#ill almost always judge the writing more than the ships

[v3x4t1on]

I followed for the one piece x homestuck meta lore

yk what, anon. as a treat ill explain what ive been thinking about earlier

(spoiler warning for up to wci, i think. its hard to remember what lore was revealed when, sorry.)

for the context of this world, devil fruits probably exist. or they can be psionics, but im honestly not sure which route i wanna go. celestial dragons are for sure fuschiabloods, no doubt. the alternian government is just the marines and are led by highbloods. alternia’s hierarchal system fits pretty well into one piece i’d say. the empress would just be imu, but there would be more than one fuschia running around. perhaps the world is a lot more flooded than alternia and theres different islands so the maps pretty similar to the one piece world. thus, its a bit harder for the troll marines to enforce their laws.

gol d roger was a limeblood who forever changed alternian history by telling people of his hidden treasure, the one piece. this led to a huge wave of pirates, and more open opposition against the empress. limebloods such as gol d roger to this day are still being hunted down by the government due to the threat they pose to it. the oppressive nature of the marines is the exact same as the alternian government, so i hope i dont have to explain it too much.

hancock’s been on my mind a lot lately, her tribe as well. i think they’d all be jadebloods that were once cloistered and now live on their own away from alternian authority. hancock and her sisters were enslaved by fuschias at a very young age, eventually escaping and forming their independent tribe. she has a strong distaste for highbloods.

i felt like jade fit very well for hancock as well as her whole tribe considering jadeblood culture. jadebloods are also pretty rare compared to other castes are are almost always born female. cloistered jades are also isolated from the rest of society to focus on their duties, and have much more pacifist views compared to the rest of the world. yada yada i think it fits perfectly. i also think hancock and her sisters would be rainbowdrinkers… that could be why the rest of the kuja tribe worship/respect them. rainbowdrinkers are regarded as myth in alterian culture, but are worshipped/romanticized by cloistered jades like theyre all twilight fans basically

big moms pirates just feel like theyd be a group of juggalos to me? a huge family of purplebloods obsessed with violence and food.

the vinsmokes… oh man. judge was an indigo scientist who strived to create the most cracked goldbloods; living weapons of destruction that can hold in immense power. goldbloods are often used by highbloods to power things such as ships, and are typically regarded as just living batteries. since goldbloods are known for their great psionics, judge wanted to combine their powerful psionics with the strength of a highblood, since highbloods tend to live longer and have more natural physical strength. sora is forced to participate despite her efforts to foil the experiment. since the vinsmoke children are a mix of goldblood and indigoblood dna, their blood is an odd shade of green/teal; because of this, sanji ends up disguising himself as a tealblood. his abilities are not unlocked until much later, but the genetic modifications done to his body explains his fire psionics and unnatural strength. the other vinsmoke children are some of the mutants permitted by law since theyre being used to benefit the alternian government and empress in the long run.

i will probably write more posts but im just trying to get some of my thoughts out while i still remember. please talk to me about this im down to talk about anything. i can also classpect characters and explain why i think that if anyone wants

also reposting this for reference. please ask questions!!

-??

[talesdevourer]

The issue with the Elain’s week made me think about fandom in general.

I’m not going to say those same things about censorship, tags, etc. But I wonder since when the need to question our own morality in shipping and having fun in fandoms (as long as you have respect for other people)? I’ve lot of experience on Tumblr and ao3 and this is the first time I see fictional characters treated like they were real life persons, or people being judged for their ships/likes.

I dont want to look down on people traumas and personal triggers, right now I can read almost anything but there’s been a time I was highly upset by suicide or the mention of it so I understand how triggers work on someone. That’s why, to live happily in a community, knowing how to block and filter tags is super important and tags and warnings are ALWAYS NECESSARY. But that’s not my point rn.

I’ve read posts saying that , for example, if there were content about Gwyn with her assaulters then people would go rage so it’s the same for Tamlin. And even if this example isnt even right and there’s no need I explain why… this kind of content probably exists yet I don’t see anyone raging. Fanfictions with Elain with all the Vanserras exist too and I’m not here to question the morality of these because I DON’T CARE, I just filter what I want to read and see.

I wonder if the group of people who state these things are even aware of how fandoms work. Or know why ao3 exists in the first place. Or never met tags like ‘dead dove do no eat’.

And yet the acotar fan contents are the less “bolder” I’ve even seen in my fandoms history.

I’m not writing this specifically because of Tamlin, but cause I hope this is not the start of a behaviour (not only in the acotar fandom but in others too) who will claim to protect victims when actually is just censoring and shaming for some people.

And I will end this post packed with grammatic errors saying this: I’ve had a problematic adolescence, I suffered some serious things and I’m very sensitive about mental illnesses/mental health, and when I was younger in those moments I felt alone the most, there wasn’t a place I felt more safe at than fandoms communities, with all their issues however there I felt the acceptance I couldn’t find irl.

[ciaossu-imagines]

omg, finding someone else who detests eggs like me is such a relief! i feel like i just met my other egg-hating half, haha! everyone around me likes them, so i feel sort of embarrassed when eggs are served during mealtimes and then people look at me like i’ve committed a crime by being the only one not eating them. god, it’s exhausting to have to explain or justify myself.

anyway, i appreciate you taking the time to read my self-ship headcanons. i find it heartwarming that you’re always excited and enthusiastic about your readers’ interests. i noticed that you reblogged prompts, so this time i have something to send in. from the ask game, can you do 🐰🐶💎🌿? i’m interested (and i’m sure the other readers are as well) in getting to know you more!

- nix

I know what you mean! Everyone I know definitely is an egg person and they keep telling me that oh, I just haven’t tried them prepared like this or I’ll love them if they’re in something. And they’re kind of right on that one – I tell them I like them in cake and cookies and they look at me like I’ve committed some kind of culinary crime in disliking them. I know the struggle. Also get lots of weird looks for saying I hate Jello – it’s a texture thing though. Squishy makes me so blegh and it’s not pretty, haha!

Heck, I appreciate you sending them in. They gave me so many smiles and happiness today and I appreciated the nice chance of pace and distraction! Thanks to that and other messages sent in, I made it through the commission I was working on and got inspired to reply to a couple emails, and write one post to add to the queue eventually! Honestly, hearing all about your guy’s interests, ships and characters inspire me as a creator too! Also, thank you so much for wanting to get to know me more! I find that really sweet and very flattering 😊

🐰 What do you think says the most about a person?

This is a lesson I’ve learned the hard way, but people’s actions speak volumes. Unfortunately, it’s been a lesson hard learned, but anyone can say pretty words, anyone can promise you the moon and the stars, anyone can convince you that they’re this amazing person just from their words alone, but their actual actions and what they do will speak volumes more. People whose actions tell me they’re a good person, people whose actions show kindness, respect, and strong morals and character – those are the people I have learned are safe to trust and open my heart to and let into my life. I hope nobody ever has to learn that lesson the hard way, of course, but do believe that people’s actions should be what others judge them by, not their words alone, not some superstition based on star signs, not their looks, not their mental illnesses, not their physical capabilities…just their actions.

🐶 Are you more of a dog person or a cat person?

Both! I love all animals – up until my last couple and current apartment, which are pet free, I’ve always had a cat and love lavishing my friend’s dogs with attention and treats. Once I get a new apartment (or, crossing my fingers, my own house), I definitely want a cat again and I would kill for a place where I can have a pig again! Just a mini-pig, honestly. I have a friend who got one and I love them so much. They’re harder to train than a cat, yes, but once they’re trained, they’re smart and cuddly and lovely pets.

💎 What’s your most prized possession?

I have a leather jacket a friend gifted me. Yes, you guys can be mad at me, it’s indeed real and genuine leather, a motorcycle jacket so I’d be a bit safe when I rode behind him. It’s lasted me eight years now and looks almost the same as it did when I got it. Not only has it held up remarkably well, it’s warm enough to last me into December (though I admittedly run hot) some winters, most definitely into November. It also looks good with everything I own, has good pockets on it. I also have a hand-me down cut from the same friend that I wear when I’m feeling really lonely, as it always reminds me of him. I’ve had some rude people tell me it looks ridiculous on me, especially when I wear it with my usual pastel dresses and frilly skirts, but he always told me I rocked it like no one else, so I take his confidence into all days when I wear it.

🌿 Describe your favorite outfit.

I wear a lot of dresses and skirts, to be honest. It’s only in winter that I start throwing on pants or when I have to work (uniform and all). My favourite one is super geeky though! I’m actually going to add a picture here!

I’ll throw leggings on under it in chillier weather and always wear bike shorts under all my dresses and skirts (I’m super active and tend to sit like a man, so they protect my modesty). It’s old now, at least five or six years old and it’s been washed so much the colours aren’t as vibrant and it’s all stretched out, but it will have to come apart at the seams before I give up wearing it.

[your-lovely-rose]

If you’re here, you’ll want to order something. Don’t be shy. Below is a list of what you can ask for (I don't judge, and I’m fine with a lots of dark subjects) - it's a safe zone for everyone.

Before we begin: I won't be angry if one person fills my inbox. It is for you to send me your requests (even if there will be more than 10 or 50 or they even will appear every few minutes). Do you have another idea or do you want me to write you something else? Then send it to me.

Additionally, if you accidentally send me the same request several times (because you thought you deleted it by accident or for other reasons, I don't go into detail) I won’t be angry/upset. I understand that it can happen.

❥ Request Status: CLOSED!

❥ Day of publishing fanfics/requests: Friday

← [Navigation] | [Ask] | [Fandoms] →

☞ What I can write?

➵ Alphabet

➵ Headcanons

➵ Preference

➵ Scenarios

➵ Short story (One Shot, Drabble)

ⓘ ┆ Important note: Sometimes things can go wrong and request can come out longer than I thought it might be...

☞ Typ fic & Genre:

➵ Angst (ger. meaning ‘dread’ or ‘anxiety’) - The story features prevalent physical or emotional torment of characters. There is also usually a feeling of helplessness.

➵ Case fic - A fanfic, typically based on a mystery or procedural franchise, which focuses on the solving of a case.

➵ Crossovers (X-over) - A story featuring elements from several different fandoms.

➵ Death fic - A story in which one of the characters dies; often focused on its consequences.

➵ Dark fic - A type of fan fiction characterized by a heavy, depressive atmosphere and the presence of dramatic themes (angst, violence, torture), almost always with an unhappy ending.

➵ Fluff (Cuteness, Warm, Fuzzy Feeling) - Fanfic designed to evoke feelings of happiness in the reader and makes you feel warm inside when you read it. The story is soft/gentle, lighthearted, comfort, happy, etc (the opposite of angst).

➵ Horror Story - is a genre of fiction that is intended to disturb, frighten or scare. Often divided into the sub-genres of psychological horror and supernatural horror, which are in the realm of speculative fiction. The main themes of horror are usually vampires, demons, ghosts, werewolves, haunted buildings, cannibals or zombies. The storyline can be based on real threat and fear, with the main motives usually being psychopathic killers, rapists, virus outbreak, dangerous animal, beatings or nightmarish memories/visions of the protagonist. The element that distinguishes this type of horror from thriller is the level of violence it contains and the numerous presence of gore scenes.

➵ Hurt/Comfort (H/C) - Type of fanfic in witch one character receives comfort from another after (or while) suffering injury, illness, or a traumatic experience. It has various types, like: 

➥ Hurt/No comfort, also called sometimes Whumpage/Whump (slang: thumping, beating) - where no one comes to take care of character, excessive whump may also be considered as darkfic.

➵ Romance -

➵ Smut (Porn) - Erotic story/Contains scenes typically not allowed for under 18, depends on the marking:

➥ Suggestive (Safe For Work) - Mild provocative references or materials, the content does not contain anything of explicit nature.

➥ Lime 🍋‍🟩 (SFW) - Contains sexual situations, but lacks the graphic nature of a lemon.

➥ Vanilla - Used in reference to sexual situations. Indicates a story does not contain any unusual sexual practices.

➥ Lemon 🍋 (Not Safe For Work) - Contains graphic sexual situations, Minors Do Not Interact!

☞ Ships ♡ Relationship:

➵ Character x Character:

➥ Canon

➥ No canon

➵ Original Character (OC) x Character

➵ Reader x Character

␥ Polyamorous π

ⓘ ┆ Is the practice of, or desire for, romantic relationships with more than one partner at the same time, with the informed consent of all partners involved.

␥ Male/Female ⚥

ⓘ ┆

␥ Yaoi ⚣ (Boys’ Love/BL) (M/M)

ⓘ ┆ The work featuring a relationship between two (or more) men. It can be romance or sexual, but yaoi also includes of works depicting emotional and spiritual relationships.

␥ Yuri ⚢ (Girls’ Love/GL) (F/F)

ⓘ ┆ The work featuring a relationship between two (or more) women. It can be romance or sexual, but yuri also includes of works depicting emotional and spiritual relationships.

␥ Platonic (relationship/love)

ⓘ ┆ Is a type of love in which sexual desire or romantic features are nonexistent or has been suppressed or sublimated, but it means more than simple friendship.

␥ Forbidden Love, Mutual Pining & Unrequited love (one-sided love)

ⓘ ┆ Forbidden love may refer to a romantic relationship between two individuals which is highly discouraged or strongly opposed by a third party, such as the public; either due to cultural, societal, political, or religious reasons.

ⓘ ┆ Mutual Pining is when two people who like or love each other, but think the other one isn't interested, making this trope also a sort of unrequited love.

ⓘ ┆ Unrequited/One-sided love that is not openly reciprocated or understood as such by the beloved. The beloved may not be aware of the admirer's deep and pure affection, or may consciously reject it.

␥ Friends with benefits (FWB / FWBR)

ⓘ ┆ Is a term commonly used to reference a relationship that is sexual without being romantic. Typically, these relationships can be between people that consider themselves non-platonic and friends. These non-committal relationships can be short term, or evolve into serious romantic relationships - most often, however, it ends when the other person confesses their feelings.

⚠ Stockholm syndrome

ⓘ ┆ Is a coping mechanism (that victim use to survive the days, weeks or even years) to a captive or abusive situation. People develop positive feelings toward their captors or abusers over time. This condition applies to situations including child abuse, coach-athlete abuse, relationship abuse and sex trafficking. Treatment includes psychotherapy (“talk therapy”) and medications, if needed.

☞ What else can you add to your request?

➵ Reguest with only one character

➵ More than 1 character (I have no limit)

➵ Type of reader

➵ Modifications of characters

➵ AU's

➵ Things from another fandom/crossover (like mixing characters, worlds, etc.)

➵ Everything you will see on the blog (prompt, etc),

➵ Mix 2 types (or more) of prompts (but write me what is of what),

➵ Links - if you think I can't handle something, I don't know something or you just want to be more sure that your request will be accepted give me a link with additional information.

