#i write more for my oc's than canon characters

[mimble-sparklepudding]

Ship and OC Relationship Creative Process Ask List.

I am still pondering how best to approach some sort of "ship" for one of my OCs, but it's proving to be quite the challenge to wrap my head around. So what better way to learn more about how other people approach the topics of sex and relationships with their characters than to put together a little Ask List. Not just focussed on ships between OCs and canon characters, but also open to relationships between your OCs - or your OC and someone else's OC (or OCs, as we are all very polyamory inclusive around here).

Did you create your OC with a plan to ship them with a specific character or another OC? Or was their relationship something that evolved all by itself?

How important is your OCs relationship(s) to their story? Would it still make sense without it? Or is their connection to this other character integral to their development?

Were there any barriers to you establishing your OCs relationship? Perhaps social or cultural stigma? Or a concern that "ships" with that character were already overdone? Or simply a fear of being seen as "cringe"? If so then how did you overcome this?

How graphic or explicit are your explorations of sexual interactions involving your OC? Do you happily name body parts and actions? Or do you prefer to leave the mechanical details to the imagination?

If your OC's relationship involves a gender or orientation different to your own then how confident did you feel about exploring or writing this? If your OC and the character(s) with whom they are in a relationship are the same as you in terms of gender/orientation then was this a conscious decision?

How easy do you find it to write (or otherwise portray) non-sexual affection between characters? This might include terms of endearment, "pet-names", descriptions of cuddling or stroking the other's head in their lap etc.

How important is other people's investment in (or enthusiasm for) your character's relationship? Was this a consideration when you were planning it? Have you ever changed a character's relationship(s) due to other people's response to it?

To what degree do you use your OC as a means to explore your own romantic proclivities (or shortcomings)? Is your OC a self-insert and the relationship a form of wish-fulfilment and/or an means to explore certain fantasies? Or do you enjoy exploring something completely different to your own experiences and preferences?

How confident are you in writing about or otherwise portraying kissing between characters? Did this take practice? How much detail is enough? How much is too much?

Is it important to include tension or outright areas of conflict in a relationship? If so then how do you explore these? Or does this not appeal to you?

Does it matter to you how many other people also ship their OC with a particular character? Would this make it more likely that you will compare your material to theirs? Or does this not enter into your thinking?

How much does your OC's background and origin affect their approach to relationships? Are there specific insecurities or preferences that lead on from their past?

How easy do you find it to write romantic (or sexual) dialogue for your OC? If they are in a relationship with a canon character then how difficult is it to keep these interactions faithful to their established character and communication style?

How do you feel about answering questions about your characters sexual/romantic activities or preferences in character?

Did you build up to your OC being in their relationship? Or did you put them into it quite quickly and then filled in the background in retrospect.

Is there a relationship between characters in another setting that particularly inspired you? What is it about this portrayal that you enjoy?

Does it matter whether other people consider your OC sexually attractive? Did this inform your thinking when you were creating them? Also was it important that you put them in a relationship with a character who is generally considered "attractive"?

Do you have specific music that makes you think about your OCs relationship?

Do you have a sense of how your OCs relationship will evolve in the future? Or is it quite a fixed in terms of dynamics and story?

Is it easy to write or otherwise portray other characters (or OCs) reactions to your OCs relationship? Are these interactions important to your characters story? For example, is the relationship one that can be publically acknowledged?

How important is it that your OCs relationship is "realistic" for the setting in terms of the characters values and attitudes? Or are you happy to explore psychological or sexual issues that might more reflect contemporary concerns?

Do you consider your OC to be sexually attractive? Or pretty/handsome? Would you still be able to write about their relationship if you didn't?

What is something you feel you have improved at in terms of portraying sexual or romantic relationships?

How do you feel about people producing fanart of your character's relationship or ship? If this were NSFW would you want to be asked first?

Other than your own characters' relationships, can you give an example of someone who is particularly good at writing or otherwise portraying romantic and/or sexual relationships? What is it about their work that really stands out for you?

Have you given much consideration to specific "kinks" or sexual likes and dislikes for your character? If so then is this something you feel comfortable talking about or describing?

Is there a particular "trope" for relationships that you especially enjoy - e.g. enemies to lovers etc - and is this something that you set out intending to explore?

Is there something you historically felt (or still feel) awkard about describing in terms of your character's relationships? Whether sexual acts, bodyparts, pillow talk, romantic declarations or using the "L word". How did you overcome this (if you ever have)?

What makes a scene or situation "romantic" in your opinion? Is this something you find easy to portray?

What advice do you have for someone considering creating a ship for their character? Or for someone unsure about writing relationships and/or sexual scenarios?

When portraying romantic or sexual scenarios involving your OC, do you aim to inspire a particular response in the reader or viewer? Whether a warm fuzzy feeling, or getting really quite turned on (or possibly both)?

If you ship your OC with a particular canon character, then what was it about that character that drew you to them? Is it that you have a certain "type" when it comes to shipping? Or did you surprise yourself with who you felt drawn towards? If your OC is in a relationship with another OC then did you change any aspects of either of their backstories or personalities to make this work?

To what degree is your OC a self-insert, particularly in terms of their relationship? Do you sometimes use your character's relationship to explore your own feelings about a canon character or another OC?

How confident are you in writing angst or portraying conflict or tension within a relationship? Or is this something you avoid? If so is this because it doesn't much interest you? Or because you're unsure how to approach it?

Is there a way in which your portrayal of your character's relationship subverts the reader or viewer's expectations? Was this deliberate?

How do you ensure that the dialogue (or other portrayal) of a canon character is true to their personality and (more importantly) way of speaking? Do you spend time studying their "official" dialogue in order to get it sounding authentic? Or did it just come naturally?

What is something you try to avoid - or think everyone should try to avoid - when portraying sex and/or relationships with their characters?

What is your favourite depiction of romance (or sex if you prefer) that you have produced? Or if you haven't produced one yet, then what is your favourite example from another creator?

What, if any, is your biggest source of fear or anxiety when it comes to writing or otherwise portraying romantic or sexual scenarios?

What is something that your friends or mutuals could do to support and encourage you when it comes to your creativity around your OCs relationship(s)?

[mamawasatesttube]

you guys i have so many thoughts about tdr. i have so much to say. like i don't want to be super mean but dude that comic fucking sucks and i can't lie i think it made me kind of homophobic actually

[nursemimosa]

best friend he never asked for. well, he's stuck with her whether he likes it or not. good luck to them both.

[samarecharm]

If i start posting dc stuff on here, it means i lost the fight w myself. The demons won. Im sorry

[good-beans]

(Milgram self-insert oc masterpost hehe)

Name: For the sake of posting online I’ll call her Rose!

Color: #E7355B [the pink in the art]

Age: I guess she’d be 20 given when Milgram started huh.

Status: Milgram Staff, Machine Technician

Symbols/imagery: ballet/musical theater, science experiments

Song genre: very similar to Mahiru's, something upbeat and extra pop-y

Tentatively she's number 011? She's not really prisoner but she's also not free to come and go, so I'm not actually sure if she'd get a number (Edit: I've decided she'll actually be 012. Staff is given the 01X range, and even though Es doesn't actively have a number they'd be staff member 011, making her 012.)

Story: Since the project is supposed to be realistic/present day, the mv machine would be brand new and unpredictable tech, so they’d want someone keeping up on maintenance and making sure the brain-invasive process won’t cause any harm to the prisoners. Rose was studying abroad in Japan working on some cool neuroscience tech (irl I know nothing about technology or brains but shh) and she stumbled upon some secret tech/plans from Milgram. Long story short, she was dragged into the experiment to make sure things ran smoothly.

