lingering worries at ease. Just don’t expect to be coddled when he does.

Mini Fic

Barbatos had very few personal pleasures in his life. His schedule simply didn’t have the space for such things. So why even bother looking for a pastime. It wasn’t until Diavolo gifted him with an old worn cookbook did he find it.

Cooking was a necessity for his prince, but with that little book, it became something he looked forward to doing. Slowly, he began to seek them out, filling his growing quarters with cookbooks and loose-leaf slips of paper. He enjoys reading them. Each book was a little time capsule into the cook's life and memories. Could a mix of spices really remind someone of the arid heat of their motherland? Or does following a certain way of aging meat really honor the writer's late grandfather’s memory? He tries them all, each recipe a little invasion to a happier time.

He wrote his fair share of cookbooks too in his day. Simple modifications to things the young lord liked to the odd machinations of his own imagination. He got good at experimenting with flavors and textures over the years, mastering certain cooking techniques and flavors just for fun. He didn’t share many of them, a lot of his recipes were just too complicated for most. Luke was allowed to look at his pastry books only. The little cherub was enamored with his techniques and wanted to learn as much as he could in the short amount of time he was in the Devildom. Admirable, but he made sure to keep some of his...less savory books away from the boy. He shudders to think what Simeon would do if he scarred the young angel.

You are the only one who has full access to his collections. Whether you liked to cook was inconsequential to him. He simply enjoyed sharing this interest with you. Some nights you would take it upon yourself to be his “sous-chef”. Which meant you sat in the corner of the kitchen and read out the ingredients and steps for a recipe he knew by heart. Sometimes you would add in extra steps in an attempt to stump it. Cute...but ultimately failed each time. So, most nights when you tagged along to the kitchens you just flip through his collection, reading his immaculate scribblings crammed into the corners of the pages or where he scratched out certain ingredients for more demon-appropriate foods and more sustainable options.

You had gone through many beautiful books before you found it. The cookbook was small and inconspicuous compared to most. Just a simple black cover with a well-worn spine. What made you take notice of it was just how dusty it was. That wasn’t like him to do. Barbatos would never let something get so dirty. You wished you never had opened it. You weren’t stupid by any means, but after reading a few pretty graphic recipes it had unsettled you. So you withdrew from Barbatos trying to forget about the book tucked away deep in the bowels of your school bag.

“You’ve been distant.” You choke, hand flying up to your chest as you swear your heart skipped a beat. Damn demon. Should put a bell on him. “What’s wrong?” His eyes are piercing, cutting away at your feeble defenses.

“Nothing…” You fiddle with your bag’s strap. Your eyes drop to the floor taking in the differences between his polished shoes and your scuffed boots.

“Of course not…” You could hear the skepticism in his voice. “I trust that if there was something wrong you would feel safe enough to confide in me.” His words hit like a ton of bricks on your shoulders. He sighs seeing that his words got no reaction. “Please?”

Wordlessly you rummage in your bag and thrust the book into his chest. “Sorry. It shook me up more than I thought it would.”

Ah. He knew this book all too well. For a time it had been his favorite, one to pull out with Diavolo had guests or a deal that needed to be sealed. He accepts the book, noting how much your hands shook. “I understand.” He slips the book into his breast pocket making a mental note to hide it in one of his lesser used rooms. “Would you like to discuss this? In my room perhaps?” You follow with a timid nod.

“Where shall we begin?” Barbatos asks the moment he closes the door to his room.

“You don’t seem perturbed.” You frown. Barbatos shrugs, pulling the book out and opening it. He had a lot of good memories stored here. Some of these were still considered signature dishes, oftentimes a visiting dignitary would lament to him about the good old days when he could show off his craft when flesh was plentiful. He takes pride in that still to this day even. For as much as he loved you, he would not be ashamed of this.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” You shake your head when he says as much. “It just confused me. Do-do you see me as food?”

“I never saw humans as food, no more than I see demons or angels as it.” He picks at an imaginary bit of lent from his pant leg. “As for seeing you as food no. No matter how sweet your lips are, or how honeyed your words can be.” He smiles, taking impish delight in your squirming. “I merely did my job as a butler for my lord.”

“Oh- sorry for not coming to you sooner.” You felt foolish now. Barbatos waves it off, pleased to have this issue put aside so quickly and cleanly. “Wait-" You gasp as his words finally sink in. “Have you prepared angels before?”

He flashes you a mischievous smile putting a single finger up to his lips. “Perhaps~ do you wish to read that too?”

[romanticchemacademic]

Dear future health professionals and stem professors,

We need a revolution of thought. Only through a renaissance of pure and genuine passion towards medicine and other sciences will we have competent doctors, nurses, other healthcare workers, and teachers. We live in a world where people pursue noble professions for the sake of social and economic advancement. However, we lack individuals who love the process of learning and their career.

I recollect quite a marvelous excerpt written by one of the world’s greatest scientific minds, Albert Einstein. In his book, The World As I see It he writes:

ACADEMIC CHAIRS ARE MANY, but wise and noble teachers are few; lecture rooms are numerous and large, but the number of young people who genuinely thirst for truth and justice is small. Nature scatters her common wares with a lavish hand, but the choice sort she produces but seldom.

We all know that, so why complain? Was it not ever thus and will it not ever thus remain? Certainly, and one must take what nature gives as one finds it. But there is also such a thing as a spirit of the times, an attitude of mind characteristic of a particular generation, which is passed on from individual to individual and gives a society its particular tone. Each of us has to do his little bit towards transforming this spirit of the times.

Compare the spirit which animated the youth in our universities a hundred years ago with that prevailing today. They had faith in the amelioration of human society, respect for every honest opinion, the tolerance for which our classics had lived and fought. 

  I believe that one of the faults lies within education institutions. Educators rely on testing, textbooks, and detached memorized lectures. Lectures lack passion and another essential factor: the real practice. The theory is important but the practice is necessary to understand the theory. But without passion, nobody will learn to love the material being taught. Ibn Sina is known for being one of the greatest physicians and teachers of Islamic medicine. I am not completely sure whether what I am about to mention is true. But I read that when he lectured theory to the medical students at the Madrassa (University) he would show them how it worked. Besides medical history and theory. He also taught physics, astronomy, philosophy, and mathematics. However, he is also famed for being an excellent teacher duly because he would take his students to test out the theories and practice what they have been taught. If they were learning medical theory, they were taken to the hospital to observe patients and their cases. If they were learning astronomy, they would all gather in the evening to look up at the heavens to look at the constellations. Lastly, his passion for his vocation was the final touch. Educators without the drive cannot teach. Learning is about understanding oneself, others, and the world. Learning evolves our minds and our spirits by making us get in harmony with the universe. I believe this ties in with Aristotle’s famous saying, “The unexamined life is not worth living”. Though my interpretation may be a wee bit off, I translate it as thus; we can gather all textbook knowledge as possible but if we do not put into practice the knowledge learned, what is the point? I yearn and I pine to experience all that I have learned. I want to see why the theory makes sense in reality. I want to conduct experiments. So much potential is being wasted. Biology is the study of life. However, when I took the course, it was so cold to a point that it did not even feel like I was studying the human body but something alien instead. There is also such a rush to memorize material within a couple of weeks because of exams that the material ceases to be interesting and becomes more of an arduous chore instead. Our sense of time-shifted completely after the industrial revolution. Perhaps this is a reason why we feel the need to rush through everything and not take our time to study profoundly. 

We need another Scientific Revolution, curious minds thirsting for the acquisition of knowledge and unanswered questions. However, I believe that the leading force behind this is a necessity. I would like to mention an example to illustrate what I mean from a novel I read a while ago called, The Physician by Noah Gordon. A boy from Medieval Europe lost his mother from an unknown disease leaving him orphaned. He then grew up with the necessity to learn what the disease was and how to prevent other similar deaths, so that others do not suffer what he has suffered. He then worked with Barbers (people who performed medical procedures in Medieval Europe). But the medical knowledge these professionals had was not enough to answer his question. Thus, he traveled to Persia where there was a quite renowned and exclusive medical school. He did not have the economic means or previous schooling to attend but he impressed the headmaster with his passion and knowledge. Thus, the headmaster admitted him into the Madrassa. The European boy then invested all his time doing research, dissections and treating patients until he finally found out what ailment caused his mother’s death, side sickness (appendicitis). He figured out a way to treat this illness, removal of the appendix. From his initial necessity which was the driving force for him to pursue a medical career, he became a famous physician and felt that all his suffering and odyssey were worthwhile. The sense of necessity leads to the feeling of passion. It was his love for his mother that made him follow such a journey full of obstacles. I am beginning to apply that to my own life. I want to figure out my necessity which will be the driving force to power through university and medical school without ever feeling burnt out. I want to feel fulfilled. I believe this is what all pre-medical students and teachers should think about. What is your necessity? We are going to be dealing with human life, someone’s mother, father, friend, sister, uncle, lover, husband, or child...It is not something to be taken lightly. I know so many doctors lacking empathy because they went into the medical field with just the intention of being acknowledged as “Doctors” and getting rich. But I feel that even the most apathetic healthcare workers can become great empathetic professionals the moment they realize that something was triggered deep inside them, perhaps a loved one having an unknown disease. This would lead the apathetic doctor to do mass amounts of research to try to find a cure. This feeling becomes a necessity. A necessity to not lose the loved one. A necessity to save lives. Thus, finding passion, purpose, and becoming a better person. Though each person is different, we all share a selfish feeling. Most of the time we do not truly care about other peoples’ suffering until it happens to us. Once we are affected by something, we drive all our time and attention to find a solution or a way to deal with a problem. We become consumed and completely obsessed by it. I regard this as passion. I do not think passion subsides, it lingers on inside us. It is a fire that never burns out. I remember my high school teacher writing in my yearbook:

Remember a few things, BE PATIENT. You are eager and you will accomplish so much. But take your time, you are always rushing. Life is a journey, it is not about the destination. Be picky. You love everything with enthusiasm but enthusiasm can burn out. Find a fire inside yourself that burns for a long time.

-V

We cannot rush our personal legend. I believe it comes to us. It is Maktub (it’s written). But we also have to do something. Imagine you are on a stranded island but you have a machete, a fishing rod, coconuts, a cave for shelter, wood for a fire, an ocean full of fish. Everything required for survival is there, but you simply have to cut open the coconut with the machete, go fishing for food, fire to cook, and warmth. The fish isn’t going to swim right into your hands and the fire will not light itself. We must use our resources and do our bit. The Universe has a lot going on, we must help out a bit.

If you ever think about quitting, try to remember what made you start your odyssey in the first place. I do not know what my necessity is yet but that is okay. I believe it will come to me eventually. So for now, I simply love to romanticize academia. I like to imagine the: earthy tones of the universities archways, cobblestone paths, laboratories with clean Erlenmeyer flasks, beakers, pristine white lab coats, bunsen burner flames changing colors as different salts are added, Bromothymol Blue pen stains, elegant calculations inside a worn leather-bound notebook, formulas scrawled over the blackboard, forgotten cold Irish breakfast tea on the desk, academics discussing theories, applause from a successful experiment, gray rainy days spent inside the lab, Whitman, Hemingway, et Sir Arthur Conon Doyle being read during break, intellectual conversations with professors, chemistry reports being written, molecular models built, volumes of ancient words, fire slowly burning in the stone fireplace, trying to understand, looking at the constellations on a clear night in the astronomy tower, reciting poetry, Tchaikovsky playing whilst completing a long lab report on Lê Chatelier’s theory of Equilibrium, curious minds, sleepless evenings in the library, beautiful anatomical illustrations...Just imagining these things motivate and inspire me to continue my path. Though it may seem superficial, it awakens something inside me. I yearn and I pine to become a Chemistry Romantic. 

I want to conclude this letter by saying that pupils and educators keep ideals alive and can change them accordingly as well. We have the power to become excellent professionals or simply exist and do nothing for the human race. But if you plan on becoming a physician or educator, you must find the trigger which brings your passion to life, your necessity. Once you find that, you are guaranteed greatness and fulfillment. However, do not rush. Perfection takes time. A couple of obstacles should not hinder you from persevering. Many will tell you to give up but do not. That is the Universe testing you. Do your best until you master the topic. Once you know better, you are then able to do better. 

Regards,

Confessions from a Chemistry Academic

[captainrexforever]

His Queen

Rating: T

Word Count: ~3k

Summary: You’re a little hesitant about wearing makeup due to a past experience. Din has no problem changing your mind.

Warnings: childhood trauma??, little bit of angst, fluff, steamy makeout

Note: After the amazing response I received on my last fic I decided to write another one. After all, these ideas are still going to be swirling around my head even if I don’t put them in writing. I hope you enjoy!

Sidenote: Imagine him looking at you like this *swoon*

“Are you sure we don’t have any additional rations in the crates?”

“No, the kid snuck into the stash last night. I didn’t notice until after he polished off the last of the rations.”

Din just sighs.

“I can make the trip to the market while you finish the repairs.”

“No, I’ll go, I don’t want you to deal with all the bantha shit that goes on at these markets.”

For some reason-don’t ask why-it’s incredibly attractive to hear him curse. 

It’s touching to hear the protective note in his voice, but you feel that you are well enough equipped to handle yourself. As a teenager, you had been taught the essentials of self defense by a family friend.  

“It’s alright. I’ll have my comm with me and it won’t take long if I just place an order for delivery of the rations.”

“Alright, if you insist. Be careful.”

“I will.”

He stands from his kneeling position on the floor, where he had been checking the netting beneath the bench for any additional ration packets. You prepare to leave, patting down your pockets to make sure you have your credits, your blaster, and your comm before you set off. When you look up again, he’s standing in front of you, a tilt of his helmet betraying his inner thought process. A smile tugs at your lips.

“Looking for a goodbye kiss?”

He sighs again, and you’re certain he’s rolling his eyes beneath the helmet.

“Ner verd’ika, you are a tease.”

You giggle before raising your hands to the sides of his helmet, eyes fluttering closed as you tilt it upwards. With an accuracy born from hours of practice you lean forward, raising on your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips before allowing the beskar to fall back into place. He lets out a disgruntled huff, his hands falling to your hips and tugging you against his torso so that he can rest his forehead against yours.

“Be careful.” He repeats.

“Always.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s surprising how many people can squeeze into the small marketplace, vendors and townsfolk chattering away as they bargain for an agreeable price. Animals bellow in the distance, adding to the noisy buzz that fills the crowded streets. 

You find yourself enjoying the bustling atmosphere, welcoming the stark juxtaposition to the quiet serenity of the Razor Crest. Before you can become too distracted, you steer your feet towards the largest area of the forum where several shops display food and beverages. 

After placing an order of rations and directing the shop owner to deliver the crates to the spaceport, you find there are a few spare moments to wander around the market before returning to the ship and tending to the delivery.

After traveling with Din for some time now, it has come to your attention that each planet you visit boasts a unique variety of wares. The citizens of this particular planet seem to possess a fascination with water-colored mugs and delicate embroidery. Not that you are complaining, everything that greets your eyes is absolutely gorgeous.

Upon rounding the next corner though, you stop dead in your tracks. Before you stands what is obviously a cosmetics shop. Holoimages are projected against the walls of the stand, each image featuring breathtaking models who-to your immense surprise-don't have you feeling even a dash of envy. What has you so enamored is the crowd of young women that peruse the shop. They are obviously a group of friends, but what shocks you the most is the presence of their mothers. Each parent is eagerly pointing out cosmetic items and encouraging the younger women to apply the samples that are provided. Bitter tears bite at the surface of your eyes, and you blink furiously in an effort to keep them contained.