⚠ Various kinks/parafilia (Minors Do Not Interact!)

Note: if you send me a request from your profile (not as anon) it may happen that I will write to you if I need help with the request (or to let you know how my work on it is going).

☞ Dark (triggers&warnings) and controversial themes, which you can choose/use in request(s):

➼ Abortion

➼ Abuse

➼ Arranged & Forced Marriage

➼ Blackmails & threats

➼ Blood&Gore

➼ Cannibalism

➼ Death (execution, murder, suicide, etc)

➼ Degradation/Humiliation

➼ Drugging

➼ Incest/Stepcest (+ pseudo)

➼ Infertility

➼ Kidnapping

➼ Manipulation

➼ Phobia/Anxiety

➼ Prostitution

➼ Rape/Sexual assault (SA, Non-con/Dub-con),

➼ Risk Aware Consensual Kink (short RACK)

➼ Stalking

➼ Starving

➼ Stockholm Syndrome

➼ Torture (emotionally, mentally and physically)

➼ Any violence

➼ Unplanned Pregnancy

➼ Yandere (obsessive/possessive behaviour)

⚠ What I do not write?

➼ Most illnesses

➼ Scat

➼ Things that I don't know

➼ Phedophilia/Grooming

➼ Real person/people fiction (RPF is a fan fiction works, that tell stories about real people, usually celebrities, instead of fictional characters) - I can only write to a fictional character played by an actor (like: Buggy, Draco Malfoy, Connor RK800, Steve Harrington, Eliza Esposito, Harley Quinn, Daenerys Targaryen), but to the actor/actress (Jeff Ward, Thomas Felton, Bryan Dechart, Joe Keery, Sally Hawkins, Margot Robbie, Emilia Clarke), model or singer, to a real person - no.

← [Navigation] | [Fandoms] →

If you're not sure about something check here for the answer already [Ask] →

That’s all for now, but the tags/things may change or add as needed in future. If you are unsure, you can always shoot me an ask for clarification.

I don't bite ♡

~ Your Lovely Rose

[pangolin-404]

HRGNRNHGGHHGGR I LOVE HAVING EXCUSES TO RANT ABOUT BUDDY FOR AN HOUR

I'm so scared of elaborating on a post-company crew because at that point that's like 4 layers of canon divergence "They Are Not Even Collecting Scrap Anymore" but it is something I've thought lots about. someday I will make a proper post that's cool and suave and has art to go with the descriptions but. in a happier world they survive their contracts and retire to a colony on a moon called Marathon. they smuggle buddy in. it's a cold moon and very quiet and out of the way. they live near a large body of water and buddy gets into fishing. it gets a cat named apparatus. they all have crazy codependency issues

that's all I'm letting myself elaborate on for that or else I'll further lose my mind so. anyways

being around its crew, humans, instead of other masked as definitely altered how buddy behaves and thinks. it's still a mask and so still on some level very alien to its crew.

it feels Really Weird about collecting masks as scrap. if it can it'll just. bypass masks it finds. (most masked don't really take note of dormant masks they stumble across, anyways) its crew also feel Really Weird about it. they'll pick it up because it's scrap and they can be worth a good amount. but it's very awkward. buddy doesn't like it when the crew holds the masks themselves and will insist on holding the masks. this does not make it less awkward

in the ship itself buddy intentionally keeps all the masks locked in one of the cabinets. the crew assumes it's for its comfort and honestly it makes them feel better too, out of sight out of mind, so they don't mind. but really it's because buddy feels like the masks stare at it, judging almost, silently asking, what are you doing? we're right here, friend, and the bodies are right there. put us on. what are you doing? and the masks will laugh/cry at night and make it uneasy

because buddy won't let its crew hold the masks this also means it is the one to set them down to be sold on Gordion. it gets used to this and tries not to think about it

(related Semi-Canon Fact: honorary mention of a friend's oc Mat, an appraiser, who gets over the fact this one crew has a masked with them and appraises buddy as being a basically worthless mask because it's gotten some scuffs from life. its crew are very upset by this. I think this is really funny)

whjere was i. yes writing an essay for each tag. I do think I accidentally paint some sort of dynamic by maybe painting too-strict a line between buddy and its crew . it is still very much part of the crew! it's their equal in every way! it is not a subordinate or considered lesser than them . it is just not human and so has A Different Mind and behavior than a human.

they all behave like guard dogs about each other though. they all get dog analogies in my brain

it adopts more human behavior but its crew also get way more touchy-feely than the average crew. they get used to wordless physical acts like taking someone by the arm or putting a hand on their shoulder or just leaning on them. stronger positive association with such things because of buddy

buddy would do so bad if it stayed overnight. logically it would be fine and at first glance it could enjoy lots of time with a masquerade and unwind

realistically someone brings it up as a possibility and goes "--and we'll come back and pick you up in the morning" and then it registers it would be Without Its Crew:tm: for 8+ hours and gets so distressed it almost throws up . it cannot handle being away from its crew for that long. even whoever is at terminal, usually fifteen, is missed . these are people who are used to being around each other very often, especially late in the day/during the night, when things are meant to be safe and peaceful . used to a strict routine, always knowing where everyone is. they're clingy with each other (<- understatement)

auuauauuuaaaaaaaaaaaaa I'm ill

buddy loves its crew dearly but something about the average masked lifestyle remains very intoxicating to it. especially after some months living the company life and coming face to face with its own mortality and getting so stressed it forgets how to function. sometimes when a masked is spotted on the terminal it wanders first to meet it. usually to distract it, or get it to stay in one spot in a room, but . sometimes it slips to that temptation, oh the life seems so much softer. simpler. arms will always welcome it with just as much animal desperation as it itself craves contact. there is (mostly) no danger beyond natural decay there. to any masked that stumbles across another, there is nothing to worry about, buddy is instantly welcomed like an old friend, and it is pulled into that dionysian song and dance part of its core as an individual (/as a masked). oh can't it stay for just a while, can't it linger, where time stands still and it can rest and feel safe and have every ounce of its heart reciprocated. but it can never stay long and the peace never lasts.

[lordabovehelpme]

Request for Din! When he leaves on a quarry you two get in an argument and when he leaves you get injured in some way. When he gets back he’s still mad and you try to hide that you got hurt until he notices and is upset that you tried to hide it, but you tell him you didn’t want him more upset and everything’s good again and you two make up!

Bicker- Din Djarin x Reader

Summary: The mandalorian leaves you without saying goodbye.

Warnings: Pregnancy!

A/N: I have been in the giant abyss of baby fever sooooo... no comment. But if that is totally not what you wanted, just tell me and I’ll write it again!!!!!

masterlist

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

“I AM PREGNANT NOT INCAPABLE TIN CAN!”

“I know you are very capable, but you are carrying my child and-”

“YOU’RE CHILD? DIN DJARIN THIS IS AS MUCH AS MY CHILD AS IT IS YOURS!”

“Yes, we both definitely made it.”

“THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR JOKES. YOU WANT TO LEAVE ME!”

“I’m not leaving you, I am only going to be gone for a few days.”

Throwing your hands up you scoff. “Yes, why don’t you leave your pregnant wife and your adoptive son all alone for a couple days. I am sure that is going to go perfect.”

He sighs, rubbing the spots on his helmet where his temple would be. “This is the only place I can assure that you’re kept safe.” He grabs his pulse rifle before walking out.

“DON’T WALK AWAY FROM ME!” The hatch closes behind him and the tears start to fall from your eyes.

“I love you.” It’s a whisper, he’s never left without telling you that he loves you. Placing your hands around your prominent belly for comfort, you cry. A little force kicks your hand, almost as if your baby is trying to comfort you.

***

When you wake up in the morning you go straight to working on the ship. Falling into a focused trance you block all the emotion from your mind. It’s soothing, being able to do something with your hands without having to worry about anything.

It feels as if you are in the backseat of your mind. You can see yourself doing the work and yet you can’t stop, you are totally out of control, body moving on auto pilot. It’s like a fog has coated your mind, making everything you do feel like a dream.

***

“OUCH!” Your hand has slipped in the middle of reinstalling some wires, causing you to burn your left hand a tad. You get up as fast as a heavily pregnant woman can and run over the sink. Running the water as cold as it can go you place your hand under the water.

The ship starts to rumble to life, and you can hear the hatch open. Crap, a certain mandalorian is back and judging from the loud stomps of boots he is still angry. Turning off the water you bite back your tears and hide your hand behind your back.

He is pushing an unconscious quarry into a carbonite freezer when you emerge from the fresher. “How was it?”

“Fine.” He turns away from you, “where is the kid?”

A sharp pain blossoms in your chest, “umm, he is sleeping.” Your voice falters and wavers as you look down at your feet. The mandalorian nods before climbing the ladder to the cockpit. You hear the door woosh open and closed. “Great, good talk.” You murmur to yourself.

***

After a long needed cry you decided to face your husband. Climbing up the ladder the best you can you finally make it to the top. Sitting down in the seat next to him, you find yourself holding your breath. The tension is thick enough that you could cut it with a knife.

“How was the baby?” He moves to look at you, well look at your womb.

“They were fine, they kicked for awhile last night but besides that it was great.”

He makes a hum of approval, “Look, cyare, I’m sorry I left so abruptly, I never should have done that.”

Moving his hands to grab yours, you hiss when he touches your burn. Pulling your hand back into your lap you realize your mistake.

His hand instantly grabs your wrist, pulling your hand in front of his face, examining it. “What is this?” The annoyance is clear from his tone.

“I just slipped.”

“You slipped!? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I- I didn’t want you more upset.” You shrink away from him pulling your hand back. He sighs and you can see the gears turning in his head. Standing up, he grabs you and moves you into his lap.

“Oh cyar’ika. I am so sorry. I just want you to be safe and I hate not being able to control that.” He nuzzles his helmet onto your forehead, a keldabe kiss he calls it. “I kicked myself over and over again for leaving you without telling you how much I love you. I wanted to run back to your arms and just hold you but I had to get this quarry.”

He places one of his hands on your stomach, “You have given me so much. I was angry at myself when I came back, you deserve someone so much more than me. Someone who can stay with you and protect you and give you a house. Someone who is not always catching quarries or on the run.”

You grab both sides of his helmet and pull it off his head. His eyes are swirling with emotion and his frown lines are becoming prominent. You kiss him, trying to push your love into him. “Baby, I love you so much. You are everything and more than I ever wanted.” You kiss both of his cheeks, “You are perfect baby. Although we do fight a little, that just means we are healthy.”

You can feel his lips twitch up into a small smile, so you continue, “Have you ever seen a good couple not fight? It just means we are comfortable enough to voice our own opinions.”

“I guess so.” His shaggy curls fall over your face as he nuzzles into your neck, breathing in your scent. His hands make their way to your hips, squeezing them before they trail lower.

“Stop that!” You swat his hands away, he looks up with you with a sly little grin on his face. “You’re as bad as the child sometimes.” You mean to sound strict but the giggle that follows and the smile on your face betray you.

“Do you forgive me?”

“Hmmmm.” You place a finger on your chin, “It was pretty mean to leave me like that.”

“I know, I will never do that again. I promise.”

“Hmmm… alright. I forgive you tin can.”

“Hey!” He frowns at you but his eyes crinkle with a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Leaning into kiss him a coo stops you. Looking at the floor, the child has his arms up. Picking him up, you hold him over your belly. “I love you too.” All of a sudden a strong kick comes from your stomach. Din looks down, placing a hand where the baby just moved.

“We love you too.”

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

Anyway, I hope you liked it! Again, if this is totally not what you wanted, then just tell me and Ill totally write it again!

Love, Lordy. 

[thr-333]

Drastic Measures- Part 16

@daminette-december2019-2020

~Deaging~

Yes I know I left a cliff hanger. Yes I know it was evil. That my friends is the point! if I cannot be an evil gremlin whats the point in writing at all.

Ao3

First < Previous

-----------

Damian blinks awake, head groggy and with an ingrained sense to pretend he’s still unconscious. There are bird calls and the sound of the wind. He isn't at the league's base. Last he remembers he was.

Then he catches the sound of movement, not from an animal but a human. He stays still. They look around for a minute before shuffling closer to him. Foolish, they were obviously untrained and stupid. Even more so when they poke his cheek talking with soft-spoken words.

Damian grabs the wrist lightning-fast making them yelp. He surges up turning the grip into a pin and going for his sword, which isn’t there. In fact, he has no weapons. This realization makes him zero in on the person below him. It’s a girl, his age, and looking terrified. As she should be.

“Who are you?” He demands, no weapons so he presses the wrist at a painful angle.

“Ma-Marinette!” She squeaks, Damian doesn’t let up raising an eyebrow, “Dupain-cheng!”

Damian doesn’t know that name. So she can’t be a threat and she can’t be important. He lets up enough that her wrist won’t break and takes stock of his surroundings. They’re outside, a tropical area judging by the foliage. There are tire tracks, some footprints, and that's it, no other people around. 

It must be a test from his mother or grandfather, those aren’t unusual. The question is what could it be. Certainly, it can’t just be to kill this girl, Marinette. Even without weapons he could have snapped her neck long ago. Information doesn't seem to be it either she doesn't have any training in resisting pain. But perhaps she can provide a clue, maybe that's her purpose.

“Why are we here?”

“I don’t know!” Or perhaps not.

He’ll have to look around. He drags Marinette over to a tree using the vines to tie her up.

“If I am meant to kill you I can do that later, it’s harder to unkill someone,” She relaxes, “Harder, not impossible,”

She is no longer relaxed. Damian paces through the forest, the tire tracks are clear, no effort to hide them, and can easily be followed back. He takes stock of his clothing. Someone changed those. They are all ill fitting, and now that he notices so are Marinette’s. Damian looks over his person for any details missed, finding a small notebook.

None of its coded which is strange in itself since it’s his had writing. Notes, a to-do list, Marinette is mentioned several times, something about a pet store, calculations and what he’s looking for; a location. They’ll head to Alaska then, he likely had to bring Marinette considering she was mentioned. He’ll have to find out where they are and move from there.

“Where are we going?” She demands as Damian unties her from the tree, not completely unbound as they start walking.

“That's not your concern,” Damian snaps pulling her along by a length of vine.

“Well, I am concerned so-”

“What?” He hisses turning to glare at her, Marinette shrinks under it.

“Fine,” She follows along in a few blessed moments of silence,  “... what’s your name?”

“That’s not your concern either,” Damian rolls his eyes, this journey is going to be insufferable.

“Is anything my concern?” Marinette snarks, Damian squashes the smirk down putting up his serious facade.

“Walking faster so I don't gut you,”

That's an effective threat, at least for a while. Damina followed the trail of snapped branches and squashed foliage. If this was a test tracking certainly wasn't what was being tested. So what was? How quickly did he have to figure it out? And what would be the punishment if he didn’t?

