#it's not an original sentiment and one that could even be viewed as somewhat sentimental and hokey with a less skilled execution

[vimbry]

"nanobots" the song is this deconstructed view of child development and parenthood where it's like, 'wow have you ever thought about how weird producing offspring is. like, it's weird, right! we make these little people and they quickly grow into their own individual personalities with their own lives and autonomy and I've lost all authority and there's so many and you've gotta be responsible for them all the time, what did I do !!!'

but as well as approaching it with this slightly overwhelmed perspective, there's a sort of affectionate optimism in there, too. that even tho the concept's intimidating, there's a sense of wonder in how humans develop and raising them and watching them grow up. hey this kid thing's fun actually, yeah I wish they'd leave me alone sometimes, but look at how cute and resilient they are look at what they can do. and then "replicant" is like jesus parenting a teenager is hard.

[ellalalala]

Let It Through

Tags: Il Dottore/OC, Il Dottore x Female Original Character, half-assed hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, slightly iffy dynamic, suicidal thoughts

A/N: No, I've never written for my OC and yes, only 3 people in total know her name. I'll dedicate a separate post to her eventually but for now I wanted to put this out because I needed Dottore to do The Thing (be somewhat nice) for personal reasons. Not proofread. Title comes from this song.

"Why are you here?"

Eir sat on the windowsill when Dottore approached, her eyes glued to the snowstorm outside Zapolyarny palace. The sky was pitch black and there was hardly anything of note to witness - not in the snowy wastelands of Snezhnaya - not like in Sumeru.

"Where else would I go?"

Dottore exhaled softly. "You are not my prisoner. Quit acting like one."

How could she, when it felt as if this was exactly what she had been reduced to? Now her life had lost its meaning, now she had been stripped of everything that defined her. There was nothing left.

Eir pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them to make herself appear smaller. She had no interest in talking to him - but to her dismay, Dottore didn't share that sentiment.

He sat on the opposite side of the windowsill and asked, "what ails you so?"

Everything. My existence - lonely and miserable, the past, the present, you.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill, but Eir could never say them aloud. It hurt less when the truth was concealed from the rest of the world; when the reality of things was known to none but herself. Were she to express what she felt now, Eir would be overtaken by sorrow far worse than any curse inflicted upon her by Celestia.

Besides, Dottore would never understand. They were fundamentally different people - he did not share her pain nor had he seen what she saw so long ago. It was easier, Eir realized, to stay quiet and unassuming.

"Trivial matters," she murmured, "nothing of importance to you."

"You speak with little conviction." Dottore remarked. Irritating man. Could he not leave her alone? Eir peeked at him from the corner of her eye and found him without his tailcoat. The sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows and he appeared as relaxed as could be, but that intricate mask of his remained fixed to his face. Whatever could be so despicable, Eir wondered, what could you possibly hide?

"Perhaps that's what you want to believe."

"I am not in the habit of deluding myself with wishful fantasies. You stubbornly refuse to tell me the truth. Why is that?"

Eir spat, "why would I tell it to you?"

"Unless you have other options, I don't see why you wouldn't."

"I would sooner seek solace from the Regrator than I would from you."

Dottore gritted his teeth. "You-"

"Look," Eir breathed, frustration bubbling in her chest. "I am in no mood to bicker with you. If you have nothing good to say, let me be alone; I could use the silence."

All was quiet. Eir's eyes remained trained on the view outside the window as she desperately ignored the wild beating of her heart. She could imagine the angry scowl on his face; for Dottore despised rejection, especially from those he deemed beneath him. Surely, even with her privileges, Eir could not get away with this...

But Eir's thoughts were interrupted by the feel of a gentle palm on her knee, the sound of Dottore shifting until he sat unbearably close.

"I cannot fault you for being distrustful of me, however you must understand that I will not harm you in any way. If there is something that troubles you, tell me so this instant; I only wish to help."

Eir regarded him with a surprised glance. As her frustration melted into longing, she considered giving in, allowing the truth to pour from her mouth until there was nothing left to say.

But she would be crossing the line. There would be no coming back if she told him - Dottore must have been aware of that, too. And yet... Eir could continue to push him away for as long as she desired but he would keep coming back to her anyway; trying to defy fate was a losing game.

Eir looked at his gloved hand on her knee, the beak-shaped mask he refused to discard and thought, just this once. Just once and never again. So she said:

"I'm tired of always losing: my family, my nation, my friends. Everything I love is always taken from me. The only person who could understand my feelings," she inhaled shakily, "left me without a second thought. Now I have nothing but the grief I have carried for five hundred years and I don't know what to do with it. I'm tired... I no longer yearn for the past but for the eternal slumber which I was robbed of."

Her lips trembled as she spoke, and ignoring Dottore's gaze, she continued, "I don't know what else is left. I miss being young; I miss having hope. I was so good once, do you know? I was a good alchemist, a good student. Now I am half human, half monster, with nothing to show for myself but all the pain Celestia gave me."

She touched the rough scars on her cheek as if by instinct. Memories of scorching sands and sharp claws tearing through her skin clouded Eir's mind.

"Is this what I was born for?" She asked softly. "Is this all I'll ever be?"

Now her secrets had been laid bare for Dottore to use as he wished. He would think her weak. He wouldn't understand the depth of her despair - how it had fused with the blood in her veins until Eir couldn't tell who she was without it.

The weight on her knee was no more. Eir looked at Dottore to find him taking the mask off his face with careful hands. Before long, she was met with a pair of bright ruby eyes, furrowed brows, and-

"Let your scars be proof of what you have endured but never allow them to dictate what you are." He spoke solemnly. Eir's breath hitched as she gazed at him, wide-eyed, as his words slowly sank in.

All she could see were his scars. He has them, too. That's what he has been hiding all along. Why? What happened to him? What has he endured?

There was a long, ragged scar that fell across the bridge of his nose. Another thinner scar on his forehead, which reached his hairline and disappeared there, between the long cyan strands of hair that framed his face. A faded scar on his cheekbone, one more on his temple - they were littered on the upper half of his face as if someone had deliberately wounded him.

Eir would have touched them, if she could.

"You cannot give up; not until every last leaf on the Irminsul tree has been burned and the wretched island in the sky has been brought down to earth. You," Dottore fixed her with a stare so grave that Eir was rendered breathless, "cannot give up. Do you understand?"

"I know," she whispered. It didn't take much thinking to understand what Dottore tried to convey with this dramatic display: I have lived through terrible things, too, but look at what I have done with myself. If I could, so can you.

Did it look so simple to him? Did he truly assume that she hadn't tried before, again and again? This was all the proof she needed: Dottore would never fully grasp what Eir felt. Irminsul, Celestia- these things hardly mattered to her. She did not care if the palace burned with her in it. Her life, Teyvat itself - things that had become inconsequential with the agonizingly slow passage of time.

"You will find meaning again," said Dottore, and somehow, these were the most comforting words she heard all night. Eir blinked rapidly so as to not make a complete fool of herself - Tsaritsa knows she could never live this down.

Dottore took her left hand in his - the one painted midnight blue and adorned with bright purple veins. She could not feel his touch there; but when he tilted his head down to press a tender kiss to her knuckles, Eir swore that her skin felt like it was on fire.

He looked at her once more, with eyes like the trishiraite that she had studied so long ago. In those eyes swirled sincerity, understanding, a promise of something that was still out of Eir's reach.

For now, this would have to suffice.

[kyliafanfiction]

Worm Vs Worm Fanfic: An Essay

You can't really judge a fanfic in comparison to the original in a total sense, because fanfic, by it's very nature, only can exist because of the original. Even the worst original stuff, like Twilight or 50 Shades or stuff that's even worse than those (I have heard of them) can't really have fanfiction that is 'better' than it, in a total sense.

I have made no bones here or on my worm liveread sideblog (@got-into-worm-by-mistake) that a contributing part of why I am still reading Worm, 25 arcs in, despite having many issues with it, is my desire to write fanfic for it. It's not the only reason I'm still reading it - I'm not that sort of masochist, fanfic alone would not make me read a thing I otherwise hated - but it is a factor. I also have and will continue to defend a lot of the sorts of trends in Worm fanfic that a lot of people in the Worm fandom (fic-reading and otherwise) attack, in part because I've been around too many fandom blocks to share the underlying opinions that inform their views on those issues.

(My belief that for a lot of the people with the least constructive opinions on Worm Fanfic, Worm is the only media for which they have ever really engaged in fanfic with remains hard to verify, but would explain a lot of it)

Some people have said that Worm is 'saved' or 'salvaged' by the fanfic, and some people have straight up said that there is fanfic that is better than Worm. While I understand the sentiment of the former, and it is somewhat true, in a sense, that for certain people the primary value or draw of worm is the fanfiction it produces (which is not a uniquely Worm phenomenon). as I have noted, I can't really agree with the latter.

What I can say is that it is possible to compare the original work (Worm, in this case) to various fanfics in individual categories. For instance, is there fanfic that is better written than the original? In the case of many fandoms, including Worm, that's true. Worm is a well written piece, but I don't think anyone could say Worm is the most technically skilled piece of writing in the world. It's got a lot of unevenness and issues here and there, nothing that kills the work, but they're there.

A lot of that can be laid at the feet of Wildbow's insane pace of writing that he set for himself. One assumes he'd have caught some of those issues (and he has, on various minor edits since then) had he moved at a slower pace.