As a young woman you had constantly been dissuaded from wearing makeup, told that it wasn’t appropriate at your age. You feel pathetic, chastising yourself and turning around with the intention of returning to the ship. But you don’t get very far, a feminine voice floating past your ears.

“Miss, Miss? Would you like to join us?”

Not wanting to expose your current state of turmoil, you scrub frantically at your tear-stained face, hoping to avoid further humiliation. When you feel presentable, you turn slowly, coming face-to-face with a girl that stands even shorter than you. Practically an impossible occurrence at your height, Mando would have teased you if he was here.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were by yourself, and well, on our planet it’s tradition for women to join together and add to their makeup collection on this particular day. It’s like the New Years of cosmetics.” Her eyes are shining, and she seems so genuine that you feel silly for your earlier judgement. “Although I am almost certain you are just visiting, my friends and I would be honored if you would join us.” Almost as if on cue, her friends rush up behind her, pleading with you to stay for just a little bit.

“Well, I…” Din will be expecting you back soon, and you don’t want to worry him.

“Pleeeaaaase!” They all beg, drawing out the word as they stare at you.

“Alright, just for a few minutes.” He won’t mind, you think to yourself. He and the kid can catch up while you are gone anyways, they haven’t been able to spend much time together lately.

The girls’ smiles are blinding and the first one grabs your hand, pulling you along as they all return to the stand to continue shopping. “I’m Tasha, by the way.” She beams. You smile back, sharing your name as well.

“What will you purchase?” Another girl questions.

“Oh, actually I don’t wear makeup.”

“You don’t?” They looked like you just told them Life day was made up.

“No, I....I never learned how to apply it.” That was close enough to the truth.

“Don’t worry, we’ll show you how!” Then Tasha is beckoning her mother over and soon they are exchanging ideas so quickly that you lose track, only picking up on fragments such as “transition”, and “complementary shade”.

“Could you please sit for a moment?” Tasha’s mother inquires, gesturing to a chair that rests next to the booth.

You’re a little hesitant, the assortment of items that they are both clutching in their hands has you yearning to turn your back and run.

Take a deep breath, it’s just a little bit of makeup, it’s not going to kill you.

After your flight instinct recedes a little, you move to sit in front of the older woman, trying not to flinch as she gently dabs several types of cream-like products on your face. She tuts here and there, discarding some of the products that she is holding as she works through all of the samples. Eventually, she finishes, holding out a wipe as she gestures for you to wipe your face. Once that is accomplished, she’s attacking the various assortment of products that Tasha is still holding. You idly wonder if it’s sanitary to be layering so many products over the sensitive skin of your face, but assume that it is probably alright if this is a common practice for most women.

What feels like hours later, after your face has been contorted into every position imaginable, your eyes weighed down by what seems to be a boat anchor attached to your eyelashes, Tasha and her mother proudly declare that you are ‘finished’-whatever that means. Then Tasha is holding out a bag of products for you to take. You eagerly accept the bag, feeling quite mature all of a sudden, and swagger over to the counter to pay the clerk. To your immense shock, Tasha’s own mother is sitting behind the register, and when you approach she insists that the items are ‘on the house’, refusing to accept any form of payment.

With a blush, you suddenly realize you have no idea how to apply any of the products yourself, but before you can even open your mouth, the older woman is sliding a piece of flimsy towards you. A detailed assembly of holoimages decorates the flimsy, demonstrations and instructions outlining the correct application technique for each product. There are tears welling in your eyes again, but you blink them back and circle the table to engulf the woman in a heartfelt embrace. She accepts the action with an affection you can only describe as motherly, patting your back gently until you pull away, then fixing you with a radiant smile.

Suddenly your heart drops into your throat, and your own smile fails. You can’t return to the ship looking like this! Din will be appalled that you delayed your departure from the spaceport to indulge in a personal shopping trip. Tasha’s mother frowns, watching as you suddenly turn frantic, scanning the nearby vicinity like a child who has been caught stealing a dessert cube. You reach for the packet of makeup wipes that sits upon the table, hastily rushing to explain the thoughts running through your head.

“This makeup is lovely, but I can’t return to my…” kriff, what should you call him...“friend looking like this.”

“And why not?” You are taken aback a little at the tone of your voice. She’s not angry, though there are hints of disapproval and surprise laced into her words.

You stammer for a response. “He...I…” Your brain sputters as you try to conjure the right words.

“Oh, I see. He’s that kind of friend. Well, if he doesn’t like the way you look, then you seem like the type of person who will have no trouble putting him back into his place.”

She continues speaking even as your jaw falls open.

“However, I heavily suspect that won’t be necessary.” The knowing grin that spreads across her face is like that of a loth-cat that just caught a canary.

“....” You can’t manage to utter a single word, trying to force down the blush that is rising to your cheeks.

“Here, take a look into this mirror.”

Woah, is that your face? Whatever had been applied to your eyes had caused the color to pop, drawing attention to your now piercing gaze. Every feature appeared to be enhanced, and you couldn’t help but note that your jawline seemed capable of cutting through duraplast, like a vibroblade through bantha butter on a hot Tatooine day.

“I look...wow.”

The older woman chuckles gently. “You look amazing dear. Embracing your natural beauty is important, but you shouldn’t be afraid of enhancing it either. No matter what, your inner beauty always speaks louder than any outer appearance ever will. Now go catch that man of yours. I’m sure he will agree with me too.” She ends with a pointed wink.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shadows stream past you as you jog back to the Razor Crest, hoping you are not too late to meet the merchant who is delivering the order of rations. Of course your luck is worse than you expected, and not only is there no merchant in sight, but it seems that Din has already finished the repairs. Kriff. Well, you’ll just have to return to the shop and apologize to the owner before pleading for another delivery opportunity. Then, after you settle that, you will need to prepare an explanation for Din. 

Kriffing hell.

 How do you always manage to get yourself into these situations?

“And here you had me thinking that you might have finally ditched me.” Din startles you, but there is a teasing lilt to his voice.

How is he still in a good mood? Wait, where is he?

“Up here.” He’s chuckling now too, probably at your apparent confusion, the bastard.

You look up and place your hands on your hips in disbelief of what you’re seeing. A shake of your head does nothing to help you understand what exactly is going on. At the moment, Din is flying figure eights in the air using his jetpack, the kid tucked securely in his arms while he squeals in delight. You shake your head again, looking down at the ground as a rush of affection floods your chest. The damned Mandalorian can be such a romantic without even realizing it. 

As of late, it has been difficult for either of you to discreetly purchase jetpack fuel at a decent price. Yet, here he is taking the kid for a ride, probably because he looked into those big brown eyes and couldn’t resist indulging the kid in a quick flight.

Their maneuvers continue for a few more minutes, and you wonder if you should head back to the market while Din and the kid are still occupied. Abruptly, you decide to take a seat inside the Crest for just a moment before jogging back to the store. It’s not until you scale the ramp that you notice the newly delivered crates resting inside the storage netting.

“The delivery arrived before you did, so I made sure that it was unloaded onto the right ship.” If you weren’t so relieved you might scold him for scaring you like that. Then again, he probably enjoys sneaking up on you. You scowl goodnaturedly, he’s lucky you lov--. Oh no, no, no.

No, no, no, no, no.

No, no, no.

No, no.

No.

He’s lucky you love the kid. That’s right, that’s what you meant to say.

Whew.

You move to rub your forehead, then realize that you’re still wearing what feels like fifteen layers of bantha paste and an entire canister of glitter on your face. Uh-oh. Has Din seen your face yet? You don’t think so. Your back is still facing him, but at any second he’s bound to step in front of you and notice that you’re all decked-out in makeup. 

Despite the kind words from the woman back at the market, you feel yourself begin to panic. What if he thinks you look silly, or worse what if it changes his perception of you? 

His footsteps advance forwards and you hold your breath, only for him to continue towards the kid’s hammock. It’s then that you realize the kid has fallen asleep in his buir’s arms, obviously worn out after his latest adventure. Din is exceedingly gentle as he sets him into his hammock, rocking the child for a few seconds to ensure he remains fully asleep.

As you bask in the sight of a soft, caring Din you don’t realize he’s turning around until it’s too late. He lets out a punched out sound once he is face-to-helmet with you, and although you are never sure where his visor is pointing, you know without a doubt that it is currently directed at your face. 

Neither of you move, gaze fixed firmly on the other for several minutes as a lingering tension brushes at your spine. Before you can explain yourself the lights flicker and plunge the hull into darkness, gloved hands and a beskar covered chest suddenly slamming into you, pinning you against the nearest wall so quickly that your back aches a little from the force of the impact.

“Kriffing hell.” He manages.

Oh, you definitely shouldn’t find that as attractive as you do.

“Is this what you were doing all afternoon?” His words are followed by a resonating clang, and you find yourself begging whatever deity is above that he is about to kiss you senseless. Sadly, he seems too interested in pressing a kiss to your neck while he whispers shamelessly into your ear. It’s a close second though, and you're definitely not complaining, especially when the position allows you to drop a hand down to squeeze his perfectly sculpted ass.

He lets out a growl at your feistiness, sucking at your neck in a manner that is sure to leave a visible hickey. “Maybe I should send you to the marketplace more often if this is how you’ll return.”

You let out a pleased mewl at that, proud that you are able to elicit such a passionate response from your usually stoic companion. “Sounds...sounds good to me.” Your reply is breathy, and there is no way that your lungs are supplying sufficient oxygen to your brain right now. It doesn’t help that Din has decided to wrap one of your thighs around his waist, your body erupting into flames at the suggestive positioning.

“Look so good.” It’s muttered between butterfly kisses, his lips charting the skin of your neck like it’s a flight path. “So pretty.” Another scorching kiss on your neck. “My sweet girl.” It’s half spoken-half growled against your throat.

A moan is ripped from your throat at that last sentence, and your free hand is scrabbling for purchase in his hair, using your touch to coax his lips to meet your own neglected ones. This man is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it. He’s mewling into your mouth, half-chuckling because he knows how much you appreciate that specific action, then he’s pressing his tongue in as well, sliding it across yours as he dares you into a battle of dominance. You can’t help but indulge him, fingers tightening in his curls as you allow yourself to be a little more aggressive, pushing into his mouth as you lead him on a merry chase. Even in the most intimate of acts, Din is ever the hunter and he takes control in a record amount of time, knotting his hand in your hair so that he can position your head in whatever manner he desires. The whole act is absolutely delicious and your toe curls as you wedge yourself even closer to his armor-clad chest.

“I sure hope you have more of that stuff.” He mumbles against your lips when you both separate for a breath.

“Huh?” You finally manage after gasping down a breath.

“It makes you look like a queen.” He elaborates.

There’s no point in arguing with him, especially when his mouth returns to yours to shut down any rebuttal you might have.

It’s safe to say that any of your hesitations towards wearing makeup were cleared up after that particular incident, and you learned a couple valuable lessons that day. The most important being to buy extra makeup wipes for the Mandalorian himself. Let’s just say Din was an...enthusiastic kisser.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ner verd’ika: my little warrior

Buir: (mother or father), in this case it pertains to ‘father’

Life day: the equivalent of Christmas in the star wars universe

[lesbian-vmin]

The Topic of Gender Identity - JM Focus

So. This is something that I’ve gotten asked about a few times since people became interested in my analyses. And it’s something I’ve always avoided answering because it seems to me that the topic of gender is way more touchy than the topic of sexuality.

I’m also the sort of person who doesn’t like people talking about things without some form of experience on the topic. I can talk about how I see the potential of someone being gay because I’m gay. I know what it’s like to be gay. I know what it’s like to be afraid for people to find out that you’re gay (passed that, but been there). Someone who isn’t gay and never questioned it wouldn’t have any idea what it’s like.

As someone who has struggled with gender identity myself, I’ve decided that I’ll talk about this. I’d say that I have a controversial opinion on this topic, but no matter what you say about gender identity, one person or another is going to think it’s controversial. So, really, everyone has a controversial opinion on the topic. As it is not my intention to offend anyone, I decided to share that controversial opinion. Anyway. Read on if you can handle someone talking about their opinion without getting riled up that it might be different than yours, and if you’re curious about my thoughts on the topic. If not. Move on. (BELOW THE CUT)

So. Let me start by putting in the “short story” of my gender identity, so you kind of get the idea where I’m coming from when I state my opinion on this topic. You can skip this to the part where I start talking about Jimin, but I just wanted to add this in here so you have an idea of where I’m coming from.

Currently, I identify as a cis-female lesbian, but it took me a long time to accept myself as a female. Honestly. When I was a child, I was more okay with the fact that I liked girls than the fact that I was a girl. Liking girls never felt wrong to me. Liking girls as a girl is what felt wrong. I don’t know if that makes sense, but I know how I felt.

I was what they called a “tom-boy” back in the day. I’m not sure if that term is offensive now? But I always related with the label for some reason.

My parents have a lot to do with my current view on gender identity. My mom told me when I was a little baby, my favorite color was pink. It’s currently pink. She said that once I started learning the names of colors and that they had “genders”, I took a hard turn to the color blue. I pretended that blue was my favorite color for a big part of my life, throughout high school, because I didn’t want to be associated with the “girly” things.

I also liked Hotwheels as child. I was obsessed with cars. This is something I was genuinely interested in, and not just because I wanted to distance myself from girly things. At McDonald’s they often have “boy toys” and “girl toys”. I also have one brother and two sisters. When my mom took us to McDonald’s, she’d always say she wanted “two hotwheels and two barbies”. If the checker ever said “girls and boy toys” my mom would again specify hotweels and barbies. Because she didn’t understand why they were “girl and boy toys”. As a child, I was changing her perspective on gender.

We used to go to Christmas parties when I was a kid, and Santa would always hand out presents to the kids. It always seemed they gave the boys certain toys, and the girls always got dolls or doll related things. So I started to hate going to these Christmas parties. I also question why Santa didn’t buy me the gifts I wanted. He was supposed to know what every child wanted. One year, my mom talked to the people who decided the gift buying, and they got me a giant collection of hotwheels. This Santa became my favorite.

Anyhow. I always wanted to be my dad’s son. I wanted to him to play sports with me and grill with him like he would do with my brother. When I showed more interest in those things than my brother did, he started doing them with me instead. I’d help him build things. I’d play sports with him. And we always grilled together. Until I got older and started going through the inevitable changes that every girl goes through. He stopped treating me like a son and started treating me like a daughter, and it really upset me that my dad’s whole attitude toward me would have changed like that. So I started hating being a girl even more.

Anyway, long story short (believe me, there’s a lot more to this story, but this is a Jimin focus. Not a Koala focus). I eventually came to accept that I was a girl, and actually like feminine things. But, at the same time, I actually like masculine things, too. Coming out to my family as gay really allowed me to express my gender identity more. And I think it’s funny because they often point out how I became more feminine after coming out when many females do it the opposite. I explained to them that I always wanted to be “straight” and like girls, but when I fully accepted myself as gay, I fully accepted myself as female, too.

That being said, I didn’t give in to gender norms or anything like that. I just stopped pretending to hate all feminine things for the fear of being “too much of a girl” to like girls. Pink is my favorite color, but I’ll take the whole fucking rainbow any day. I love hotwheels, and I know more about cars than most modern boys do. I know about computers, and I love math. I absolutely love playing sports (I don’t like watching them so much). I love high fantasy, and I love playing d&d with my friends. But I also love sitting down to a nice romantic movie every now and then. I play all kinds of video games from fps to dress up games, and I love the fact that I don’t have to be apologetic about any of it. I can fix my own kitchen sink and give you tips about how to get stains out of the carpet. I still hate dolls, and they are fucking creepy to me.