Writer's Reasoning: She’s really fun for me to play around with, as she allows me to work with a character who has a tiny bit of pull over Es’ mindset in conversation but not the final decision (aka mirroring the voting system), and someone who is simultaneously trapped in the prison but has a reason to see all the canon content.* I really enjoy the character interactions and dynamics Milgram has set up so far, so it’s been super fun seeing how things change for better and worse when someone not quite aligned with either Milgram/the prisoners is thrown into the mix!

*As much as I love dramatic irony in fiction, it would drive me crazy if I knew every detail of of the vds/mvs but Rose didn't – and every single Milgram character is The Worst Communicator Ever so I couldn’t justify that she’d hear it secondhand from them...

Story roles:

She’s a bit conflicted -- she’s officially Milgram staff and knows she should remain neutral on the prisoners, since she won’t be allowed to interfere with the process/executions. At the same time, her job description is literally “make sure the machine doesn't hurt them and everyone's safe :)” and she's way too emotional to avoid getting hopelessly attached to everyone 😅

I really enjoy the theory that the machine extracts videos based off of priming, so one of Rose’s duties involves listening in on the interrogation and making sure there’s been enough material discussed/not too much time has passed overall (hence the ringing of the bell happening at different lengths for each vd -- That's her ringing it :3). She then watches the mvs along with Es to make sure there are no machine glitches, and know how to calibrate it better for next time.

(IEdit: I've since decided to add in official trial mvs, but before when I wasn't ready to tackle that:) She has to run some tests on the machine to make sure things are calibrated correctly, so she'd extract little things here and there. It gives me the opportunity to think up lyric snippets and recurring symbols for her without worrying about full encompassing music videos.

I'm not afraid to admit she can fall into Mary Sue territory every so often by being everyone's friend, because it's less about "aw everyone likes her" and more about "canon is too painful rn and I need a fix-it tool to take care of these guys and give them hugs and tell them someone forgives them and cares about them and unfortunately these characters wouldn't let anyone less than a friend do that." Rest assured she's definitely not perfect and will fuck everything up on occasion :3

Miscellaneous: Whenever I play around with normal au ideas she's still working on the machine (but in a public, more ethical setting), and she's Mahiru's roommate :) Her character isn't super focused on love, but if I had to pick a cover song it'd be Stickybug II. It's very much my vibe, the lyrics fit well enough (better than most songs, at least lol) and it's one of my favorites out of my limited knowledge of unchosen Deco songs! (Edit, I've actually given her non-deco cover songs hehe)

So yeah, I hope she's not too boring without a cool crime to decipher, but I wanted to share since I was really proud of her! It took a bit of tinkering to find a way to fit her into a perfect secret-third-thing role that runs very smoothly with all of canon, so I was very excited!

[fruityfroggy]

So…..just me testing the waters for posting about my r1999 OCs…..here’s their incantation card descriptions! (As a teaser maybe?)

This post and the format of it were inspired by @authorchia, so ty<3

(6* Star) Lady Clef:

“The night is young, so stay a while, darling. I’ll show you a night to remember.”

Kiss of Smoke (Attack): - "Catch it, before it's gone."

Deals 150% Mental DMG to 2 targets. Gains 1 stack of [The Coveted]. If a target was defeated by the caster in the previous round, this attack steals 1 Moxie from the target.

Melodic Entrance (Attack): - "Each melody envelops tightly."

1-target attack. Deals 200% Mental DMG and gives self a stack of [The Coveted]. If an enemy's HP is below 50%, additionally deals 40% Genesis DMG.

Glorious Closer (Ultimate): - "Let this sparkling bliss end your night, mon cheri."

Mass attack. Deals 700% Mental DMG. Purifies all [Stats Down], [Negative Status], and [Control] statuses from all allies, while dispelling all [Stats Up] and [Positive Status] statuses from all enemies.

[The Coveted]: If [The Coveted] is at 6 stacks, consumes all stacks and casts [Plaything] as an extra-action.

[Plaything]: Drains all Moxie from the enemy with highest amount of Moxie. If 2 enemies have the highest amount of Moxie, the effect goes to the one with highest HP, while inflicting [Bleed] on the other.

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

(6* Plant) Verdigris:

- “Hm? Oh, sorry. I didn’t notice you coming in. I lost track of time again…”

Sway With the Brambles (Attack): - "They're just excited to see you."

1*: 1-target attack. Deals 180% Reality DMG.

2*: 1-target debuff. Deals 200% Reality DMG. Inflicts [Seal] and [Failed Prototype] on the target for 2 rounds.

Upkeep (Health): - "Just some maintenance should do the trick."

Mass healing. Restores HP equal to 80% of the caster's attack to all allies. This healing effect gains an additional 40% Critical Rate; An additional 30% Critical Rate is given to a random DPS ally.

Staticize (Ultimate): - "The inanimate can be beautiful too. So don’t be afraid to be one of them. Frozen, unmoving, and motionless."

Mass attack. Deals 400% Reality DMG. If [Plant Fiber] is at 6 or more stacks, consumes 6 stacks and casts either [Sucessful Prototype] or [Fibrous Friend] (depending on circumstances).

[Plant Fiber]: Gain [Plant Fiber] when any team member actively uses a character incantation or when an ally takes an extra action.

[Failed Prototype]: The target’s Critical Resist -25 and is unable to score critical hits.

[Successful Prototype]: Critical Resist +25 and +40% Critical Rate for all allies. [Successful Prototype] is cast when more [Plant Fiber] are obtained from character incantations than extra actions.

[Fibrous Friend]: All DMG from enemy attacks deflect and redirect back onto the enemy team for one round. [Fibrous Friend] is cast when more [Plant Fiber] are obtained from extra actions than incantations.

If you have any questions about them, pls ask! I’ll be happy to post more about their lore if there’s anyone who's interested in learning more:) Okay byeee

[raiiny-bay]

it’s honestly kinda crazy to me that kel & co were literally the first OCs i ever made

[crystal-verse]

Day 11 - Surrogate

[brief and vague mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. featuring lyna's parents, and queerplatonic relationships between the two of them and the exarch]

It escapes them, some days, just how lucky they are to have Dulna and Vaimet by their side. Then, of course, he is reminded, by a stray word or some thing he'd forgotten that one of the two had dealt with in his stead; by a stray pat on his shoulder, or the way one of the two would so casually yet carefully press a shoulder against one of his.

He is very close with the two, the Exarch -- Raha, though the name is feeling less and less his each day -- knows. The two had been the first to meet the Exarch, really, back when they were just Raha, an unnamed Mystel of some amount of power. They are perhaps the only ones to know his face, here in Norvrandt; all those who had met him in those initial years, so confusing and chaotic with the Flood having been so soon, are either dead or no longer remember them, and the Exarch cannot help but be grateful for it. They are more and more strange, living without aging, ageless and timeless just like the crystal that crawls further and further up their arm and shoulder, and while the Exarch knows that 'tis to prevent any recognition on the part of either Warrior of Light when they are eventually summoned. . . it is also a small source of comfort, keeping their face hidden, being an anonymous face to match their simple role. (Or -- 'twas supposed to be a simple role, at least.)

Dulna and Vaimet have never betrayed that trust, either -- they are always naught but professional when in public, the commander of the guard and his second-in-command who are ever loyal and respectful of the Crystal Exarch's time and duty. But behind the closed doors of the Tower, the two shed those roles like masks, the same way that the Exarch lowers his hood and is simply Raha again, for however long it lasts. There is comfort, between the three of them. Raha does not know quite what he would call it, but they are -- close, certainly. Not lovers, no -- they are well aware of what romance feels like, what infatuation swelling in their heart feels like (for they still love Sae'pheli'ehva, all these many, many years later) -- but neither is it quite friendship. There is friendship there but it is. . . it is different, somehow. (Raha hesitates to say closer, as if this relationship -- whatever it is -- is inherently better than friendship, as if romance is inherently better, but Raha does not know how to phrase it.)