Is there fanfic that is more consistent or internally coherent than Worm? Well, that starts to get a touch subjective, but again, I think that's true as well. And again, much of that can be laid at the feet of Wildbow's pace. I have nothing but admiration for Wildbow's pace of writing - I don't know if he maintained an active job while writing Worm, but even if he didn't his pace of writing is genuinely batshit, in the best way possible. But it does mean that the need to churn out words quickly is gonna leave issues. Wildbow has presumably always been aware of this as the original plan was to have an improved, finalized version of Worm after it was done. That that is unlikely to happen now is a different discussion.

These more consistent/coherent fics also benefit from the fact that Wildbow did a lot of the work in building the universe and rules and characters with which they're playing, which means they have a much easier time maintaining said consistency and internal coherence.

Now is there fanfic that is more enjoyable than the original (What I think a lot of people really mean when they say 'better')? Well, yes, for me at least, but that is an intensely subjective question. Fanfic, by it's nature, can often be tailored to target audiences better than the original work, even more so than Worm, which was very tailored to it's target audience... whatever that target audience was (More on that when I write my 'I've Finished Worm, Let's Reflect' thing)

But 'enjoyable' is a subjective thing that relies on so many moving parts that it can't really be used as a metric for 'better' in any meaningful sense.

Once I've finished Worm, I cannot see myself ever finding a desire to re-read it, from the start all the way to the end. Leaving aside the length, I just didn't enjoy it enough to do that. There are, however, numerous fanfics that I have reread multiple times and will reread still more times. There are fanfics that approach things in ways I find more personally interesting than Worm.

I will of course consult the text of Worm at various points to check specific details, or read certain scenes that I especially enjoyed (there are some)

There are shows that I found, like Worm, intensely compelling, that no amount of money (well, I mean, short of hundreds of thousands of dollars, I suppose, let's be realistic here) would make me want to watch again from start to finish. The Vampire Diaries, for instance

Now, Worm has been incredibly successful, like TVD, of creating characters that I find intensely compelling (and in fairness, Worm is infinitely better written than TVD, which was largely saved by actors too talented for such a show) and that don't leave my mind very easily. And it's definitely the characters and their relationship to each other the world around them that is the main draw for me in Worm, both in the original text and the fanfic. Themes, narratives, power interactions, worldbuilding, commentary on Superhero media etc - not the main draw for me.

(This is not atypical, as characters, their interactions and how they fit into the world around them is almost always the level at which I enjoy engaging with media the most)

So for me personally, there is a lot of Worm fanfic that does things I find more interesting with the characters, or does things I find more emotionally or narratively satisfying with those characters, etc, than Worm itself (or the Sequel that shall only be referenced this one time here). So for me, the fanfic is definitely a lot more what I'm interested in and going for. And that is not especially likely to change.

Worm is never going to rise above the level of 'good' for me - Wildbow's writing at it's best has a certain flat, workman like quality that does it's job very well, but can only be so good, too many of the narrative choices go over like lead balloons for me, and there's a lot of individual concepts and elements of the story that just aren't for me. But it is objectively well written, and has those intensely compelling characters, and I stand in awe of the total achievement that Wildbow... achieved when he wrote and completed Worm. It's really impressive, and it's quite good.

But equally, it's not 'great' or 'amazing' or 'perfect'. Some of that may be because I'm just not the right audience for it (there is a point where judging quality of something when you're the wrong audience is like asking me to judge the best vegetarian sausage. I may say which one I find most enjoyable to eat, but I'm not really the person they're selling Veggie sausage to. Worm is not the equivalent of Vegetarian sausage, but you grasp my point)

But I wouldn't call the fanfic as a whole or any individual fic 'better' than Worm in a total sense, because it's a useless discussion, as all fanfic exists in conversation with Worm and draws upon Worm.

BUT - and here we get to the reason I'm making this long-ass essay, I think it's just as useless to call Worm 'better' than the fanfic. Comparing the OG work and the fanfiction is almost always an exercise in futility.

Again, Worm may be better written, more coherent, more consistent, more enjoyable, etc, than a lot of fanfics, but the fanfic it's it's own category, and comparing it or any single fic to the OG text in a total sense is pointless thing to do that achieves very little.

Because ultimately, fanfiction is it's own genre, or even it's own medium of work entirely seperate from the OG work, whatever that work is. Comparing a fanfic and the original work is closer to comparing a book and a review of said book than it is comparing two separate books.

Because fanfic exists in conversation with and engagement with the original. Not all fanfic is written from a place of 'the original is bad, I'm gonna write it better', and that is an incredibly stupid way to look at fanfic. Just flat out stupid.

Now, some fanfics engage with the original work on fairly shallow levels, or don't engage with the work on the levels a given person may be most interested in, but they are engaging with it. (And I would argue the oft-derided altpower/powerscaling/escalation-y Worm fics are often engaging with Worm on a somewhat deeper level than many of the critics want to accept).

They may also say something about the work or elements of the work that you don't agree with, but again, that's one factor in why comparing the original work and the fanfic is pointless. Is some fanfiction just straight up bad? Badly written, lazily characterized, poorly researched, saying nothing nothing new, interesting or even useful? Of course, obviously, but that's just Sturgeon's Law. The barrier to entry for fanfic is lower, so a lot more gets written. This applies as much to Worm fanfic as any other fandom.

But fanfiction and original works fill entirely different niches, and fill entirely different roles in someone's media diet. Not everyone has an appetite for fanfic, and I definitely think there are some people in the Worm fandom that just don't have that appetite and don't realize it. It is, in essence, the same thing as being asked to judge the best vegetarian sausage when you yourself are not a vegetarian.

What I get from reading Worm (and again, I do get things that I enjoy) and what I get from reading Worm fanfiction are quite distinct and I could not, ultimately, have the latter without the former. Comparing the two is ultimately, pointless and silly, and both the fanfic-writers that don't like Worm, and the Worm-likers that don't tend to like the fanfic, should both stop doing it.

You just can't compare the original work and the fanfic, because that's just not how it works.

[sketchyelvenasss]

7, 15, 18, and 21 for Aerika or 2, 5, and 10 for Rexander for the Tav ask game please!!

Thank you for the ask ❤️! I don’t get very many so I’ll just do both. Also I read “or” as “and” first time round anyways lol (Rexander’s answers have near endgame Durge spoilers)

Aerika

7. Did your Tav travel a lot pre-tadpole?

He did! Specifically to the Underdark in search of magic items that were either lost in the dark or in the hands of those that meant to harm others with them. If he can he brings them back to the monastery where he became a cleric on the surface. Thanks to him they have a collection and have opened a museum of sorts to the public.

After the events of bg3 he will eventually return to his expeditions, despite some protesting from Gale. Even though his view of Mystra had been somewhat tarnished he still felt the passion to find, protect, and preserve magic.

15. Do they have any sentimental items?

-Aerika has a few. The first are his parents’ wedding rings. When he was still under a century old— he’s mid 200s now for reference—they were murdered by lolth-sworn raiders, he was captured and probably fated to become a slave when a cleric saved him by killing his captors. Before retreating to the surface with her they buried his parents and he took their rings as momentos.

-His wedding/ engagement band from Gale. They get engaged sometime before the reunion party bc they both knew they’d eventually be married. But Gale really wanted to take the time to do the proper things now that it was far less likely that either of them would die anytime soon.

-When Aerika starts adventuring again Gale gifts him with a smooth and polished amethyst sending stone so they could still communicate.

18. What did they want to be when they were younger? 21. What kind of education did your Tav have?

I’m gonna put these two together bc they work together.

Aerika wanted to be a wizard! But his parents were farmers with little disposable income. Still they loved him and did their best to nurture his passion with books. He didn’t receive any formal training or study until he decided to become a cleric of Mystra.

He believes it was fate to be saved by one of her clerics, and felt it would honor her and still allow him to channel the weave albeit in a different way than he originally thought he would.

The story below kinda covers these with how Aerika feels about them + Galemance fluff

Rexander

2. Does your Tav have any siblings? Are they close?

That is one of the things he still can’t remember. He can’t even remember who his mother was or if he even had one.

The closest you could call family for him were Sarevok and Orin and they are both dead by his hand so…

Rexander is a little grateful that Orin usurped him because he appreciates who he has become since escaping the nautaloid. His brain may be in shambles but at least it is all his own now.

5. Is your Tav religious? Were they raised that way?

Not anymore! As time went on after the tadpole died his memories began to steadily return. And he hates them, hates who he was. Rex, King of Murder was a devout follower of Bhaal leading the cult by example of heinous blood soaked murder—striving to be his father’s chosen and deliver Faerun to him in offering.

Now he doesn’t care who someone lights a candle for unless they come after him or his loved ones.

10. Was your Tav in a relationship? How did it end?

Pre-tadpole he did have a relationship with Gortash, but to him it wasn’t as important as his devotion to Bhaal and Rex had plans to murder him after they had conquered the world together— a revelation that comes to Rexander only as he’s standing over his corpse, but with the intent to save faerun.

I totally think it was a bit awkward to slowly remember their past relationship with Astarion standing right next to him. Although the elf means so much more to him than Gortash ever did. Astarion definitely says something to the effect of “glad to see you’ve upped your standards.”

[trouticecream]

what do you want most in the world ?

↪     ᵗʰᵉ 𝑫𝑼𝑺𝑻𝒀 𝑻𝑶𝒀𝑩𝑶𝑿: @finncomet

[ The most immediate answer that pops! into his mind is a deceptively obvious one:  uncovering the secrets that his ancient precursors–the Ancient Ones, as his own species of origin, would informally put it–had left behind after the cataclysm.  Dull pupils gain some glimmer of excitement, in what may be the only visible indication of such a sentiment in his otherwise deadpan demeanor.  There’s just so much to learn from a technological point of view!  The Apple of Enlightenment had been proof of that.  While it had not worked in his favour in the end… there was no doubt in his mind of its positively legendary status as an artifact of knowledge, from a various assortment of facts about the universe at large to predictions of the very future itself.  The thought of everything that he could do with the technology of the Ancient Ones and how much it would improve his own inventions is almost enough to elicit an inadvertent levitation (born of excitement, no doubt) of his petite form off the ground.