I can accept the term bigender for myself, but I label myself as cis-female. Because I don’t want society to tell me that “feminine” things are for girls and “masculine” things are for boys. And tell me how I need to identify because of my like or distaste for either. I don’t mind “feminine” and “masculine” labels, but I don’t think it should determine how much of a “boy” or “girl” you are. I know that people identify as trans and anywhere on the spectrum for reasons that go beyond that, and that’s fine. My story goes far beyond that as well, but that’s pretty much my main focus that brings me to this point.

So. Let’s talk about Jimin now.

IN RELATION TO JIMIN

So, I’ve had exactly one ask that wanted to know if I would refer to Jimin as “they” instead of “he” because we don’t know how he identifies, but I think that can be true for anyone. Just because JK presents himself as more masculine with the fact that he works out and is a “boy” boy, we can’t presume that he identifies as a cis-male. Even if he likes all masculine things, and there’s nothing feminine about him (which isn’t true, but even if it was), we can’t just assume that he identifies as cis-male and is totally comfortable in his 100% male role. So the fact that this seems to come up mostly in relation to Jimin kind of proves how it’s a societal “masculine” and “feminine” thing when it comes many people’s view on gender identity.

I’ve also had a lot of people come to my inbox and talk about how they don’t see why people question Jimin’s gender. “He’s not feminine at all.” And, let me just say that he really is, and I don’t think it would offend him for me to blatantly state that. When he first debuted, he really tried to present himself as masculine, and he wanted to be seen as a “strong/real man.” But he’s eased himself into what he’s more comfortable with, and he, himself, talks about this transformation. How he doesn’t have pretend anymore, and he can just be who he is. And that’s a wonderful thing. And him talking about it the way he does (I’d love to go back and find examples, so people share links if you have any otherwise it’s going to take me ages to source this) kind of tells me that he wants people to realize his transformation. That he is so unbothered by both his feminine and masculine traits that he isn’t bothered if people see him more one way or the other.

Let me bring up Jimin’s bigender tattoo, if you will. (x) Well, it’s not really a tattoo, and more of a drawing. It wasn’t permanent, but still. I’ve had a few people argue that it’s not the bigender symbol because of both extensions pointing straight instead of the masculine symbol being at an angle (x), but seeing as how I don’t know of any other symbol it could be, I’m going to assume that it was meant to be the bigender symbol. 

Does this tattoo mean that he identifies as bigender? I’m leaning toward yes, but I’m also going to have to say that it doesn’t confirm anything. We don’t know the reason behind the tattoo unless Jimin tells us himself, and we don’t know the reason it was altered with both extensions being aligned instead of the way the actual symbol looks (if that detail is significant in any way).

Again, I’m leaning toward a strong possibility of him identifying as bigender because BTS are pretty socially aware, and I’m sure he knows what the symbol means. There could be a list of other reasons as to why he decided to use the symbol, so we’ll never know the truth unless he tells us.

I will say that, similar to how I think TH mentioning the Christmas song to us was to see how we’d react to the idea of him singing a romantic song with a boy, I think that Jimin putting that tattoo on his arm was to raise a similar kind of topic. I think he wants people to discuss and question his gender identity. And I think anyone who has come out to their family, friends, and societies would get the same idea. Because it’s a process, and this seems like a step in the process.

I’d often talk about how I loved it when people would mistake me for a boy, and how disappointing it was when someone would be quick to correct them. I’d talk about how being a “girl” is exhausting and how I wish I could flip a switch and be a “boy”. I’d question my parents about how they’d feel if I brought a girl home. I’d use gender neutral pronouns while talking about people I was interested in. I’d question if it was weird to want to hold hands with my best female friends. And the list goes on.

The tattoo seems like a step in a process. Maybe he’s not trying to come out, but maybe he wants us to be talking about it. I don’t think we should just assume that he’s bigender because of it (the same way we shouldn’t just assume TH is gay for Christmas song talk), but I don’t think people need to be so quick to shut the idea down. Because it’s possible that he might not identify as cis-male, and to shut down a piece of evidence like a bigender drawing on his arm is to shut down a pretty strong piece of evidence. That tattoo was drawn on Jimin for a reason because it’s supposed to mean something. Until we know what that something is, there is absolutely no harm in us fans talking and wondering about his identity. As long as we don’t shove it in Jimin’s face and demand that he talks about it. Let’s wonder together. Among ourselves.

As for which pronouns to use when talking about Jimin, until he says anything official about his identity, I think “he/him” pronouns are fine. If you want to call him “they/them”, I think that’s fine, too. I won’t simply because I only like to use “they/them” if I’m intentionally trying to be neutral or if an individual specifically requests to be addressed as such, but I don’t see the harm in anyone else doing it. I think going as far as using “she/her” could be a little too much and a little too presumptive. I’m not the sort to get offended by any type of pronouns. I identify with them all, but that’s not true for everyone. And it might not be true for Jimin. So I think it’s best to stick with “he/him” or “they/them” because they’re the most gender neutral terms. 

And yeah. “He/him” is more gender neutral than “she/her”. And, even if you don’t think so, “he/him” are the terms we use to refer to biological males without knowing anything about their personal identity. I don’t think it’s “assuming he’s cis until he says otherwise.” This is just as harmful as “assuming he’s straight until he says otherwise.” Because, for me at least, “he/him” is referring to the only thing I know about his gender/sex until he confirms otherwise, and that’s the biological part of his gender/sex. It’s not me saying “Oh, I think he’s definitely cis unless he says he’s not”. Because I’m leaning more toward the “not” part of that, but the only thing I can confirm is that he is biologically male. He wouldn’t be in BTS if he wasn’t.

Bringing it back to the first point I mentioned, we can’t assume a gender identity onto any of them. Jimin brings up more questions not because of his “feminine” side, but because of that bigender symbol. But it doesn’t mean that he identifies that way, and it doesn’t mean none of the other members do.

Like I said. I was hesitant about making this post and avoided asks about this topic for a long time because people get more defensive about gender identity than sexuality, but I wanted to talk about this. Because regardless of how offended people get about this topic, I think it’s something we shouldn’t be afraid to discuss.

[doomfisthero]

Dads for Deku: Day 4

Prompt: A Shoulder to Cry On (Kamui Woods)

Setting: Canon-Compliant

“Midoriya, that's enough! Stop!”

Izuku's teeth ground together as the black lightning around his hands flared in response to being forced back. A burst of pain, so intense that it felt cold, surged through his hands, and he let out a watery cry as the Blackwhip dissipated. He fell to his knees, tears staining his face as he clutched his hands together in a vain attempt to drown out his own screaming nerve endings.

Angry red lines webbed across his hands like lightning burns. They would fade before long, but for now agony pulsed hot along them.

As Izuku grit his teeth in pain and anger, Kamui Woods knelt next to him. The Arbor Hero glanced at Izuku's reddened hands with narrowed eyes. “You said you'd be honest about what your Quirk was doing to you, Midoriya,” he said, watching Izuku with stern eyes. “But these burns, you're letting them build up. You kept them from me.”

It was an unpleasantly familiar experience, having Kamui Woods look at him with such reproach. Izuku had hoped to leave that part of the Sludge Villain incident behind him, but no such luck. He felt bad, truly, about causing this much trouble for the Hero after he'd taken a day off from the Lurkers to help instruct Izuku.

(All Might had cashed in a favor, and evidently Kamui Woods had been thrilled to say yes. He probably wasn't so excited now.)

Izuku gritted his teeth and swallowed back as much of his tears as he could. “S-sorry. I just...thought I was close enough to keep going,” he said. He turned his wrists around, checking to make sure that the pain had subsided at least a bit. “I think I'm okay now, though.”

Kamui Woods huffed and rose to his full height. “Like hell we are. We're taking a break.”

Izuku bit his lip as the Hero turned and walked over to the bench at the edge of the field, picking up a thermos and drinking deep from it. That was...probably called for, honestly. Who would enjoy teaching someone who'd lie about their own well-being?

He stood up and followed his instructor for the day, who handed him a water bottle. Izuku twisted it open and drank from it, wincing as his hands stung against the plastic bottle cap.

When Izuku felt better, he noticed Kamui Woods watching him; his eyes were kept neutral and his perpetually masked face was all the more inscrutable. Nothing about Izuku's conduct had slipped by him, it seemed. What little good there was had surely been drowned by all the bad.

“I-I'm sorry,” Izuku stammered. “I just...I wasn't ready to give up yet. I really do think I'm figuring it out. I just need a little more time.”

After a pause, the Arbor Hero sighed beneath his helmet. “This isn't gonna work if you lie to me, kid. You have to tell me how you feel, when you're really hitting a wall. Otherwise, you'll hurt yourself, and I'm positive the school will put that on me.”

Izuku hadn't thought of that. “I'm...I'm sorry,” he repeated, knowing how lame it sounded.

Kamui Woods shook his head and set his thermos back onto the bench. “Look, I know you were excited to learn something from me, but I think we might have to call it here. You've got Eraserhead, right? Maybe he can teach you more.”

Izuku's stomach twisted with horror. “No!” He shouted, catching himself as Kamui Woods winced slightly. “I-I mean, no. I'm sorry! I promise, I can do better! I-I don't want it to end like this, I swear! Please, just give me one more chance, I'm really close. I can do this, I know I can!”

“Do you?” Kamui Woods said. “Nothing personal kid, but this hasn't been the greatest showing I've ever seen. Think maybe you just need more time-”

“I don't have more time!” Izuku yelled. His eyes prickled with tears again as the Arbor Hero stepped back this time. “I'm supposed to know this already! I tried so hard, and it hurt me so much, but I knew how to use my power! I finally, finally got it! I can't...” He shook his head furiously. “I can do this! I HAVE to do this! Please, just give me one more chance! I just need one more chance to figure this all out...!”

He started crying, and forced himself not to look Kamui Woods in the eye. He didn't want to imagine how the Hero who'd agreed to teach him was looking at him now.

Izuku didn't know how long Kamui Woods let him cry, but eventually he saw through blurred vision the Hero kneeling down next to him again. He squeezed his eyes shut, expecting another scolding...only to feel a hand on his shoulder that shocked his eyes back open.

“Hey, hey, it's all right,” said Kamui Woods. Izuku chanced a look at his face, and his gaze had softened to something that Izuku hadn't seen from him before, not personally. “It's okay, just let it out for a minute. I'll be here.”

The hand on Izuku's shoulder gripped him a little awkwardly, but Izuku didn't mind as he let himself be wracked with sobs for a few more minutes. Once he felt himself calm down, Izuku rubbed his eyes and took a shaky breath. “I...I'm okay now. Sorry you, uh, had to see that.”

Kamui Woods shook him gently. “It's okay, don't worry,” he said. He seemed to think for a moment before speaking next. “Look, All Might told me about what happened with your Quirk recently. How you've found this whole other aspect to it that you never saw coming, and how it's been tough to figure out. I...”

He sighed again. “I'm sorry you've been having a tough time, Midoriya. I know it sucks, having to play a bad hand like that. I should've been a little more empathetic.” His grip on Izuku's shoulder slid into something more comfortable, not as awkward as before. Kamui Woods didn't notice, but Izuku did in a corner of his mind. “But you...when you hit a wall, the trick's not to keep hitting it. You'll just break something doing that. It's okay to step back and take a breather before you get back at it. Does any of this make sense?”

Izuku sniffled. “Yeah, it does. Thank you. I'm sorry I lied to you. I just...”

“...Wanted to figure it out ASAP,” Kamui Woods finished. “I get it. But you've still got time even with a good rest or two. Sometimes that's just what you need.” The Arbor Hero sighed to himself. Maybe he'd been...colored by his biases of Midoriya Izuku. He hadn't endeared himself to anyone in the Sludge Villain incident, and he'd come out of the Sports Festival without a lot of firm supporters after he shattered his own limbs. That was all Kamui Woods had really seen of him for a while.

But he wasn't a bad kid. Just under a lot of pressure, a lot of which he put upon himself. Maybe it drove him to grow, but eventually it'd crush him without the right support. All Might couldn't shut up about how proud he was about the kid – maybe Shinji just needed to have some faith in that, and in Midoriya himself.

Kamui Woods patted Izuku on the shoulder, more naturally than he'd expected, and got the boy's attention. “Look, you can't lie to me anymore. Not if you want this to work. But I promise I'm not going anywhere for a while. Let's take a break and talk about this before we get back at it. I wanna hear more about how you feel it's coming along. That okay?”

Izuku smiled, tentative but genuine. “I'd like that. Thank you, Kamui Woods.”

The Hero chuckled for the first time in a while. Maybe this kid wasn't so bad. He could see him going places once he graduated. If everything went well, who knew – maybe he'd become a sidekick with the Lurkers, or Kamui Woods himself?

For now, they had a lesson to get through. And Shinji had to remember to give the kid an autograph or two; he'd practically begged for it before they got started.

[thestarburnfighter]

In Familia Virtus - Chapter 1

A Mighty Nein and OC story

Vianna Starburn was a merchant’s daughter, and she was supposed to be finding the latest town in the north east of Wildemount for her father to attempt new trade in. Trostenwald was a disappointment, and she had been preparing to leave farther north when a Tiefling, of purple skin and even more so colorful clothes, stopped her before she could mount her horse.

“Leaving this lovely town so soon? My dear, you’ve yet to see the best show they can offer!”

She had seen many swindlers and cheats before, but their demeanor was so carefree. Yes, they were definitely trying to oversell the appeal, but they weren’t looking to empty her pockets. Their smile was genuine as they bid her call them Molly, and with no true destination in mind just yet, staying one last night wouldn’t harm the family trade.

She was not quite sure what compelled her to join the people fighting. She was not a strong fighter, and everything she knew was mostly for defense. But she had a longsword and shield, and with seven other’s fighting against the sudden zombies as well, the small battle was easily won. Being told to stay in town as part of an investigation, however, was not in her plan.

Neither was engaging with this ragtag group that had officially trapped her here for Goddess knew how long. At least one of them had fled and was no where to be seen, and she knew at two had diverted back in the direction of the inn. The blue Tiefling, Jester, was quick to converse (more like talk at her) her about the towns baked goods as they passed by the bakery.

Viana made polite conversation with her as she mentioned missing the treats back in Nicodranas. She knew the bakeries very well there, and Viana was happy for the time being to talk about something of familiarity. However, the looming Crownsguard at the entrance of the inn reminded er of her current fate, and her mood turn sour. She tried to get back to her room once they all arrived back at The Nestled Nook, but they were very persistent at buying her a drink as a means to stay and talk.

The green half-orc in particular was promising a pint of her choice in the tavern, and the two Tieflings were encouraging her as well. The monk was apathetic, neither women caring much about each other’s presence, and the wizard and his friend- a goblin of all creatures, she had seen during the fight- seemed confused by her connection to them.

“I appreciate the offer, very kind indeed, but I’ve had a rather disappointing time here and would prefer to wallow in a bed rather than a drink.”

The purple Tiefling, Molly they insisted once more as she spoke, gently grabbed her hand and started to lead her to a table with the barmaid was bringing forth a round of drinks Molly had ordered just a moment earlier.

They spoke with a laugh in their voice, always ready to sell. “Come sit, please, and if you won’t allow him, allow me to get you something as an apology. You were well on your way out of here this morning, and I am the reason you’re no longer any farther.”

Viana sighed as she sat, “Very well. One drink, perhaps, will be alright. But the moment it’s done, I’m off to bed.”

“Of course dear, of course! Adelaide,” they called to the barmaid, “One last drink- a- what would you like love? Anything.”