“Do you know where we are?” Marinette tries again, she’s incessant that certain.

“I will soon,” The dirt was kicked up into what could almost be a road. They followed to find a proper dirt road and follow the worn path.

There's a few tracks, recent enough to be the past few days which means it wasn't just the people responsible for their situation that have come through here. It was a long walk. Not that it bothered Damian he had trained for much worse. The problem was Marinette. She wasn't tired, actually the opposite which was a problem for Damian. Pounding him with a hundred questions a minute.

“I’m from Paris,” Despite her hands being tied behind her Marinette still managed to lean in front of him, “Where are you from?”

“That's none of your business,” And so he kept trying to shut down every topic, but Marinette seemed more afraid of silence than whatever threat he could dish up.

When night started to fall they set up camp off to the side of the road. With luck, a truck would drive by at some point and he could commandeer the vehicle. Damian was willing to set up a fire but not try and hunt. Without weapons and Marinette in tow, it would be a pointless task regardless.

“Do you like pastries? I live above a bakery,” Which only begged the question of why this girl was important. The daughter of a baker? He was the demon heir and son of Batman, why on earth was he left here with her?

“I don’t care shut up,” Damian rolls over, Marinette securely fastened to a tree. 

He wouldn't sleep tonight but maybe the illusion would keep her quiet. It doesn't. And Damina is unwillingly lulled to sleep. He only realized this when he was startled awake by Marinette warning him that a truck was coming. Damian readies himself to fight as the truck slows as it approaches them. Marinette has other ideas.

“Excuse me, we could use a ride,” 

“Why are you tied up?” the driver asks looking between them concerned.

“A-a prank!” She is not a convincing liar, “Could we please ride with you?”

“Uh, sure, just untangle yourself and let's go,” Damian weighs the advantages of just killing the driver here, but ultimately deems it not worth the effort. Letting Marinette free can’t be that big a risk he greatly outmatches her in speed, strength, and skill.

Damian will admit her habitual questioning comes as an advantage as she makes small talk with the driver. Figuring out where they are. They get dropped off at the main city and from there they go to the port. It’ll be easier to stow away on a ship than a plane even if it will take longer.

“Stay quiet and follow me,” Damian warns Marinette, hiding behind crates at the dock.

Marinette nods following along closely her steps louder than his practiced soft ones. They sneak onto the boat headed for Alaska, its easy enough to stow away hiding among the shipment during the security checks.

“Wow you move like my Maman,” Marinette whispers, once the security has left.

“I highly doubt that,” Damian scoffs perched vigilant high on the crates.

“No really, she always moves silently and sneaks up on Papa accidentally,” Marinette giggles leaning back on the crates.

“Ah-ha,” Damian dismisses watching her out the corner of his eye.

“Yeah she tried to teach me but I’m too clumsy,” 

“Teach you?” Damian actually looks over, “That would imply she actually trained,”

“She did, I don’t know where but I think it was with aunt Talia,” Damian freezes.

“.... Talia?” He hesitates, looking fully at Marinette now, “What's your mother's name?”

“Hm? Sabine,”

… well… it's a really good thing I didn't kill her Sabine would have taken down the whole league

“... So it was an act?” Marinette looks over at him concerned, “Surely Sabines daughter wouldn't be bested so easily,”

“What are you talking about?”

She must know something but what?

“Hey, wanna play hide and seek?” Marinette breaks Damian out of his thoughts.

“For training?” Damian puzzles.

“No silly,” She laughs, Damian can't bring himself to feel offended as it doesn't feel like she's laughing at him, “For fun,”

Hesitantly he lets her drag him along, taking turns hiding among the crates. At first, it does feel like training, staying silent, staying still. Then when she catches him he realizes the difference. There's no pain, no punishment, nothing. Marinette just smiles.

--------

no taglist :P

[greensaplinggrace]

#say it with me folks. we’re not anti the ships. we’re anti the writing that never fully explored anything satisfactorily

genuinely so confused with people who hate show!darklng. show!darkling is as much of a part of oppressed minority as book!darkling is but with even more 'validation' for his purpose, and i see people still hate show!him saying "oh but he is very bad in book" but then i see them rooting for book m*l LIKE HOWWW [i do kinda understand with those who dislike book!darkling but im still as baffled when when they root for book m*l]

ah, the good old darkling vs mal debate, lol.

in all honesty, i think whether someone prefers mal or the darkling when they watch/read SaB really comes down to how different fans like to engage with media.

i really enjoy politics, moral ambiguity, and fiction as a tool to examine real world oppression. as a result (and incredibly predictably to every single person who knows me) my favorite character is the darkling, because his character is a great lense to examine those different aspects of the series from. but, let's be honest here - both the books and the show only engage in politics, gray morality, and discrimination and oppression against minorities in like... the most surface-level way possible. if you're not already prone to getting over-invested in those fictional aspects, there's very little incentive to do so - because both the books and the show only set the darkling up as a focal point to examine those concepts in book 1, when alina thinks he could possibly be a good person. as soon as the darkling is revealed to be an eViL mAnIpUlAtOr, quite literally all of the nuance is stripped from his character, and we no longer engage with any valid points he may or may not have.

which means, if you're not super interested in socio-political worldbuilding, or you don't really want to examine war from a philosophical or moral standpoint, the books and show won't make you, and so it's nice and easy to just view the darkling as the amoral antagonist who needs to be taken down. i honestly don't blame fans for not liking him in the books, because the books don't... really want you to. and the show does pretty much the same thing. the show stops sympathizing with the darkling the second baghra lets the truth drop, and so every single thing he was previously shown to care about is now framed as the manipulation of an evil, calculating villain. so if a fan looks at the darkling, sees all the evil shit he does, and doesn't want to look past all of that, in order to critically examine his character, and the biased way he's viewed... i mean. yeah. then they wouldn't be a fan of his. they're more than justified in that, in my opinion. "this character is interesting, you just have to look past all the nonsensical extremist, stupid bullshit he does that harms everyone around him" isn't going to be a universal opinion, and i don't blame them for not wanting to go out of their way to sympathize with an uncompromising, murderous bastard who doesn't really respect anyone else's opinions other than his own (which, i think, is true even of show!darkling, although he feels worse about the fact that he's screwing people over. like he might cry about it, but he's still going to go forward with his plan, regardless of who objects). there's a reason darklina fans spend so much time writing about what they think would have been a more satisfying or interesting character arc for the darkling to go through - because canon absolutely doesn't do him any favors. like at all.

and on the other side, there's mal. i actually like both show and book mal, even though i don't think book mal was always handled incredibly well. i think he's a fairly sympathetic character with phenomenally bad coping mechanisms, and that the story spends essentially no time actually exploring his negative character traits in a meaningful way, which means, again, that we're given a character who the audience is tasked with doing most of the legwork for, if they want to like him. just like darkling fans very rarely excuse every single thing he's ever done, i don't actually see mal fans defend all the shit he pulls - beyond when both sides are baiting each other, in which case everyone seems to say the most black and white shit i've ever heard. but that's just kind of how online discourse works, so i won't judge people based off that, lol.

i think most fans of book mal seem to take his character, examine his negative traits and where they stem from, pick how they, personally, would like to see those issues addressed, and then put in the work to give him and alina the breathing room to do go through that character growth together.

so, by and large, i think fans of book mal and show mal just have different concepts that they find interesting or satisfying to explore in the media that they like. i obviously can't speak for others, but generally with mal and alina, i do think it's an interesting coming of age story, and has a smaller-scale, trauma-focused approach to the over-arching, wide-scale moral dilemmas that i focus on when i think about the darkling and alina. they're two flawed characters, thrust into a horrible situation, and they're desperately trying to get through it together, while fighting for the happy, peaceful lives that no one else has ever cared about them achieving.

so, yeah. in the end, i think it's really about what a fan wants from the media they consume. there's not really a wrong answer, in my opinion. it's only when people start judging each other over their fictional preferences that things start getting rocky, which is something that both darkling/alina shippers and mal/alina shippers could probably be better about, as needlessly antagonistic posts are prominent in both ship tags.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Diary of the Writing Raven

Part 3 of the 1000+ follower milestone! A continuation of Raven lore (check out part 1 and part 2 for more context)!

Today, we will peak into the raven’s diary. Shhh, don’t tell anyone. The bulk of the entries are hidden under the cut--because a bird has to keep their secrets under lock and key!

***Warning: Spoilers for the main story campaign, particularly chapter 3 and chapter 4!***

Day 1

I am here. At Night Raven College.

There is a strange man. He calls himself my Uncle. He says that he is so very, very kind...and that he will give me a nest, a place to call home.

Uncle has given me this diary with which to record my thoughts. I will put it to good use.

I am thankful.

Day 32:

Uncle says I cannot stay in the attic writing.

He says I cannot stay in my cage forever.

Uncle says I must go out into the world.

He says it often.

I am scared.

Day 45

Uncle has given me robes.

He smeared things on my face.

There will be a ceremony of sorts, and I must attend.

...I am still scared.

Day 46

The ceremony is over.

I got lost on the way to the Mirror Chamber.

A weirdo chased me.

But...a nice person helped. Then he guided me to the ceremony.

He had very pretty eyes.

His name is Mon-sure Schemer? Mister Jade Leech. I hope I can see him again.

Day 49

I am so fortunate! I have stumbled upon Mister Jade again--this time in the hallway.

There was another Mister Jade with him. His name is actually Mister Floyd. They are brothers--twins, in fact! Eel mermen, too.

They look alike, but their personalities are quite different. It is a curious thing.

Mister Floyd is a little scary. He talks funny, and he is moody--but he promises he does not bite. He has taken to calling me “Black Pearly”.

They say they work at this “Mostro Lounge”, and that I should visit.

I am excited!

P.S. Mister Jade says I do not need to call them misters. I will be doing that!

Day 50

The Mostro Lounge is lovely! It has these glowing jellyfish lights, and seashell decorations. There is cool jazz, and a calming underwater ambiance.

Jade seats me and gives me recommendations. I don’t know what a lot of things on the menu are--Uncle has been feeding me mostly grain and small scraps of meat, trying to get me accustomed to human food.

Jade brings me a thing called Flounder’s Blue.��He says it will be easier to hold down than solid food.

Flounder’s Blue comes in a short and stout glass. The liquid itself is actually yellow, with streaks of a blue drip swiped on the inside of the glass, and a blue...circle (?) stuck in, protruding out like a fin.

It tastes...sugary. I do not yet have the words in my vocabulary to properly describe it.

Jade tells me the circle is a “wafer”, the blue is a “syrup”, and the liquid is a “pineapple and cherry juice”.

I am learning many new things today.

Jade is so smart!

Day 54

I almost flopped at giving a presentation to Professor Trein’s class.

Floyd says it’s because I talk strangely, that I stutter and pause too much.

“Why can the Black Pearly write so much, but talk so little?” he asks. “You should tell Jade to tutor you, he’s pretty good with words!”

I have to agree with him. Jade taught me many new words in the Mostro Lounge before. I was embarrassed, but I asked him for help.

He was happy to oblige.

We will meet a few times each week to work on my speaking skills.

Day 59

I tripped and fell in P.E.--I am still no good at running.

Jade was sweet and helped patch me up.

I cried a little.

Okay, a lot.

He stayed with me until I stopped.

Day 71

I have gotten into the habit of visiting the Mostro Lounge every weekend.

The owner, Azul, is friends with the twins. He lets me sit at a table in the corner to do my work and practice speaking.

Jade sits with me and exchanges words.

He has me read stories I have penned aloud.

Sometimes he puts a plate of snacks or a drink in front of me and asks me to taste them, then describe the flavor to him. Other times, he points to people or things in the lounge and asks me to give my thoughts.

Once, he pointed at himself. I told him that he was very patient, that he was someone I trusted.

“Fufu. That is good to hear,” he says.

I also told him that his smile was beautiful.

Day 75

Today, I saw Jade’s true form.

We were swimming today in P.E., but I had to sit out. Ravens cannot swim.

Floyd and Jade were eager to get into the water. Their skin turns blue, and they sprout fins and long eel tails.

...I am not entirely certain why they lack clothing though? It must not be customary for merfolk.

They are having fun in the water.

I am glad.

Day 83

An angry Savanaclaw student came to me in the hallway after Alchemy.

He started to say something about the Leeches and deals, but Floyd told him to stop bothering me. In that moment...Floyd looked like a monster, all teeth and sharp edges.

Jade pulled me away and invited me to go hiking with him.

It sounds fun, but I am concerned about the Savanaclaw student.

Jade says to not fret.

So I listen.

Day 84

There is so much to see in the mountains!

Trees! Streams of water! Rocks! Dirt! Animals! Plants! The sky!

I want to experience everything at once. I am so excitable that I trip over my own two feet a few times--but it’s okay. Jade is always there to help me up.

His favorite thing about nature is mushrooms. He tells me all about them, and the places they like to hide.

I like listening to him talk. His voice is so deep and melodious--and his eyes sparkle when he is excited.

It’s very cute.

Day 86

Jade shows me the mushrooms he is cultivating, and his terrariums.

They are fascinating--each mushroom has its own personality, and each terrarium is like a miniature world.

A thought has wormed its way into my head as of late:

I wonder what it would be like to be a part of his world.

Day 90

It rained.

I shared an umbrella with Jade.

It was a little strange to be squished right next to him.

My heart would not stop pounding, and my cheeks were on fire.

Day 112

The days are growing colder, and shorter.

I wish that time did not fly so fast.

I want to spend more of it with Jade.

I need to return the jacket he lent me.

Day 120

Uncle is worried.

He says I spend too much time with “morally dubious” people.

He questions my ability to judge character.

He does not believe me when I tell him that Jade is a good person.

Uncle warns me to be careful.

I am being careful.

Day 132

Winter has set in.

Jade is kind enough to provide blankets and warm beverages for our study sessions.

At this point, I do not have many issues speaking, but...I do not want to stop. I want to learn more and more. I want to learn more about him.

I enjoy being by his side.

I hope he feels the same.

Day 139

We said our good-byes for the holiday break.

Uncle is taking me with him to a tropical island, and Jade is staying in Octavinelle.

I tell him I will miss him, even if it is just for a few weeks. He looks a bit sad, but he sends me off with a head pat and a smile.

Uncle offers to order me a tropical drink as we board the cruise ship. He tells me not to think of Leeches--those vile, blood-suckers, he calls them.

I say no thank you, but I dream of Flounder’s Blue.

Day 153

The new year has come.

It feels nice to be back on campus, to see Jade again.

We exchanged stories.

Not much happened on my end--I mostly sat indoors and wrote what I could to pass the time. Uncle was often up late into the night, partying and sipping on pina coladas.

Jade says that he helped a few friends and stopped a snake from tearing apart Scarabia. He even shows me a video.