Almost.  But not quite.  Something gives him pause. His thin and rat-like tail swishes uneasily.  A rather unpleasant itch at the back of his mind and into a place beyond its forefront that he rarely ever visits.  The very core at which everything had begun and inevitably led to his own corruption and breakage during the second invasion of Earth.  Digging deep isn’t exactly his strong suit–nevermind outright introspection–but he finds himself doing it anyways, partially outside his own will and partially out of a desire to be honest, and predictably ends up at her.  His adoptive human mother.  Maria.  A small and clawed hand absentmindedly plays with the seashell necklace just hidden beneath his yellow hoodie.  He doesn’t like thinking about these things too much.  It brings about the ickiest of sensations and at its tamest worst? causes liquid to uncontrollably ooze out his optical receptors.  And there’s nothing worse than a lapse of control over himself, no matter how utterly benign.  But, all the same, he supposes that it’s a necessary ‘evil’, in the name of honesty itself.

He… –loves (technically-speaking, from an objective point of view) Maria, perhaps more than anything else across the multiverse.  And of course, he would want her back, even if only for a few moments.  There’s so much that he would like to say to her directly.  But, he’s certain that words must seem too hollow and empty by now to be of use.  Rather, what’s more important is what he does now.  That alone would be more meaningful.  His tail stops its swishing and sticks into an idle position midair.  More impactful than anything else.  And so perhaps, what he wants most isn’t necessarily to see her again (though it certainly wouldn’t be unwelcome), but to make her proud by doing what he should have been doing all along.  Being good.  He straightens out his posture so that it’s a little more upright and proper–though success might be somewhat limited by his diminutive height of a mere 2”3–before issuing a response, flat in tone but no less genuine in its meaning.  ]

—-‘To be good.  The default settings that are inherent to what I am, pose challenges that life-forms which are not ‘wired’ in such a way, lack.  But, even so… I would like to try and be ‘good’ anyways.

It is a very important guidepoint of actions to my adoptive parent.  And so, it is also important to me.’

[sirenalannysgreyjoy]

“Considering the fact all of the princesses are Targaryens and I’m not, it would be a little out of the ordinary.  But perhaps the Queen will want to cement a stronger alliance between our families.  It benefits her to have strong ties with the Greyjoys and the Iron Islands.”  If there was one thing her people were good at, it was causing chaos.  With their dragons, the Targaryens would never need to fear any type of rebellion that she and her family could put together, but it would be inconvenient to deal with.  Besides, there were no better battle captains than those in the Iron Fleet.  It would be a military advantage to have the ability to ally with them if it was ever needed.  She knew Toron was against strengthening the ties between their family and the crown, and while on some level she understood and even agreed with his sentiments, she couldn’t forget the stories her father had told her of their people suffering without enough food during winter.  Perhaps she was too soft, but she was willing to sacrifice some of her culture’s violence if it meant her people would be better protected.  She could only hope the Drowned God would accept that choice.  “I often forget you’re the Master of Ships now.  I don’t think there’s anyone more qualified for the role, but it does feel strange to know there’s a Greyjoy on the small council now.  It’s a good change though.  What I’ve started to learn at court is that there are some battles that can only be won with words and alliances.”  Her life would be simpler if that wasn’t the case, but unless she wanted to stab everyone at court who had a different opinion than she did, she was going to be forced to adapt.  

Alannys rolled her eyes at her father’s words, though they made sense.  She thought the amount of importance placed in Valyrian blood was strange, especially for a house that weren’t dragonriders.  “I mean, we could always claim I have Valyrian blood from the Harlaw side.  I have purple eyes, at least.”  It was somewhat likely there were Valyrians in the Harlaw ancestry thanks to that prominent trait, though she supposed it was possible it had developed independently.  The Ironborn didn’t bother studying things like the origin of eye color, so she wasn’t certain if such a thing was possible.  But just as her father had done when he married his wife Ravella, who was to say the Harlaws hadn’t once sailed to Essos and taken salt wives with Valyrian blood?  “But you’re right that his father will probably be incredibly picky.  He’ll want a lady who is both respectable and with more proven Valyrian heritage.”  The politics of it all were already making her head hurt.  She secretly felt her father had the right idea in simply taking women who wanted to be with him and not worrying about the politics of what her father would think. 

“Perhaps my husband and I could raid his lands together as a fun bonding activity,” Alannys laughed, amused by the absurdity of such an idea.  Truly though, she thought some of the lords around here would enjoy it if they gave it a try.  The lives many of them led at the Red Keep seemed dreadfully boring.  “Or I could teach the people on his lands how to raid and we can all raid the surrounding areas.”  That seemed like a more fun idea and also made her realize why some might think having their son marry a Greyjoy would be a bad idea.  She wasn’t the best influence.  

The idea of Toron marrying anybody made Alannys snort in disbelief.  She had no trouble seeing why her brother was struggling to find a potential match.  “If you want my advice, I think my brother would have more luck finding a match in the Iron Islands.  He scares the women here and I can see him potentially wanting to take salt wives one day.  No greenland lord is going to take well to that.”  To be honest, Alannys didn’t know how her elder brother viewed the concept of marriage, but he would probably be happiest with a woman who wanted to reave chaos at his side.  “As for Tyanna, she hasn’t said much.  I think she’s more focused on practicing her skills with the flame than she is with marriage at the moment.  I think she’s waiting for the moment she sees such an event in the flames.”  Alannys loved her twin dearly, but she didn’t put much faith into the prophecies reflected by flames.  She knew they could be accurate, but they were so difficult to interpret that in her opinion the outcomes wouldn’t be all that different even if the visions were pure nonsense.

Her Father's Daughter: with @daltongreyjoy-rp

Alannys dangled her legs over the side of the crow’s nest and waited for her father to arrive.  This was a conversation she didn’t want to have in the oppressive walls of the Red Keep.  So far, she had enjoyed her time in King’s Landing.  It was a new adventure and she loved the vibrancy of King’s Landing and the opportunities for fun it easily offered up throughout its various streets.  Still, she couldn’t imagine living like this for her entire life.  Even the short amount of time the Keep had been on lockdown had been suffocating.  Alannys had been forced to say her prayers on land, which felt almost as sacrilegious as not doing them at all.  She would never understand people who preferred the earth’s unyielding ground to the ocean’s comforting lull beneath their feet.  

It was something she had been contemplating more lately, especially after her latest conversation with Toron.  He seemed convinced their father was contemplating making betrothals for the eldest kids and securing them sooner rather than later.  She’d heard her father mention the subject before, but she wasn’t sure how she felt about it.  Alannys wasn’t opposed to marriage.  She had seen the love her father had surrounded himself with and often yearned for such closeness herself, though the idea of giving someone her heart seemed like an unattainable dream.  The last thing she wanted was to be given off to someone she could never care about, yet she also knew how important marriage alliances could be.  She wanted to please her father and help the Iron Islands, but she couldn’t imagine giving up her freedom to become some man’s wife just because her father ordered it of her.  

Far below, the sea gently lapped against the side of her father’s ship.  Please, give me guidance, she prayed.  She’d yet to have one of her prayers go completely unanswered and she could only hope the Drowned God would illuminate the correct path for her soon.  Only a few minutes later, she spotted her father making his way to The Raven.  She stood up and easily climbed down the rigging, the movements so practiced she didn’t need to think about them.  

She waited until her father had stepped out onto the deck before she dropped down behind him.  “Father, I do hope you don’t plan on selling me off to some green land boy.  Toron seems convinced you’ve been setting up betrothals and if you plan to give me to some man who will refuse to let me see the sea, I’ll cut out his heart and present it to you.”  Her words were a slight exaggeration, mostly because she valued her life.  Killing some lord or lord’s son would endanger her, but she was more than willing to threaten her betrothed and disappear into the night if she found whoever her father wanted her to marry unsuitable.

[equallyshaw]

The Medicated Series: features OC’s with medical issues such as depression, anxiety, physical disabilities such as MS or Rheumatoid Arthritis as well as any other autoimmune disease such as Crohn’s, endometriosis, infertility, etc. (not an autoimmune but you get it)

I feel, as a person with a physical disability, that there is a lack of representation and have always wanted to see myself in y/n stories. Always have and always will.

Cale Makar Medicated Series Master Post:

triggers/warnings: angst, lots of angst im sorry, shaming/degrading disability, medications.

Original Character: Eliza Nicole James, 23 years old. Brunette Hair, Blue Eyes, short and curvy.

Word Count: 5.5k

Part Four:

—

Eliza's POV:

—

Today marked a week since I had seen Cale, and I was nervous to see him. He had been gone since last Saturday after we had brunch together. It was no nearing the end of the month and I had still yet to make a decision for Joe Sakic. However, tonight I was going to see a game with Becca and I was hoping to not run in to him. Yet, I knew with my luck- we would run into him.

"Hey-" Becca walked in softly knocking and seeing me in somewhat of a fazey in and out nap. She frowned coming over and sitting on the bed next to me. "You ok? Exhausted?" She questioned pushing some hair out of my face. I softly nodded, with a wave of nausea over taking me. She saw the second it happened, because my face turned even paler and I froze as I groaned. "are you sure you still wanna go? I can call Cale and tell him." She offered and I shook my head. "No, we have been or I have been planning on coming to this game all month. I can't back out now." I responded sitting up and feeling a wave of dizziness overtake me for a second before I settled back down. "No, you look miserable. I know you are having a flare up." she stated. I didn't listen to her and instead threw away my comforter and moved out of the bed to grab my maroon sweater that I would be dawning. I did not have a jersey or anything Avalanche related and had settled on a pair of dark jeans, black boots and a knitted sweater.