“The Oveso is just fine.”

Mollymauk ordered it and turned his attention all on her as the group seemed to be settling with each other. The monk was almost aggressively questioning the man and goblin, with the half orc and Jester interjecting here and there.

“As we wait, tell me more about yourself, my dear. I don’t believe I’ve even gotten your name.”

They weren’t the only ones. Everyone stopped talking for just a moment to turn to her, and she realized she didn’t manage to keep close most of anyone’s name even though she had heard them a few times. She was quiet as she spoke, stomach fluttering a bit as everyone at the table looked to her.

“Well, my name is Viana Starburn. I’m going town to town on behalf of my father. He’s a merchant, and we deal mostly with craft wares. Pottery, fabrics, weavings, and such. I’m hoping we can expand here in the Empire.”

“Here in the Empire? Where are you from originally?”

“We do our trade mostly out of Palma Flora, but we live some miles from the town. It’s very small, directly south of Port Damali by ship.”

The half orc motioned to himself, “Jester and I are from the Coast as well. I’m Fjord, by the way. It’s nice to meet you. You did well with that sword.”

“Thank you, you’re not so bad yourself.”

The barmaid brought forth another round of drinks, including the wine. The monk leaned forward and introduced herself. “Name’s Beau. That’s outta Feolinn, right? Decent brand. Does your family trade wine too?”

“No, not our forte. But, the Oveso family pass by our home on their own trading route and we won’t say no to a fair trade. They’re a cheap wine anyway, and always quick to send their barrels out.” Beau seemed to like that answer as she smirked and leaned back.

The group fell back into learning about each other, and Viana quietly sipped her wine as the goblin, Nott, attempted to dazzle Jester with a money pot trick. Beau turned out to be from a wine family, and Jester was a cleric who worshipped a deity named the Traveler. When Fjord inquired about seeing a bigger magic trick, she used her God given powers and nearly set the Crownsguard on them again.

As the guards left, Viana quickly tipped back the half glass she had left and stood to leave. “As promised, thank you Mollymauk, but I do believe that signals my leave.”

“Come now, we were just getting started, and I know you were enjoying this. When was the last time you’ve had a talk with more than the barkeep? Surely you must be a bit lonely out here, alone and far from home?”

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first group of people I’ve met that’s nearly got me thrown in the local jail. My experience in the Empire hasn’t necessarily been a good time, and I’d like to make it back home without a stain on my family’s record. I doubt I can do that with any of you.”

The human man stood up, holding up his second trost, “Please, one more trick if you will. You’ll see we’re not so bad.”

Viana sighed and sat back down, earning a grin and a pat on the shoulders from Mollymauk. Caleb called for Nott to stand on the table, and began casting. Several light appeared from his hands and gently drifted over to her, covering her in golden light. She stood proudly, watching Caleb in thoughtful awe, before letting out a screeching vocal in an attempt to sing as the light surrounded her.

“The Goblight, ladies and gentlemen. The Goblight.”

From behind them, a drunk and sleepy patron called himself impressed before passing out in his glass. Viana chuckled and Fjord asked Caleb about his magic. The half orc was interested in expanding his own magic abilities, apparently having only recently learned some. Jester, despite being a cleric- was not up to show off any healing magic. With the attention off his magic, she noticed that Caleb was very quick to turn attention back onto others. He asked about Mollymauk’s plans for the next day, and they were rather melancholy in response.

“Well, they have all my things and they have all my family. I’m going to figure out what is going on. Try and find out what’s actually doing this. I assume since it’s none of us, it’s going to happen again.”

Upon hearing that statement, it was barely a thought for her to have to think. Viana placed a hand over theirs, “If it was my family’s reputation being falsely dragged through the mud, I’d do anything to set it right. I was there, and I saw, and I know at the very least you and Gustav had no part in what happened. I’ll help, if I can.”

Molly appeared shocked, “Truly? After all I’ve done to you?”

“You couldn’t have known. And if you did this to extort anymore copper from me, then you’ve failed quite miserably for you’ve now spent more than I to apologize.”

Jester leaned forward and asked, “But how can we because we can’t leave this tavern?”

Little plan was made that night as the group unofficially agreed to plan in the morning. They all head to their rooms, Beau and Jester tapering off first, Fjord and Molly next, and Viana just after them. Nott hurried on ahead, but Caleb paused her just a moment. He caught her eye, and his were a deep and sorrowful blue.

“I realized, I never got you that drink.”

“Don’t worry, one was enough for me. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Uh- Caleb. Caleb Widogast.”

“That was a neat trick Mr. Widogast, but I’ll be quite honest, it’s going to take a bit more than some magic to keep me from regretting staying a moment longer.”

He said with a smirk, “But you stayed, didn’t you?”

“Goodnight, Mr. Widogast,” she replied with a roll of her eyes.

“Goodnight, Miss Starburn,” he started to turn away but quickly turned back, “Hold on, take more? I suppose we shall continue to see more of each other then?”

“Well, you’re staying here and seemed to have already enmeshed yourself in that group despite not being under order to stay. You’ll have to stay just as long as I, right?”

She turned away before he could respond and went to settle in her room. Viana had seen eyes like his before in her travels. Sailors who had seen the darkness below the waves, merchants who had done what they needed to protect themselves on the road, her brother’s a year into his firm.

Caleb had only started to pull her in, but Molly and Jester had a hand as well. Both Tieflings had charmed her, it seemed, but even still she could feel the mischief on them. And having grown up with mischief from her siblings, she knew it would extend to this group soon enough if not already.

Reputation was the most important thing a person could have, and she was innocent in this event, and so were the rest of them. If not for them, then for herself, she would help them be absolved, and then she would continue on to Zadash.

A few moments to dress for the night, to reorganize her pack, and finally an evening prayer to Avandra for her family. She fell quickly to sleep, the slow creeping exhaustion of the day and night finally hitting her.

[centarscommunity]

BLOOMING GARDENS

9

“Ah, Welcome my brother. It is good to finally have visitors here!” Saint-14 bellowed as the Titan approached. He held a pair of pruning shears and wore a musty apron that had been stained with years of soil and chlorophyll.

“Hello Saint. This garden is incredible I had no idea it was up here.” The Ghost spoke for his Titan who seemed a bit lost in the moment at the spectacle before him. It was tucked away on a rooftop of the tower and required some considerable side-tracking in order to find.

“Very few know if its existence. It is a well-kept secret in the Vanguard. I take it Shaxx told you how to find us here?” Saint laughed as he spoke. It was a hearty and full laugh that felt genuine in every respect.  “You must have really done something to get on his good side for him to slip like this.”

All around them the rooftop garden bloomed. Roses of every color, fully thorned and healthy. Daisies and Daffodils in neat and tidy rows, winter perennials sat peacefully still waiting for their season to show off their colors. Even some off-world flora was tucked into the corners of planters. A truly immaculately kept garden, right under everyone’s noses.

“He made us promise not to tell anyone, even you, Sir.” Ghost admitted. He looked down at his Guardian who still seemed awestruck by it all.

“Hah Ha of course he did. Very well then. How can we help you, young Titan?” Saint resumed his pruning of a yellow rose bush, gently and methodically clipping errant leaves and stems and gathering them into tidy piles.

Ghost bumped his guardian’s helmet to snap him out of it, “Oh uh. I’ve come for some advice. But I wanted to ask it outside of the eyes and ears of others.” The Titan spoke with quickening resolve.

“Advice? For What?”

“Advice about Stasis. And the Darkness.”

Saint paused a moment. “Why do you ask this?”

“I’ve learned how to control it and it’s affecting how I feel about the light. I feel as though the darkness and the light are fighting within me but I don’t feel… worried about it. Just calm. I wonder if my experience with the darkness has ...tainted... my light.” The Titan shuffled uncomfortably. “You’re wiser and more experienced than many. What are your thoughts?”

A pigeon fluttered down from a nearby wire and landed next to Saint. He chuckled a little, reaching into a pouch and pulled a few breadcrumbs out for the bird. “More experienced maybe. Wiser? I am not sure of this.” The Hulking titan stood up to his full height. “You still breathe, yes?”

“I do sir.” The titan stiffened a little at the question.

“This bird here,” He gestured at the pigeon blissfully pecking at the stone ground where it had just finished eating the breadcrumbs. “Do you wish to kill him in this instant?”

Startled by the accusation, both the Titan and his Ghost blurted out simultaneously “NO. I would never, sir.”

“Why not? He is defenseless, weak, and unaware. You have the upper hand on your foe. Why not take it?” Saint spoke sternly.

“…sir?”

“Guardian, will you strike this bird?”

“Is that an order?”

“No, it is not an order.” It was hard to tell if Saint was serious. His tone and thick accent always suggested he was.

The duo paused, deeply confused by the exchange. “Then of course we wouldn’t. It’s just a pigeon. It’s not dangerous.”

“Exactly. It is not dangerous.” Saint stooped and clipped one of the yellow roses at the base and held it out to the titan. “You feel compassion for this bird, yes?”

“I think so? It’s just a bird, sir.” The titan accepted the rose.

“Then you are fine.” Saint turned back to his gardening. “Do not worry about your new power from the pyramids. That flower is beautiful, yes? It has petals and it has thorns. It uses the thorns to ward off danger and the flower petals to bring insects to feed them. It has both good and bad parts in itself.”

“I’m not quite sure I follow.” The Titan said while inspecting the flower.

“As long as you choose to defend innocent and weak creatures and defeat those that seek to harm them, you will be fine. As long as you choose the light, Titan, it matters not what tools you use.” Saint’s tone shifted slightly. “A flower does good for a garden. Even if it has thorns.”

“The Warlock in our Fireteam said the same thing.” The Titan said in monotone.

“Your Warlock friend is smart then. Warlocks are all very smart.” Saint reported with an amused tone. He pulled a second rose from the bush with is bare hands, carefully snapping the stem to prevent tearing. “We fight the darkness. It is our duty. To fight the darkness, and to protect the people of the city. If the Darkness is foolish enough to give us tools we can use against it, that is its own mistake.” He gently tied the second rose to the ghost’s shell. “Bring that flower to Lord Shaxx and tell him that he is over watering his tulips.”

The duo stepped back a little and watched as more pigeons began to land in paths of the garden.

“Thank you, Saint.” The Titan spoke. “I value your wisdom.”

“Be careful you two. Always choose the light. NEVER give up hope. Now be on your way, I will see you In the Trials this week.”

The Titan and his Ghost turned and headed down the stairs, flowers in hand. Saint walked to the ledge to look out over the city and exhaled deeply. Geppetto, his ghost, appeared next to him.

“Do you think they will stay true? Even with the power of the darkness?”

“This I do not know. We can only hope.”

--

[degenerate-perturbation]

Chapters: 26/38 Fandom: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, Dragon Age II Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Female Amell/Female Surana Characters: Female Amell, Female Surana, Anders, Velanna, Nathaniel Howe, Oghren (Dragon Age), Justice (Dragon Age), Sigrun (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Isabela (Dragon Age), Male Hawke (Dragon Age), Pride Demon(s) (Dragon Age) Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Self-Harm, Blood Magic, Prostitution, Drowning, Wilderness Survival, Mind Control, Human Experimentation, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better Series: Part 2 of void and light, blood and spirit Summary: Amell and Surana are out of the Circle, and are now free to build a life together. But when the prison doors fly open, what do you have in common with the one shackled next to you, save for the chains that bound you both?

Calder was dead.

She hadn't meant to kill him, but it was still her fault. She'd taken away his ability to feel pain or fear. She'd thought it kind. 

Loriel put the body in stasis, so it would not rot, and sat down by it. The floor was sticky. Blood new and old stained her robes. She'd hoped to have years. He'd lasted hardly a month.

Idly she wondered whether he would still be her thrall, if she raised him. Probably not. Blood magic affected the mind through the body; it couldn't touch the spirit. But it didn't matter. She didn't need his spirit. 

(Probably. Maybe.)

She needed to talk to her collaborator. By now the summoning spell came easily.

Veritas stretched catlike through the rip in the Fade. "Hello, little mageling. Have you updates for me? Did you try the experiment I suggested?"

"Yes," she said flatly. "It killed him."

Veritas tilted its head, curiously. "Oh? What did it?"

"I haven't yet ascertained the exact cause.” Her fingers curled into fists and released over and over again. “I didn't think...I didn't realize it would kill him."

Calder hadn't either. He hadn't felt the pain. Her own fault, for failing to appreciate the necessity of pain. How many times would she have to learn the same lesson? She should have known better.

"Shall we discuss the likeliest possibilities?" Veritas offered.

"Oh, you mean you don't know?" Loriel said sarcastically. "You are an utterly useless demon of knowledge."

"As you've so cleverly noted in the past, my dear Loriel Surana, I do not know everything," sniffed Veritas. "If I did, I would have even less use for you than I do now. I have never taken a mortal body and know comparatively little of such things."

It was true that Veritas had shown remarkably little interest in escaping its bindings or trying to possess her. Perhaps that was part of the reason she kept summoning it. The one time she had asked why it showed so little interest in the mortal world, Veritas had said, I prefer to watch.

"Be that as it may," she seethed, "You've killed my only subject. They are not easy to come by."

"Lie. You killed him. As for coming by subjects-they could be easier to come by if you stopped be so precious about where they come from."

"I’m past that. I don't care where they come from," Loriel said. "I care about keeping the loyalty of my Seneschal. If I were some apostate crouched in a filthy cave, I could do as you say, but I am the Arlessa of Amaranthine and Commander of the Grey."

"Hm. You are that. I wonder why?" 

"I have to be. For any of this to matter."

"Lie," Veritas noted.

"Enough. We have work to do,” she snapped. “This situation must be salvaged. I have the body in stasis, but my magic and the taint interact strangely, and it likely will not last."

They talked a while more about what further use Calder’s body might be, before it was too far gone. The next few days went to those experiments. Not useless, but not what she needed.

She did end up raising his shade, out of guilt and grim curiosity. There wasn’t much left of it. Weeks under such crushing mental pressure had left his spirit confused, enraged, and in pain. It didn’t even look human anymore.

It tried to kill her. She dismissed it before it ever got close, but as it was ripped from this world she thought she saw hints of magma in its facsimile of skin. 

For several heart-hammering minutes she believed that she had created a Rage demon.

Veritas confirmed that she might have, or at least, the beginnings of one. But more likely before the seed of psychic nucleation could form a demon, the shade would diminish to a wisp and eventually dissolve into the emerald waters. 

Most likely.

tck

After that she seriously considered stopping. Would she have done that to Calder’s body if she had known what it would do to his soul? She had thought she had accepted the evil in herself, made her peace with it, but in the abyss of her heart there seemed always to be another unseen chasm, and each time she teetered on the edge she could not help but cling to it.

How could she possibly bear to do that again?

But...could she bear to have done that, and known it to have accomplished nothing? Could she bear to find another way, and know that she needn’t have?

Yes. Yes, she could bear it. Veritas would never let her pretend to be too weak for that. But though she could bear a world where she had done needless evil, that did not guarantee it was this world. It did not mean she was free.

She scrubbed her hands until they were red and stinging and almost clean, and went to go receive Brigit’s report.

No new deaths. No new Callings. No sign of the Architect.

“Oh, and Brigit,” Loriel said, almost on impulse, just as the Seneschal prepared to bow and go. “One further question. The sheriff of Amaranthine. What sort of man is he?”

Brigit had taken her Commander’s direction to dress more finely. She wore a high-necked woolen gown beneath a vest dashed through with silverite. Sapphires glittered at her ears. Her back was ramrod straight and she looked every inch a queen. But there remained the trace of hesitation when she answered: “I believe that he believes himself to be a righteous man.”