How heroic of him!

I know that I can always count on Jade.

Day 166

I went shopping with Jade.

Floyd was in one of his infamous moods, and Azul is busy with school work--and Jade could not possibly restock ingredients for the Mostro Lounge all by himself.

It was quite busy in town--it made me nervous. I’ve never done well in big crowds of strangers.

Jade said I could hold his hand, if that made me feel any better.

It did.

And it reminded me of the day we first met.

Day 170

I’m still thinking about holding his hand.

Whenever I do, my heart quickens and my forehead begins to bead with sweat.

What is wrong with me?

Have I fallen ill?

Day 185

The students speak excitedly about this holiday known as “Valentime’s Day.” It is a time when you give gifts to the people you care for a lot. A common one is a sweet known as chocolate.

Jade laughed when I told him about it. He said it is actually “Valentine’s Day”, not “Valentime’s Day”. Silly me!

I asked him how many valentines he was expecting.

“None. Oh, woe is me. I appear to be rather unpopular among my peers, fufu.”

How could someone as amazing as him not get any valentines? It boggles my mind.

Day 186

I’ve decided.

I will give him a valentine.

Day 193

I’ve stopped writing stories and devoted most of my free time to researching recipes and designing chocolates.

I think he will like little mushroom-shaped ones. I’ll need to test the flavors out to see what works the best.

I hope the chocolates will bring a smile to his face.

I like his smiles.

Day 195

Oh no, diary.

I’ve realized.

I think I like him.

Day 197

The chocolates came out so well!

I’ve wrapped them up in a box and secured it with blue ribbon. There is an old nursery rhyme...

If you love me, love me true,

Send me a ribbon, a ribbon of blue.

Even if I cannot say those accursed three words...I hope that my feelings are able to come across. The curse cannot punish me for that, yes?

Day 198

I was a fool. I have been tricked. I was being used.

I heard them. I heard everything.

In the Mostro Lounge today...the octopus was speaking to them, the twins with the pretty eyes.

“This is not like you. You are working too slow,” the octopus said to the man I considered my friend.

“I apologize. She was...putting up much resistance. It can be rather difficult to form a connection with such a jittery bird.”

“That is your job,” the octopus sighed. “We need the raven on our side when we approach the headmaster about expanding the Mostro Lounge.”

I understand now--I understand it very well.

Those smiles, that kindness--they were smoke and mirrors.

To begin with, I was always destined to be a prop in someone else’s story. A convenience. Something to be used, then discarded once I am no longer useful.

I have overstepped my boundaries as a storyteller. I...should have remained on the sidelines, where I belong.

I...I know what I must do. I will not allow myself to be tricked a third time. Not by that old storyteller, and not by a slimy eel.

I will steel myself. I will build a wall—and none shall scale it. I will lock myself in a tower, or perhaps even a bird cage, and throw away the key.

To the man with the pretty eyes and the charming smile, farewell.

I’m glad that this raven was, at the very least, able to be a useful footnote in the pages of your story.

Day 201

He feeds me pretty lies and sweet nothings, day in and day out.

He tells me everything I want to hear--that it is a misunderstanding, a mistake. That things are different now. That he cares.

Uncle was right. Leeches are vile blood suckers.

Day 210

I reject his advances every chance I get.

I know they are all with ill intent to begin with.

Even so...no matter what I say or do, he always manages to get the upper hand in the conversation, the interaction.

I hate him.

I hate Jade Leech.

I hate how he is able to take my words away and render me speechless. Words are my only strength, my power as a storyteller. Without them, I am vulnerable. 

I don’t want to be the same weak and naive little bird I once was.

Day 213

It is unfair.

Maybe I am too kind, or too weak, or too gullible, but...I want to believe him.

I must put such thoughts behind me and move on.

Day 226

Uncle tells me that someone has sent a letter and a small package.

Into the trash the package goes--right where it belongs.

But the letter--that, I cannot bring myself to throw away.

It bears his handwriting, the very same gentle curves and slopes that taught me new words and phrases many an evening.

It is silly of me to be this sentimental--and over an eel, of all creatures!

So I stow the letter, unopened, in a drawer. It will remain there as a permanent reminder of my follies.

It is better this way.

I cannot be hurt.

I will not be used.

The curse will not kill me.

I can write stories, forever and ever.

This is...for the best. Isn’t it?

[pocket-luv101]

First Impressions // Chapter 4

Fandom: Servamp Ship: LawLicht (main), KuroMahi (side), Tetsono (side), Jekuni (side) Characters: Hyde, Licht, Kuro, Mahiru

Summary: After Licht meets the wealthy bachelor, Hyde, she was certain that she could never be friends with him. Their paths continues to cross and she slowly comes to know him. Licht wonders if she judged him too quickly. (LawLicht, Pride and Prejudice AU, Fem Licht)

Ch.1 // Ch.2 // Ch.3 // (Ch.4) //

Hyde leaned against the door while he waited for Licht to change out of her wet clothes and into dry ones. He asked the maids to prepare clothes for her to wear while they sent her wet clothes to be washed. After the times he saw Licht protect her sisters, he predicted that she would visit Mahiru after she learned that she was ill. He never expected her to leap over the creek and almost trample him with her horse though.

The door next to him opened and Licht stepped into the hall. The dress she wore belonged to Hyde’s sister who was taller than her. Licht gripped a handful of the skirt and lifted the fabric slightly so she wouldn’t trip as she walked. She addressed the maid before she spoke to Hyde. “Thank you for the clothes and drying my hair, madame.”

“I don’t know many people who would be so polite to the staff.” His comment turned Licht’s attention to him. Her sisters worked closely with their staff and she considered them friends. They would tell her that noble families were often haughty and unappreciative of their work. Licht’s eyes narrowed at the thought that he could be the same. He appeared surprised by her kindness towards the staff.

“I believe a person’s character is shown through their work rather than their rank or wealth. I enjoyed speaking with her. She told me that my sister is resting in the room down the hall.” Licht nodded to the room and then she walked in the direction. Hyde fell into step next to her and he held his arm out to him. She knew that it was customary for a gentleman to offer his arm as he walked with a lady. “There’s no need to be so formal. It shall only take a few minutes to reach the door.”

“I was worried that you’ll trip on that long skirt. You can hold onto me so you won’t fall even if you become tangled in the fabric. I wouldn’t want you to twist your ankle. May I escort you to your sister, Angel Cakes?” He continued to hold out his arm to her. After a moment of hesitation, Licht let one of her hands fall from her dress and she placed it on the crook of his arm. She was able to feel his warmth and his toned muscles through his jacket.

They walked down the hall and Licht glanced to the family portrait at the end of the corridor. Hanafield’s manor was a grand building and the rooms inside were even more so. Licht couldn’t imagine how they were able to collect enough flowers to cover the tall walls. Despite how extravagant the manor was, her gaze would always fall onto Hyde. She had to admit that he was handsome but she didn’t know if his heart would reflect his exterior the way Hanafield did.

They stopped in front of the room they gave Mahiru and he opened the door for Licht. He noticed the way she leaned forward slightly to peer into the room and search for her sister. He thought the subtle gesture was endearing. Before he moved into Hanafield, he learned that his neighbours were a prestigious family. Hyde had assumed they would be cold and formal but he could see that he was wrong. He wanted to learn more about her. He considered asking her about her opinion on the play he gave her but he knew it was better to wait until after she spoke with her sister.

“Mahiru!” Licht almost tripped over her dress as she walked to the bed where she laid. She sat on the edge of the bed and she found that her sister appeared only slightly flushed. It was a relief that her cold wasn’t as dangerous as she feared. “We were worried sick when we learned you caught a cold in the rain. Mikuni and Misono wanted to come to see you but they had to attend to family business. They will come as soon as the work is done.”

“I didn’t mean to worry you or any of my sisters. I thought I would be able to reach the manor before the rain started. As you can see, the weather did not agree.” She told her through several sniffles. Licht took out a handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to her sister. “Thank you, Licht. I’m glad you’re here but there was no need to fret. The Servamps would’ve written that they are caring for me. What would’ve happened if you got sick coming to see me?”

“Your motherly instinct would fight off your cold and you would rush to the kitchen to make me chicken soup.” She joked and Mahiru giggled. Her laughter was quickly overtaken by a cough and she pulled the blanket to her chin. Licht could easily see that she was trying to hide the symptoms of her cold and lessen her concern. “You’ve taken care of us for years but it’s my turn now. I’ll pour you some tea.”

Licht turned to speak with the maid but she saw that Kuro had already made a cup of tea for Mahiru. He placed it on the table next to the bed. “Would you like sugar in your tea?”

“Only a spoon, please. Thinking simply, it wouldn’t be good to have too much sugar while recovering from a cold.” Mahiru smiled up at him. Her face was a little red and she didn’t know if it was caused by the cold or Kuro’s kindness. “Thank you for staying by my bedside and making sketches for me. They have lifted my spirits even with this cold.”

“This man was alone with you while you were weak from a cold?” Licht’s eyes narrowed at Kuro. It was improper for a man and a woman to be alone in a room together. She knew the assumptions society would make if they knew. She hated the thought that people would whisper rumours about her sister. A scandal could quickly grow from the rumours and limit Mahiru’s future choices. She started to rise to her feet but Mahiru placed a hand on her sister’s arm to stop her from turning her anger to Kuro.

“Kuro has done nothing but treat me kindly and be respectful, Licht. Wrath has been with us this entire time as well. There is no need to worry about my reputation.” She nodded towards Wrath who sat next to the window. Licht had been so concerned for her sister that she didn’t notice the others in the room. With a light tug on her sleeve, Mahiru urged her to sit down again. “I know you mean well in your heart but you shouldn’t be so impulsive.”

“Licht is your sister. I understand why she would want to protect you.” He didn’t appear to be offended by Licht’s anger as others would be. Mahiru felt a warmth spread through her heart. She could only be with a man who respected and understood her sisters with their quirks. Kuro placed a sketchbook onto her lap and said, “I should go so you can speak with your sister alone. It has been a pleasure. Wait, I don’t mean to say I’m happy that she got sick.”

“I understand,” Mahiru laughed and her warm voice made him relax. She watched Kuro leave the room and she waited for the door to close before she turned to Licht.

Her sister sat in the chair next to the bed where Kuro had been. Mahiru tilted the sketchbook to Licht so she could see the drawing of a rose. “When I fell ill, Kuro came and asked if I wanted something to pass the time. He didn’t want me to be bored or lonely in this large room by myself. We both enjoy art and we took turns drawing in this sketchbook. He kept me company. He’s a good man.”

“You don’t need to convince me of his noble character. My sisters are fellow angels and their divine judgement is never wrong.” Licht told her confidently. Mahiru had always been able to make friends quickly and she trusted her opinion on people. As long as the Servamps didn’t give her a reason to object, she would support their relationship.

“I feel guilty that I might have caused you worry while I was here in a warm bed. Mikuni is already stressed about the house and Father’s will.” Mahiru let out a heavy breath. “A wealthy marriage would solve our problem because our husband can buy the house or inherit it. I like Kuro but I don’t know what I’ll do if he starts courting me. I don’t want him or anyone to think I’m with him for his wealth. Thinking simply, it’s not fair to either of us if we start a relationship with such doubts.”

“You’re not the type of person who uses others in such a way. I’m certain that Kuro will be able to see that as well. If he doesn’t, he wasn’t worthy of your heart.” Licht reassured her sister. “Maybe we can write a petition to the court and ask them to grant property rights to women. There must be other families with only daughters in a similar situation to ours.”

“The house’s title might fall to Haruto before the law can change.” Mahiru was the most optimistic of the sisters but she couldn’t deny that it was nearly impossible to keep their home. Mahiru laid back against the pillow and she stared at the tall ceiling. The golden leaves painting on the ceiling was beautiful but she closed her eyes to imagine the simple wooden roof she would see when she woke up. Others would call her strange but she preferred her modest home.

She felt the bed shift beneath her and Mahiru opened her eyes to see Licht lay next to her with her face buried in the pillow. At first, she was scared that her sister would catch her cold by lying next to her. Mahiru noticed how stiff her shoulders were and she could tell that there was something in her mind. She patted her hair like a mother would. “We’ll find a way to keep our home. Haruto might be a reasonable and progressive person who we can compromise with.”

“I yelled at Mother before I left the house. She deserved it but I know she’ll be angry at the both of us once we return home.” Licht chose not to tell her the reason she lost her temper at their mother. Anger still lingered in her blood at how their mother had been so cold towards Mahiru’s condition. How could she be more focused on matching Sakura with a Servamp when she learned Mahiru was sick?

“Families fight but we can understand each other after a talk. You won’t have to face Mother alone when you return home because I’ll be there with you. We’re sisters.”

Licht stepped out of the room and she carefully closed the door so the soft click wouldn’t wake her sister. She asked a maid to watch over Mahiru while she slept and to call her if her condition changed. She wanted to stay by her side but she thought she should take the chance to thank the family for caring for her sister. The maid gave her directions to the library where the family would likely be. The manor was large and she could easily imagine becoming lost in the winding halls.

She followed the faint sound of voices in the distance and she recognized Hyde’s laughter. Licht stopped in the doorway and there were a few other guests she didn’t recognize. The family sat with their back to the door so they didn’t notice her. Most of the group were seated around a table playing cards while Hyde was at a writing desk. Occasionally, he would look up from his letter to speak with his guests.

“I hope we are not boring you, Lady Hina. You came to visit in a very short time and we didn’t have the opportunity to prepare anything for your arrival. We’re cousins and we enjoy your visit but letters are a formality to help prepare us.” Hyde folded his letter and handed it to a butler. “You’ve caught us in the middle of work and we already have guests.”

“Do you mean the woman with the dark hair? I saw her briefly in the foyer but she didn’t stop to introduce herself to me when she passed. I would excuse the rudeness as shyness. It must’ve been mortifying for her to be seen in such a state. Her skirt was caked in mud. I overheard from the staff that she rode through the rain. Whether she is mad or stubbornly inclined to show her independence above other women, I cannot say. I can only assume she was a spectacle when you found her.”

“I assure you, Cousin, I thought no such thing. Licht is not the type to shy away from people due to social pressure either.” Hyde corrected his cousin. “She had something more concerning on her mind than polite greetings. Her sister has fallen ill in our care. I understand her motivation but I would not like the thought of my sister riding in this weather.”

“Your sister is from a prestigious family while I hear that the Eves hold a modest income. The Eve sisters can afford to be more reckless when their prospect for a husband is already so little. It must be difficult to find a match in their situation.” The feigned sympathy in Hina’s voice made Licht’s hands tighten at her side. “I stopped at a cute little ribbon shop and the seamstress told me that Kuro danced with an Eve.”