Becca eyed me as I made my way over to the mirror and saw the under eyes that were transculent to my pale skin. How my eyes were half sagging, and you could visibly see the exhaustion. But no, I was gonna push myself tonight. Even if it meant I'd be stuck in bed tomorrow. "Looks like, we will need to make a coffee run." I mused looking at Becca through the mirror who only slightly nodded.

We had finally made it to the arena with 20 minutes left to spare before puck drop. We had gotten coffee from a local coffee shop near out apartment and then cut stuck with traffic trying to get across the city. It seemed like everybody was out and on there way to the game between the Detroit Red Wings- there apparent rival. We walked in through the gate and we proceeded to make our way to the elevator that I saw in my side vision. "Hi, is that elevator able to take us to the suite level?" I asked a worker who was near us. "Yes it can, third level. Do you guys have a wheelchair that needs to be transported?" The innocent worker asked and we shook our heads. "No I have a disability and need to use it but if not, I can take the stairs. No problem." I stated. They nodded, escorting us over to the elevator themselves and I smiled gratefully through my mask. Yes, I still wear a mask. Covid aint done yet, people! Anywho, we got into the elevator and they wished us a good game. "Well that was easy." Becca said sarcastically and I nodded. People never think to realize that I may be the one needing extra assistance and what not. "Thankgod they didnt make a fuss. I would of gone off on them, if we had to take the stairs." I nodded at her sentiments. I had a hard time with stairs, especially going back down them. Let's just say you get a wonderful view of my behind, not very flattering. We walked towards the suite that Cale had left us room at.

It was the family, friends and WAGS booth. When I objected to it, he told me that I still had the option of sitting in the crowd if it was too much for me. I then explained to him, that since we weren't 'official' because quite frankly, I dont even know what we are but- I told him that it might look weird and feel weird since I did not know anybody. He waved me off, and told her me I could bring whoever I wanted to. He knew I would choose Becca, anyday. "Im nervous B." I said stopping a few feet from the door. "Hey, let me get us some free drinks and then we can go to our seats in the stands. Ok?" she said and I nodded leaning back against the wall outside the door. My phone buzzed with a text and I knew it was Cale.

[Cale: Did you make it okay?]

[Eliza:Yes! Becca is currently getting us some drinks and we are gonna head down to the stands.]

[Cale: Did you decide not to sit in the suite? It's okay if you didn't just curious. I'll tell Mel you aren't coming.] [Eliza: Mel?]

[Cale: Gabe's wife. I was gonna have her greet you and Becca, since she is the Captains Wife and she accepts everybody so I thought it would be nice of you two to meet. I thought you might of been more comfortable, thats all. ]

awe, so sweet.

[Eliza: What does she look like?]

[Cale: Blonde hair, has two kids with her. She's average height.]

[Eliza: okay, thanks. Ill see if I see her, if not were gonna head down. But don't worry about us. I'll touch base later, good luck ☺️]

[Cale: Never, i'll always worry about you. I'll let her know you are there. Are you wearing a jersey?]

[Eliza: ☹️ no I don't have anything avalanche related. I just wore a maroon sweater under my coat. and seariously, focus on your game. Ill survive.]

[Cale: We are gonna change that, but that'll be for another day. I'll check in with you soon. Don't fall please ;)]

[Eliza: I'll try my very best, Makar ;)]

I locked my phone and saw Becca walking out with drinks and a blonde in toe with her, almost identitcal to the shade Becca has. "Uh, who's this?" I quietly whispered to Becca as I took the bottle of water. "This is Mel, Gabe's wife. The captain's wife." Becca explained and my eyes went wide at the realization. "Oh right! Cale mentioned you. Sorry, for causing all this confusion but we actually aren't sitting in here tonight." I explained, trying to move back a few feet so the conversation would end. Mel shook her head and frowned, "Oh no! The girls and I wanted to meet you. But if you prefer to sit in the stands, we aren't going to stop you. Whatever you feel comfortable with." she responded and I was taken back uncomfortably. She knew that I had arthritis and the way she almost said it, came off with a sympathy tone. I really wanted to take her offer, but felt weird since I was not the one to tell her I had arthritis. Sometimes, when people know it before I tell them- I feel weird. Like, somebody had said my business. But I know Cale or Gabe meant well, but still. "How about we just go in and see the view, and then we can leave?" Becca offered and I looked at Mel who was waiting anxiously for me to respond. Becca has been so desperatly trying to get me out of my comfort zone for the past year slowly, and this was just another step I needed to take. I nodded, "Yeah, let's check it out." I smiled and Mel beamed reaching out her hand. I took it, looking back at Becca who smiled at me as we walked in. "I promise we won't bite." Mel joked as I looked around as saw a lot of girls and some kids. I nodded, feeling my breathing pick up a bit. "Hey, Im gonna go grab those two seats and I'll be back. Ok?" Becca said putting a hand on my back and pointing to the seats. I nodded, giving her my water.

"So Cale told me that this is the second in person game you've been to, right?" she asked as we looked out towards the ice. I nodded, "Yeah, I was here earlier this month for the Denver Medical Center tribute." I responded and she nodded smiling. "Yes! It was so heartwarming to see all of them on the jumbotron! and then to hear from Gabe and the team the work that is being done, cannot tell you how inspiring the work that you do is. It was honestly a wake up call for us parents in the group." She exclaimed and I was taken back for a second as I look towards her. She dawned a smile, one that was inviting and warm. I smiled back feeling a little at ease, "Mel! Don't hog her! I wanna say hi." somebody exclaimed pulling me out of my comfort zone.

Another blonde appeared in my view and I stood there as Mel and her laughed at the girl's comment. "Hi! I am Sydney- J.Ts' girlfriend." She exclaimed, holding out her hand for me to shake. I nodded, shaking it. "So I gotta know, how long have you and Cale been seeing one another? We can't seem to get an answer from cheeks himself." She mused and Mel nodded in agreemant. "Yeah, he won't even tell Nate or Gabe. Those three are some of his best friends." Mel added and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me. This was overwhelming. "You and me both. I'd like to know too." I said non chalantly looking back towards Becca who was on her phone. I really hope she could save me from this conversation. "Wait what!?" Sydney asked in disbelief. I nodded, putting on a fake smile. "Yeah, I don't know what we are." I said honestly. "Im gonna go sit down." I added quickly, moving out of there embrace and moving back towards Becca. As soon as I sat down, I began to chug my water. Feeling dehydrated. "You good?" She questioned looking up from her phone and I nodded. "They wanna know about Cale and I but I don't even know what we are." I told her. Shore, we had kissed a few times, but other than that it seemed like we still were friends. Nothing more. And most like nothing more.

I shifted in my seat, pulling my phone out of my bag after taking off my winter jacket and checked in with the fam who were currently all over the country. My parents were in Southern California for a quick getaway at my aunt's home near where some of my family lived. My oldest sister Jessica lives in Chicago and my middle sister Olivia lives in New York, so we were all over the place. Our family groupchat was very unhinged tonight, seems like we had many texting and drinking happening.

The crowd began to get louder as the players began to take the ice for the national anthem and face off. The family and Wags began to sit in there respective seats, and I sighed as the lights were dimming down. As of right now, nothing in my body hurt. But I was for once, so I was hoping to be able to focus on the game for the most part. Besides the constant nausea waves, that kept coming and going.

Middway through the second period, I left to use the washroom in the hall and that's when I heard some whispers in the next stall. The voice was neither Mel's or Sydney, so it was a complete stranger. "Dude, he's seeing somebody who has a disability. How pathetic is that? I know right, he should of been with you still. They have no future together. I mean, she can't do anything! God, I hope he wakes up and smells the coffee. No I know, god, she's probably faking too." The voice talked and talked and talked for minutes on end as I stood in the stall shaking and feeling tears pour down. I whipped open the stall door, and made my way back to Becca. We were leaving. I whipped off my mask, as my cheeks were becoming redder. I didn't care a this moment about not having it on, I just wanted to breathe a bit better.

As soon as I walked in, I went as quickly as I could to grab my jacket and purse. Becca saw the two flying up behind her and she shuffled around quickly seeing me without my mask. She saw the tears in my eyes, the red cheeks that were not from the mask, and she saw the death glare I only sported every so often. Somebody had made me mad. "Who do I need to kill?" She questioned standing up and looking around for any signs. "No, not right now." I said turning around almost bumping into Mel and Sydney. "Hey, are you okay?" Sydney questioned- genuinly concerned. I shifted away from them and walked past as Becca said bye to both and that she didn't know what was happening. I made my way to the elevator and as I stood there shaking from foot to foot, I saw the girl who had made those comments. She had warm bruntte hair and she was gorgeous. Everything a hockey player would want. Everything I was not, and everything Cale's ex or whatever was.

As soon as the elevator doors opened, I hopped on and shut the doors quickly hoping nobody else would followed besides Becca. I looked down at my phone and turned it off, I did not want to hear from Cale and did not want to see the good times my family was partaking in this evening. Becca grabbed my hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as we exited the elevator walking over towards the door. We heard the faint horn of the second period ending, and I held back tears as we walked out of the arena. I just wanted one evening, where everything went smoothly, but no. That couldn't be. My luck would not allow it.