“And you do not agree with his self-assessment.”

“He is merciful. But he is not just.” Brigit’s lips pressed together. “I have had reports of certain crimes under his jurisdiction going unpunished, or punished far too lightly. Those committed against women, children, elves…I have thought about replacing him, but he is popular in Amaranthine. Mercy, however unearned, often is.”

“No need to replace him. No need to cause an upset.” The barest of pauses. “But perhaps we might consider having more prisoners sent to the Vigil for processing.”

Brigit listened carefully, and spoke slowly: “You wish to offer them the Joining?”

“Everyone deserves a second chance.” Smooth, perfectly reasonable. “Don’t you agree?” 

The Seneschal took her meaning. 

“But of course, I do not insist,” Loriel said quickly. "You know how much I value your opinion.”

Faint color came to the Seneschal’s cheeks. She could have said no. She could have taken the out. Loriel gave her every chance.

“I agree with you completely, ser,” the Seneschal said instead, and she knew what she was doing, she had to have known. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

Loriel did not thank her. Only nodded, and that was her cue to go.

She leaned back and closed her eyes.

If she was going to do this, she could not afford to let her pride keep getting in the way. She needed to talk to the expert. She needed to go see Avernus.

tck

She sent a short, impersonal note to Avernus that she would be arriving that week. She gave no further details. Even if she had been stupid enough to write down anything sensitive, every time she sat down to compose anything, after nearly a full year of silence, her mind went blank.

The ride to Soldier’s Peak was long and full of uneasy dread, but when she arrived, Avernus acted like nothing had happened. He shuffled around his tower, checking on bubbling reagents and pulsating petri dishes of living flesh, asking terse questions without waiting for answers. She couldn’t tell if he genuinely had not noticed the absence of her letters or if this was an act for her benefit—and if it was an act, if it was a kind one or scornful one. 

Even if it were scorn, it wouldn’t matter. There could be no room for pride.

“I’ve begun to use human subjects,” she said bluntly.

She expected him to gloat, but he only snorted, “About time,” and carried on as though it was nothing, about some experiment with artificial flesh.

“Actually,” she interrupted, “that is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Oh? So this isn’t merely a social visit?” As though they’d ever had social visits. “Well, then, I will say this much—I am certainly glad of it. In truth I did not think you would change your mind so soon, but I am glad you have. Now we might move forward.”

His approval pleased her, and her pleasure in that approval disgusted her. 

Avernus knew in detail answers to questions she hadn’t even thought to ask. How to keep a subject alive, with minimal suffering. How to prevent a subject’s spirit from becoming...that thing she had made. She burned with shame to think that she hadn’t asked him before. So much could have been avoided. Already her pride had wrought so much waste.

The only thing she did not mention  was Veritas. She knew what he would say if he knew, and did not want to hear it. Avernus was still sour about his encounter with the demon possessing Sophia Dryden, and would curse her occasionally, anytime he found another thing wrong with the quality of the Fade.

“By the way,” he said, “that black crystal of yours. I looked through my library. I cannot confirm it, but it may be depleted lyrium. You can copy my notes if you wish.”

“Oh. Thank you. I will.” She’d never even heard of such a thing before. When she had shown the crystal to Veritas, the demon had hissed and flinched and demanded she take it away immediately. It had been so enraged, all thousand of its eyes bent upon the thing in hatred; it was one of the few times Loriel had felt frightened of it.

Somehow, despite it all, they settled into an old rhythm, of stark and easy mutual curiosity and intellectual challenge. The extended period of no contact meant that there was much to discuss; his lab space was no longer even recognizable, and Avernus could talk about his ongoing experiments for hours.

There was only one bench he hadn’t spoken of.

“That is old work,” he said. “I figured out the formula years ago. There are some perfections to be made, of course, but there are greater challenges.”

“But what does it do?”

He raised a nearly nonexistent eyebrow. “Do you not know? This is the same tincture you stole from me, when you first barged into my fortress.”

“My fortress,” Loriel corrected. “My deepest apologies for the intrusion. I hadn’t realized you were so enjoying being trapped in your tower and tormented by demons.”

“I far prefer to be trapped in my tower and tormented by my superior officer.” The man’s grin was truly skull-like. She was thankful he rarely showed it. “So, you mean to tell me you never made use of it?”

“No. I hardly even remember taking it,” she said. Lie, she heard Veritas breathe in her ear. “It was only a passing curiosity. Though I suppose might still have it somewhere.” As though she did not know exactly in which drawer she had stowed it. 

“Hmph. Your passing curiosity cost me four months of work. I had to reconstitute it from scratch. Mind you, the new one was better...so I suppose I should thank you.” Avernus hmphed in amusement and returned to his workbench. “I could tell you hadn’t drunk it yourself, but I thought perhaps you had passed it onto one of your less talented compatriots. That woman of yours, perhaps. Where has that one gotten to, anyway? I have not seen her here of late.”

At first Loriel could only stare in disbelief. By some miracle, in all these years, Avernus had not once, not a single time, ever inquired about her. 

Loriel laughed, a thin dry sound, and couldn’t stop. 

She knew that there was some reason that she liked him. No wonder he hadn’t written over the past year. What was a year to him? He probably had no idea she’d even been angry. That she had spent any time at all worrying about what he thought of her suddenly struck her as the height of absurdity.

“And just what is so funny?” the old blood mage said dryly. Dryly, of course dryly. Anything so old would be so dry. Would she live long enough to dry out like him?

The thought of enduring so many years sobered her instantly. “Nothing. Nothing. My apologies.” She shook her head. “So, what does this tincture do?”

“Yes, yes, don’t be so impatient. It allows a Grey Warden direct access to the taint in his blood, and draw power from it.”

“From the taint? Like blood magic, but with darkspawn blood?”

“Ah, but only a mage might learn blood magic. With my brew, any Grey Warden, even a mundane could have gained this power. Limitedly, of course, limitedly...there is simply no substitute for a lifetime of training, but a strong-willed Grey Warden born without a hint of Fade about him might have eventually bested a mage of mediocre Circle training. A Grey Warden is so intimately connected to the taint in his blood, you know...Many of my subjects mentioned how profoudnly it changed them to truly gain mastery over that part of themselves.” Then he shrugged. “But the side effects could be quite unpleasant. Took me ages to work out a formula that wouldn’t kill the subject sooner or later. Worth it, perhaps, but perhaps not. Certainly  interesting for a Warden mage...there is nothing quite like it. The precision of blood magic, without the cost.” The old mage shrugged. “Mind—the vial you have must have long expired. It is likely poison now. Here is your chance, if you still want it.”

She glanced askance at the bubbling still. “No thank you,” she said primly. “I am not in the habit of experimenting on myself.”

“That is precisely your problem,” Avernus snorted. “But suit yourself.”

Lie, lie, lie, rang Veritas’s sing-song in her head. Of course she had not forgotten the vial. Every once in a while, organizing her cupboards, she would come across it, black and still bubbling, alive, after all these years. She would pick it up, and hold it, and feel its unnatural warmth in her hand. She had done so just last month.

She ended up staying longer at Soldier’s Peak than strictly necessary. There was, as ever, much to do, but for the first time in a long time she was not eager to do it.

tck

“How much powdered deathroot for a draught of neutralization?”

“One of a thousandth of fifteen grams.”

Loriel measured it out, and did not speak again for many long minutes, when she asked: “What is the temperature at which silverite melts?”

“Six-thousand and seventeen degrees.”

She checked the expensive thermometer, ordered for a kingly sum direct from Orzammar, and raised the temperature in the furnace. It would be some time before it would be ready. She would take the opportunity to organize her notes from Avernus. 

Veritas prowled. The summoning spell Loriel had been using lately allowed for it.

“Where was Angletierre?” she asked idly, coming across a name she did not recognize.

“It is an old name for Ferelden, in Old Orlesian.” Loriel hummed vaguely and kept reading, until Veritas lost its patience. 

“Was there a purpose to you summoning me? Or do you intend to sit in silence ignoring me except when you desire answers to your petty questions?”

“The summoning spell takes nearly five minutes,” Loriel said indifferently, turning a page. “It doesn’t make sense to dismiss and recall you each time I have something to ask. You have free movement about this space; use it if you like.”

“You are incredibly rude, to invite a guest into your home and then ignore him all day long.” When she did not respond, it prodded her: “So, how has your pet blood mage been?”

“Same as ever. Naturally.” She set the stack of books and notes that she had brought upon the oaken desk. “I believe I am comfortable moving forward now, with the next set of experiments."

“And when can I expect to meet him? I think he and I would get along.”

“Never. Not happening.”

“Why, Loriel Surana. It almost sounds as though you are ashamed of me. Don’t you want to take me home to meet the rest of the family?”

“Shut up,” she said vaguely, without much venom. “Go and find him in the Fade, if you are so curious.”

“That’s the problem with you blood mages. You hardly touch the Fade.”

“Then you will have to live with disappointment.”

Veritas’s lion tail swished back and forth. “It’s mostly the mages with an unusual propensity for my kind that I can find most easily. Spirit mages, you call them.”

“Mhm.” Loriel stayed focused on organizing the notes. 

“She’s doing just fine without you, you know.”

She was at first so puzzled by the non sequitur that she had no idea how to respond. “Pardon?”

The demon’s eyes blinked and shivered all over its body, as its words slowly registered. 

“You should see her from my end,” said Veritas, relishing every word. “Lit up like a beacon. Impossible to miss. Shall I tell you where she is?”

The spell broke. “No, thank you.”

“She’s in Dairsmuid right now. Surrounded by family and friends, free and whole at last.”

“Good. That was quite the point.”

Silence for a time. “You could have been so happy together.”

“We already weren’t.”

She got through several sheafs before the demon spoke again, “Does it bother you, that you are utterly alone?”

“I am no more alone than anybody else.”

“How interesting. You appear to really believe that.”

“Am I wrong?” She snorted. “We’re all alone inside our heads, at the end of the day.”

“And yet you pour your heart out to a demon, one you regard as not-even-a-person, so desperate are you not to be so alone.”

“I am pouring nothing.” She rolled the scroll up with a snap and turned to give the demon her full attention. “Veritas. Precisely what is the point of this little game?”

Veritas smiled broadly. “Simply making conversation.”

“Not one I am interested in having," she snapped. "I do not live in the past. You cannot draw me there with taunts.”

Veritas chuckled, so deep that the stone itself seemed to shake. “Ridiculous mageling. As though you are anything but a mountainous heap of Past, covered by the thinnest crust of Present.”

She rolled her eyes. “Clever. But if you wish to perturb me then I suggest you try a different approach. I do not think of her. I do not think of that time in my life at all.”

It tilted its head. “How interesting! That was the truth. You really don’t think of her.” It settled, and at first Loriel thought it was the end of it. “But she thinks of you.  And such thoughts they are, shouted out into the Fade for anyone to hear. Aren’t you curious what they are?”

“I have no intention in indulging myself,” she said, which was not, strictly speaking, the answer to its question.

Veritas huffed. “You are intolerably boring.”

“I am truly sorry that I cannot be of more amusement. But there is nothing true in this world that I would flinch to know. I am not afraid of you.”

Suddenly the demon sprang up. She felt rather than saw it move.

“You should be afraid. And you should be sorry.” She could feel its hot breath on the back of her neck. “If you did not amuse me, I would not give you so many truths for free.”

Slowly, slowly, she turned around. It knew as well as she did that if it touched her, it would be bound. Loriel had embedded the glyph in her skin. She made a point to smile. “For free? As though I rely on your generosity?”

“You can no more force me to serve you than drink the Fade.”

“Try me," she hissed. "I like you, Veritas, and I like your company. You keep me honest.” She thought—intended—the spell of repulsive force. The demon skidded away from her, into the corner, growling. “But this latest game of yours is tiresome and nothing requires me to tolerate it. I summoned you in the first place because I was not on speaking terms with my collaborator, and that is no longer the case.”

“Indeed? You have no further need of me?” The demon’s thousand eyes gleamed. “Is that why you summoned me hours ago, just to keep you company?”

“I said I liked your company. Not that I needed it.”

“Hmm. That is so. It seems that there is precious little that you need. And even less you want." Again the demon settled. "You fascinate me, Loriel Surana. You are rude, but you are interesting.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

A period of renewed silence, interrupted only by the scratching of her quill.

“Did you know,” said the demon of truth, “that your mother has been waiting in the courtyard to see you for over a fortnight?”

The spilled ink ruined several sheafs of parchment, and the stain never did come out of the woodgrain.

[samthemarvelfan]

I Won’t Say: Chapter Two

-Words-

Summary: Ellaria Stark is the daughter of a king. When she is unwittingly betrothed to the King of a neighboring city, she isn’t sure how to feel. More importantly, she isn’t sure how the King will feel if he finds out the truth about her.

Pairing: James Barnes x OFC, Ellaria Stark. (Stark!Reader.)

Warnings: Royal!AU, Angst, self-doubt, alcohol, mentions of death.

A/N: Here comes the drama! This is just the very beginning of what these two are going to be put through. Enjoy! Taglist is open!

Taglist:  @iheartsebastianstan @jjlizz @stuckysbabe @sk493494 @lefoutoir @nickangel13 @marvelismysafezone @lilulo-12 @warmvanillafeels @star-spangled-beard-burn @ravenesque @pinknerdpanda @wintersoldierissucharide @snapcapquartet @ellen-reincarnated1967 @unlistedpond @my-drowning-in-time @supernaturalwintersoldier @kimvmarvel @roseboho @winterboobear11 @choicesloversstuff @disaffectedbarnes @igothroughphasesalot (strikethrough means the tag didn’t work! I’m sorry!)

Your quarters were perfect.

A four post bed, with navy silk bedding, and matching curtains. The windows, nearly as tall as the walls, were stained glass. Elaborate pictures of wolves and wolf packs pieced together in different colors, casting beautiful rainbows that danced around the room.

Your trunks had been delivered, and you were going through them, when there was a knock at your door.

Wanda fetched it, and as it opened, she squealed with excitement.

“You look wonderful! I was hoping you’d find me!” She shouted, hugging the woman who’d walked in.

She was stunning; milky white skin with hair like flames.

“I had to come see you as soon as I’d heard you’d arrived! Oh, your majesty.” She curtsied as she caught your eye.

“Hello.” You said kindly.

“Ellaria, this is my cousin, Natasha. She’s been working for the Barnes’ for as long as I can remember!” Wanda said proudly.

Natasha smiled, “I was Her Majesty’s lady, you highness.”

“Oh, please. I detest the formalities, Ellaria will do just fine.” You plead.

“Very well.” She smirked, turning back to Wanda. “I’m afraid the king didn’t know she’d be bringing her own lady, he’s instructed me to be at Ellaria’s hand.”

“Perhaps we could share duties? If that pleases you?” Wanda quirked an eyebrow at you.

A soft chuckle escaped you, “That’s perfect. Wanda, would you like to rest before dinner?”

Her face spoke the relief she must be feeling. It’s exhausting to hear others thoughts and feel others feelings all day, you know she needed to regain her strength. “Thank you.” She said hugging you.

“Would you care for a bath before the feast your maje—“

“Ah-ah...” you tut.

She laughed, “Would you like to bathe before the feast, Ellaria?”

You winked, “I would love one.”

Natasha filled the copper tub with steaming hot water, and rose petals, as well as her own combination of oils. The room smelled of rose and honeysuckle, and for the first time all day, you felt yourself relax.

“Not that you’ll need the help wooing the king, but having supple skin never hurts.”