It is not romantic love, at the least. Raha is certain of that. The Exarch, themself, had been the one to officiate Dulna and Vaimet's wedding, at their own shared request, and they know that just as they do not view the two in that light, neither do either of them view Raha like that. Still -- still, there is closeness. A deep bond, enough that Raha trusts them with his face, with his name, even. (He has not spoken of his past, but. . . they do not pry. When the memories grow too heavy, enough to choke, Vaimet will sit with him, oftentimes humming something beneath his breath, and will sometimes shift Raha to sit with his head pressed against Vaimet's chest, to hear the heartbeat. When Raha cannot carry the weight of all the grief he is forced to bear, Dulna will talk of whatever comes to her mind, until Raha is tethered in the current time and can breathe a bit easier.)

(It is not romantic love. It does not have to be. Raha loves them regardless, whatever this relationship might be.)

Perhaps they should be less surprised, then, at the request that is made of him.

"We want a baby." Dulna had said, one morning, with little preamble.

Raha raised merely blinked in response. ". . .alright. Were you wanting to adopt one of the orphans from the Sin Eater attacks. . .?"

Dulna looks at him as if he is stupid. Perhaps he is. "No," she says, enunciating carefully, "we want a baby."

"I'm. . . afraid I don't grasp your meaning?" Much more of this and Raha will be truly well and baffled.

Vaimet huffs, quietly, his shaking shoulders the only sign that he is repressing further laughter. "We want a child of our own blood." He explains, leaning his weight on one leg. "And I cannot sire a child, on account of lacking the necessary parts. So we need a surrogate."

"Ah. Well, I can. . . see about who would be willing to. . .?" Raha trails off, shrinking in on themself slightly as Dulna's expression only gets stonier.

She sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose. "Raha." (He does not startle at the name, but there is a fluttering in his chest regardless.) "You beautiful, beautiful fool of a man."

"I'm. . . sorry?" Well. Now Raha is baffled.

Vaimet, then, seems unable to restrain himself any longer, finally laughing loud enough that he is breathless for several moments. "We want a baby." He repeats. "And we want you to be the surrogate."

They -- "ah." Raha says, simply. They then proceed to scream into their hands.

After Raha has finished making a fool of himself, and Vaimet has finished laughing, and Dulna has sighed the last of her exasperated-if-fond sighs, the three properly sit down and plan how they are going to go about this. (Raha is awkward enough about it to make Vaimet laugh, and Dulna snicker at them, so even if Raha is horribly embarrassed the entire time, 'tis at least worth the smiles. And -- 'tis not as if the three of them have not seen each other naked, various times, between the damage from fights and needing to patch one another up or simply wishing to forgo the heavy layers of clothing amidst summer heat, so it's really the point of the whole thing that has Raha so embarrassed to begin with.)

It's Dulna that shall bear the child, they decide -- well. Vaimet and Dulna decide. Raha is mostly happy to be included, after he has eventually gotten over the awkwardness (as much as he ever will, at least). Vaimet is captain of the guard and presumed to be the same as any ordinary man by those who do not know him well enough, and Dulna is willing enough to take some time off from the regular guard rotation, once the pregnancy gets into its later months.

(Raha is still embarassed the entire time, but -- they do feel so very honored, that Dulna and Vaimet would trust them with something like this. And happy, of course, always happy to spend time with the both of them, individually or together.)

Time passes. The general public assumes that Dulna's child is Vaimet's -- and why should they not? 'Tis not as if there is anything to say otherwise. (And 'tis not like there is any stigma or judgement against those like Vaimet -- but Vaimet is older than a fair few of the Crystarium's citizens, by now, and values his privacy just as much as the Exarch does.) For the ease of avoiding any rumors, the Exarch does hope that the child will resemble Dulna more. (Raha hopes that his own Viera blood, however much of it there is, will shine through and hide any traits that would suggest a Mystel parent. Better for all their privacy if the child looks naught but Viis.)

Dulna and Vaimet toss about possible names for the child, through the months, but Vaimet is insistent that Raha should get a say, as well. Dulna reminds them that Raha will be involved in the child's upbringing regardless -- as if Raha would forget that. In the end, 'tis Vaimet's idea for the child to take the latter half of Dulna's name, for Raha's idea to name them Lyna. Dulna, smirking victoriously, declares that she does not care for whatever the gossipmongers may think, so long as their child (their child, claiming Raha as Lyna's parent just as much as Vaimet and Dulna are, and it makes a fragile little warmth bloom in Raha's chest) grows up happy, and loved, and cared for.

"We can claim you're their grandfather." Vaimet jokes, one stormy day when all are in their dwellings -- a rare day, where the Light is not quite so blinding.

"And what would that accomplish?" Raha raised an eyebrow, curious. "I assume that Lyna will discover the truth eventually, if they are not raised knowing it." They wrinkle their nose at a sudden thought. "I certainly would not like it assumed that I am a parent to either of you."

Vaimet only shrugs. "Well, we don't want them calling you father in public." And that is the issue, isn't it. The masks, and the roles. As far as anyone knows -- as far as anyone can confirm, at any rate, which has to be good enough -- they are simply Vaimet and Dulna, happily wed couple expecting their first child, employed as heads of the Crystarium guard, and the Crystal Exarch, kind but distant from all, a mysterious mage who's face and name is unknown to all. "Besides, you have taken time to interact with the other orphans and various children -- you've enough grandfatherly airs about you, when you want."

Before Raha can respond to that, Dulna cuts in. "We will figure it out when we get there." She declares. "For now, let us just enjoy the rest, hm?"

And so the time continues to pass. (Vaimet, Dulna, and Raha work on that idea, some -- the Exarch most certainly can put a grandfatherly aura about him, when he wants. Vaimet near laughs himself sick at it, and Raha can't help but join in. The many orphans, certainly, are grateful for the attention from their so very respected Exarch, and the orphanage caretakers, and the Settlement Council, are glad for their own brief respite from work as the Exarch takes time to care for the children for some hours out of a week, every now and then.)

(Raha worries, as the months go by, about what Lyna would inherent from them. If they would inherit anything at all. Would they get the curve of his nose? The pale shade of his skin, so unlike Dulna's deep reddish brown? Would Lyna get the red of Raha's hair, or the upward slant of their eyes? Would they get Raha's own full lips, or would they take after Dulna with thinner ones? Would there be any Allagan blood made present, in Lyna? Would their eyes be the one thing to mark them as being Raha's?)

It is another stormy day, when the child is finally born. Vaimet paces circles in the small washroom they had absconded to, the three of them, muttering under his breath, while Raha's hand is held in Dulna's white-knuckled grip. It is over rather more quickly than any of the three of them had expected, but it leaves them all exhausted -- nonetheless, there is nothing more memorable than the cries of a newborn infant.

Lyna's ears are clearly Viis, as is their short stub of a tail. Their skin is paler than Dulna's, but still a rich brown, and the downy fur on their ears and head is an off-white color, a pale echo of Dulna's near-black shade of purple. They sneeze, and open their eyes, and Raha can feel the breath leave his lungs. Lyna's eyes are a purple the color of Lakeland -- this, too, they did not inherit from him. Allag has no claim on them, despite his contribution to their parentage. There shall be no other sanguine-eyed individuals in Norvrandt, or on the entire First. Raha weeps, and they do not know if it is in loss or in relief.