"Miss James!" I heard behind me as soon as we were about to exit the arena. I turned around and saw Mr.Joe Sakic himself. He walked up to us, leaving whoever he was talking to behind for a quick moment. He smiled his famous and warm smile, pulling me back into the arena. "How are you enjoying the game?" He asked nervously, looking between Becca and I. He could tell I was visibly upset about something, but I didn't want to lead him on. "It's going great! We were just stepping out for some fresh air." I lied, hoping he'd walk away soon. He nodded not really believing what I had to say, and I knew when he opened his mouth next- what he would be asking. "Have you thought about my offer anymore?" He questioned, a hopefuly glint in his eye. I nodded, "Yes, I currently just need a few more days. I promise I will let you know by March 1st." I said truthfully and he nodded. "Well, I will hear from you soon. Have a great evening, ladies." he smiled going back to whoever he was with. I let out a long sigh, as we walked out. We walked all the way to our car without stopping because I just wanted to get home and forget about everything. I wanted to forget that face of the girl who talked shit about me, about the game, about the job. Especially wanted to forget about cale. Even though he didn't do anything wrong, it was only by association. Becca turned on some old disney channel songs, and we drove on out of the parking lot. Let's just say, this playlist was a comfort playlist. No shame in it. We headed out towards the other side of the city, towards our apartment and on the way there, Becca got a call from Cale but she declined it. She declined the three other calls he did, and put him on mute so she didn't see the messages he was sending.

Becca liked Cale and had gotten along well with him since she came home one day to find the two sprawled out on the couch watching how the grinch stole christmas, with Eliza snoozing during the middle portion. She was taken back at how comfortable Eliza was with him, since this was there second hangout in five days at the apartment. She just hadn't been home at all the other time. But she saw Cale look over and wave, and Becca chuckled softly waving back before walking over and seeing Eliza snoozing away. Even in her sleep, she had looked at ease. No discomfort or tension surrounded her eyebrows as she did so, meaning she was comfortable and that's all she ever wanted for her friend. Cale had softly gotten up from the opposite end of the couch, and draped his throw blanket on her before walking with Becca to the kitchen to Chat. Let's just say that if he ever did anything, there would be no way in hell he'd ever be playing hockey again. Cale took that threat very seriously, not underestimating the violence she would evoke in Eliza's honor. But this, this hurt Becca. She knew things could possibly be different after them two walking out on the game, and simply ignoring him by association. She knew somebody must have said something to her face or in passing, Eliza never got that mad. She never pulled out the James Family death glare, one that could kill if possible.

"When we get home, Im gonna take a hot shower before going to sleep. OK?" I said and looked over at Becca who was unreadable. "yeah, no problem. Ill make sure you sleepy tea is ready." becca responded and I nodded. "Thanks." Was all I said as we neared even closer to our apartment. I was exhausted and just wanted to curl up underneath my comforter and block out the world. Tomorrow was Sunday, so thankfully I would have the day to sleep and possibly do some laundry. But we shall see where the day takes us. I rubbed my eyes, frustrated and feeling on the brink of crying. How dare somebody question my health? How dare somebody mcok and ridicule something that is out of my control? Those questions are one's that I will continue to ask for the rest of my life.

I turned on the shower, letting it warm up to the temperature I liked. It was currently 9:50 pm and had planned to be in bed by 10:15 pm, so I would have some time to read before I went to bed. I wanted to get to sleep sooner rather than later, to forget about this shitshow of a night. I stripped down, noticing the bruises and faint scars on my thighs and stomachs from years of self injections that worked and others that did not. Before I started this infusion medication, I had done self injections with a biological medication for about three years before my body started rejecting the medication.

(Biological Medication: A substance that is made from a living organism or its products and is used in the prevention, diagnosis, or treatment of cancer and other diseases)

Biological's are the most popular choice for autoimmune disorders and to see me go throught three different one's in a span of four years, realyl set me back in my so called 'recovery' goal. Now I at 23, I had finally figured out the medicaiton situation and had been on infusions for the past year. Hoping this one would stick. I moved up closer to the mirror and outline a few lines in particular, immedietly feeling nauseas I looked away and hopped in the shower. Thinking about self injections make me feel sick, and I can sometimes get really upset. Like I will cry, shake, and visibly cringe if I am the one to self inject myself. Now Becca or my parents help if they can, for my vitamin b12 injection every week. Anywho, I grabbed the shampoo bottle, not realizing that my hands were shaking. I froze for a second, letting the hot water fall down my back. Tears pooling my eyes, as I tried to open the bottle. Once I did, I went on to wash my hair and grabbed my conditioner and detangler in place of shampoo. After that I quickly washed my body, and then just stood in my tiled walked in shower. The only other thing that would be perfect right now, is a stool or chair. Then I could just sit here and let the water take me whole. Then I didn't have my feet reminding me to get the fuck off of them, much to my dismay. But I stood there longer than I thought I could, sobbing. I hate the way strangers have power over me, I hate how somebody with no knowledge of who I am or what I have endured, could say things about me. I'll never understand the judgment and back stabbing, words could do. I'll never understand why people think they know everything about me, just because my arthritis is one of the first things they judge me on and think im fragile, weak and that is my whole identity. But I am so much more.

Becca's POV:

I heard sobbing and wailing coming from inside Eliza's bathroom, and I stood at the kitchen counter feeling helpess.Feeling uncontrollable anger for whoever said anything about Eliza. I was not dumb, I know some bimbo of a wag said something. Yep, they are a bimbo if they said something without clear cut facts. They didn't know Eliza, who she was and the heart that she has. And now, no one would have that chance, I just know it. Cale was still blowing up my phone after the game had ended. I didn't have the energy to deal with him right now. All I wanted to do was get Eliza to bed and then kill whoever said what they said. I had Mel's number now and she has been blowing up my phone as soon as we left the game.

[Mel: Is she ok?]

[Becca: No. Somebody said something, and one of us is going to go off on that person. Well me, since she's really shaken. but yeah, she'll be fine. give her a week.]

[Mel: What do you think happened? and oh no, that makes me sad. For both of you.]

[Becca: Somebody in the washroom probably said something very stupid and for that, im gonna kill them. Nobody hurts her over something she has no fucking control over. None whatsoever.]

[Mel: I would too, but im trying to think who was not in the room.]

[Mel: It was a wife of one of the players. Her name is Kerry Toews, Devon Toews Wife.]

[Becca: Oh looky there, she's got a name and a ring.]

[Becca: Sorry, im very sarcastic when im angry. E is too but she's in no shape to snap back.]

[Mel: All good, I cant even imagine what's going through either of your heads rn. Maybe thats a good thing lol.]

[Becca: Yep, and please have Gabe to tell Cale to STOP blowing up my phone. I do not want to talk to him right now. He's been non stop since he found out we left.]

[Mel: Yeah as soon as I explained to him what had happened after the game, he was upset. He was confused but more upset than anything. I think he had an idea of what happened and then he took off without saying bye to anybody. That was 15 minutes ago, so he might there or almsot to your guy's apartment.]

[Mel: but yes, I will have Gabe talk to him. Im not sure he can be vry persuaded rn though. From the looks of him, he looked like somebody had put a sword through his heart and yet, he had a fiery look to him.]

[Becca: Yippie, thanks for the heads up.]

The buzzer went off from downstairs,signaling somebody was here. "who is it?" I questioned the front desk. "Somebody is here to see Eliza." Jasmine the sweet front desk attendent explained. I rolled my eyes, "tell him to go away, she does not want to see him." I responded hoping he'd go away. "He said he won't leave until he see's her. He said he'll be here all night. And you know, I don't like anybody here in the lobby past 12." Jasmine explained and I sighed, hitting my head against the wall. "Fine, send him up. Thanks Jasmine." I said before walking over towards Eliza's bathroom. She opened the door just as I was about to knock, she looked exhausted. I knew all she wanted to do was sleep, so I would talk to Cale myself. "Who's coming up?" she questioned and I froze once she walked past me. "Oh um, it's Lucy." I lied as she grabbed her tea and sipped it before walking towards her room, "Tell her I say hi. And apologize that im going to bed." She said stopping at her door, before walking in and shutting it. A minute later I heard a knock on the front door, and I walked over checking the peephole to see a very disheveled defenceman.

I opened the door, giving him an icy glare. "Is she here?" was the first thing that came out of his mouth as I opened the door wide enough for him to slip through. "What do you think Cale?" I mocked, shutting the door. He turned around to face me, and bit the inside of his cheek trying to read my face. "Yes. She is here, but she is sleeping." I said and he read right through the lie. Partially, because I heard some cries coming from her room. As soon as Cale heard that, he whipped his head aorund and looked at her door down the hall. His heart visibly broke on his face, his breathing picked up, and he I could see the internal struggle of either walking to go see her or talking to me. I sighed, crossing my arms over my chest as he looked back at me. I nodded my heads toward the hall and he quickly removed his shoes and coat, literally throwing his coat at me making me chuckle. Oh god, the chaotic mess that he was.

Eliza's POV:

I sat down on my bed, setting my tea on the nightstand trying to get comfortable in my bed. I was currently sitting up so I could read some of my book, and drink tea at the same time. As soon as I opened my book I just stared at the page. I couldn't focus on the words as I tried reading them. Romance filled words were lining the page I tried to keep re reading over and over again for a few minutes before I just let out a frustrated cry. This was a long over due crying session, that needed to be had. I closed my book and moved further down into my bed, covering my head with my comforter. More tears fell from my eyes as I continued to sob. In between my sobs, I did not hear my door open because as soon as I felt a soft hand touch the my back I flung my comforter off and shifted away from the hand. It was cale. A very dishevled Cale, who froze as soon as I shifted away from him. He looked overly concerned, uncomfortable and visibly sad. I shook my head, moving away from him and cursed myself for how small my queen bed was right now.