You smiled as you ran the washing sponge along your chest. “Natasha, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

You hesitate, but eventually speak. “How well do you know the king?”

Natasha smiled softly, “I would say quite well. I’ve known him most of my life. My Mother worked for the crown before she passed a few years ago.”

You place a hand on hers. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she waves, “she was sick for quite some time, being dead is better than suffering in my book.”

She stirred in more water and petals for you, the milky water covering your bosom. “But James is...different than most men. At least in my experience.”

She sat on the stool next to the tub, “He’s quiet...reserved. James is very stubborn as well, but his heart is pure. He cares for his city and his people so much.” Natasha drifted off, hesitating, before clearing her throat. “I heard he didn’t make the best first impression, but you must understand, he’s been through a lot these past few months.”

You nod. Truly, you did understand. How could he be expected to love with a broken heart? He needed to heal his heart and maybe—just maybe, it could be opened enough for you.

The feast was due to begin, and every noble in the kingdom arrived; eager to get a look at the new Queen.

To the citizens of Buchanan, your arrangement was set in stone. Little did they know James could change all that at any moment.

You heard the court crier bang his staff, “Attention all,” he called, “Please rise for her majesty, Ellaria Stark, Princess of the Iron Kingdom and future Queen of Buchanan.”

Every member of the court rose as you entered to tremendous applause.

Steve was stood waiting for you by your chair, it was one of the two at the head of the room. Both of which were gold and ornate in design.

“Your highness,” he greeted, bowing to you.

You smiled at him as he offered you his hand. “Thank you.” You stood quietly waiting in front of your seat.

“Attention all, please rise for his royal highness, James Barnes, protector and King of Buchanan.”

James walked in with Sam behind him. His people cheered and applauded with great respect and admiration.

He smiled and waved to the crowds before him; a handsome, warm and genuine smile. The crowds began to calm, and you watched them look to their king.

“Citizens of Buchanan, members of court,” he said proudly, commanding attention with every syllable. “I welcome you to this celebration. Buchanan is a place for the people, and I would never abandon you.”

Chills ran across your skin as he gave his speech. Watching the crowds eyes light up as James spoke to them. It was incredible.

“While we may mourn still, and perhaps forever, we must not dwell on loss. Why...look what we have gained,” he says, turning and looking at you for the first time.

James reached out for your hand. When you oblige, he held it softly, placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles that sends your heart into a tizzy.

“This city—this kingdom has found its missing piece. A Queen deserving of its people, and a people deserving of such a queen.” His voice was sincere and gentle.

His eyes had not left you, as a small smile fell to his lips. He froze for a moment suddenly, almost as if he realized he was being watched.

James let your hand fall softly back to your side. “This marriage is a promise to you all, that we will stand strong. This pack will survive. To Buchanan!” He shouted, raising his goblet.

“To Buchanan!” The crowd replied.

He looked at you once more. Where his sweet smile once was, now showed nothing, in fact, it was almost a frown. James leaned down and handed you your goblet.

“and to Ellaria. My betrothed. May you find your purpose here, and learn your place.”

“To her majesty!” They shout.

Learn my place? Find a purpose? You thought to yourself.

His people may have been fooled, but not you. You knew his intentions weren’t noble in the slightest, his words were a harsh reality coming to light. A reminder that you were now, and always would be, and obligation.

Was that all this was? A mockery of your presence?

You kept your head high, refusing to allow his ignorance to upset you. If he wants to act like a child, so be it.

When the feast began, you’d sat and were being served the first course.

James had still not spoken to you directly since his speech, so you decided to take it upon yourself to let him know how his comment made you feel.

“Your majesty, thank you for you very kind and thoughtful words towards me. I especially think them kind seeing as you’ve yet to converse with me for more than a moment.” You quipped politely, as you were surrounded by members of court.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Sam stifle a laugh.

James swallowed hard. “The words were no trouble, they were just that. Words.” He sneered.

You swallowed a bite of your meal. “Steve is quite lovely, as is Samuel. It’s refreshing that they are as kind and humble as they seemed to be.”

You couldn’t help but smirk as you drew your fork to your mouth, eager to hear his passive aggressive remarks.

“Really? What makes you think they’re kind? Because they endured listening to you speak for a few moments?” He said angrily.

“Your highness...” Steve cautioned.

James sipped his wine-filled goblet as you swallowed your food. You hadn’t meant to anger him, just make him realize that his boorishness had consequences.

“Forgive me. I won’t speak unless required. Not to you.” You say in a hushed tone.

He slammed his cup onto the table, and turned to look at you for the first time since his speech. “Good.” He said curtly.

The rest of the evening, once you’d left the King’s side, was wonderful. You’d met several members of the court and entertained as best you could. You were new here after all.

“I think Buchanan is going to be in wonderful hands.” Lord Fury remarked.

You’d met him an hour or so ago, and enjoyed his company.

“Thank you for that, my Lord. I’m nervous, I want to do its citizens proud.” Your said earnestly.

Lady Maria, his companion, spoke up. “You will. You’re strong, I can tell. You have all of your wits about you, and you have a kind heart. That part is easy to see.” 

You heard the bang of the staff and turned to give your attention to the crier, “The feast has ended.”

Turning around, you see Steve by your side. “Your majesty, if you please.” Steve said offering you his arm.

You nod. “Lovely to meet you, again.” You say with a wave, bidding goodbye to the guests.

It wasn’t until you were safely back into the castles quarters that you felt a sigh of relief. The nobles of Buchanan had seen you and met you and dined with you. 

And they seemed pleased.

“You did wonderful.” Steve whispered, earning a small smile from you.

You let out a shakey breath. “I was terrified. I hope they trust me.”

He laughed, “You’d know if they didn’t.”

You thought for a moment, before sighing. “The King doesn’t trust me—or like me for that matter.”

Steve slowed his pace, relinquishing your arm. “He doesn’t know you yet. Give him time, he will change his tune. His speech may have been laden with insincerities, but the words ring true.”

You fiddle with your hands for a moment, “Steve, I want to thank you for being so kind to me. It’s made this whole day much easier.”

He smiled genuinely, “I look forward to serving you as my Queen, but I also know a good person when I see one.”

When you continued your walk, Natasha suddenly appeared around the corner, with a big bright smile.

“Steven.” She said with a smirk.

His cheeks reddened. “Nat.”

She looked at him dreamily for a moment before speaking. “His Majesty is requesting an audience with Ellaria.”

In an instant, your stomach dropped. “Now? Isn’t it a bit late?” You naively hoped.

She smiled softly, “I’m afraid he’s insisting, your highness.”

You look to Steve, who smiles gently at you.

Clearing your throat, you take a step toward Natasha. “Very well.”

The doors to James quarters were black oak—shiny and strong, with large golden handles. Thank goodness Nat walked you here, you would have gotten lost otherwise.

“Do I wait here for him?” You ask Natasha.

She shakes her head lightly. “No, go in. He’ll find you in a moment.”

Turning back to face the doors, you let out a shaken breath. Pressing your palm against the cool, metal handle, you push it open and enter his room. 

The bed is the first thing you notice. Black and four posted, like the one in your suite. His linens however, were black in color and seemed to be silk. 

All of his furniture was black wood. Stained to be glossy and finished with golden knobs and handles. Even his chandelier and the candles in it were black.

Has he always been in mourning? You ask yourself.

The sudden slamming of a door in one of the rooms across from you steals you attention.

James walked in, his trousers unbuttoned and shirtless.

If it weren’t so improper, you’re sure you’d be drooling. His body seemed to be carved out of marble. Beautifully sculpted chest feathered with soft brown hairs; a sign of his manhood.

His jaw clenched as he stood before you, drinking you in. His hair was a bit disheveled but that didn’t matter, he was fanciable in any state.

But soon, your eyes were drawn to his arm—his left arm. Not an ounce of flesh to be found, just metal, mimicking his own body. You’d heard of mages being able replicate lost body parts, but not like this—and certainly never of metal.

“Your majesty.” You bow. You’re not his wife yet, therefore, not his equal.

He stalked towards you slowly, taking you in as he did. His glassy eyes scanned your face, as though looking for something. You tried to maintain eye contact. Prove to him that you weren’t intimidated by him, but you failed.

He was inches from you now. “What is it, Princess?” He seethed, allowing your to smell the alcohol on his breath. “Do I frighten you?”

Truth be told, in this moment, yes. Not that you’d ever admit that aloud to him.

You force you eyes back to meet his, those beautiful cerulean orbs.

“N-no.” You said as bravely as you could muster.

He scoffs, “Liar. It frightens everyone. You’re not different, you’re not special.”

His words were full of malice, but it seemed he wasn’t aiming it at you.

“I’m not bothered by it, if that’s what you’re asking. Something tells me you are, though.” You say gently, hoping to ease his mind a bit.

James grabbed a bottle off of the table nearest to us. “You don’t know me.” He said, taking a swig.

Using any confidence you had left, you slowly reached out to him, and take the bottle from his grip. He relinquishes it with no fight. That surprises you, and by the looks of it, it’s surprised him too.

“I don’t. But I’d like too. You getting piss drunk won’t help with that.” You say, placing the bottle in a trash bin.

He blinks, and you see him almost crack a smile. Almost.

“Why are you here?” He asked.

You look at him confused, “Natasha told me you wanted to—“

“No,” he interrupts, “why are you here?”

He moves to you again, circling you as he speaks.

“What are you gaining from this? It can’t be for the money, the Iron Kingdom is the richest in the country. It can’t be to benefit your people, you’re abandoning them. Why are you here, Ellaria?”

The way he said your name sent shivers up your spine. You felt your skin cover with goosebumps as he came around to face you again.

“Is it so hard to believe that I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart? That I see a man struggling with unimaginable loss and want to help? I see a people who are happy and thriving, and to take all of that away from them over something so trivial would be despicable.”

He scoffs, “Being forced into a marriage is trivial to you?”

You nod, “When it comes to keeping a city from falling to ruin, I believe so. If this be a loveless marriage, so be it. I won’t let your inability to care for me stand in the way of innocent children and families having a good life.”

James blinks a few times, shocked by your answer. However, he doesn’t speak, so you continue.

“I resent your words. All of them. I’m not abandoning my people. My sister will become the new heir. Had I been the only option, I can assure I would not be here—being insulted and mocked by my betrothed the very night we met.”

With your confidence regained you turn to walk away from him, but pause.

“My heart breaks for you, James. I’m sorry that you’re being forced into this because of such tragedy, and perhaps it was silly of me to believe we might...” Your words drift off, there’s no point in fighting.

“I’m here because I was told you were a good man. That remains to be seen.” With that, you curtsy once more. “Sleep well.” You say to him as you leave the room.

James couldn’t sleep.

Then again, could he ever? No. Not since the attack.

The way his parents bodies were returned to him; his mothers throat slashed open and his father gutted like a pig. He knew only one person could be responsible.

He just didn’t want to face it.

Your image kept the thoughts at bay. Your eyes, how happy they were when he first spoke of you at the feast, and in truth, he meant every word.

Perhaps that’s what scared him. He spoke with the intention of fooling people, but inadvertently spoke the truth. Maybe that’s why he had to insult you, to remind himself that this was a business transaction. Nothing more.

To deny himself the pleasure of loving you.

Your voice echoed in his ears. “If this be a loveless marriage, so be it.” James didn’t want that, and he certainly didn’t want that for you.

But he couldn’t afford to love. Not really.

Or rather, his heart couldn’t. Not when those you love are so easily ripped away from you. How was it you were so strong? And so willing to forgo love for the sake of others?

He admired that. He admired you.

He hated hurting you this way, but it was necessary. To keep you safe, and to protect himself from feeling the despair that comes with losing someone you love. He couldn’t love you, as much as he wanted too.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Chapter Three: Of Noble Birth and Titles

[all1e23]

Astrophile [Pt.10]

Chapter:  Moonbeams & Starlight

Summary:  It’s Orion’s 5th birthday!

Warnings:  FLUFF

A/N: It’s  May29th! That means it’s Ori’s birthday! So what’s a better way to celebrate than reading about her birthday party!! Send me love because I’m needy, okay?!  Plus all your comments make my day. Beta’d by the beautiful and talented @wintersxsoul I love you 3000.

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed! Thanks!**

It’s incredible how fast things get done when someone knows the important people and knows exactly what to say to light a fire under the right asses. Y/n’s apartment was cleaned up in record time, and thankfully, the leak hadn’t caused any damage to her furniture or any of the things her grandparents left her. There are still boxes of personal items to be put away, and everything in the bottom drawers of her wardrobe and kitchen cabinets had to be taken out to avoid any potential damage, but other than that everything was back to normal.

Thanks to Tony’s quick thinking and actions, nothing was severely damaged and she will be forever grateful. 

After their sunset confession, Bucky and Y/n made sure to keep in touch every single day and most days they ended their nights with a video chat – to talk about Ori’s party of course. It did not have anything to do with the fact that they hated being this far apart from each other.

Why anyone would think that is completely absurd if you ask Bucky.

By the day of the party, Y/n is practically vibrating out of her skin from her excitement. She’s naturally excited for Ori to see all the work that was put into the shop– it was a lot of effort on everyone’s part. They moved all the shelves to the outer walls of the shop and filled the middle with every space themed treat she could come up with, Tony had her favorite restaurant cater, floating stars (both lit and glittered), a fake shuttle, and every chair had its own pair of rocket boosters. Tony’s balcony is going to be permanently stained from all the silver and red spray paint used to make those jetpacks.  As excited as she was to see Ori’s reaction, she is just as excited to give that sweet girl a hug and laying eyes on her dad wouldn’t be the worst thing.

She just hopes It’s everything Ori’s has pictured.

“Oh. My. Stars!” Ori squeals and runs full force towards Y/n who turns around just in time to catch the little girl and hugs her as tight as she can without hurting her, “This is already the best party ever! Thank you, Y/n! Thank you!”

Okay, maybe this is a big, big win.

“You’re welcome, sweet girl,” Y/n whispers and kisses her head. “Wanna check it all out?”

Steve smirks and looks over at Bucky as they all slowly make their way into the small bookstore, "Where did she get ‘oh my stars’ from?”

“Y/n says that. I guess she’s picking up a few things,” Bucky says, smiling at Y/n and Ori, eyes sparkling as he watches the two of them moving about the store.

Steve whistles lowely and shakes his head, “Better be careful. You’ve got stars in your eyes, Buck.”

Y/n hoists Ori up on her hip so she can try to touch all the stars hanging from the ceiling.  Ori stretches her arm up high enough to catch two of the gold glittering stars and giggles when Y/n attaches it to her pigtails. Bucky doesn’t think he minds having stars in his eyes as long as they lead him to her.

-------

To say the party was a huge success would be putting it mildly.

Not that Bucky had any doubts with Y/n planning it. There is no way she would let Ori be disappointed on a typical day, so there is zero chance this was going to be some sloppily thrown together mess.It’s her birthday and he could hear Y/n’s voice in his head, she’s special on every day, but she should get to be extra special. Even knowing all that, Bucky is blown away by the thought she put into every single detail – even the food.

There are star and mood shaped Rice Crispy Treats, moon cake pops, and star-shaped pizza – that Bucky is sure Tony paid an arm and a leg for. The cake is two-tier covered in tiny stars, fondant planets, a space shuttle with ‘Orion’ iced on the front to look like a constellation. Bucky wanted to get her alone to talk from the moment he arrived, it’s been over a week since he’s laid eyes on her in the flesh, but Ori has held her attention from git-go.

That is until now.