[provincial-charmer]

As Boundless As The Sea

We'll be posting this in order directly from my AO3, so the first two chapters, then updating as more is added, so...

Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean

When This Takes Place: After On Stranger Tides, but in the year 1742, due to the fact I really just couldn't stand how many time skips there were and wanted to just keep At World's End 10 year time-skip. There's another reason, but shh...

Rated: This chapter is E for Everyone, as it mostly sets the scene, but later chapters might not be! No warnings for this chapter, either!

Fic Summary: Marco Montero has, for the most part, lived a quiet life. Raised on a family fortune built by academia, he was sent many years ago to Venice, Italy in order to pursue the career of his dreams. However, these dreams would never come to fruition, as the death of his father would suddenly send him back home to Cádiz, Spain, in order to claim what remained of his family inheritance.

What a pity that inheritance also included a steep debt to the Spanish Royal Navy. Eighteen years later, it seemed to get no smaller, and Marco’s threadbare patience only grew thinner with time. That is, until one fateful day, when the work that nearly killed him brought him a strange map...

Chapter One: The Sun Rises Regardless

In which we are introduced to our protagonist, his daughter, his neighbors, and his schedule on his days off.

30th of November of 1742  Today, I dreamt of a storm. A storm too terrible to be natural, one that tossed rugged waves over the deck of the ship as sailors struggled to keep her afloat. The wind threatened to rip her sails apart. The water threatened to sweep her crew away. The only light that reached us came with the clash of lightning, which danced around us in flashes of blue and white.  I know not what I was doing aboard. Was I part of the crew, or an unwitting passenger? Was I a body, there to withstand punishment, or merely a ghost, only there to bear witness?  It didn’t matter. Whatever I was, I wasn’t staying there. With another crashing wave, a young man near me was swept off of his feet and over the side of the ship. The lightning showed me his face for only a moment.  He wasn’t much older than my daughter. His eyes were full of fear. I briefly imagined the grief of his mother, learning she would never see her little one again, his body lost to the unforgiving sea. To lose a man’s body at sea is to be expected, but to lose a child…  I couldn’t bear the thought. I dove after him.   It was strange, I thought, that I could see the storm better in the water than on the ship. However, I had neither the time nor the mind to question the reason behind it. My focus was on saving my fellow sailor. Luckily for me, he had not drifted far. His body, so light and so fragile, had been swept below the waves.  He lingered there, motionless. It wouldn’t be long before he drowned.  Quickly I swam down to him. I did my best to wrestle against the ocean’s conflicting currents, but she was a relentless beast, refusing to give way. However, I was equally stubborn, and so with unending determination, I made my way down.   But then, I saw something else. As I took hold of him, as I drew him under my arm, the lightning flashed again. And in the light that flashed through the dark ocean, I saw another face, looking up to me from deeper down. It was the face of a young man. One that was younger than me by many years, with long, dark hair tucked under a bandana, and sweet, sorrowful eyes.  Eyes that were open. Eyes that watched me. Eyes that were accompanied by other eyes, belonging to other faces in the deep.  I was staring at another crew, at another captain, on another ship. A ship that looked as if it sailed under the sea itself.  And then I woke up.

 As I laid my pen down, I turned to look out the window. Had the weather been warmer, I would have blamed the sun for my nightmare. I had forgotten to draw the curtains shut before retiring the previous evening, so it would not have been difficult for the radiant sunlight to disturb my slumber. Unfortunately, that was not the case, as the sunlight this morning had been far more welcoming against the cold.

 I was certain that whatever had troubled my sleep, I only had myself to blame. I couldn’t cast ill blame on the sun. I usually loved waking up to the sun on my face, whether I was watching it through my window or basking in it on my morning walks.

 Of course, that was on the days when I awoke at such hours by choice. This was not one of those days.

 But then there came a knock at my door. One that I knew by heart. As soon as I heard it, all ill thoughts fell away from my mind.

 “Papá?” That darling little voice called to me, “Papá, are you awake yet? I have breakfast!”

 I smiled. “I am now! Come in!”

 The door carefully creaked open, and in walked Perlita. Perlita was my daughter. Oh, she was just the sweetest little thing, with her strawberry blonde hair cut in short waves, her dark brown eyes shining, and her little blue dress bouncing with each happy step. She was planted on my doorstep around sixteen years ago by a late friend of mine, with only a note with her birth name - Toireasa - and a plea to care for her. How could I refuse?

 “Took you long enough!” She teased. “I was afraid you would sleep through the entire morning!”

 “Part of me wishes that I did!” I responded in earnest. Certainly, it would have taken precious time out of my day. But my sleep might have been more peaceful. “But the sun seemed to think that I had slept for long enough. I had a nightmare.”

 She paused as she was setting down the tray. “Oh, you did? What was it about?”

 “The ship in the storm.”

 “… Again?”

 “Again.”

 Perlita sighed. We were quite used to this. The same subject would repeat for some days, if not weeks, and then stop. Then I would have new, unique dreams until another recurrence happened. She was always very sympathetic. I was just glad that she never had to deal with them, for they sometimes granted me some truly cursed visions.

 “That’s the second time you’ve dreamt of that.” She went on to say. “I hope it doesn’t happen again. I can’t imagine what it could mean.”

 “I think it means I need to stop drinking cocoa before bed.” I set one hand on her shoulder to reassure her, “I'm certain it won’t happen again.”

 She frowned in a way that left me uncertain as to whether I had truly convinced her, but regardless, she dropped the subject, instead focusing on serving breakfast. She had always been like this. Worrying over her old man day and night. I was often endeared by it, in spite of how silly it felt at times. I was supposed to be taking care of her, after all!

 But then, some part of me couldn’t help but feel bad. Would she worry over me nearly as much if I could take better care of us? If I didn’t have to worry about paying off the Navy, what kind of life would we have? I thought I knew what hers might have been like – all the time in the world to talk to her friends, to learn medicine, to enjoy herself without judgement for who she was.

 So what would my life be like? If my father hadn’t fallen on that expedition, if I hadn’t been saddled with this debt, what would I be doing with my time?

 I didn’t know. All I knew was that the more I thought about it, the worse it would make me feel. So I pushed it aside. I had to focus on the life we had. Where we were, there and then.

 And I had places to be.

 Before I continue, allow me the courtesy of an introduction. I am Marco Montero, the last son of Lazzaro and Diamante Montero. At the time, I had spent eighteen long, loathsome years as a translator for the Spanish Royal Navy, with only occasional commission work for other customers. What free time I had was spent helping Perlita read, translating personal subjects in my study, or sitting at one of the local taverns at the docks to watch the world go by. Outside of that, I had very little else on my schedule.

 Now, my usual morning routine went as follows: I would wake up, grab a cup of coffee or cocoa, then head out on an early morning stroll. I would walk all throughout the quiet streets to the port, find my usual spot to rest, and watch the sun rise. I would greet whoever might acknowledge me in passing. Then, once the sun had risen fully from the gentle embrace of the sea, if I had nowhere else to be, I would walk back home and get to work.

 I had no such work that day. No one had commissioned me in some time, and the Navy had not bothered me for work for several weeks. So I was left with what I hoped was a significant amount of free time. Once I had gotten dressed, I took my cup of coffee, thanked Perlita for cooking with a kiss on her head, retrieved Orfeo from his cage, and headed down to the docks.

 Ah, that’s right!

 Orfeo!

 I haven’t introduced him yet!