"Go away, Cale." I said putting the comforter over my head again. "I don't want to talk to anybody right now." I spat as I tried to silently cry. "Im not going anywhere." he said softly, and I slowly pulled my comforter off of me and turned around to face him. I met his eyes, from where he sat at the corner of my bed. I slowly sat up and he took in my fragile state. I looked down, putting my crying on full display. I sobbed as he moved next to me, wrapping me in his arms. He didn't say anything for a few minutes, but kissed my head every few seconds- allowing me to cry in peace. I was now laying on his chest, in his warm arms. I looked up to face him, and I saw the pained look on his face as he looked across the room. His mind running a mile a minute. "Hey..." I said softly pulling his chin towards me. I met his hazel eyes, softly rubbing his cheek to comfort him. He could see how distant I was from him, and was slowly coming back down. He pushed some wet hair out of my face, and tucked it behind my ear. He bent down a bit, and placed a forehead kiss. Trying to comfort me, and it was working.

"What happened?" He questioned, knowing he wanted me to talk. To let him in on what I was feeling and what had happened. I shook my head, "Somebody tried to say I was faking my arthritis. Somebody was saying how I wasn't good enough for you and that I couldn't do anything. Hoping that you would wake up and smell the coffee and see that you have no future with me." I explained and he visibly slumped, his eyes looking down past me. "And she's right. She's right cale. I will never be good enough for you or like your ex or who I presume was your ex on the phone." I added and then he met my gaze. "They had no right. No right to talk about you in any shape or form." He started, "They have no right to talk about us. No right to talk about my so called feelings or thoughts. They have no idea about what I think or feel. So if you are thinking that I don't want to be with you or that I think the same, you're wrong." he paused, "And no one could ever compare to you, not even my ex." he finished. I looked down silently, hoping he'd understand without me having to talk. "Eliza, I want to be with you. I want my future to be with you." He said, now pulling my chin back up so I could look at him. "Then why didn't you ask to be my boyfriend? Why did I show up to the suite without knowing what we were? If we are just friends, then I don't think I can be just friends." I confessed and I tried shifting in his arms but he wouldn't move. "But I want to be with you." he stated and I stopped moving and looked at him. "Then why didn't you ask me to be your girlfriend? Say the words, and i'm your's Cale." I said honestly. His eyes poured into mine, "I didn't ask you yet, because I wanted to make sure you were comfortable with me. That's all." He paused softly smiling, "But without further ado, will you be my girlfriend, Liz?" He questioned, using an old nickname of mine as a kid. I smiled widely, "Ofcourse." I mused bringing my lips to his.

He smiled into the kiss, pulling me as close as we possibly could be without my being on top of him. His soft hands on my back, becoming a tad bit rougher or harder. Throwing me for a loop. I pulled away for a brief second, trying to reposition myself and failed miserably. "Yeah, no this isn't gonna work." I said sarcastically pulling away completly, sitting in front of him and smiling. He looked at me with a wicked grin, he sat up more before pinning me down on my back. Making sure I was comfortable before he kissed me. I giggled into it as he pulled my chest towards his, not neccesarily uncomfortable but just so outta of the blue and foreign.

"Well hello there." I mused softly as he pulled away for a second, I put my hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes. He was savoring this moment. I blushed, dragging my hand down to his chest to where his tie was still fastened. I grinned, slowly pulling it looser and he cocked an eyebrow as he reopend his eyes. I pulled him down, reconnecting our lips before paritng. I smiled, as he rested on his arm, lying down with me. "What if I didn't want you to leave tonight." I confessed and he was taken by surprise for a second before grinning. "I would say I didn't want to leave." he mused before giving me one last kiss before he hopped out of bed.

—

I hope you guys enjoyed, I am having so much fun writing this story! Please make sure to like, reblog and if you want to: give me a follow so you see many more stories that I have slated to come out soon!

[dorimena]

Are you taking requests could you make a part two for motorboating but the characters are motorboating the reader (sorry if this to much)

Yes I am! And of course! I’m assuming it’s the same three characters so - and it’s not too much! Sorry in advance if it comes out a bit sillier than the original one (´꒳`)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰; Bakugou Katsuki, Aizawa Shota & Monoma Neito

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱; 1.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰; nsfw in Monoma’s part, nsfw-ish in Aizawa’s, motorboating, ⅔ fluff, ⅓ suggestive, cuddling, soft boys, mentioned kink, bdsm harness, cursing, implied multiple orgasms in Monoma’s part

𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰; gender neutral reader, the boys appreciating your chest, everyone but Bakugou kinda failed, implied dom!reader, implied sub!character, aged-up characters, Monoma & Bakugou are 18+

𝔰𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢; in case no one knows what motorboating is, let us take our beloved Urban Dictionary and recite:

“The act of pushing one's face in between two ample breasts, and rocking one's head side to side very rapidly while making a vigorous, lip-vibrating "brrr" sound.”

Here is part one where these three boys are motorboated

𝕸𝖔𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖇𝖔𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕳𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝕽𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊

☙ Remember when I said that if there’s one thing Bakugou loves more than lying on your lap, it’s you lying on his chest?

☙ I lied, kinda

☙ The truth is that he loves laying on your chest more than you laying on his chest, but he’s sure it’s about the same sentiment

☙ He loves using you as a pillow, but he won’t ever really admit that, not at all

☙ Not because it’s embarrassing (it kind of is) but because you tease him about it, which makes him blush and 6/10 times he sometimes indulges in some fantasy and proceeds to accidentally ignore you

☙ And now it’s one of those times where he accidentally did it again

☙ And you’re pouting, the hand that was scratching his head just placed there, still as your eyes drift elsewhere, gaze set on some random object as you try to think up what’s getting him so distracted

☙ But Bakugou thinks you’re upset, sad, because you stopped scratching his head and you know how much he loves that!

☙ He bites back his question, not wanting to bother you out of your obvious thoughts, simply placing his head back on your chest until an idea comes to his mind

☙ And even if it’s something you’ve hinted at liking, he’s still gonna try convincing himself this is revenge, kinda

☙ You managed to find out how much he loves you motorboating him, so saying this is revenge will be out-of-place and just make it obvious how he’s just being a good boy boyfriend

☙ Anyways, let’s get back to the present

☙ He stops any other hesitation lingering in his mind as he slowly turns his face, his face buried in between your chest which startles you out of whatever you were doing

☙ And when you scratch his head to maybe catch his attention, Bakugou takes this as his chance to begin turning his head side to side, slowly

☙ When he picks up speed and is at about the same pace you usually are in when motorboating him, you laugh as you hug his head

☙ Accidentally stops him, by the way, and has him let out a noise of confusion and slight irritation

☙ Did you not like it?

☙ But he feels how you’re giggling, laughing, cooing at him

☙ He’s red, but you can’t see it, not when you’re holding his head still

☙ And he’d be trying to pull back but being buried between your chest is, again, oddly soothing

☙ But now he’s kind of suffocating

☙ So he kind of struggles in your hold, and when you loosen up, he starts again, this time making sure to make much more convincing engine noises

☙ Your laugh grows tenfold, and he eventually joins in, his body shaking as laugh after laugh rakes over and he looks up at you

☙ “Suki, again?”

☙ This might be one of the few times you let him take control, and he will make this worthwhile

☙ In other words, you guys aren’t leaving the couch for a gooood time

☙ Because Bakugou will be trying to argue and convince you he does a better job motorboating and how you’ve been doing it wrong all this time

☙ You retort back how he’s never complained before

☙ He stays quiet before burying his embarrassed face in your chest again, making weak noises before they just turn into his typical grumbles

☙ He wants you to know just how ticklish this can be

☙ Because when he asked you if you wanted to be motorboated by him, you rejected the offer and said it’s fun giving than receiving

☙ Had him wonder if someone’s done this to you and you either didn’t like it in general or the other person ruined the experience

☙ Either way, he came to the conclusion that he’s just going to have to surprise attack you like you did to him

☙ Asking you and convincing you would be futile, with the way you seem to be cautious with his questions

☙ Or you’re hiding something

☙ But he knows that if you’re hiding something, it’s for a good reason he’ll eventually find out, whether accidentally or you ‘spilling the beans’

☙ His surprise attack came into action the moment he saw you relaxing on the bed in a starfish position, staring at the ceiling

☙ He just came out of the shower, but he’s decent; shirtless, but he’s at least wearing pants

☙ So he’s not too eye catching (lies he already had your attention the moment he opened the door)

☙ And seeing how busy you seem, he decided that it’s now or never

☙ And it has to be now

☙ You feel the bed sink a bit, but below you rather than next, but you don’t look at him, not while you’re busy trying to figure out how to tell him that you’re-

☙ Why is his head on your chest?

☙ Not that you mind, but it’s mostly you on him than him on you

☙ Does that make sense?

☙ Your eyes go to the top of his head, blinking as your brain processes the position

☙ But it’s too late because he’s already moving his head and making the engine sounds

☙ Which would look ridiculous from your point of view but really it has you blushing really red

☙ He can, uh, feel it, right?

☙ Your shirt is too thin to hide the-

☙ Aizawa stops and interrupts your mental monologue, lifting his head to stare at you with dilated pupils and mouth opened in slight shock

☙ Did he feel that right?

☙ You shyly smile, wiggling your eyebrows before somehow stripping off your shirt

☙ And on your chest is a black leather harness

☙ Has Aizawa salivating in his mouth until he realizes oh, tonight’s the night

☙ “Keep motorboating, babe. Don’t stop until I say so.”