“Kuro never cared for the family title or wealth so he won’t consider those things when he chooses someone to court.” Hyde envied his older brother who had decided to retire to the drawing room rather than gossip with their cousin. He wished he could do the same but it would be impolite to leave now. “I would like to find a wife who is refined, witty, and talented in the dramatic arts.”

“Talented is such a belittling thing to call something.” Licht’s voice turned the room’s attention to her. She didn’t step back from their surprised stares and she stood with her back straight. She entered the room and she met Hyde’s red eyes. “The word implies that someone is born with a gift when most would pour hours of practise into perfecting their craft.”

“How would you show your appreciation for someone’s craft?” Hyde asked her, intrigued. He thought most would be happy to be called talented.

“I cannot know the preference for each artist or performer. I play the piano and I enjoy when a person dances along to Choppin or cry after I’ve played one of Beethoven’s Sonatas. It helps me know that I have moved the audience and properly portrayed the emotions of a song.” Licht stopped in front of Hyde and curtsied slightly. “I came to thank you for housing my sister while she’s sick.”

“It was our invitation that caused her to be soaked by the rain. How is your sister? I would wager she’s better since you’re willing to leave her side.” He moved from his spot on the writing desk to offer his chair to her. Hyde thought the tea would be more fun with Licht present. “We only arrived a few days ago and the staff haven’t moved the furniture in yet. You may sit here.”

“I wouldn’t want to take your seat while you’re working.” Licht nodded towards the letter on his desk. “The doctor says that Mahiru is recovering well and it’s possible she will be fit enough to return home within a few days. My sister fell asleep a few minutes into our talk and I thought it best to let her rest. I only came to thank your family so I should go now.”

“Sitting by yourself will be boring. Would you like a book to read and pass the time.” Hyde walked to the bookcase and took down a few novels. “I’m an avid reader myself. Did you enjoy the Shakespeare play I suggested last night? I could give you something similar.”

“I read the play with my sister and it was fun. I do enjoy gothic novels though.”

Hyde smiled at her words. “As do I. Though, Shakespeare is my preference.”

[lettrespromises]

┄───➤   LettresPromises informs you : you have one notification. ❜

──➤ 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 : 𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒.

──➤ Smoker sent you a letter, would you like to read it? ❜

@theastroooooworld​ sent a letter : ❝hello my lover 🧚🏼‍♀️, i hope you are well no matter when you see this request !since i love above all your writing, could you make a scenario with another love of my life : Smoker ? in which this angel becomes aware that he loves his best friend from childhood, but this confuses him a lot and he ends up not knowing how to act with her anymore and until he decides to tell her ? please make it very sweet and full of good vibes ! I trust you once again for this declaration of love !𓊕 — juste entre nous deux; tu es une personne formidable et j'avais juste besoin de te le dire, je t'aime fort 💜🤸🏼‍♀️❞

the author’s letter :  ❝dear cam, i couldn’t be more honored of writing this request for you, especially because it concerns smoker and he has no business being this hot but oh well!! thank you for trusting me with your wonderful idea, i hope you’ll enjoy this promised letter. je t’aime si fort, t’es plus qu’incroyable et j’aimerai que tu le saches.❞

──➤ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : pure fluff. ─➤ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : none. ➤ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 2.6K. Excerpt of the letter :  ❝Only then did he realize that he had never felt an agonizing sensation of vacuity coursing through his veins when he was feeling frustrated. It was odd, it was foreign, he felt weak. His subconscious screamed at him to associate this haunting feeling of loneliness to the lack of your presence, and for once he agreed— Smoker knew he felt different, in the worst way possible, when you were not around, so he let out another puff of smoke.❞

Is there anything Smoker won’t put words around? Yes, there is.

There is the consuming rage fueled by his unquenched thirst to capture more pirates and bring his status of « white hunter » closer to glory. But he reminds himself that perhaps some pirates deserve to be set free as his orbs lay on the poster of Monkey D. Luffy and the letters of the word « wanted » screaming at him. There is the sense of injustice within the epitome of justice, such acerbic poetry, and the cacophony of remorses making his jaw clench every now and then. There is the frustration of acknowledging that there will forever be a gap between his own definition of justice and his superiors’ definition of justice, particularly Akainu’s version which appears too merciless to his own liking.

And there is the haunting torment of being incapable of qualifying properly his feelings.

He knows what anger feels like— he knows how anger bends his body, he knows that anger will push his sanity down a pit and he will have to sit here and observe an unhinged version of himself crawl out of said pit.

He knows what indifference feels like— but he barely realizes that his eyes roll back whenever his superior wishes, yet again, to narrow the notion of freedom within justice, he knows that his brain purposefully decides not to absorb any given information pooling out of Akainu’s mouth.

Smoker knows how his emotions manifest themselves and recognizes them kinesthetically.

But Smoker also fails to identify the newcomers.

« State your name and business before coming in. » It also seems that he has trouble recognizing the five distinct taps of your knuckles on the door leading to his office, but oh well.

Your knuckles brush the wooden surface of the door until reaching the doorknob and twisting it in the process, you close the door behind you, leaving his pseudo orders waiting in front of the door at the same time. « I’m kind of hurt, I thought you’d recognize my secret knocking style, we’ve spent ages creating this secret language as kids. »

But how could Smoker not recognize the sound of your voice and the honey dripping down your vocal cords?

He shifted in his seat, secretly thanking for your presence so his orbs could properly project a different visual than the bland reports scattered across his desk, and he thanked you a second time for allowing him to visually embrace the shape of your body, but he kept that to himself. « Should I give you a reminder of how old we are, Y/N? I’m almost certain we’re way past that age. » Smoker stated, a puff of smoke punctuated the end of his sentence.

« No doubt, you’re definitely past that age. » You trailed off whilst making your way over to his desk, a grin which radiated ill intentions shone brought amongst your facial features. You made a seat out of his desk without asking for permission, Smoker lightly tapped your left thigh in return, a weak attempt to make you get off of his desk. The experience granted by having shared the majority of your life with Smoker offered you the prestige of being free of your own deeds around him, without ever having to worry about pseudo consequences. « But I do have amazing news for you, I’m sure you’ll love it. » You finished, an amused gleam shining in the irises of your eyes at his quirked eyebrow, a silent way to tell you to explain further.

« I’m coming with you and Tashigi on Punk Hazard! Now, now… I know your emotionless self won’t let it show but I know, I just know you’re thrilled to hear that. » You slammed the report proving the sincerity of your words regarding your presence on the mission held on Punk Hazard on his desk in a loud thud, and the proudest grin appeared across your face, just to emphasize that silent victory over Smoker who had always refused to go on a mission with you, but never once did he admit it was because he was afraid of seeing you getting hurt.

Another puff of smoke left his lips, out of frustration, he recognized that he was feeling frustrated because of the way his teeth would hold his cigars a bit tighter, often approaching the limit of breaking them in two.

« You seem so eager to come on Punk Hazard, but I don’t think you realize how dangerous this mission is. » He grumbled, his eyes finding yours lost amongst the metaphorical electricity created in the room because of the tension. Smoker couldn’t quite tell what frustrated him the most— was it the fact that Akainu, out of all people, granted you the wish to come on Punk Hazard? Was it the fact he envied your ability to willingly ignore the magnitude of danger? Or was it the fact you called him emotionless?

Emotionless.

Smoker wasn’t emotionless, see— he was feeling frustrated. But, nonetheless, the words echoed in his head until it lost its meaning. Was he emotionless? No, no, no he was not. Smoker was not emotionless. He was frustrated, frustration is a valid feeling therefore is he able to show emotions. But only now did he wonder if it was genuine frustration.

« I didn’t reach this rank by slacking off, you and I both know it. I’ll see you soon enough, Smoker. »

He found his own answer when you hopped off his desk and left the room, the sound of the door being shut close was his sole wake-up call. Only then did he realize that he had never felt an agonizing sensation of vacuity coursing through his veins when he was feeling frustrated. It was odd, it was foreign, he felt weak. His subconscious screamed at him to associate this haunting feeling of loneliness to the lack of your presence, and for once he agreed— Smoker knew he felt different, in the worst way possible, when you were not around, so he let out another puff of smoke.

This enigma kept him up at the worst moments, and like every enigma, obtaining an answer to soothe the inner pain caused by the latest obsession of his mind was almost impossible. He immediately knew he couldn’t talk about it to Hina, or worse, Tashigi. Either way, he was sure to be met with either a harsh judgement and could already imagine Hina saying « You’ve mellowed ever since we joined the navy, Hina is amused. » or the inevitable stutters cascading from Tashigi’s mouth. Smoker was on his own, drown in the torment of his own emotions.

The sole temporary solution he found was to ignore you, if his body and mind had to hurt then so be it, he couldn’t handle the agonizing pain of seeing you go away, Smoker had mentally told himself to be a martyr and accept it.

You, on the other one hand, did not bother too much about his absence, you figured it was his way to mentally prepare himself ahead of a mission. You accepted it too, both his absence and the inexorable feeling of your heartstrings being bent in unimaginable ways.

Smoker lighted up the fifth cigar in a row now, and once more he blindly trusted the aftereffects of your absence for the cause of this obsession, smoking some more was merely a placebo to soothe the torture brought by the lack of answer. Truthfully, Smoker hadn’t spoken in a while, perhaps he had nothing to say as long as he knew what was going on. He spoke rarely and judged the value of his words before actually speaking— sure, he had directed his subalterns here and there to organize the ship on their way to Punk Hazard, but aside from the obligations of his ranks, he found nothing to say. Or rather, his mind didn’t grant him the ability to talk until he figured what was this haunting feeling which had no familiarity with frustration anymore. But was he emotionless?

Instead, Smoker let the rhythm of the waves crashing against the ship in the darkest hours of the night to rock his thoughts. His hazel orbs never left once the ‘wanted’ posters of Monkey D. Luffy and Trafalgar Law— of course he knew their faces and who they were, but the couldn’t trust his body anymore and wondered whether or not this secret emotional disease was going to affect his memory. Smoker hoped it wouldn’t have any impact on his memories with you, he was willing to let amnesia consume him whole and burn everything he knew except any memory which had your name written all over it.

From that moment, Smoker knew it was definitely not frustration.

« Smoker? Smoker? Earth to big cigar boy? You can go to sleep, it’s my turn to watch over the ship and you kind of look like a zombie if I’m being honest. » He hadn’t even noticed you entered the main cabin and thus he cursed himself for doing so, but Smoker noticed you looked hesitant by the way you were fiddling with your fingers, it was something you always did as a child.

Most of all, Smoker noticed something else— whenever you were in the same vicinity as him, the pain soothed, it faded away to let the most blissful sensation appear instead. Yet another question he will never obtain the answer to.

Using the grip on the armrests as a support, Smoker stood up and headed towards the door to leave you alone whilst you were on watching duty, that was the initial plan : head towards the door and leave. Head towards the door and leave. Head towards the door and-…

« Y/N, can I ask you something? » … And shamefully ask you to ease his pain instead.

You looked at him with a quizzical look painted across your facial features, both at the sudden interpellation, but mostly at the fainted grip he was holding on your wrist. « Sure, I’m all ears. » You replied, curiosity tainted the way your words came out but you kept your eyes locked on his frame anyway.

Smoker took a sudden drag of his cigars to ease his nerve and subconsciously give him a few seconds to organize the isolated parts of sentences shooting in his mind. Truthfully, he didn’t even know if this was necessary given that he ignored how he was feeling or what caused his body to hurt so much, translating this agony into words was beyond impossible. « You have to promise not to tell anyone about this. » He inquired, his orbs adopted a darker tone on the demanding tone coating his words and the hold on your wrist became temporarily tighter, you hummed in response, allowing him to continue. « If I’m being honest, I think I’m sick or have caught some kind of disease. It’s odd and quite impossible to properly be explained. I don’t know what I’m feeling, but it’s manifesting through this constant sensation of feeling empty. It weighs on my mind, and I have no idea what’s causing it. »

You quirked your brow in response, genuinely concerned as to whether or not Smoker was actually sick— after all, as you were approaching the extreme binary climate of Punk Hazard, such possibility couldn’t be evicted. You allowed your orbs to roam over his face, a guilty pleasure, and besides visible confusion, you couldn’t depict any physical symptom.

« Um, right? Do you have any idea when did this start? » You asked, hoping to obtain more hints about his situation.

« I hate to admit it but it started when you left my office last week, and now that you’re here I feel better, as in I don’t feel this emptiness anymore. » He continued, and for the first time in your life, you could admire his emotions dancing under the moonlight. « I was wondering if you felt sick, too. »

« So, if I sum it up you feel ‘empty’ and ‘in pain’ when I’m not around. » You couldn’t help but bend your lips into a smile which you knew he already hated by the ill intentioned looks of it.

« Sort of, but you haven’t answered my question : are you ill or not? » A question so innocent which found its answer in the shameless laugh escaping your lips, Smoker covered your mouth with his palm— not because he cared about the quality of the slumber of his soldiers, but rather because the sound of your laugh was awakening something else in him which was too harsh to handle.

You delicately wrapped your fingers around his wrist, slowly making him retreat his limb to his torso, and to his greatest pleasure, your laughter left an imprint on your facial features in the shape of a grin. « Would you believe me if I were to tell you that I found the cure? » You asked, already imagining the outcome of a possible answer.

« Huh? What is it? » He responded to your question with yet another question, but there and only there he found the answer to his haunting enigma when your fingers invaded his vision field and threw the sole obstacles to the apex of the situation, his cigars, on the floor before stepping on them to extinguish them. And there and only there, Smoker felt peace when your lips crashed onto his in a delicately harsh liplock whilst your palms were cupping his cheeks. It came as a reflex, and he couldn’t blame himself for it because he had fantasized about this scenario several times while hoping it would be the cure to his problems, Smoker caged you against his chest as his forelimbs protectively claimed your waist.

The more your lips were lingering on his, the more he felt every ounce of pain exude his body by his every pores— you were the cure, you were the answer to his enigma and always have been. If his lungs hadn’t failed him, Smoker would have gladly delivered himself into the temptations of your lips once more, judging by the way he blindly chased after your lips when you broke the kiss.

Another giggle escaped your lips as your thumbs brushed invisible motions against his cheeks, « Do you still feel empty at all? » you asked, such a rhetorical question, right? Smoker looked at you quizzically but then it hit him— he felt full, and vacuity had lost sense. « No, I don’t feel empty anymore. » He concluded to your amused smile.