Steve and Sam have Ori playing inside the bright silver shuttle Y/n spent all week crafting from cardboard, paint, tulle, and glitter. Bucky scans the small group of people and spots Y/n leaning against the back wall of books, a huge smile on her face as she watches Ori playing. He tucks his hands in his pockets and makes his way over to her, his nerves starting to pick up the closer he gets. Y/n’s gaze was steadfast on Ori, but she looks up the moment he stops in front of her, and everything about her glows– all because of him.

Three or four sentences start and die on his tongue before he finally gives her a lopsided smile and offers a soft but heartfelt compliment, “Not a bad party, Beck.”

“Thanks,” she beams in response. “I had a pretty important little girl to impress.”

“Trust me. You’ve been her favorite for months now, but I think this secured it for the rest of your life,” Bucky says, earnestly but there is something in her eyes he can’t place – something that resembles worry, genuine happiness quickly overtakes the concern and he can’t help but grin.

"So Stark did all this?” He asks, leaning against the wall next to her, but his eyes stay on Ori. He doesn’t think he can look at Y/n right now, not when she’s going to talk about how great Tony is.

“You can call him Tony, you know,” she retorts, smiling.

“So Stark did all this?” Bucky repeats, grinning widely.

Y/n rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest, still smiling. 

“Yes. Tony did all the organizing and helped with my apartment. I picked everything out, and he helped me get everything set up so the two of you could be surprised. He’s not that bad.”  

“Never said he was.”

“Why don’t you like him?” Y/n asks, honestly curious and maybe a little worried she overstepped. “It is because we went on a few dates? Are you upset that he’s dating me?”

“I never said that I didn’t like the two of you together.  I don’t– He’s not right for you. He’s not the one,” Bucky says with such conviction, such certainty it’s as if he’s privy to some secret she doesn’t know. It’s as if he has an in with Fate or God or whoever binds soulmates names in the stars.

“Then who is, huh?” Y/n asks, slight teasing in her voice surprising even her. “Care to share with the class?”     

Bucky locks eyes with her, his mouth dry, and his heart hammering against his chest – it’s pounding so hard he can feel it in his ears. He swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head, breaking their eye contact.

“Not him, Y/n,” He says, barely above a whisper. “Not him.”

Tony watches as Bucky walks away leaving Y/n confused and slightly flustered. He spent the majority of the party just watching. As far as kids go, Ori is pretty great, and it is fun to watch her roast her dad and uncles, but what is most interesting out of everything, Bucky and Y/n. Every time Y/n is distracted by setting out food or decorations, organizing games, or playing with Ori, Bucky follows her like he’s unable to look away. Anytime Bucky says anything to Y/n, she shines brighter than the pre-light stars hanging from the ceiling.

It doesn’t take a genius to see what’s happening, but he’s known something was up since their first date. The way she says his name was a dead give away and it’s easy to spot once you know the signs. Tony knows every sign from personal experience. He never did manage to work up the nerve to say something and probably never will.

If any good is going to come out of his colossal screw-up, this was it. Tony can help keep Y/n from repeating his mistakes.

“Hey,” Y/n leans against the wall next to him and slips her hand into his. “What are you doing hiding over here? Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this, you should be enjoying all your  hard work.”

“No big deal,’ Tony shrugs, carefree and easy.  “Just made a few calls.”

History doesn’t have to repeat itself, Tony reminds himself

“So tell me something,” He nods towards Bucky and turns to face her. “When are you going to admit you have feelings for Bucko boy over there?” 

Y/n chokes, gasping on whatever she is drinking from her cosmic colored paper cup, making Tony grin as he pats her back in the most unhelpful way possible.

“I’m not – I don’t – I’m here with you. I don’t– we are just friends,” Y/n sputters.

“Right. That’s why you both keep stealing glances at each other when you’re not looking? And when he says anything at all to you, your face lights up like you just discovered a new constellation?  And it doesn’t matter what you say, every time you speak Bucko gets that dumb dreamy look on his face like you’re the most the amazing thing he’s ever seen in his life.”

“He doesn’t look at me like that,” she admonishes, quietly, letting her eyes drop to the ground.

“He does, Y/n.”

Tony gives her hand a gentle tug coaxing her to look up when she does he tilts his head towards Bucky, and she catches the brunette staring. Even from across the room, she can see his cheeks pink, and he quickly looks down to hide his face, but she can spot that smile from a block away.

“It’s okay, you know? We can still be friends. I mean, the fooling around has been great so if you want to continue that–” Y/n’s head whips back around towards him and playfully punches him in the stomach. Tony groans, fighting off his laughter, “Don’t be an idiot is all I’m saying. You’re going to end up like me and miss out on what’s right in front of you.”

“Pepper?” She asks, her eyes soften, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah, Pepper,” he forces a smile, the one he uses for press and interviews she come to learn, and kisses her forehead. 

“Alright, this is getting gross. I’m feeling sick to my stomach with all this lovey-dovey talk. I want you to know I meant what I said, but…” Tony flashes a genuine grin and wiggles his brows. “if you wanna go back to my place and work out your feelings? All night. I’m here for whatever you need. I can be that friend for you.”

She rolls her eyes and presses a light kiss to his cheek. A loud rueful laugh and a tiny giggle fill the air, and she turns to find the owners, warmth spreading through her chest when she spots Bucky tickling Ori – she knows where she wants to be tonight.

“I think I’m gonna help Bucky get Ori home.”

“Yeah,” Tony smirks. “I thought you would. Just don’t wait to tell him, okay?”

“You tell Pepper first,” Y/n counters, grinning smugly.

“Good God,” Tony groans. “Remind me again why I dated you?”

“Because I’m out of this world!”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

Bucky didn’t have another chance to talk Y/n after their awkward moment, he hasn’t been the best at talking to her lately. It didn’t matter anyway, right after their chat they went straight into cake and gifts, and now Ori is fast asleep in his arms. He doubts he’s going to have a moment alone with Y/n before she heads home with Tony. Steve is just finishing loading the last of the presents in his car when Bucky spots Y/n walking over with a bag and he assumes it’s to spend the night with Tony, but he frowns as she walks up to him instead and wonders aloud, “What are you doing? I thought you were going home with Tony.”  

She smiles and shakes her head, wiping a bit of icing off Ori’s cheek once she is within reach. Ori wrinkles her nose and nuzzles her face into Bucky’s shoulder,  “I’m going home with you. If that’s okay. My apartment is still a bit of a mess.”

Not a total lie, not the whole truth either.

“Of course, it’s okay,” Bucky assures her. 

“Everything alright? I saw your talk before… I’ll kick his ass if I have to. I’ve been waiting for an excuse to kick his ass actually. For years.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine.” She replies with amusement and fond exasperation.  “No ass kicking needed. Sometimes your heart does its own thing, and you don’t know where it’s leading you until it’s standing right in front of you.”

“If this is about what I said earlier–”

Y/n presses her fingers to his lips and shakes her head. 

“It’s not. Well, it is, but it’s not because you said it. You were right, though.”

“I was?” Bucky mumbles around her fingers, making her giggle and causing her to drop her fingers from his lips – much to his displeasure.

“Yeah, you were, Buck.”

-------

Y/n tucks Ori’s blanket around her and secures her canopy behind her headboard while the little girl gets comfortable. She flicks her Frozen night light on and sets her stuffed animals around her in bed, intent on heading back downstairs, but a sweet, soft voice stops her, “Y/n?”

“Yeah, starlight?” Y/n answers, already walking back to her bed.

“Can you stay with me for a minute?”

Y/n smiles as Ori raises the end of her pink blanket enough for Y/n to climb into bed next to Ori. She immediately wraps herself around Y/n, and Y/n returns the gesture pulling her as close as she can.

“Story?”

“A story?” Y/n repeats. “I don’t think I know any off the top of my head.”

“Make one up?” She mumbles, still half dazed from falling asleep on her dad’s shoulder – sugar crash might have had a hand in that as well. “You work with books. You have to know all the stories.”

“I guess you are right about that,” Y/n chuckles and closes her eyes, running her fingers through the little girl’s curls as she frantically tries to come up with a story. Then it hits her like a meteor.

 “Okay. Here we go. It’s a story about–”

“Love?”

“Well, yes – I guess it is.”

Ori smiles and snuggles closer to Y/n, “I like this kind of story.”

“Me too,” Y/n smiles and kisses the top of her head. 

“Okay. One day, a young princess brought her daddy, the king, into one of the village shops. A young, peasant girl worked there. The moment the shopkeeper laid eyes on them, she knew her life would never be the same…”

It takes bucky thirty freaking minutes to get all of her gifts inside the house. Tony bought her a mountain of gifts, and he’s pretty sure none are acceptable for a five-year-old. Combine all of those with all the presents Steve and Nat got her, Ori is going to need a room just for her toys. That, or he’s going to need a second living room because she’s slowly taking over the only one they have.

He sets the last of the gifts down next to the couch and closes the front door. It was oddly quiet for two rowdy rascals. He wanders through the house, softly calling out for Y/n, but there’s no answer. She’s not in the kitchen or living room, and the bathroom downstairs is empty – no sign of the girls on the bottom floor at all. He slowly ascends the stairs and stops when he reaches the doorway of Ori’s bedroom.

“So, that’s where you got to,” Bucky mumbles softly, staring at Y/n fast asleep on the little girl’s bed and Ori snoozing on top of Y/n with her head on Y/n’s chest.

Bucky leans against the door and smiles at the sight before him. He knows he should wake Y/n up, Bucky’s fallen asleep in that bed more times than he can count, and it never ends up well, but he can’t bring himself to ruin this moment. Y/n snuggles Ori, and her head drops onto Ori’s, letting her cheek get lost in Ori's curls. Bucky smiles at the sight. There is a warmness in his heart despite the way his stomach is flipping, and his skin feels tingly. 

“Shit,” Bucky whispers, softly, careful of the girls sleeping only a few feet away from him. He forces himself to take a deep, stuttering breath, but no matter how much air he gulps into his lungs, it’s not enough. He fumbles as he pulls his phone out of the pocket and shuffles downstairs, calling the only person that can help.

“James?” Natasha murmurs softly. “What’s wrong? Is Ori okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. I need to ask you somethin’,” Bucky mutters quietly and peeks back up the stairs to make sure everyone is right where he left them – they are by some small miracle. 

“What, uh, what do you feel when you look at Clint?”

There is a long pause, and Bucky can hear shuffling, he assumes she is climbing out of bed and walking in another room where she can talk freely– he’s so grateful for that. Clint is a loud mouth, and he can’t keep a secret to save his life.

“Okay,” Nat says, clearly confused. “What?”

Bucky blows out a breath and collapses back onto the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger. It shouldn’t be this hard to explain, and yet, here he is, floundering like a teenage boy with a crush.

“Okay, so, when Clint is… doing Clint things,” He groans, exasperated and slightly embarrassed at himself. “You know, eating two slices of pizza at once, sleeping on the couch with his mouth open, being a pain in my ass– You look at him when he does all that, what does it feel like? In your chest, I mean.“

“James. What the hell are you talking about?” Natasha begs, her voice full of annoyance.

Great, now he’s managed to annoy the only person that can help him. He closes his eyes and sighs. It’s now or never and the prospect of never making him sick to his stomach. Here goes nothing.  

“I’m talking about Y/n. I think, what I feel for her, it’s more than I thought and a hell of a lot more than just friends.”

Previous // Next

[mistabullets]

"I’m worried about you.” + Polnareff, please!

D'avoir et de Tenir

Characters: Jean Pierre Polnareff x Reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: You wake up from a bad nightmare and your fiancee is here to comfort you.

Content Warning: death cw, grieving cw, violence cw, nightmares cw, mental illness (PTSD if you squint), fem!reader, she/her pronouns

You reasoned with yourself; moving to France will provide a new scene, a fresh restart from and away from the horrors of Cairo which constantly lurked in your mind and in your daily night terrors. You had thought you could live a life of tranquil with him, your dear Polnareff, your fiancee. 

Maybe you were wrong. 

Eventually, you won’t feel so confused and hurt when you processed the fact they were no longer here, alive on this earth. Eventually, you won’t feel like that there’s some part of you missing and you will be able to adjust, the emotions transcending from sorrow to nostalgia. Time heals wounds, people say when they attempt to comfort you but time was so damn slow. You felt weak for grieving for so long; you had barely known them but the bond you created with them was raw, intense, something akin to love you felt for a sibling. 

It had been a few months. You were slowly learning the language of your new county, thanks to your patient lover (he had been surprisingly patient with you for a lot of reasons). France was now your home and you did love every aspect of it... from the fine culture, the romantic language, and the places you promised to explore one day. France was a part of Jean Pierre; he was proud of his nation and homeland and thus, in turn, you loved it even more. Despite initially being annoyed by Polnareff’s vulgarity and provocative behavior, seemingly impulsive and arrogant, not thinking over the consequences. However, in the span of forty-something days, he unveiled his true colors to you. 

He’s an honorable man, not willing run away from a fight and whenever his mind is set on something, he’s going to do it... and out of all the Crusaders, he wears his heart on his sleeve, showing his compassion. Whenever you were upset, Polnareff was the first to detect your emotions and ask if you were okay. When he accidentally stumbled into your hotel room, tears running down your cheeks, he stayed and comforted you. Perhaps the two of you moved too fast but when you were constantly put in a life-or-death situation, well... it didn’t matter what others thought. Eventually, you sought out the Frenchman willingly and he would come to you, gifting you with desperate and needy kisses after defeating one of Dio’s agents and narrowly avoiding death’s embrace. Or sometimes, he would actually come to you, tears in his pretty blues, missing his dear sister. Your interactions with Polnareff blossomed into something special; a connection, genuine and vibrant. It felt secure, comforting, and pleasant.

It was love. You fell in love with Jean Pierre Polnareff, your complete opposite but also, your other half. He was a part of you that you wanted to follow. 

Which is why you proposed going back to France after Dio was defeated. His face flushed and you knew that he was in love with the idea of taking you home, starting over with domestic bliss. But that was before losing your friends. Avdol, Kakyoin, and even Iggy. You knew of the risk but you never figured that some of you were to die during that fateful encounter. Somehow, both of you held it in. But when you departed from Mr. Joestar and Jotaro, you couldn’t help but tear up, the moment too bittersweet. Kakyoin should have gone home to Japan, to study alongside Jotaro. Avdol should have been wishing you all farewell. You should have been taking Iggy home, back to France. You couldn’t help but feel, that you were leaving some part of you in Eygpt and it didn’t sit right. 

It never did. 

**

Blood. Decapitated arms, missing a body. Matted fur and broken bones, not breathing. A hole in his stomach, crimson streaming. The yells from a hoarse and tired voice. The defeated silence of a young man. River of tears from your lover. Red flashes. One step forward but two steps back. Confusion followed by fear tightening your throat. It’s him, Dio. A blink of an eye. How did he move so fast? Now you’re frozen, can’t move a limb. He’s approaching Jean Pierre. You try to scream. No, no, no, please, god, don’t, not him, not Jean--

Headless. A limp body drained of color is before you. 

You scream but too late. 

More blood, more red flashes. He’s approaching you now; a cold hand wraps around your neck. There’s a sharp pain. Your life is fading. Then darkness.

Eternal darkness.