☙ Has him wondering why you’d tell him that-

☙ Oooooh your leg feels good grinding against his half hard-on, has him almost whimper on the spot but he groans softly instead

☙ Surprise motorboat attack kind of failed, but it came to bite him back with a better surprise

☙ God, he loves it when you put that harness on

☙ Again, remember in the previous post you were up for either him motorboating you or you motorboating him?

☙ The offer is still on the table

☙ But Monoma doesn’t know that

☙ He still doesn’t really like you motorboating him

☙ First, because it’s really ticklish and he’s really ticklish and if he’s tickled enough he lets out embarrassing snorts

☙ Second, because his nipples are sensitive and if you brush against them a certain way, or in any way really, he moans and it doesn’t matter where you guys are

☙ So, it’s torture

☙ He’s been plotting revenge for some time since the last time you motorboated him

☙ Which was the previous night where he had to fucking run to the bathroom because-

☙ Well, you get the idea, I think

☙ How embarrassing! How could you be so mean?

☙ … that’s a stupid question and he knows

☙ So his revenge, unlike Aizawa’s surprise attack, wasn’t to creep on you and motorboat you before you even notice

☙ Rather simply dive right into your chest and go crazy with it

☙ And don’t tell anyone, but he had to kind of investigate how to do it properly because he’s not such an asshole to simply fuck it up and make it hurt

☙ Who knows how hard he’ll fall against you, so he’s been practicing that too

☙ Don’t let him know you caught him practicing his dive one too many times that it had you concerned whether or not he’s been struck by a quirk or if it’s just Monoma being… Monoma

☙ The day has come where he shall give you a piece of his mind

☙ Or so he thought until he suddenly found himself trying to catch his breath from your 3rd round of couch sex

☙ Has him trying to remember why he even decided to come to the living room if he could be in his office catching up in paperwork-

☙ Oh yeah

☙ Your eyes are closed as you bask in your post-orgasm bliss, a small smile on your lips as Monoma shifts, being careful not to have you fall off his lap as he stares at your chest

☙ Inhaling, he goes forward, his face finally buried in your now-sweaty chest, wondering what he’s supposed to do next

☙ You basically somehow fucked all his thorough investigation and practice out of his head, how dare you

☙ Sighing, he plants a kiss on the skin before moving his head side to side, but quite slowly

☙ As if he were finding comfort in your chest rather than actually put effort in his revenge

☙ You open your eyes, wrapping your arms loosely around his neck as you pick up his weak attempts at a motor sound, humming to it as you rock back and forth

☙ And no, I don’t mean in a soothing manner, I mean in a ‘let’s go for round 4’

☙ Monoma whimpers, his head completely stopping as his hips snap up

☙ “Let me motorboat you- hnngh~”

☙ With a laugh and a “do it but I’m not stopping”, Monoma fails in correctly executing the perfect motorboat

☙ But who cares, it somewhat saved him from remembering how he easily forgets things when you fuck him, apparently

[robininthelabyrinth]

Delight in Misery (ao3) - part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8 (interlude)

The Lotus Pier was a free and unrestrained place in comparison with the Cloud Recesses, and there was no similar prohibition on raising pets. This was a good thing, largely because Lan Wangji had recently started to think of his little found family primarily in animal metaphors.

It was, he concluded, because of the way Mo Xuanyu followed Jiang Cheng around like an imprinted duckling, with stars in his eyes and an unfortunate tendency to try to emulate his actions while possessing exactly none of the temperament required to pull any of it off.

Indeed, watching him wheezing his way through a threat to break Jin Ling’s legs was a sight worth seeing, especially with Lan Sizhui patting him on the back and encouraging him when he temporarily got stuck stuttering on the word ‘legs’.

Jiang Cheng, for all his faults and imperfections, could be terrifying when he wished to be, the blood of the battlefields of the Sunshot Campaign forever impressed upon his bones; with Zidian to hand, he could look commanding and fearsome, decisive and harsh, and with his sharp looks and sharper scowl, he cut a fine picture - even if Lan Wangji knew the truth, that behind all that sharpness was the soul of a grumpy marshmallow.

Mo Xuanyu, with his wild thatch-like hair that couldn’t be controlled no matter their joint efforts and even wilder and far more questionable taste in appearance, couldn’t hope to match him, and really ought to stop trying.

Naturally, Jin Ling looked about as convinced about the threats as he ever was when Jiang Cheng said it, meaning of course that he didn’t care one whit, but despite their initial concerns, he took to Mo Xuanyu quite well. Lan Wangji was initially puzzled by it, given their conflicting personalities, but Jiang Cheng insightfully (for once) pointed out that it was most likely that Jin Ling was willing to forgive quite a lot in exchange for having another person dressed in Lanling Jin gold around to make him feel less awkward about it.

The two of them together were two little goldfinches strutting around in a sea of purple – or, perhaps more accurately, two golden roly-poly puppies bounding around, tails wagging, trying to befriend the Jiang sect’s army of sleek haughty purple cats. They were accompanied, of course, by a small, gentle crane with a most un-Lan-like taste for spicy fish with radishes and absolutely no head for water travel.

(They were working with Lan Sizhui on that. He lived in the Jiang sect now; he couldn’t spend his whole life being seasick!)

“What does that make you, then?” Jiang Cheng asked when Lan Wangji – after incessant prodding – mentioned his thoughts on the subject of their growing nest. “Master Rabbit?”

Lan Wangji glared, but didn’t object to the characterization; regardless of his personality, there was good reason to make the association. This was largely because Lan Xichen had recently embarked on a mission to capture the rabbits Lan Wangji had been – not raising, precisely, because pets were forbidden in the Cloud Recesses, but feeding on occasion when he had the time. He had brought them to Lan Wangji’s new “residence” at the Lotus Pier as a housewarming gift.

(Lan Wangji had no intention of moving out of Wei Wuxian’s bedroom, of course, but Jiang Cheng had long ago exercised his authority as sect leader to clear out the rooms just beyond it to create a small additional courtyard for him, in which he could exercise and meditate without being too far from the main quarters of the Jiang sect leader. As a result, the only change involved in his new, public, and above-board decision to reside in the Louts Pier was adding a new entranceway to make it appear as though they lived in separate albeit adjoining houses rather than living together in just one. Of course, it being the Lotus Pier, the new entranceway involved constructing not only a gate but a new bridge…)

“What exactly are we supposed to do with a bunch of rabbits?” Jiang Cheng had demanded at the time, staring down at them - there were rather more than Lan Wangji had remembered there being, but he supposed that was the nature of rabbits.

“I have no idea,” Lan Xichen had replied, smiling broadly. “But Wangji likes them.”

Lan Wangji had pretended that neither of them existed, and also that he was urgently needed elsewhere.

Later, Jiang Cheng had cornered him, demanding an explanation or else the rabbits would be sent down to the kitchens to be repurposed, and Lan Wangji had reluctantly confessed that they were from the burrow first established by the two wild rabbits Wei Wuxian had caught for him all those years ago.

Naturally there was no more talk of repurposing after that, and three sets of rabbit coops – far more than the rabbits Lan Wangji actually possessed required – mysteriously appeared in his small courtyard the next day.

“Wouldn’t want the stupid things to drown,” Jiang Cheng had grumbled when confronted with the evidence of his sentimentality. “If they attacked your garden and tried to burrow down they’d only hit water, and then where would we be? Awash in bunny corpses, that’s where, and that’s just unsanitary. I have a duty as sect leader to preserve the public health, you know.”

Lan Wangji had initially had some difficulty determining what type of animal Jiang Cheng was. He was as prickly as a porcupine, as standoffish as a hedgehog, as fickle as a cat, as graceful and vicious as an angry goose…

Recently, however, Lan Wangji had met a merchant from the south who had been selling a type of bird he called zishuiji, or purple swamphens – the merchant claimed that they were descended from the famous zhanniao, the poisonfeather zhen bird noted for their purple bellies, scarlet beaks, and deadly venom. Although Lan Wangji was moderately certain that the man was exaggerating for the sake of a sale, he had found himself compelled to purchase several sets to house in one of the empty rabbit coops, now moved to be placed in the main courtyard, nominally to be nearer to the waterways but mostly so that they’d be easily accessible to everyone - and, of course, to subtly harass Jiang Cheng.

It turned out that zishuiji could apparently be treated in much the same way as chickens. They were highly adaptable, but thrived best near water; they were generally shy around humans, but vicious in defending their territory, capable of biting and mobbing when provoked; and they preferred to raise their eggs with company –

Truly, he had found the right bird for Jiang Cheng.

(Not to mention the euphonious imagery of a purple hen strutting around with its purple lighting, zishuiji with zidian...truly, a picture meant for the ages. Lan Wangji determined at once to make a painting of it and insist Jiang Cheng hang it on some wall. Maybe even one of the ones in the main hall, where strangers could see.)

“Some of these are getting used for food,” Jiang Cheng insisted with a glare. “Some of the rabbits, too. There are no rules against the killing of livestock here, you hear me?”

Mo Xuanyu fell in love with them immediately – Jiang Cheng’s theory was that he was entranced by their iridescent feathers, while Lan Wangji’s view was that he recognized the innate Jiang Cheng-ness of them – and quickly took charge of their care, although Lan Sizhui and Jin Ling routinely assisted in collecting eggs.

Jiang Cheng reluctantly admitted, after some time, that the purchase had been a good one, if only because it served to settle their little awkward duckling into place, finally allowing Mo Xuanyu some sense of stability, as if having some type of small duty for which he was responsible was all he needed to believe that he wouldn’t be forced back to Lanling or to Mo village, his original place of origin, which he somehow feared even more than the backstabbing snakepit of Koi Tower.