« You’re not sick and never have been, or maybe it’s a sickness to you, but you’re in love, Smoker. That’s what you were feeling. And if I’m being honest, I’ve been feeling quite ‘empty’ myself too. » You confessed and opened your heart to him so he could admire each tone of vivid color painting your feelings for him which caused him to tighten his hold to bring you as close as humanly possible. He had found his cure and needed as much contact as possible. « I suppose you’re right, I do feel better when you’re by my side. »

And here, you planted yet another peck on his lips and gave in to the sweet temptation of savoring the taste of his lips once more. The gleam shining in the corner of your eyes reflected nothing but genuine love, and you knew it was the same gleam reflecting in his own orbs. « I’ve never been more glad to be sick in my entire life. » Smoker concluded, and kissed these words into the skin of the crown of your hair.

That’s when Smoker knew that perhaps he wasn’t emotionless, or at least, he was able to feel emotions as long as you were by his side.

[hysterialevi]

Naudr - A Sigurd Styrbjornson Fanfic

Fanfic summary: Eivor finally confesses the romantic feelings he has for Sigurd on the night of his return to Norway. (I was inspired to write this after hearing this song)

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Welllll, here it is. My Sigurd fanfic. I gotta admit I’m nervous about sharing this since it’s my first time writing anything AC related, and I don’t even know if anyone else ships these two, but I hope you guys enjoy it >.< 

FORNBURG

NIGHTTIME

Sigurd froze on the spot and stared silently at the man in front of him, unable to process what just happened.

Did... Eivor just kiss him?

At first, Sigurd simply dismissed the romantic gesture as the actions of someone who had enjoyed too many cups of mead, but the shock on Eivor’s face told him otherwise.

He meant to do it -- at least, part of him did -- and now, it was fairly obvious that the regret was starting to sink in. His cheeks had become tinted with a faint shade of red, and the merry demeanor he once carried had been replaced with a state of panic.

Suddenly realizing what he had done, Eivor quickly glanced at the tankard in his grip and brought his gaze to the floor, doing his absolute best to avoid all eye contact with Sigurd.

“I-- I, um...” he stuttered, desperately trying to offer an explanation, “Oh, Gods, Sigurd... I’m so sorry. I... I shouldn’t have.”

The older man let out a soft chuckle, patting Eivor on the shoulder.

“Do not fear, brother. We all make fools of ourself from time to time. It’s the natural gift of drink. It unwinds the most hardened of men, and opens the hearts of the most reserved. But tonight is a night meant for celebration! Drink all the mead you wish.”

Eivor clearly wasn’t reassured by his brother’s words and simply kept his eyes on the ground, admittedly ashamed of his reckless behavior.

“...You are kind, Sigurd, but...” the man placed his tankard down on a nearby table, hanging his head low in embarrassment, “I think... I need to be alone right now.”

Sigurd furrowed his brow at the response, suddenly concerned about his brother’s well-being.

“Eivor,” he said in a gentler tone, “it’s alright. I mean it. It was a simple mistake, one I’m sure we’ve all made when we had alcohol clouding our minds. Do not fret.”

“A mistake...” Eivor repeated quietly, almost sounding... hurt by the comment. “Yes. A mistake.”

Sigurd gave his brother another hearty pat on the arm, attempting to keep his spirits up.

“Exactly. So, cheer up. The night is still young... and our casks are still far too full. Ha!”

But his jokes did little to comfort the man. Instead of returning to his usual state of sarcasm and humor like Sigurd expected, Eivor’s expression remained sunken with melancholy, and it seemed as if his mood was only deteriorating.

“Thank you, Sigurd,” he said lowly, “but... I think I’ll leave the celebrating to you for now. I... I need fresh air.”

Turning away from his brother, the younger man didn’t even give Sigurd a chance to respond before making a swift exit from the longhouse, eager to remove himself from the thick crowds of people and the boisterous guffaws of excitement that echoed throughout the halls.

It was strange, Sigurd thought, to see Eivor act in such a way. The man had done plenty of other silly things in the past while under the influence of mead -- some of them arguably worse than this -- and yet, one simple kiss was enough to completely sour his mood.

What was going on with him? Did something happen that he had yet to tell Sigurd about? Why was he being so distant?

There was more going on here than the younger man let on, but Sigurd didn’t know if it was the right time to pry.

His brother was clearly going through enough distress at the moment, after all, and the older man didn’t want to push him any further.

Perhaps it was time for the older man to step away from the feast. There was no question that Eivor was preoccupied with something more serious, and Sigurd did not wish to let his brother deal with it alone.

So, with a quick goodbye, Sigurd hurriedly downed the rest of his mead and bid the other guests farewell, rushing after Eivor to see where he had gone. 

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Tearing himself away from the warmth of the longhouse, Sigurd trudged through the thick layers of snow that covered the region as he followed Eivor’s chain of footprints, worriedly searching for his absent brother.

Judging by the direction of the tracks, Sigurd assumed the younger man had retreated to the harbor, and that alone was enough to heighten his sense of concern.

Eivor never went to the harbor unless he was experiencing something profoundly troubling. It was the one place Sigurd would find him whenever he was going through loss, or heartache, or any sort of pain, really.

Something about the vastness of the fjord always seemed to set Eivor’s mind at ease. The sheer scale of the mountains made him feel as if there were stone guardians watching over their village, and the way the lights danced freely in the sky offered him a hypnotic solace.

It was the location of many of the deep conversations the two brothers had shared. The nature of the open view seemed to draw out their thoughts like nothing else, and Sigurd imagined they were about to have another one of those moments today.

He just hoped he’d be able to get Eivor to talk.

Finally reaching the harbor, Sigurd came to a halt and searched for the younger man, only to find him sitting at the end of the wooden pier.

His legs were hanging off the edge, and considering how his head bowed downwards, Sigurd guessed he was fidgeting with something in his hands. Though, he couldn’t see what it was from here.

As for the man himself, his mood appeared to be equally as sullen as when he first took his leave, if not more. There was no joy in his temperament; no motivation. It was as if the kiss from before had sucked the very life out of him, and Sigurd feared that his mere presence would not be enough to help Eivor.

Still, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

“Eivor.” He called out gently, casually approaching him from behind. “There you are.”

The younger man glanced over his shoulder upon hearing his name, seemingly unsurprised that Sigurd had followed him.

“Brother.” He greeted quietly. “I had a feeling you would come looking for me.”

“Of course I would,” Sigurd replied plainly. “You disappeared from the feast so abruptly. I feared something was wrong.”

The older man paused for a moment and took a seat next to his brother, quietly admiring the majestic view as the night carried on.

By now, the Northern Lights had illuminated the dark sky with a radiant turquoise glow, and the way the sea mirrored its wispy movement made Sigurd feel as if they were gazing into the wonders of Valhalla itself.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sigurd remarked in awe. “They say the Valkyries use the light as a road to escort the honored dead to Valhalla. There are other places in the world that I must show you someday, Eivor, but it brings me great relief to finally be back in Norway.” He turned to his brother, smiling warmly at him. “I missed being here with you.”

Contrary to what Sigurd expected, the comment only seemed to sadden Eivor further.

“...I missed you too, Sigurd.” The man replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Eivor, what’s wrong?” Sigurd asked, picking up on his brother’s despondent tone. “Did something happen today? You’ve been acting strange ever since that kiss.”

Eivor sighed in discontent, reluctant to share his thoughts.

“I do not wish to burden you, brother.”

“You are anything but a burden, Eivor,” Sigurd answered, quick to defend him. “We are family. If there’s something that troubles you, I want to know.”

“...It’s nothing worth mentioning. Really.”

“It clearly is,” he persisted. “Really.”

Despite his eagerness to help Eivor, Sigurd couldn’t help but wonder if he was perhaps being too forceful with the man. Randvi always told him he was too forward with people -- especially in situations that required diplomacy -- and in the past, Sigurd would’ve disagreed with her.

But now... part of him worried that he was just making things worse.

Maybe it would’ve been best to leave Eivor alone with his thoughts. He clearly wasn’t willing to talk about whatever was on his mind, and Sigurd suspected that the more he pushed the man, the more he would simply close him off.

But... still. There was a part of him that refused to leave Eivor’s side. He was his big brother, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to abandon him when he was clearly going through a time of need.

“Eivor.” Sigurd said softly, leaning towards the man. “Talk to me.”

Letting out a deep sigh, Eivor shut his eyes in defeat and gazed downwards at the tranquil movement of the ocean, allowing the icy breeze of the fjord to help him relax.

He feared how his brother would react once he knew the truth, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t hold this feeling in anymore. It was poisoning him from the inside out -- afflicting him like an illness that just wouldn’t go away.

It changed the way he saw the world. The way he interacted with people. There had already been more than a few occasions where Eivor caught himself being unreasonably bitter towards others, and the frustration that came with it only increased his pain.

But he knew he couldn’t carry on like this. He had to find a remedy for his unanswered love, or suffer the consequences of it soon. 

He was hurting on the inside, and perhaps... Sigurd would be the key to his recovery. 

He just had to take a leap of faith.

“Sigurd,” Eivor finally said, his heart hammering in his chest, “The truth is... I’m in love with you.”

Offering nothing but silence in return, Sigurd simply stared at his brother incredulously upon hearing the confession and sat quietly beside him, completely at a loss for words.

His expression had barely shifted in response to what Eivor said, but the younger man could still tell that he was shocked.

Sigurd’s eyes appeared as if they had been fixated in place, and the way his smile subtly vanished caused Eivor to wonder if he had just made a terrible mistake.

“Brother?” Eivor asked. “Have you nothing to say?”

The older man remained still for a few more moments before finally turning away from Eivor and blinking in confusion, almost as if he were snapping out of his trance-like state. He flicked his eyes around in hopes of trying to appear calm, but both of them knew he was just as conflicted as his brother.

“I...” Sigurd whispered in disbelief, “...I don’t know what to say, Eivor.”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to say anything. It’s a secret I’ve kept to myself for many years now, and I never planned to give it away. Though, it’s clear that Freyja disagreed.”

“But I’m your sibling, Eivor,” the older man stated. “Your family. Does that not hinder your passion?”

Eivor shook his head. “You may be my family, Sigurd, but the truth is I never saw you as a brother. Even after your father adopted me. You were always just my friend. The one person who I could always trust. And as I grew older, that trust turned into something else. I found myself falling in love with you, the same way a man would love his wife... but I knew I couldn’t say anything.”

“You never considered telling me?” Sigurd questioned. “Not even once? Even after all these years? How long have you felt this way?”

“Ever since I was a very young man,” Eivor recalled. “Even before you married Randvi.”

A sudden thought crossed Sigurd’s mind at the mention of Randvi’s name.

“And what of my wife? What are your feelings towards her?”

Eivor’s expression dimmed with shame, and he gazed down at the water beneath his feet.

“...Although I’m not proud to admit it, I have envied her in the past. I bear no ill will towards Randvi, but... it’s always pained me to look at her and realize that I’ll never be in her position. I know it’s selfish to feel that way, but that doesn’t make my thoughts any less real.”

Sigurd nodded in understanding. “Of course.”

The older man shifted in his seat a little, appearing somewhat more relaxed than before.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Eivor, I must confess that I’ve never experienced true love with Randvi. As terrible as that may sound.”

Eivor quirked a brow in surprise. “But she’s your wife.”

Sigurd chuckled at that. “Yes, and I married her purely for political reasons. Don’t forget that our marriage was an arranged one. I hardly had the chance to say ‘no’ before we were declared husband and wife. We were complete strangers at the time. You could’ve had me wed the barmaid from the local tavern and I wouldn’t have known the difference.”

Eivor cracked a small smile at the humorous response. “But you love her now, don’t you?”

“Ah...” Sigurd sighed, crossing his arms, “Randvi is a fine woman and an even greater friend, but she wasn’t meant for me. To be honest, I don’t think I was meant for her either.”

“...I’m sorry to hear that, Sigurd.” Eivor said sincerely. “It must be hard, being in a marriage that you didn’t choose.”

The older man didn’t seem bothered. “It’s not that I’m not happy with Randvi. Like I said, she’s become a good friend over the years. I just...” Sigurd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “I feel as though I’m not with the person I should be. As if... they’re still out there somewhere.”

Eivor smirked, scooting closer to Sigurd. “I could recommend a few people, if you’d like.”

The redheaded viking laughed. “Oh? I can’t imagine who you’d pick.”

The younger man returned the chuckle. “Well, I suppose it depends on what you’re interested in. Though, I do know a man who’d be perfect for you.” 

Eivor paused for a second, suddenly realizing something. “...Wait, do you even like men, Sigurd?”

Sigurd hesitated to answer, unsure of how to properly express himself.

“I... can’t deny that a few men have caught my eye in the past. But I never fully explored these thoughts, for I did not wish to jeopardize my marriage. Nor did I want to risk being called an ergi everywhere I went.”

Eivor was surprised by the answer. “I... had no idea you felt that way, Sigurd. But why should you care if someone calls you ergi? Those who would scold you in such a manner aren’t worth the dirt on your boots.”

“I wish it were that simple, but being the son of a king, people expect you to meet higher standards. They expect you to bring honor to your family. And besides, you know the consequences of scolding. I have no desire to engage in a holmgang every time someone throws an insult at me.” 

Sigurd gave his brother a solemn look, mindlessly reaching for his hand. “There’s also the fact that I did not want to disappoint you.”

Catching himself before their hands could meet, Sigurd’s eyes widened in realization as he saw what he was doing and instantly pulled back his arm, retreating as if he had just touched an open flame.

Much to his embarrassment however, the action did not go unnoticed by Eivor, and the younger man quickly leaned closer to his brother, feeling the need to console him.

“It’s okay, Sigurd.” He reassured gently. “You don’t have to return my feelings for you.”

The older man furrowed his brow in deep thought, clearly conflicted about the situation.

“But... I do.” He blurted out, stumbling over his words. “I mean-- I think I... what I’m trying to say is--”

Sigurd let out a deep sigh, his head drooping in frustration.

“By the gods...” he murmured, dragging a hand down his face, “do you have any idea the effect you have on the minds of men, Eivor?”

The blond man giggled warmly, trying not to laugh too much. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

Sigurd turned to face Eivor, his head spinning with a plethora of emotions. He hadn’t even realized it until tonight, but a part of him seemed to share the man’s love for him. He wasn’t entirely certain what type of love it was just yet, or if he would be able to act on it, but even he couldn’t deny that there was definitely a spark between them; a flame that had been stifled for far too long.

And it frightened him to the core to think about it.

“Listen, Eivor,” Sigurd said, his tone more serious now, “...I don’t know what I’m feeling right now, or what this is. I don’t even know if these emotions are genuine, or if they’re just a result of too much mead, but...”

He slowly brought a hand up to Eivor’s cheek, gently holding him in place as he voiced his thoughts. “I think... I could love you, too.”

Eivor’s heart fluttered with happiness upon hearing that, but in spite of the joy it brought him, he could still see that Sigurd wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with his newfound love. So, with a delicate touch, Eivor lowered his brother’s hand from his cheek and held it between them, gazing into the man’s eyes.