 Orfeo was the family pet. A Macaw of proud stature who had been with the family for nearly twelve years at the time. He was a big bird, with feathers the color of sapphire, tall enough to stare down small children and playful enough to pull at their hair. But we taught him how to act and how to talk, so that he would behave himself in such situations. He only pulled on someone’s hair if they upset him, or if we gave him the secret signal to be a little troublemaker. And when he behaved well enough, we would reward him with treats. 

 He loved plátanos and mangos best.

 As I removed him from his enclosure for our morning routine, he greeted me as he always did, with a facsimile of Perlita’s voice. “¡Buenos días papá!”

 “Ah, buenos días, Orfeo! How did you sleep?”

 “How did you sleep?”

 I laughed. He was imitating me now. “No, no, I asked you first! How did you sleep, Orfeo?”

 He would do this sometimes, making circles out of conversations. But I was patient. I had to give him the chance to properly respond. He would know what I meant after a few rounds.

 Eventually, after some thoughtful bounces on his part, he finally gave me a different answer. “Like a baby! ”

 “Good boy!” I responded, holding out a small plátano piece for him. He took it with his beak so carefully, it was as if he was handling glass.

 I always tried to tell people he was smarter than he seemed. Sometimes, he would hold entire conversations with himself, in absence of me or my little pearl! I’ve caught him doing it! Sometimes, he would even come up with responses to conversations that I never taught him! Yes, surely he copied them from others, but the fact still remains that he learned to apply it!

 And yet our neighbors were insistent that he was nothing more than some “dumb tropical bird.”

 Pah!

 I took him with me on my morning walk, as I always did when the weather was fair enough for him. And it was off to the docks we went!

 The docks were easily one of my favorite parts of Cádiz. Second only to the beaches and bakeries, of course. Ever since I was little, I loved heading out at the earliest hours I could, just so I could watch them come to life. I watched the sails of returning ships billow in the breeze before they were doused, as men on the docks and on the boats prepared for the arrival of the other, voices calling out to one another, like seagulls coming home.

 They were always glad to see the land, too. There was never a sailor who came back who didn’t share some look of relief at the sight of the pier, or show a big smile when he undoubtedly saw someone he recognized waiting for him, to be answered with a cry of joy in return. For I watched as loved ones came out bright and early to see their ships return, tying their hair up as nicely as they could with pretty little ribbons of all colors, waving favors and hands to greet their jolly sailors.

 Today, a ship of particular pride was brought to port. Yes, new ships were always a sight,  but this one in particular was truly a sight to behold. One that caught my eyes as well as the eyes of any dock workers awake at that hour.

 The Pride of Venus.

 She was a ship of the line, and a fine example of her craft. No other ship present could compare. Elegant and lethal, she was fully rigged with three masts, three decks full of cannons, and three emblems of the Spanish Royal Navy hand-sewn upon her sails, with details of doves and dolphins on display anywhere they could be painted or carved. Her figurehead itself represented Venus in all her glory, rising from the waves with her arms outstretched in invitation. The sunlight warmed her painted skin so much, she looked like she was just as real as I was from a distance.

 She was a treasured gift to King Philip V from King Louis XV. Any Spaniard would have been proud to sail under her banner, making their way in the world with such beauty beneath them.

 I would have been proud of her too, if only she didn’t serve the Navy. But I could admire her fine craftsmanship without thinking of the blood she was stained with. The art of creating such beautiful vessels was slowly but surely falling out of public practice. Newer ships were being made with more cannons, more masts, and sleeker, simpler shapes, leaving little room for expressions of art such as this.

 It was such a shame. It was far easier to identify ships and their captains from afar when their ships were just as unique as they were. If they all started to look alike, I was afraid I wouldn’t enjoy watching them anymore. And one day, The Pride of Venus would fall out of my sight forever, into the endless blue sea.

 My only hope was that, perhaps if such creatures as merfolk existed, then they would appreciate such ships as her more than we ever could. That perhaps the fish in the sea would make a good home from her bones.

 Still, I could appreciate her while she stood. So I did. I slowly whittled away at my coffee, getting lost in dreamy ideas as to her adventures overseas while the world came to life around her. Dock workers helped tie her and other vessels down, while their crews filed out of their ships in orderly lines. The sailors maintained their professional airs while their captains addressed them, but once they were dismissed, they turned from men into boys once again. Those that had loved ones to reunite with did, running to them with much excitement, to be greeted with excitement in kind by those they left ashore.

 Some of them were taken into open arms, while others had their weary faces cradled in the hands of their other halves. A lucky few were painted in kisses from sweethearts that clearly missed them just as much, leaving colorful marks of affection wherever they could.

 I did my best to ignore that. Instead, I drank in the warmth of the sun, the songs of the gulls, and the smell of the sea, along with my coffee. Once my cup was empty, I wiped it clean, stowed it, and moved on.

 My next stop was the book store. Carrasco’s Book Shop, to be precise. Pearce was an old business associate of mine, having worked with my father long ago. Whenever I needed new paper, or was interested in the newest book release, he was the man I went to.

 Orfeo couldn’t come inside. This was due to a no-pets policy on Pearce’s part. An understandable rule, given the destruction any untrained animal could inflict upon those old bookshelves. Even my lovely bird was no exception, with beaks and talons that could make bedding out of any book’s pages. At my command, Orfeo flew up atop the sign for the shop and stayed there, well out of the reach of any would-be thieves. He was a very valuable bird, after all. Very pretty and bright.

 The bell above the door announced my arrival, prompting a look from Pearce behind the counter. He was a lean old man, as lithe and lax as an old cat, with just as fine of a face. What few scars he bore at his neck and arms told of his old life at sea, the life he said he had left behind for the comfort of the shore. He seemed to be finishing setting up shop for the morning, as I could see him putting a few things beneath the counter when I arrived. When he saw me, he smiled.

 “Good morning, Marco!” He greeted me, with a voice that creaked softly. “Normally you’re here before I’m open! Is it safe to assume that you slept in?”

 “Yes, sir,” I responded with a smile of my own, “but certainly not by choice.”

 “Is it ever by choice?” Said he. It was a tease, we both knew, so we shared a chuckle at the idea. Once he was finished putting things away, he then told me, “Your order arrived just this morning! If you’ll allow me to fetch it for you…”

 “Of course, sir! Take your time!”

 And so he disappeared into a room behind the counter, well out of sight. While I waited, I looked around. Hand-painted scenes on the wall depicted all kinds of adventurous moments, from a meeting of politicians to a crew of sailors heading out to sea. A fisherman had caught a mermaid on his line above one shelf, while another showed a procession of fairies walking through the woods, to the amazement of the children looking on from the bushes. Opposite of the sailors, a crew of pirates were burying their treasure, with their captain hiding a pistol behind his back.

 They had not been repainted in some time, so all their colors were worn. But in my mind, they were as bright as they were when I first walked into the shop, back when I was just a child. My father would happily chatter with Pearce while I looked through the shelves, only to stare at me in shock at the tower of books I came out with. My appetite for knowledge was insatiable.

 It still was. I just didn’t have as much desire to read as I used to. And most of it I had already read through countless times. I didn’t pick up too many books these days.

 “Here you are,” Pearce said as he came out, holding a wooden crate of fair size, “all blank pages, as requested! I have the paper for you to sign here…”

 I watched as he set the crate on the counter, waiting until he had fully released it before going to inspect it for damages. Sometimes, my shipments from overseas came in less… desirable condition. So it was always good to check.

 The crate itself looked to be intact, save for some residual dampness from the rain the night before. Upon prying the lid off, however, I was relieved to find all the paper inside to be completely untouched. Dry as sand, even. Perfect!

 He handed me the papers to confirm I had received my package, and I took them, and the quill, quite happily… only to stop.

 The name on the shipping order wasn’t mine.