“Mon cherie! Wake up, it’s okay--”

Eyelids flew open, your heart was hammering against your chest. Sweat beaded from your hairline and you felt yourself gasping for breath. You were in bed but the blanket felt too suffocating. You sat up, feeling the wetness staining your cheeks, realizing you had been crying in your sleep. Guilt pooled and filled your lungs; you must have woke up your beloved Pol and had him frightened by your moaning, pleading for the nightmare to end, it’s been about two weeks since your last one. You glanced over at your alarm clock, realizing it was three in the morning, groaning... Jean had to leave for work in a few hours. You attempted to dismiss it as just the usual nightmare and nothing more. But your fiancee can see through you. Sure, you shivered during your night terrors and sometimes called out the names of your past loved ones. But he had heard his name. You had moaned, tossing and turning as if trying to run away or do something in your dilemma. Tears were seeping through the slit of your closed eyes. Whatever it was, it had frightened you to your core. Polnareff grimaced as you tried to brush it off. He cared for your wellbeing, emotionally and mentally. 

“Sorry Jean, let me go grab a glass of water and I’ll come back to bed...” however before you had a chance to sit up from the bed, strong arms enveloped around your smaller form, pulling you in for a tight embrace. A gasp elicited from your mouth, into your lover’s chest, and your muscles tensed but large hands caressed the knots in your shoulders and back. Sheepishly, you dared to take a look at your dear Polnareff, only to be met with soft yet concerned sapphire hues. It was like you were a child, being nurtured and smothered by an overprotective mother... but it was nice, the embrace reassured you Jean was alive and well, heat radiating from his build and his heartbeat a lullaby. 

“Y/N, please... I know that wasn’t one of your usual nightmares. I’m worried about you. Don’t try to brush it off... I’m here for you, mon amour,” he murmured at the crown of your head, giving it a feather kiss. He was aware of your night terrors and tried his best to soothe away the pain. Dio was no longer a threat to them. Your friends don’t blame you for their immature deaths. He never minded easing away your fears, since he understood you would do the same for him, especially on evenings where he missed his younger sister. Memories swarm of the very first time Jean had comforted you like this in a hotel room, some small town in the Eygpt. While you appreciated his presence and being held, a blanket of certainly washing over you, you can’t help but worry you may be burdening the Frenchman. You knew he had his own emotional baggage; he dealt with trauma, probably better than you. Often, you couldn’t but feel the nagging feeling you were too clingy, too needy. 

“Are you sure, Jean? I know you must be tired, you have work soon, I-I... I don’t want to make you stay up just for me...” you babbled excuses but you heard the low hush from your beloved followed by the sensation of soft lips pressing against your forehead, muscular arms holding you closer, a hand running up and down, from your shoulder blades to the small of your back.

“Hush with that nonsense. You’re going to be my wife soon and I’m going to be with you, good or bad. Staying up with you isn’t going to hurt me. Now, do you mind telling me about your nightmare... if you want to, of course!” he reassured, not wanting to be pushy. But you could come to him about anything. You nodded against him and began to explain what happened in your latest dream. Recalling the detached arms of Avdol, how broken and defeated Iggy was before death and the wound in Kakyoin’s stomach which resulted in his demise. Then the focus went to Dio and Polnareff, when the two of you first encountered him and realizing the deadly capabilities of his stand, despite not knowing what was going on. You hiccuped, coming to the worst part of your nightmare. It was something new... the sight of your lover’s dead body, the prickling sensation of Dio’s nails digging into your throat, followed by floating away into abyssal darkness. Tears stung the corner of your eyes and you found yourself buried in your fiancee’s chest, soaking the nightshirt he wore. 

Thick fingers carded through your hair, his heart hurt from listening to your soft sobs. It must have been frightening, reliving the experiences in Cairo, added the realistic imagery with the death of him... you told him that you weren’t quite afraid of dying but you were scared for him. “I... I just want these nightmares to be over. I miss them every day. And I’m scared of possibly losing you, Jean.”

A hand found your cheek, causing you to look up at your lover. He wiped the hot tears away from your face with his thumb and he gently locked lips with yours. “It never goes away. It still haunts me... but I try my best to remember them and all the good memories we had. I don’t want you to be scared, ma belle. Remember when I told you could always count on me? I’m not going anywhere and I’ll always be here to comfort you, okay...”

You nodded, a soft smile spreading your lips. “You treat me so well, Pol. I’m glad I moved here with you... I... I don’t know how I would handle all this without you. Euh... tu es la lumière de ma vie... did I say it, right?”

“Très bien! Vous apprenez~” he gave one more kiss to your cheek before asking if you wanted to try to go back to sleep. You nodded and Polnareff pulled the covers, before entangling his arms around you once more. 

“Je t'aime tellement, ma reine,” your fiancee whispered, planting one last kiss to your forehead before closing his heavy eyelids. 

“Je t'aime aussi, Jean...” you murmured against him, eventually slumber returning and you were thankful to wake up in the morning, next to him. 

[oikaw-ugh]

HI BABE NUMBER 4 FOR THE CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE PLSSSS

HELLO SOPH! NO WORDS CAN EXPRESS HOW I’M SO HAPPY THAT I GET TO SHARE MY OC IMSUCHANERD-

Full name

Nakajima Fujita  (Breathing form: Breath of Art)

Preferred name/nickname

Fujita (for the lOVE OF GOD, DO NOT CALL HER FUJI SHE HATES IT)

Generally referred to as

The one with the brother complex HAHAHAHAHAH

Appearance.

Speech.

Sex: Female

Height: She’s gonna kill me for this but she’s 5 flat :’)

Weight: Somewhere around 55-75 kilos hehe

Build: She used to be thin but when she became a slayer, she started developing curves.

Hair: Her hair is long, it reaches up to her waist and is jet black in color. Maria (another OC from this universe) once suggested she should cut her hair but she refused because her brother likes it long. HAHAHAHHA

She used to bun it at all time but it becomes a hassle during missions so she buns half of her hair instead, the rest on lose.

Skin: Described as ‘porcelain and smooth’ by Amida (another OC from this universe) and is prone to sunburn so she hates travelling at day which is inevitable lol.

Eyes: Her eyes are crimson red in color. Maris likes to joke that she has ‘bloodshot eyes’. As for shape, they are round, almost similar to a doll.

Mouth: Thin.

Hands: Smail and slim. They used to be very smooth but she started earning callouses the longer she is a slayer.

Feet: Small.

Scars: None.

Other features: None.

Noteable features: Amida, Maria, and Junko (the other 3 OCs) kept on saying she reminded them of Japanese dolls.

Mannerisms.

Accent: None

Verbal Ticks: None

Language: Let’s assume they speak Nihonggo.

Articulation: She loves to use poetic words. By poetic, we mean words that are not familiar to Amida just to piss him off. For some reason, explaining herself is a difficult task for her. She just expects anyone to immediately understand her.

Laughter: She mostly scoffs, especially when she mocks Amida and Maria (lmao she has no guts to mock Junko. I mean, who does?) for doing something stupid. But when she’s genuinely happy, she laughs so loud and it’s very contagious, she’d even snort.

Grump: None

Breathing: Fujita is usually composed but when she finds something new or interesting, you’d hear her gasp like a child and it’s cute.

Health:

Face: She squints her eyes as if she’s reading whenever she tries to think. Also, she always has this scowling face and Amida, Junko, and Maria are convinced that she’s just disgusted with everything. kinda true.

Hands: None.

Legs/Feet: None

Habits: She likes to run her fingers through her hair or to play with the tips of her strands. It’s a coping mechanism.

Posture: Very poised! ‘Lady-like’ the way she was taught to pose.

Walking posture: Very poised as well.

Sitting posture: Very well-mannered (especially in Japan’s way of sitting? Where your knees are folded?)

Personal space: She hates people who stand or sit too close to her...well, except her brother and her husband :))))

Spacial awareness: VERY MUCH AWARE! She’d flinch at almost everything she finds disgusting. A slight brush of your skin would send her yeeting!

Personal.

Diet: Picky-eater. She loves sweets, tho.

Sleep: She sleeps early! Her maids always made sure she slept early so it became a habit.

Excercise: Nope. She hates physicaly activities despite being a demon slayer.

Activity: She does not like to move a lot. She even lets Maria do the chores. She expects everyone to work for her, similar to how the maids work for her all the time. Ik it's weird because she's a slayer, she's supposed to be very active but nah

Cleanliness: SHE HATES GETTING DIRTY. Which is a problem since she slays demons for a living.

Odour: Amida once said she smelled like home :’))) Maria said she smelled exoensive and Junko said she smelled like water.

Medical drugs: None

Narcotics: None

Addictions: None

Illness: None

Injuries: None

Parasites: None

Other:

The Past.

Introvert/Extrovert: I would say an extro. She’s from a wealthy family and is very confident on everything she does. In fact, she approached Amida and Maria first (the reason why they became friends)

Optimist/Pessimist: in between? She doesn’t really care of what happens.

Gender: Female

Sexuality: She knew she was straight. Then she met Amida, a bisexual. And that...kinds of blow her off to this day. 

Romantic: She’s never tried it and she feels like she would never. bUT SIKEEEE she is now married.

Memory: Depends. If it’s about her brother, then yes. It’s sharp. But if it’s about her friends, kind of sharp. But if it’s about things she doesn’t give a fuck, no. Her memory sucks. If it's about her husband, though...she remembers every little thing about him which I find cute.

Planning: No. She goes with the flow most of the time. Maria and Amida does all the planning in their missions (they do missions together).

Pensive: No. But if the actions has been done...she’d overthink of it whether if it was too much or stuff.

Intuition: Kind of...good of making right decisions at the same time no. She’s very spontaneous, I can’t tell.

Goals: TO KILL ALL THE DEMONS.

Insecurities: None. She’s ‘perfect’.

Achievements: She killed the demon who killed her brother. Well, we’d like to think of it that way. She raided the demon den where her brother was assigned to raid and she killed every single one of them successfully.

Anxiety: Back when her brother was still alive, she’s always anxious if his letters during missions wouldn’t come. But know, she's afraid of losing her friends, especially that they separated ways after the defeat of demons.

Overwhelmed: During her brother’s death, she felt everything was too much she actually ran away from her own home. She was also very overwhelmed when a cErTain sOmEonE asked for her hand in marriage

Self-help: Dealing with her own problems, she kinds of let the others do it for her :))) (she used to order Amida around and she’d pay him with her money lmao)

Comforts: Her brother. Unfortunately, he’s gone. But now, she finds comfort from Maria, Junko, and Amida (especially Amida).

Philosophy: OOOOH I haven’t thought of that.

Triggers: Mention of her brother, death from demons, demons, Amida getting hurt (this is rooted to the fact that she kinds of see her brother on Amida or something) and her friends getting hurt.

She also thinks it’s very important for her, Maria, and Junko to marry someone wealthy after they retire which Maria and Junko objects as they had their experiences with men. She'd eventually take this back though as no rich man has given her the happiness and contentment Amida was able to offer.

Parents/Guardians: Her father is old but is very supportive of his children. She’s very close to his brother so when she found out about his sudden death, she did not take it easy. She ran away, swearing that she’d kill the demon who killed him.

Along the way she found Amida, Maria, and Junko. Spontaneous as they can be, the four became demon slayers and they had to return to her home for temporary refuge.

School: No. But she was pampered well by her household.

Adolescence: She actually tried to shape herself into someone her brother would love.

Leaving home: She swore she’d kill the demon who killed her brother, resulting to her suddenly running away. Though she came back months after, wounded, along with Maria, Amida, and Junko as they came from a bloody mission and they needed temporary refuge. Her father was surprised and somehow upset but was more glad that he finally knew what has happened to his daughter.

Further education:

Life events: She ran away from home, went to different villages and she eventually met Amida (I’m not gonna describe too much since this is a huge event for Amida), she eventually met Maria who is a Demon Slayer which enticed her to join as well.

Worst day of their life: When demon slayers went to her household, bringing along with them his brother’s blood and torn uniform.

Lessons: She learned that though her brother would never come back, she can at least avenge him.

Looking back: She never regretted the things she did. She never regretted staining her hands for the sake of her brother.

Relationships.

Interactions.

Family: Redundant but her brother is very important to her but now, she gained new friends she consider as family. As for Amida, she finds him very special. It’s either because he reminded her of her brother or it’s because of how Amida looked like when they first met.

In the future, Fujita would return home after the demon's defeat and she'd have surprise visits from Amida who was looking for "solace". These visits became something she anticipates, almost similar to the feeling when she awaits for her brother's letters. And before she knew it, she grow more fond of Amida each visit. She fell in love.

Friendships: She had lady friends from different household but she never felt the sense of friendship not until she met Maria, Fujita, and Amida.

Friends in need: Fun fact: When she saw Amida for the first time, she was horrified and so, she treated him with good clothing and good food.

Annoyance: Dealing with arguments, expect Fujita to SCREAM a lot. She wants to prove her point. She wants everyone to understand her and she thinks screaming is the best way to extend her thoughts.

Romance: She liked the thought but dismissed it anyways as she cannot imagine herself living the rest of her life with someone who is not her brother. She does see herself marrying someone wealthy once she retires.

SIKE! SHE MARRIED AMIDA.

Marital problems: None so far.

Adversaries: -

Enemies: DEMONS. And anyone who hurts her friends and brother.

Strangers: She does not hold back when she’s with strangers so people who do not know her think she’s actually very arrogant (which she is) and bitchy. It’s just her personality, though.

Fun stuff: SHE LOVES PAINTING, HENCE HER BREATHING FORM (BREATH OF ART). She likes Haiku and paintings!

Dating: None because she's married.

Best friend: Amida, Maria, and Junko

Love: She considers her brother her love of her life. Whether it is romantically or not, I have no clue. This was her thinking not until she fell in love with Amida.

Respect: She respects no one but her friends and her brother. Especially Maria, she respects her so much.

I’m not gonna include Life ‘cause most of it don’t apply to them hehehehe

Mingling: She does not go along with others well due to her personality.

Comfort levels: She does not feel anxious or bothered when talking to people. It should be the other way around. How dare they bother her-

Physical: No she doeesn’t like affectionate actions.

Group: She’s fine with groups. She doesn’t feel anxious. It should be the other way around.

Jealous: She’s jealous of those who still have their brother on their side.

Temper: SHORT. She likes it when she annoys others but annoy her once, she won’t hesitate using her breathing form on you.

Empathy: She surprisingly empathize to those who lost their loved ones from demons. 

Affectionate: She shows her affectionate like a tsundere would do. She’d be subtle and like, defensive when caught in the act HAHAHAH

Distaste: I know that she use to emphasize how she is disgusted with Amida but it’s her Tsundere self kicking in. When she really dislikes someone, she’d ignore them completely.

Responsibility: The only responsibility she knows is keeping herself alive and keeping her friends safe. That’s all.

Self-esteem: HIGH. VERY CONFIDENT. You can say she is the spokesperson of the group.

Honesty: She’s very honest with her thoughts. But if you want her to speak of something personal, now that’s difficult. But surprisingly, she opens to Amida very easily.

Leader or follower: Follower. She admires Maria and thinks Maria knows what’s best especially on missions.

Praise: She loves praises! She likes it when people point out her well-done hair, her beautiful clothes, her beautiful breathing form. But let Amida compliment Fujita and you’d see her blushing as she tries to diss him >=}}}

Criticism: She will only accept them if they came from Maria or her brother.

Insults: She takes it hard! She’d think of that all the time and she’d try to prove it to you that you’re wrong. She’s basically a royalty! How dare you insult her?

Embarrassment: She takes compliments well....if they aren’t from Amida or his brother.

Flirting: This is a lowkey Tsundere, Ma’am. We know no flirting!

Attention span: Very short lived if she does not take interest in it. But let Maria speak and she’d be all ears.

---

I know no one asked but I have 4 OCs from Demon Slayer universe and I'd love to create this with them but I'm confused on which OC do I make one first.

So pick a number between 1 and 4 :) (Number 4 is out-)