“It’s alright if you need more time to think about this, Sigurd. There’s no need to rush into it. I understand it’s... a lot to process.”

Eivor brought his face closer to Sigurd’s, speaking softly in his ear. “But when you’re ready -- if your thoughts bring you back to me -- I’ll be here.”

He placed a small kiss on Sigurd’s cheek, causing the other man to smile warmly as he continued to keep Eivor’s hand in his grasp.

“Thank you, Eivor.” He whispered affectionately. “You were always there for me.”

The younger man reached into his pocket and pulled out the object he had been fidgeting with earlier, revealing the same arm ring that his father instructed him to give Styrbjorn on the night of Kjotve’s attack.

“And I always will be, even if you don’t return my love.”

Taking the arm ring from Eivor, Sigurd held it securely in his grip as the two of them fell into a comforting silence and quietly enjoyed the serenity of the nature around them, leaning against one another on the pier.

At this point in the night, the aurora in the sky had become a series of aqua-colored waves that soared gently across the stars like water on a shore, painting the environment with an icy tint. 

There were streaks of magenta fading in and out of view as they elegantly clung onto the ripples of blue light gliding through the air, and the longer Eivor gazed into their radiance, the more he found himself melting into Sigurd’s strong embrace.

Even though there was no guarantee that the man’s feelings for him would be mutual, or that he would be willing to put his thoughts into action, Eivor was still grateful that he finally opened up to him.

For years, the pain of feeling ignored and unloved had rotted his soul, and as the days went by, he found it harder and harder to conceal his true emotions. He had grown careless and ill-tempered from having to constantly suppress his jealousy of Ranvdi, and he nearly got his entire crew killed by Kjotve because of it.

But now that Sigurd was aware of his love, Eivor felt a new sense of peace settling into his heart.

There was still a chance that he wouldn’t get the outcome he wanted -- and he knew not what the Nornir had planned for him -- but even then, he was certain now that he could always trust Sigurd with his thoughts, no matter how daunting they may’ve been. 

That man would never judge him, or love him any less because of who he was. He would always be there to help guide him, and offer him sanctuary in a world that was so full of cruelty.

Sigurd was the true love of Eivor’s life, and it would always be that way. 

From here to Valhalla.

[kyutown]

Hello! Can I get Stray Kids, ATEEZ, BTS, and NCT ships? 💚

Appearance: She/her. 179,5cm tall, rectangle body shape. Fair skin complexion with quite a few birthmarks. Dyed brown with honey-red highlights, shoulder-length, straight hair with bangs. The left eye is a mix of two colors – a smaller portion of (darker) greyish-blue and a larger portion of hazel; while the right eye is just a (lighter) greyish-blue. Heptagon face shape with two dimples on the left cheek and one on the right cheek (only visible while smiling). A gap between the upper front teeth.

Personality (good and bad traits): Ever since I was a kid, I was always quite mature for my age – I identify myself as an old soul. I come off as polite and well-mannered to strangers, yet I tend to keep it to myself by being reserved. But, that’s because I have social anxiety and I’m nervous and shy when meeting/talking to people. The only people I’m comfortable with being with my inner circle – closest friends and family. I am usually more “open” with my friends than with my family. With my friends I can be my “truest-self” – I smile more, I laugh more, I feel more accepted and understood. I am the mom and the fashionista of the group. Don’t get me wrong, I am fiercely protective of my family, especially of my mother and younger sister. But, lately, I’ve been feeling like the “black sheep” of the family, Cinderella who’s been taken advantage of. I express my affection for the people I care about in little, but practical, ways. I can be a little stiff when it comes to open, gushy displays of affection. Others turn to me for help and advice. I’m kind-hearted and generous, always ready to help a person in need. Always have been motherly towards children. Very awkward at keeping small talk (usually with people that I’m not that close with). Absolutely, hate speaking in front of a public, and if I do, because of my nervousness, I tend to mess up my words and/or I practice whatever I’m about to say in my head at first. I appreciate the simplicity and am often most comfortable when I’m not getting too much attention from the world. I am sensitive – both to criticism and to others’ feelings (I sponge up the feelings and moods of people and the environment around me). Have a hard time saying no or expressing my true thoughts, feelings. I get influenced by other people’s opinions/thoughts quite hard (I take everything to the heart), that is why I tend to keep a lot to myself (may come off as a little bit tense, secretive, mysterious). I avoid the harsh reality by daydreaming (almost every day) – imagining myself in situations far from my current circumstances. Sort of like a self-escape. I worry a lot and overthink almost everything. I am easily distracted and my attention span can be quite short. I have an internal struggle between my needs and wants. I can lack focus and be indecisive as a result – when I decide on one route, I am pulled in another direction at the same time (“But what if…”, “on the other hand...”). That is why I’m having a bit of a struggle with deciding what I want to do in the future (career-wise). I am easily overwhelmed by pressure and stress. There is a self-destructive side to me (self-critical, lack of self-confidence) that I’m working on by confronting my fears (coming out of my shell). Don’t like taking pictures, or other people taking pictures of me. I feel most content when I’ve straightened out all the details of everyday life. I have a routine, that I follow by mostly every day, and if something small changes in that routine, I start to have a small internal anxiety attack. Also, I like to do things my own way, like, when it comes to cleaning the house or organizing stuff, etc. I get triggered even if people don’t do the laundry the way I do. I guess you could describe me as a perfectionist, clean/control freak. In triggering situations I can be impulsive, spontaneous, quick to act. Quick flare-ups of anger/annoyance when being provoked on my patience. Even when I’m feeling low, I manage to find humor in life and have fun with whatever I do have. Although I tend to bottle things up, I am an emotional person and my emotions are genuine – I love and care deeply and passionately and wish no ill will upon anyone, yet it hards for me to imagine someone falling in love with me or just liking me.

Hobbies, likes: My hobbies are cleaning, writing (re-writing song lyrics, making small notes, writing stories), listening to any type of music, catching up on my favorite films and TV shows, hanging out with friends, going to the cinema, or the club, being out in nature, reading, traveling. I like history, cooking, fashion magazines (or fashion in general), road trips, spirituality, mythology, books, orange juice, previous decades, cottage-core, dark academia.

Overall: Hufflepuff. INFP-T. Bi-sexual. Pisces-Aries cusp sign. “Looks like could kill you, but is actually a cinnamon roll.” A feminist, support LGBTQ+ community. That’s it, thank you!

hi! thank you for responding!

for stray kids, i think chan would match you well! i feel like chan would never judge you and would love you for who you are! he would never mind you being a "clean freak" and would find the good things of you and love you for being you! he would write lyrics with you and would love to listen to music with you!

for ateez, i think mingi would be a good fit for you! i feel like mingi seems like he could kill but is a cinnamon roll in reality like you! he would be the one who you could go to when you need a hug and i feel like he would enjoy hanging out with you even if you guys are just laying around at home. he would love watching with you and would love eating what you cook!

for bts, i think taehyung would be a nice pair for you! taehyung is the type who would love being in nature and traveling and would enjoy fashion like you! he would understand that you don't like being in photos but would bring his camera to capture the scenery because he would want to remember the times he had with you!

for nct, i think ten would be good for you! ten enjoys nature, listening to music and i feel like the other people that is listed here, he wouldn't care of the flaws you have and would respect your opinions. he wouldn't get angry when you want something to be put in your way and would be calm and that would make you happy!

[herpronuonsarefemslash]

Bioweapons and Beef Stew - TEASER

https://www.patreon.com/posts/52994705 Kara's pod goes into the wrong wormhole and she ends up in the Mass Effect universe. (I made it ABO so that everyone's learning new things about their bodies, which I always find fun to write. The setting is middle of the plot of Mass Effect 1 and except for Kara Zor-El, will be largely vanilla.) KUDOS NOTE: Much of the asari culture and most of the words are borrowed with my gratitude from  PMC65 of "Thessian Whisper" fame, LogicalPremise's supporting documents for his grimdark "Of Sheep and Battle Chicken" saga, and Joking611, author of "Cari'ssi'mi" stories. ----- Shepard closes the channel, leans back in her chair and pinches the bridge of her nose as hard as she dares. It feels like her sinuses are full of riot foam. Has since they took off from Noveria. "Fuck." She staggers into her cabin's bathroom and splashes cold water on her face, prodding at the rapidly purpling bruise on her right cheek from one of Benezia's wilder attacks. Spinning the clothing rack inside the tiny closet shows she has dress uniforms, her BDUs and a novelty T-Shirt she got on Elysium the night before the Blitz. Somehow it survived all the excitement and arrived by shipping pod a few weeks later, along with a promise to provide her anything in their entire line. If only she wore femme clothes with any regularity. She has a prisoner to visit and traitor or not, Benezia T'Soni requires the utmost respect. In the darkest hour of the asari, when raping, murdering queens from inland laid waste to the grand coastal cities, it was two newly minted paladins who made the midnight raid that struck down the twisted matriarch so fearsome that some claimed she was Athame's punishment. It takes no exaggeration to say that the golden age that rose in the aftermath is the daughter of Kanyru T'Sere and Cellnis T'Soni. Two tiny houses with nothing but a warrior tradition and pair of matriarchs and thousands of years later, both families are so wealthy and influential that their private navies could conquer the Terminus with ease and with a bit of luck, roll the Systems Alliance up like a carpet and lay siege to Earth. Dress uniform it is. Putting it on requires only memory. Button. Straighten. Tug. Adjust medal. Smooth sleeves. Check boots. Polish. Check again. Polish again. ... She was a quicker draw than Ashley, but not by much. Three hollow-bottle electrical rounds from her pistol knocked the matriarch out. They brought Benezia back to the Normandy in cuffs and doped to the gills. Her body blazed through the drugs almost as fast as they could pump more in her biotics working on behalf of her immune system to try to burn out the threat. Evolution doesn't allow weaklings to live to a thousand and four years old. Now, looking at a good marine--one she trained herself--standing dazed and sweaty during an easy duty shift, Shepard wonders if she brought the enemy aboard. Is indoctrination contagious? Seems unlikely that their scanners would detect it in standard decon, no matter how many nano-virus patterns they can check for. "DRAVEN! Are you operational, marine?" Draven nods again, even slower this time. "Yes...wait. No. I think I'm sick, ma'am. Fever, maybe." "I think you might be, yeah. So straight to your sleeping pod and seal yourself in. I'll send the doc." She keeps her hand squeezed tight on Draven's shoulder as she steers her towards the enlisted bunks. The door swishes open and she sees the last thing she would have expected to see: Ashley Williams wearing what looks like a very realistic cybernetic strap-on, pinning Tali's long hands against the bulkhead and rolling her hips, dragging the shaft over the suit between the young engineer's ample thighs. Tali seems to be a willing participant, judging by the way she's clenching her legs together and the lunges she makes when Ash pulls back. "Gunny!" Shepard barks. "Explain yourself." Ashley turns. Her golden skin is dripping with sweat, her curly hair is down to her shoulders, tangled and wild, and her teeth are bared. She leans

forward to cover more of Tali's body with her own and actually growls, like a dog protecting its food bowl. ... After a round of precautionary commands and instructions to Chakwas, who reported that she had already suited up in decon gear and gotten to work, Shepard swallows the last scraps of her pride and approaches the medbay door. She presses her palm to the intercom. "Can I come in, Liara?" Rather than a reply, the door simply opens. Liara's hand is slack at her side, as if lifting her finger to her omni to open the door took everything. Trails of salt granules streak her freckled face. The officer's academy didn't go deeper than 'coastal-dwelling ancestors' but seeing Liara's face streaked by sea salt and lean, delicate body and her long hands folded into a ball makes Shepard think of a mermaid in mourning more than anything. They say asari means 'of the ocean' in the salarian language that lent them their post-spaceflight name. "How is she?" Liara shrugs, looking younger and older at the same instant. "The body will live. The mind..." Something propels her forward, commands her to put her hands on Liara's shoulders. "C'mere." ... It is only a few minutes each time she wakes, so they make careful use of them. The drugs wear off every few hours and Benezia wakes for five or ten minutes as herself, then goes back to ranting. It's a slow process and knowing that Saren is anything but slow in his mad pursuit of this Conduit, it makes Shepard sick to be on a quarantined ship, even if it is with the mother of the girl she's fallen for. With the Normandy idling at a gas giant while they sort out the disease affecting the crew--they caught Draven mounting Gunnery Chief Roberts in the middle of her shift--there's plenty of time for Shepard to catch up on her paperwork from Chakwas' desk. Liara explains about Shepard's vision and gushes about melding and trying to understand it, and Benezia smirks and looks past her daughter to Shepard as if to say 'get on with it'. Shepard promises to keep Liara safe. ... Chakwas' omnitool pings and she glances down at it, says something Liara's omnitool marks as impolite, and then gradually lowers her head onto her desk, raising it and dropping it the last inch three times. "Doctor, are you..." Ill? Delirious? Suicidal? Liara wonders. Then she remembers that Tali has taken to kicking pieces of damaged technology that don't cooperate, a habit she claims she learned from Engineer Daniels. It's not a quarian gesture she's ever seen and Tali sheepishly admitted that the first two times she did it, she stubbed her toe. It's as if human emotions can gather so densely in their bodies that unless they damage themselves physically, they will go mad. "I just received word from the commander that the bioweapon has finished whatever it is doing to her." Liara's tongue feels thick. Clumsy. Too much. Like it might choke her. "Oh?" Chakwas nods. "Apparently her body has taken on masculine characteristics, at least judging by her request for altered duty clothes. I think the asari word for it is akero?" "No, but I can see why you might think that." Chakwas shrugs. "Joker wanted to name the whole mess after some popular concept in human pornography called alpha/beta/omega. All based on a fetish which is itself based on highly suspect research about Earth wolves. I suppose humans associate the dominant and forceful sexual role with the male." Liara hums. "It is a human ship, doctor. Perhaps human terms are appropriate when venturing into the unknown. Is there any way I can help the Commander?"

[hannahmationstudios]

Fic Writer Review

Hey, I got tagged by @poeti-kat! ♡

How many fics on AO3?

8-9, one of them I only did the artwork for but it still comes up under my author name.

Total AO3 wordcount?

917,097 - close to that sweet 1mil! I'll get there soon, I'm sure.

Top Five by Kudos?

I'm only going to include ones I've written here:

Per Aspera: Part One [398 Kudos] Red Rowan [318 Kudos] Per Aspera: Part Two [228 Kudos] Always [89 Kudos] Neverwander [16 Kudos] (this poor fic has been abandoned for years, hopefully I'll have a chance to give it new life one of these days)

Do you respond to comments, why/why not?

If there's something I can respond to, I'll do my best to respond to it! Longer comments take longer to respond to but I try my best to give the same energy back, if I can. I appreciate every comment. ♡

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Between the two that have endings so far (Per Aspera: Part One and Always) I'd guess Per Aspera: Part One? It's actually pretty sweet as an ending, but the ones with planned darker/more bittersweet endings haven't been completed yet.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you've written?