 Instead of Marco Montero, it was addressed to Lazzaro Montero.

 My father.

 This happened sometimes. Mail for our house would come in with my father’s name, even though he had been dead for many years. It had been so long, in fact, that I had made the mistake of assuming these kinds of things would eventually stop.

 I was wrong. As usual.

 “... Marco?”

 I glanced up to Pearce.

 “Is everything alright?” He asked me. His oak-brown eyes were alight with concern behind his eyeglasses. “Is anything damaged?”

 “Oh, no,” I reassured him, “not at all! In fact, it’s all in remarkably good condition! It’s just… they put my father’s name on it again. See?”

 I showed him the paper, taking care to point out where his name was. Upon seeing it, his expression fell only further. “Oh, Marco, I’m so sorry… You would think they would learn to fix that by now!”

 “You would think… ”

 Regardless, I signed the paper with my name. When I handed the paper and quill back, Pearce reassured me, “I’ll correct them as soon as I’m able. This can not keep happening, it’s incredibly unprofessional…”

 He didn’t need to. Not because nothing would change, but because it didn’t bother me as much as it used to. It was just one small thing. An ant hill in a mountain of other, far more worrisome things. That, and I confess, I did still miss him. Sometimes, it was nice to think that perhaps that name wasn’t a mistake, and I would see him again when I went home.

 I would. But never in the flesh. I had long since accepted that.

 Holding the crate under one arm, I made my way to my next destination: a bakery. It was only a wooden crate full of parcels of paper, so it was no trouble for me to carry on my walk, even with Orfeo having returned to my shoulder. I walked slowly through the streets, letting the smell of firing ovens and baking bread delight my senses. If the coffee didn’t wake me up, this smell always would, without failure.

 I was most loyal to one bakery in particular. I could partake of the others whenever I liked, but my most devoted business was reserved for the Belmonte Family Bakery. It belonged to one of my dearest friends, Isabela.

 Isabela wasn’t the easiest friend to make, mind you. She was hard to crack open, with a harsh temper. To me, she was like one of those German nutcrackers, with a bite that could break bone and a stiff spine that no man could bend. In spite of it all, I knew that beneath that harsh exterior was a good heart. I wouldn’t hear anyone say otherwise.

 She was already dealing with a customer when I came in, so her greeting to me was brief. “Morning, búho!”

 “Morning, burra!”

 She finished packing up a loaf of bread for a young man she was dealing with, then spotted the crate under my arm and stopped. She tilted her head and frowned, a crooked frown that favored the right side of her face more than her left.

 “That’s funny, I don’t recall ordering any books.”

 “Ah, that’s because you didn’t. This order is mine. ”

 “So what are you doing bringing it into my shop, then?” She asked.

 I teased her and replied, “I figured you could use kindling for your oven. I don’t see any devils flying about to keep it alight, so I must assume you’re actually using your firewood, in which case you must be struggling.”

 She laughed. It was a loud sound, and a lovely one at that. “Ah, so you’ve noticed! Give it an hour or two, then you’ll see them, don’t you worry!”

 Once she had sent her customer on his merry way, she turned fully to me. She leaned against the counter with one arm as she asked, “Now, what do you need?”

 “I was wondering what your recommendation would be for us today.” I then told her, smiling. “I’m thinking Perlita and I could try something new!”

 Her proud brow-line lifted slowly. “New? You? Ha!” She scoffed loudly at this. “The day you try something new is the day Hell freezes over!”

 “Ah, but you were married to the Devil once,” I teased, “so you would know if Hell was cold today, wouldn’t you?”

 This got a good, long laugh out of her. This was because her former husband was a terrible, terrible man. One with a hard-earned reputation for putting past wives in the ground. He died several years ago, having apparently choked on his dinner.

 She insisted she had nothing to do with it. I pretended to believe her.

 When she could eventually speak again, she said to me, “Well, he was always complaining about having me around, so I figured I would give him some space. But the next time I go down to see him, I’ll check on him, just for you~”

 She then gestured for me to set my belongings aside with a wave of her hand, so while she perused what she had on display, I set the crate on the part of the counter farthest away from her work space.

 As I stood there waiting, I took the time to enjoy the atmosphere of the room. There was some comfort to be found in roasting wheat, in the smell of toasting almonds and slightly burned sugar. Isabela’s cooking always felt comforting. For all how harsh her exterior was, one could taste the truth in her mazapán, delicate and sweet. One could feel her comfort in the warmth of her bread, and find her kindness in the quiet tang of her mantecados.  

 But it wasn’t mantecados she brought me, or mazapán. Instead, what she brought up was a small woven basket, full of sugar-dusted pastries cut into familiar, fluffy squares. I would recognize them anywhere. My mother baked them every so often for my father when we were small.

 Beignets.

 My familiarity must have been obvious, for her typical biting commentary came more softly than before. “It’s been a while since you’ve had these, right?” She asked. “The man who ordered these threw me a fit, so he didn’t get them. I don’t know if you still like them or not, but…”

 Looking over to her, I only said this: “If ever I were to fall out of love with beignets, then I would no longer be myself. How much do you want?”

 “Don’t bother.” She slid the basket over to me. “It’s on the house.”

 Now, I hated to leave anyone unpaid for their services, and she knew this. But when I tried to object, as she no doubt knew I would have, she only snapped her fingers at me. “And you’re going to take it, or it’s going on the house, got it?”

 “But– you could still sell it to me–”

 “I’m not selling anything that isn’t hot and fresh.” She rolled her eyes and huffed. “ Please. At least I know you’ll eat them. Now take them and go, before another customer sees.”

 So I looped the basket over one of my arms, took up my shipment, and did just that. If Perlita somehow didn’t appreciate the treat, I knew that I would.

 Perlita was already gone by the time I had returned. She was apprenticed to Dr. De la Fuente, and so spent much of her afternoons with him, learning what she could on medicine and the human body. He was the only one willing to teach her, as no one else took her seriously when she told them she wanted to be a doctor.

 This was alright with me. I knew she would be safe there. And it gave me plenty of time to myself. I set all of my things aside, set the basket of beignets on the coffee table, then took my shipment of paper upstairs to my office. But not before putting Orfeo away.

 Once I was inside, I got to work sorting out my shipment. The parcels were sorted onto my paper shelf one by one, nestled in neat and orderly fashion with the rest of the blank paper I had. It kept them cleaner to leave them in their parcels, rather than removing them. Especially with a pet like Orfeo. As well as he behaved, he still could make a mess if I wasn’t careful!

 That, and my office didn’t have that much space. Compared to my bedchambers, it was much smaller, with only enough space for my writing desk, my work table for book binding, and some bookshelves for storage. The window to the room also wasn’t as big. My father’s personal study back at our old home was much larger, with more breathing room, more books, more seating…

 This office felt more fitting for a mouse. I could scarcely be satisfied with my sorting, when I didn’t have much room to store the new paper in the first place. This was the other reason they stayed in their parcels.

 Not wanting to get lost in my thoughts, I went back downstairs for the beignets. With no commission work currently available, no tasks from the Navy, and Perlita gone from the house, I was hoping to finally be able to relax. So I took a beignet for myself, seated myself in the nicest armchair in the reception room, and was just getting ready to take my first bite… when I heard it.

 A knock at the front door.

 This knock was also familiar to me. However, unlike Perlita’s knock, this was a knock I never looked forward to answering. Also unlike Perlita’s knock, this was a knock that I couldn’t turn down. With a great sigh, I rose from the chair I had just seated myself in. I took a bite of my beignet to comfort myself, then came to answer the door.

 When the door opened, I was greeted with a charming smile. One filled cheek to cheek with wolf’s teeth.