I don't write crossovers, I'm not that talented!

Have you received hate on a fic?

I've gotten a lot of "this is impossible as a premise and your fic is bad for being based on it", which is always fun. Also, a lot of hate for my Shepard for not being upfront with Garrus about certain important details. Weirdly, not a lot of the same hate for Geralt for not being upfront with people about things. Almost as if female characters are judged more harshly...

Do you write smut?

Yes, though not as the entirety of a fic. I can't really do PWP, but that's just a personal preference. My fics are generally adventure/drama but they usually have a healthy amount of romance/smut in them as well.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of! I have had people admit that they based the premise of their fics on mine, though, which was... interesting... as it was only told to me years after the fact. Not a huge fan of that, but it is what it is.

Ever had a fic translated?

Never.

Ever co-written a fic before?

Nope.

All time favorite ship?

That's not fair! Shakarian is top tier of course, but I also love Sculder, Jossam, FemHawke/Anders and Geralt/Yen.

What's a WIP you want to finish, but don't think you ever will?

Ohhh dear. Ghost, my ill-fated Overwatch fic. It feels like every time I sit down to work on it some new drama or weird, left-field lore update comes in from Blizzard to disrupt my flow. At this point I'm pretty sure I'm just going to put a stated cap in the AN on where I stopped paying attention to canon and write blind from there.

What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I'm good at dialogue, that feels pretty solid. :)

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm... not sure. Breaking out of the need for perfectionism, I guess. I write slower than molasses.

What are your thoughts of writing dialogue in other languages?

I'll only do it if I'm totally, completely sure what I'm writing is accurate. I'll triple-check with native speakers before doing anything in another language. Otherwise, I'll just gloss over it. "'X,' he said in [language]", or "he said something in [language] X didn't understand".

First fandom you wrote for?

Hmm. Either Poke'mon or some mystery novel series, I think. I also remember writing for Harry Potter and Kingdom Hearts when I was young. None of that writing survived to be posted to the internet, thankfully.

Favorite fic you've ever written?

Right now I'm really enamoured with Red Rowan, but I also love my Per Aspera series dearly, and definitely want to give it a new polish, because it deserves it. David, my OC from that series, is one of my favourite characters I've ever created.

Tagging anyone who wants to play! I'm not on here enough to know who writes anymore, but if you do, consider yourself tagged! ♡

[persephonesfill]

oh! darling

a/n: I wrote this because I was sad over stony, and if I have to be sad, so do you guys. Be aware, Steve does have panic attacks throughout this fic, so if that's something that might trigger you, please take care of yourselves. I don't want any of you to seriously hurt yourselves. That being said, I cried four times while writing this. Enjoy! Also, friendly reminder that I don't own Marvel or anything related to it. This is all just for shits and giggles.

summary: Steve Rogers was no stranger to pain. From birth, he had dealt with a whole slew of illnesses ranging from asthma to scarlet fever. Chronic colds that left him bedridden and trembling. Heart palpitations that stole the breath from his lungs...But the pain of seeing Tony slumped against a stray bit of wreckage that had once been their compound—their home—outclassed every wound Steve had ever received. No stab wound, no gunshot, no repulsor blast had brought him closer to death than this moment.

ship(s): steve rogers/tony stark

rating: teen and up

warning(s): canonical character death, grief, unhealthy coping mechanisms, panic attacks

—————

Steve Rogers was no stranger to pain. From birth, he had dealt with a whole slew of illnesses ranging from asthma to scarlet fever. Chronic colds that left him bedridden and trembling. Heart palpitations that stole the breath from his lungs. 

One particular moment was forever ingrained in his perfect memory. The Great Depression had just kicked off. Steve had been 12 when his mother took on extra shifts at Mount Sinai, treating tuberculosis patients just to make ends meet. She had never meant to bring it home with her. 

The same disease that had taken her life six years later had first tried to take her son. 

He remembered feeling like he was in Hell as the fever and chills swept over him in excruciating waves. Each breath felt as if someone had wrapped his lungs in barbed wire. When his mother had seen the blood he had coughed into his handkerchief, her face had paled. 

One night as the fever burned its way through his body, taking what little strength he had with it, Steve finally heard her. During the few hours he was awake, Steve had only been allowed to see his mother; she had already been exposed to TB. Each hour he spent with her, not once did she fall apart. She would smooth back his sweat-soaked hair and press cold compresses to his forehead to break the fever as much as she could. She had stood tall, a pillar of strength, just for him. 

But at night, Sarah Rogers let her suffering show. 

“Not my son,” Steve had heard her say, and he could see her then, even though he barely had the strength to open his eyes.  Her frail shoulders wracked with sobs, her arms wrapped around herself as if it would keep her from crumbling. “Please, God, don’t take my son.” 

The inferno in his lungs paled in comparison to the pain that had erupted in his heart that night. 

His mother didn’t deserve to sound like that. She didn’t deserve to sound so broken. As the fever ravaged his body, Steve vowed that he would fight. He would fight this disease and anything else that tried to knock him down, to make sure his mother never sounded like that for the rest of her life.  

The serum had been his ticket to freedom. His mother may have been long gone by that point, but part of Steve hoped that when she looked down on him, she could rest in peace knowing that her son wouldn’t be on death’s door anytime soon. Steve remembered the first breath he had taken after the serum went into effect. He had reveled in the rush of air that swelled in his lungs. Gone was the tightness in his chest, the lightness in his head. He had been reborn, devoid of every scar, bruise, and ailment that had troubled him for 25 years. Not even the war and HYDRA and all of their enhanced weapons could leave a mark on him, although they did hurt like a bitch; wounds that would have killed any other man, Steve recovered from within a day. 

But the pain of seeing Tony slumped against a stray bit of wreckage that had once been their compound—their home—outclassed every wound Steve had ever received. No stab wound, no gunshot,  no repulsor blast had brought him closer to death than this moment. 

For the first time in over a hundred years, he couldn’t breathe. A long-dormant part of his brain thought “asthma attack,” but that couldn’t be possible. Why would the serum fail him now? After serving him dutifully all these years? So why couldn’t he breathe? Why, with every intake of breath, could he only taste ashes and blood and smoke? 

Tony’s dead eyes, black and unseeing, bored into him, and something inside of Steve’s chest snapped. Bile rose up, searing his throat. This was wrong. Everything was wrong. Tony wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be dead. Men like Tony couldn’t just die. 

“Not him,” he thought. His heart stuttered in his chest. The cut on his arm twinged as he lowered the remains of his shield. “Please, God, not him, too.”

The light in the arc reactor flickered once, twice, before fluttering out completely as if to mock him. 

“Mr. Stark?” a boy who could only be Spider-Man, given his spider-themed suit said, his voice wavering. 

“I lost the kid.” The memory slammed into him with all the force of a freight train. A half-dead Tony with his skin pale and stretched taut over his bones. They had lost that first battle and with it, Tony’s child in all but blood; it had nearly killed Tony.

The kid’s—and that’s what he was, God, how could they bring a kid into this—shoulders started to tremble. 

“Mr. Stark, please.”

It was the “please” that twisted the knife into Steve’s heart. The “please” that brought fresh tears to his eyes. After Natasha’s death, Steve thought he had cried them all away, but apparently, his body had made more. There was always more. 

Did the kid even know what he was begging for? But how could Steve judge him when he had done the same? 

Theirs was the pleading of children, scared and confused and desperate for the hurt to stop.

Pepper kneeled next to Tony, her head bowed in grief over the love of her life’s chest, and Steve remembered that this wasn’t his wound to bear. He willed himself to stop hurting, to stop feeling altogether, but he couldn’t. 

“He’s not yours,” his brain supplied as if that would help him. “He was never yours.” 

Steve’s shoulders sagged. The pain didn’t go away.

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

Steve stood tall and rigid like a column at the funeral. Like a soldier. It had been two weeks since that final battle that had taken everything from him. He had tried to make his peace with it. He had tried to go on with his life. But that night before the funeral, he had broken, leaving his apartment a wreck. In public, Steve had always been silent in his grief. Reclusive. He hated feeling weak around others and only let go when he was by himself, raging at the cruelty and the injustice of the world with a fury that scared even him. 

He had screamed until his voice was hoarse, thrown furniture, and even tried getting drunk despite knowing it was in vain. He remembered begging at some point, just like the kid had, with bitterness in his blood and hard liquor on his breath. 

“Why did it have to be him?” he had said. No one had answered. 

By morning, Steve had been entirely devoid of all emotion, aside from shame at the state of his apartment. At least that’s what he wanted to project. Because the alternative...the alternative would have caused him more harm in the end.

So he stood there and paid his respects in a way that had suited his role in Tony’s life; an acquaintance. A stranger. 

The only one who had noticed something was amiss was Bucky, who had stared pointedly at Steve’s hands, which he had buried in his pockets. They had scabbed over in time for the funeral, but just barely. Steve had said nothing. What was there to say?

When the boat carrying Tony’s heart floated off into the distance, hugs and condolences were exchanged, and slowly, almost reluctantly, their group of mourners began to peel off one by one. Soon it was just Pepper and Steve left standing in the yard. Happy and Rhodey had left with Morgan to feed her. “Hamburgers,” Happy had said. 

Steve wasn’t sure why he had stayed. He had no business intruding on their home. But he couldn’t bear the thought of going back to that little Brooklyn apartment that felt more like a tomb than home these days. Part of him feared that if he went back, it would all start to feel real; Tony was dead, and there was no bringing him back.

Pepper pulled Steve aside, taking his head in hers, sitting on the wood and rope swing affixed to her front porch. A stray breeze carried the scent of sweet-smelling violets their way.

She looked beautiful, devastatingly so, and Steve was reminded of everything that Tony had sacrificed. She leveled him with a smile, although this close, he could see that her eyes were puffy. 

His suit was too tight around his neck. Steve was hot, too hot, and the sudden urge to tug it off was overwhelming. Hadn’t there just been a breeze? Why was he hot? The damper on his emotions loosened—there was the familiar pinprick of tears welling in his eyes, the tightness in his throat—before he got a grip. 

He shouldn’t have stayed. He had no right. He had no right to Tony. He had thrown that away the day he had decided to drive his shield into Tony’s chest.

“I’m glad you came, Steve,” Pepper said. 

At first, Steve figured she was lying, just for the sake of being polite, but no, this was Pepper Potts—“Stark,” his mind hissed—if she had an issue with him, she would let him know. 

“I’m glad I was invited,” Steve said, his voice coming out steady, much to his relief. “Thank you, Pepper.” 

Pepper’s tilted her head. Her hair shifted with the movement, flashing like copper in the evening sun. “There’s no need to thank me, Steve. He would’ve wanted you here.” 

The disbelief must have shown on his face. 

“Oh,” Pepper started. “Oh, Steve.”

Why was she comforting him? When he was the one who took her husband from her? When he was the one who killed Tony Stark? The tightness in his chest was back. He wasn’t sure if it had ever truly left him. 

He tried desperately to clear his throat, to wrestle some kind of control over his emotions before they broke through his carefully constructed walls, but goddamn it, he couldn’t breathe—

“Steve, you’re okay,” Pepper said, her hands gripping his shoulders. The contact grounded him, brought him back to earth for a moment; Steve sucked in a gust of air that rattled in his chest.

“That’s it,” she said. “You’re okay. You’re home.”

No, he wasn’t. This cabin wasn’t his home, and neither was that lonely apartment in Brooklyn. Home was...home was…

“You are home,” Pepper said firmly. “You’re with family. That’s your home.” 

“I’m not—we’re not—“

“Later,” he had promised himself earlier as he had gotten ready for the day ahead of him. “You can fall apart again later.” He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, let alone Pepper.

“We’re your family. Tony was your family.” One of her hands left his shoulders to smooth his hair back, just like his mom had done when he was a child. Steve found himself leaning into her touch, letting her words soak into his skin like ink. 

“I killed him,” he said, his voice cracking. Steve was cracking. He could feel the fissures in his heart, spider-webbing their way through his chest, his arms, his legs. One more blow and he’d shatter completely. “I took him from you, and I killed him.” 

He was so selfish. Pepper was the one who’d have to go on without her husband, her soulmate. She’d have to look after Morgan all by herself, and once again, he had made it about him. 

“You didn’t take him from me,” she said. Her voice had taken on a brittle edge. “And you didn’t kill him. I let him go.”

She let him go. She made it sound like it was the most natural thing in the world. How good of a person did you have to be to release lightning after you caught it in a bottle?

“You should hate me,” Steve said. 

Pepper shook her head. “I don’t. Tony didn’t. I can’t hate what he loved. And he did love you, Steve.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out. 

Pepper pushed on. “He loved you. Maybe it wasn’t like he loved me, or Rhodey, or Morgan. But I do know he loved you.” 

There was no way. Tony was the type who had seen what he wanted and went for it no matter what anyone else said. He would have said something... wouldn’t he? But this was Tony Stark, Steve remembered. The same man who had kept the fact that he was slowly dying a secret for nearly a year. If he did love Steve, that secret had gone to the grave with him.

There had been a time before the Accords, before Ultron, when Steve had thought...he thought there might have been something building between them. Slaps on the back that had lingered too long. Their heads bent too close together for two colleagues, pouring over a file. And those late nights…those late nights when Steve couldn’t stay warm no matter how many blankets he piled onto his bed. When Tony couldn’t close his eyes without seeing exploding stars behind them. On those nights, they had found each other. And they had talked. About anything. Everything. Just because they could. Anything to make the nightmares stop.

And then Ultron had happened. The Accords. Siberia. And here they were eight years later. One of them dead, and the other halfway there. 

“I,” Steve began, but he didn’t even know what he was going to say. “He,” he tried again. “He was mine,” he finally decided. It was the worst possible thing to say to a grieving widow, but Pepper didn’t seem to mind. She had an eerie way of understanding him. “He was mine. He was my—he was my person.” That didn’t sound any better.

“I know,” she said. Steve’s resolve turned to water. His arms left his sides and engulfed Pepper in his embrace. “He was mine,” his voice broke on the last word, and so did the tenuous control he had over his emotions. He had always been prone to silent tears followed by hiccups and raging headaches that left him bedridden. The serum had taken care of the hiccups and the headaches. All that was left for him was to cry. So he did. He held onto Pepper, buried his face into her soft, long hair, and let himself die. A wet patch grew on his shoulder; Pepper was crying too. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. He knew it was useless. It did nothing to ease the godawful ache in his chest. The serum refused to cure that. Not even time would heal it. For as long as he breathed, he would carry this with him. Maybe eventually he’d be able to grin and bear it. Smile through the pain. 

Steve Rogers was no stranger to pain.