 For my own well-being, I chose to be polite. So I answered his smile with one of my own.

 “Ah. Good morning, Captain Gutiérrez.”

[tasmanianstripes]

Maybe it's the result of my main fandom for the majority of my life being one where canon just genuinely doesn't exist, where there are so many different canons and literally any sort of interpretation of a single character is correct and can range from a moronic maniac with a chainsaw to a depressed old asshole boss, but

Literally who gives a fuck about canon?

Especially when the character is practically a blank slate or if it's an AU

Like, I'm sorry, but if you're butthurt about a mischaracterisation of a fictional character in an Alternative Universe then I don't think you understand what an AU is

[bolithesenate]

actually writing fic is only an excuse for me to spontaneously create more ocs

[mimble-sparklepudding]

What, if any, is your biggest source of fear or anxiety when it comes to writing or otherwise portraying romantic or sexual scenarios?

I'm worried about not being a very good writer, especially when it comes to matters of sex and romance. If you want a quick comic poem full of nob jokes then I'm your man, but trying to come up with prose that communicates a sense of romance, let alone sexual chemistry, is very probably beyond me. I suppose I'm worried about sounding clichéd, clumsy or just flat out ridiculous.

I'm also probably shy about trying to write about same-sex romance or... well same-sex sex. Probably due to many years of internalised homophobia and a lack of examples to draw inspiration from (although that has been helped by being on here, as there are quite a lot of very talented creators covering such things - @scholarlostintime, @astrology-bf and @houserosaire for example). So it's not that I doubt it can be done well, it's just I'm not at all sure I could do it well...

And also, if I am going to try to do anything with a "ship" with a canon character, particularly a popular one, then I am very unsure that I could get their voice and character accurate enough. I don't know whether it feels disrespectful to be writing for a canon character maybe? It doesn't feel that way when other people do it. But I'm worried my attempt would be more crude caricature than faithful rendition.

Also if it's a character that lots of people ship their OC with then I will probably unfavourably compare my attempts with their far better work. And it might look like I'm poaching other people's ideas.

And, as @primamchorus has so eloquently said, it's quite tricky to talk about bodyparts without sounding prudish, childish or overly biological. I'm not even sure I could talk about them in general conversation, let alone in writing.

So there's a few barriers... Maybe I should stick to silly poetry?

[mamawasatesttube]

you guys i have so many thoughts about tdr. i have so much to say. like i don't want to be super mean but dude that comic fucking sucks and i can't lie i think it made me kind of homophobic actually

[digitalspool]

thinking about how dr ratio would comfort my oc/self-insert, iris (she is #traumatised) they r so silly

established relationship, potentially ooc? idk if i write ratio correctly lol. will have to go into iris' backstory at some point~

at first dr ratio's confused. he’s never seen iris so vulnerable before ��� she’s always been so closed off with her emotions, so it’s odd to see her near to tears.

“i’m fine.” her voice is cold, distant. but he can see that she’s not fine — the way her body trembles ever so slightly, she’s biting her lip, her eyes dart about the room nervously.

“clearly, you’re not fine.” dr ratio says, huffing as he draws close to her. his gaze softens as he takes in her appearance. he hates to see her so troubled. his voice is a touch gentler, “you can trust me. i promise i won’t judge. it would be counterproductive to judge you.”

iris hesitates.

“i’m sorry. this is unbecoming of me.” she bites her lip, looking away from him. “i… didn’t really want you to see me like this.”

she walks away, ignoring his looks of concern.

iris has always relied on herself to pick herself back up, because she believes that she isn’t allowed to rely on anyone. she feels that she is not enough for him. that… she shouldn’t be allowed to feel.

he only realises this just a bit too late.

he wants to feel disappointed at her most recent presentation, but... he can't bring himself too. the way she's slumped on the chair, as if lifeless...

he wants her to be like herself again. unsure of how to deal with her state, he falls back into familiar patterns, as if she's a student who's scored a less than adequate score on a test.

“why didn’t you come to me? you've made a complete fool of yourself. it’s foolish of you to not depend on me— you can lean on me!" his own frustration bleeds into his words. he doesn't understand - why isn't she trusting him? are they not close enough? he though...

"why are you being so stubborn? you-” he stops, noticing her fearful expression. just a few words and she’s already shirking away from him. he recognises that maybe he's being a bit too harsh on her... perhaps it's best if he takes a different approach.

“...my apologies." he murmurs. iris' gaze snaps to him. it's feels rare to see him apologise, but dr. ratio is smart enough to know when he's in the wrong. "i care for you, you realise that?” his voice is soft, unlike anything iris has heard before. “it is important that you’re taken care of… otherwise, how will a genius such as yourself flourish?”

a silence. iris still looks afraid of something. he can't tell what, though.

“i’m not allowed.” she whispers, her voice holding a slight tremor, “mother and father says i’m not allowed to feel. that i shouldn’t be so pathetic. that i am not worthy of comfort. seeking out others will lead to ‘punishment’.”

it’s enraging. the fact that she believes that she can’t rely on him, the fact that her parents have driven in the belief that she is not worthy of anything. her words allow him a glimpse of her past. it’s enough for him to realise that she’s experienced something truly harmful.

he wishes he could heal her from her traumatic experiences. but all he can do is hold her close and whisper words of comfort.

“don’t say that." he gently takes her hand and stares into her eyes, searching for any hints of emotion. all he can see is fear, shame and apprehension. "of course you're allowed to feel, don't be foolish. ignore your parents words. confide in me."

she still looks hesitant.

"i'm sorry." she murmurs, nodding at him, giving him permission to hold her close. immediately, he wraps his arms around her, pulling him into his embrace. so what, if the people are watching? her comfort, her emotional state is his priority right now. they can gossip all they want. as long as she's okay.

"don't apologise." he scolds gently. "you're not with your parents anymore, you know that, right? so their words hold no weight."

she nods, feeling her throat tighten, knowing that if she tried speaking, her voice would come out as a pathetic sort of croak. instead, she leans into him, feeling the tears escape her eyes.

it's been so long, since she's cried. it's been so long, since she has indulged in the comfort of another...

for now, dr ratio is simply glad that she's allowing him to comfort her.

[hella1975]

I CANT KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS

[caged-nights]

💐Tea and Comfort🌿- Stellarium ONE SHOT

⚠️Content Warning⚠️: Slight warning for intrusive thoughts and hearing voices

A little thing I cobbled together because I wanted Meliora and Venueri to have dessert together and instead of doodling it, I wrote this! A little messy, but it was fun to do something sweet with them.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Ღ Venueri was used to being alone, ever since she was young. 

Ღ She would have never guessed it in a million years that the stars would bless her with the company of another after all this time. 

Ღ  She truly didn’t deserve it.

Ღ But here she was, waiting at the small, ornate outdoor table for the first Villicus she has seen in a long time to come back with her “surprise”. 

VENUERI: (“I don’t know why she bothers…”)

Ღ  Well, with her. Venueri didn’t see why her new roommate seemed to enjoy her presence. 

Ღ Not that she didn’t enjoy her company, it was more so…

Ღ She felt that she was a lost cause.

???: “No one should ever get close to you.”

Ღ A voice sneered at her, one she had grown accustomed to. 

Ღ Before she could dive deeper into that rabbit hole, the sound of her gilded heels came clicking on the white stone leading to the gazebo.

MELIORA: “Venueri! Sorry for the wait, had trouble figuring out the stove!” 

Ღ Her vibrant violet eyes that contained a sky similar to Venueri’s seemed to sparkle with excitement. 

VENUERI: “O-Oh, it’s not an issue! Please, come have a seat.”

Ღ Setting down the trays with grace, Meliora sat down on the chair across from Venueri. 

Ღ Venueri looked up from her lap finally and to the trays she brought. 

VENUERI: “You made tarts?” 

Ღ Quite surprising.

MELIORA: “Yup, you said in the past that you had trouble tasting certain flavors. So, I made something sour!”

Ღ She remembered that?

VENUERI: “Oh, you didn’t have to!” 

Ღ She was slightly embarrassed by feeling… seen, almost. 

Ღ But Meliora grinned and waved her hand, 

MELIORA: “I wanted to, besides, you need something indulgent for once. What did you have last night before we went to bed? …Bread?”

Ღ So she saw her do that. 

Ღ Venueri felt herself turn pink at those words, trying not make eye contact with the other. 

VENUERI: “I promise I do try to cook real food sometimes…” 

MELIORA: “...You do remember the last dish you made, right?” 

Ღ Oh, yeah, that.

VENUERI: “Please don’t mention it.”

Ღ Venueri sulked openly, the embarrassment still fresh on her mind. 

Ღ Meliora chuckled at her pouting before grabbing the teapot she had prepared for the two of them.

MELIORA: “I didn’t know what kind of blend you like, so I hope the one I chose is ok.” 

Ღ She plopped in two sugar cubes into her teacup, the scent of the tea rose into the air. 

Ღ It was really nice, actually. 

VENUERI: “It smells wonderful! Which one is it?” 

Ღ Meliora smirked in a victorious fashion, as if she was betting with herself on this. 

MELIORA: “It’s called Hot Apple Spice, you seemed to be really into the Autumn season when we went out last time, so I grabbed a bag!”

Ღ She could smell the apple and cinnamon, there was also the slight scent of orange and cloves in the mix. 

Ღ Meliora grabbed Venueri’s teacup and a small plate. 

MELIORA: “How many cubes?” 

Ღ She clicked the little sugar cube tongs as she asked.

VENUERI: “I, um, the same amount as you?” 

Ღ Meliora wasn’t pleased by that answer, 

MELIORA: “Do you like it more bitter or sweet?” 

Ღ Venueri sat straight up, as if she were being interrogated.

Ღ She put more thought into this answer this time. 

VENUERI: “I suppose sweet to pair with the sour of the tarts…”

Ღ Meliora nodded her head, grabbing a few sugar cubes and stirring her tea with the small, detailed spoon. 

MELIORA: “You do seem like more of sweets girl!”

Ღ She grins happily as she carefully handled one of the baked tarts she made. 

Ღ The scent of rhubarb and strawberries filled her nose, and the plate and teacup were gently set in front of her. 

Ღ Venueri stared at the tart like it had eyes, but she picked up the teacup and let the aroma fill her senses.

Ღ She had to wonder…

Ღ Why would Meliora bother with her?

???: “She’s just wasting her time on you.”

Ღ A voice mocked her from somewhere. 

???: “She would be better off kicking dirt.”

Ღ The shaking of her own hands became apparent to even herself as they continued to shout and insult her. 

MELIORA: “Venueri?”

Ღ Of course she would notice, she wasn’t doing a great job at hiding her panic right now. 

Ღ Venueri tried to calm down, to level her breathing, but even as her vision blurred– she couldn’t get her mind to cease the voices. 

VENUERI: “I…It’s ok, I’m just a little on edge…” 

Ღ Meliora wasn’t stupid, she knew that, but it was the best lie she had. 

Ღ But she approached Venueri regardless, her hand urging Venueri to put down the teacup and lay her hands down.

MELIORA: “Venueri, it’s alright, focus on me.” 

Ღ Venueri didn’t want to, but her voice was so warm, so compelling, that she looked up at Meliora’s face. 

Ღ Meliora’s hand gently squeezed her own, her violet eyes filled with indigo clouds and a warm yellow moon stared back into her own sky filled eyes. 

Ღ Venueri keep finding the one question bubble its way back up the surface of her mind as Meliora ran her thumb across her knuckles.

Ღ Why does she bother?

Ღ What did she have to gain from this?

Ღ Venueri was so confused, by this warmth and concern. 

Ღ It felt like an axe embedded in her chest. 

MELIORA: “Here, the tea isn’t caffeinated, the warmth might help ease your head.” 

Ღ She slowly let go of her hand and pushed the tea towards her, 

VENUERI: “...”

Ღ She was silent for a moment before she took a small sip of the tea. 

Ღ The warmth did feel nice. 

Ღ Meliora was quiet, but she didn’t leave her side. 

Ღ As the panic of her head slowly leveled, Venueri felt a bitter feeling come up in her heart. 

Ღ She finally decided to ask.

VENUERI: “Meliora?” 

Ღ Her eyes widened at Venueri. 

MELIORA: “What is it?” 

Ღ She looks at her fellow Villicus, 

VENUERI: “Why…”

Ღ She starts, almost stopping and burying her emotions deeper. 

VENUERI: “Why did you do all this?” 

MELIORA: “...Huh?”

Ღ She clearly didn’t get it.

VENUERI: “The tarts, the tea, the concern…” 

Ღ She listed a few of the most recent examples. 

VENUERI: “There has to be a reason you’re doing all this.” 

Ღ Meliora smiles though, she smiles with a sadness. 

MELIORA: “It’s simple, really.”

Ღ She looks down at Venueri, who looks up at her.

MELIORA: “I like you!”

Ღ She scratches her cheek in embarrassment, leaving Venueri flabbergasted. 

VENUERI: “L-Like?!” 

Ღ She could have dropped her teacup right there. 

Ღ Her eyes wide with confusion, while Meliora chuckled at her unusual expression. 

VENUERI: “You don’t know me though.” 

Ღ She knew if Meliora knew her… then…

Ღ Meliora didn’t let her finish that thought. 

MELIORA: “Even if I don’t know everything, I want to know more.” 

Ღ She smirks; honestly… 

VENUERI: “Do you not think that I’m… a disaster?”

Ღ A lost cause. 

Ღ A broken tool.

Ღ Meliora shrugged it off. 

MELIORA: “Even if you were, who am I to say that’s a bad thing?” 

Ღ Venueri blinked at that statement.

MELIORA: “If you’re a disaster, then I’m a hurricane!” 

Ღ She seemed… proud of that. 

Ღ Venueri finally let a smile slip through, even if it was small. 

VENUERI: “Meliora?”

Ღ Meliora tilts her head,

MELIORA: “What’s up?” 

VENUERI: “...Thank you.”

Ღ She snickers, a sound Venueri welcomed. 

MELIORA: “I barely even did anything, but you are welcome.” 

Ღ Venueri and Meliora look to the tea and treats on the table,

VENUERI: “Ah… my little meltdown took over our teatime. The tea most be cold–”

MELIORA: “Worry not, we have fire magic for a reason.” 

VENUERI: “We are not using that in the gazebo.”

Ღ That made Meliora laugh out loud.

MELIORA: “Then we better eat up!” 

Ღ She grabs a fork and cuts a piece of the tart. 

MELIORA: “Here, open wide!” 

Ღ Venueri felt her embarrassment peak as the fork was placed at her lips.

VENUERI: “Meliora! Are you serious?!”

MELIORA: “What? I want you to try it!”

Ღ She was playing dumb.

Ღ The sounds of the two bickering and chatting filled the expansive garden. 

Ღ Even with the clean white walls, the white marble, and pristine stone that made the world of Venueri’s Somnious feel so holy yet unwelcoming…

Ღ The warmth the two began to share filled the Monastery with a light that it had never seen before.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:**:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

₊˚ପ⊹ - END