(“You need to stop calling him a duckling,” Jiang Cheng said, quivering with laughter. “Do you know that could also mean…no, I’m not saying it. Anyway, he’s such an impressionable brat. Did you see what he did with that make-up he bought? He really does look a bit...”

From this, Lan Wangji inferred that the nickname was both extremely apt, extremely unfortunate, and had permanently stuck.)

In fact, despite initial concerns, it had been surprisingly comfortable to bring Mo Xuanyu into their lives at the Lotus Pier.

He was grateful and happy to be there, which helped; Lan Sizhui was welcoming, and Jin Ling somewhat reluctantly accepting, each for their own reasons, which helped more.

Best of all, he was at just the right age to be a regular disciple, and the current Jiang sect was especially welcoming to outsiders, having been cobbled together from a wide range of previously rogue cultivators and the small handful of survivors of the previous sect’s massacres. It improved Mo Xuanyu’s mood tremendously to be around boys and girls his own age, doing the same thing as them, without the weight of Lanling Jin’s expectations on his shoulders even if he sometimes wore their colors.

“He’s never going to be the most martially inclined,” Jiang Cheng opined after a small period of observation. “But he might make a decent administrator.”

Lan Wangji glanced at him sidelong in silent question, since Mo Xuanyu had not displayed any especially notable scholastic talents either. He had started cultivating fairly late, although obviously not as late as Jin Guangyao, but he lacked the other man’s genius for organization and management. Moreover, while his studies did admittedly exceeded the low bar set in Lan Wangji’s mind by Nie Huaisang’s miserable performance, that was a very low bar indeed.

(Nie Huaisang wasn’t stupid, he reminded himself once again. He was in fact extremely clever. And yet, even knowing what he knew, it was so easy to forget…)

“He’s kind and thoughtful of the well-being of others,” Jiang Cheng said, averting his gaze and pretending his cheeks weren’t tinting red. “Calligraphy and math, people skills, that can all be learned, but at least he has the important part down…I told you to stop doing that.”

Lan Wangji ignored him and continued to smile.

“Freak,” Jiang Cheng muttered, then shook his head. “I can’t believe anyone actually listens to you. Least of all me!”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. That part was Jiang Cheng’s own fault – he’d been using Lan Wangji as a sounding board more or less from the beginning, and started making him do some of his paperwork as soon as he’d been regularly awake for more than a shichen at a time under the barely plausible claim that it was good for him to exercise his hands. Now that Lan Wangji was officially out of seclusion, Jiang Cheng had promptly shoveled even more work at him – despite the fact that they were supposedly at each other’s throats.

The Jiang disciples that had not been in the loop – most of them, to Lan Wangji’s mild surprise – adjusted quickly, especially after they noticed the long-suffering expressions on the faces of Jiang Cheng’s immediate deputies. They had remained wary for a while, possibly expecting Lan Wangji to seek to implement the Lan sect rules at any moment, but after a time he had managed to win their confidence through his efficient administration and respect for their customs.

He did…rather a lot, actually. He reviewed the sect’s accounts along with Jiang Cheng, managed certain negotiations, oversaw the continuing reconstruction efforts, reviewed submitted proposals –

All things that the Lan sect did as well, but which had never come to him before. Lan Wangji suspected that in many cases, they did not even come to his brother or his uncle, who were nominally in charge of such things; the Lan sect disdained such worldly affairs, while the Jiang sect embraced them.

Although while he was on the subject of being above worldly affairs, it occured to him that he had not had an opportunity to take Bichen out recently, and it would be good to do so. He would need to come up with some excuse to insist on Jiang Cheng accompanying him for a night hunt sometime soon, some reason that would stand up to scrutiny from the outside.

As for convincing Jiang Cheng himself, however, that would be no problem.

“We are going night-hunting soon,” he informed Jiang Cheng, who looked appalled by the very thought.

“You’re joking, right?” he demanded. “Do you know how much work we have to do? The yearly update with the dyer’s guild is –”

“Not for another two months, and preparation typically takes only two weeks.”

“Reconstruction –”

“Does not require constant supervision at this stage.”

“The – there’s training –”

Lan Wangji attempted to convey his feelings on the validity of that excuse entirely through his facial expression, and it must have worked because Jiang Cheng crumbled at once, grumbling to himself.

“Who’ll we leave the children with?” he tried. “Especially with Xuanyu being so new – oh, all right. It’s weak and I know it, you don’t have to give me that judgmental look of yours.”

“If Jiang Wanyin believes that his skills have gotten so rusty that he would be unable to keep up…”

“I’m going to break your legs,” Jiang Cheng hissed at him. “I’m going to – to – oh, wait, actually, there is a reason we can’t go just yet. We’re expecting honored guests!”

Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows.

“You wouldn’t have seen the report yet, it’s still on our desk,” Jiang Cheng said. “You know of the Baixue Temple, right?”

Lan Wangji looked askance, indicating that he had of course heard of the temple, a renowned place of learning, but that he presumed that that was not what Jiang Cheng meant and also that perhaps Jiang Cheng would like to get to the point at some time before their deaths from old age.

“Fuck you too,” Jiang Cheng said conversationally, having learned the nuances of Lan Wangji’s expressions by now. “It was attacked recently, and rumor has it that it was Xue Yang that did it. Yes, the same Xue Yang who did the Chang clan massacre, the one the Jin sect was protecting before they washed their hands of him.”

Lan Wangji frowned.

“They made it through with relatively minimal casualties,” Jiang Cheng assured him. “Out of luck, mostly – when Xue Yang disappeared before his trial, the Nie sect made sure word got out everywhere, and Lianfeng-zun, who might’ve quashed it, even helped spread them, instead. From what I understand, Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen returned to Baixue Temple to make sure it wouldn’t be attacked over their part in Xue Yang’s initial arrest, as it later turned out to be - truly, evil is mundane and predictable. They led the defensive efforts and saved many lives.”

Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen –

Lan Wangji had heard Jiang Cheng speak of them before, of course. Rogue cultivators of considerable fame, who had refused all offers to join any of the sects, major or minor, but instead professed a desire to start a cultivation school of the old-fashioned sort, valuing affinity and merit over blood relation.

Not that that was what had caught the attention of Lan Wangj, or of Jiang Cheng for that matter.

Rather, it was said that Xiao Xingchen was a disciple of Baoshan Sanren, the famous immortal that lived secluded on the mountain. That made him Wei Wuxian’s martial uncle, and both of them were shamelessly interested in all things relating even tangentially to Wei Wuxian, however indirectly.

Jiang Cheng had sent several invitations for a visit back when the Chang clan disaster had happened. None had been accepted, which was probably all for the best – he had had to stop inviting them on account of how they’d angered the Jin sect over the matter.

(It had caused Jiang Cheng no end of nightmares, the feeling of complicity in a massacre just like the one that had destroyed his own sect sending him into a spiral of self-hatred, questioning his own morality and righteousness, wondering if his ancestors were judging him and finding him wanting, wondering if Wei Wuxian was –

It had not been a good time, a thankfully temporary reversion back to the bad days closer to the start. But Jiang Cheng was better now.)

“Why accept an invitation now?” Lan Wangji asked.

“They’re planning on hunting him down, I think, and having learned a little bit from last time, they want to get as many allies on board as possible in advance,” Jiang Cheng said, and shook his head at the depressing need to account for worldly politics when seeking to live a righteous life. A lesson hard-learned, for both of them. “They wrote to me first, this time. In return, I plan to indicate that they are welcome to come to the Lotus Pier to try to convince me – we’ll agree to help them, of course, but it’ll be nice to share a meal with them. Maybe some stories.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji said. “And entertainment, of course.”

Jiang Cheng looked at him.

“We should take them night-hunting,” Lan Wangji elaborated, and Jiang Cheng scowled at him.

“There are oxen less stubborn than you! Donkeys! Geese!”

Lan Wangji was not a goose. A crane, perhaps, like Lan Sizhui – gentle and graceful and well-educated, with a sharp beak that most people overlooked.

He suspected Jiang Cheng would argue instead for the goose.

“I will write to my brother,” he said, opting to change the subject. “Xue Yang is a sensitive subject for his sworn brothers, as you know. It would be best to prepare him should they resume their fight with each other.”

“Oh, that’s just what we need,” Jiang Cheng grumbled. “Lianfeng-zun and Chifeng-zun at each other’s throats again…did I tell you about the series of small but extremely irritating disasters that happened that time I was at Koi Tower? The room flooding, the too-thick incense, the – the thing with the cat –”

“I also recall you coming back from a night-hunt with Chifeng-zun with an expression suggesting that someone had put the fear of death into you, yes,” Lan Wangji said.

“It’s Chifeng-zun. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you avoiding any circumstances where he could have the same talk with you!”

Lan Wangji did not deny it. As he was not a sect leader, he could avoid such things with much greater ease than poor Jiang Cheng – who was glaring again.

“You should try harder to get along with him,” he remarked, and Jiang Cheng’s eyes narrowed even further. “You have many things in common –”

“Lan Wangji. You are, as A-Yuan’s father, permitted to set up as many playdates for him as you’d like. You are not permitted to do the same for me.”

Lan Wangji nodded, indicating that would give that all the consideration it deserved, namely none.

Jiang Cheng made a sound not unlike the whistling of a boiling pot.

Lan Wangji decided that a triumphant but timely retreat was appropriate.

[high-functioning-lokipath]

Loki x Reader - Glorious Purpose - Words: 2,578

Based on this prompt:

Enemies-to-lovers, but instead of featuring a villain redemption arc, the heroic one is getting progressively more corrupt, unhinged and fucked up, and the one who was originally the clear-cut villain out of the two is just like "well mark me down as scared and horny"

You were a somewhat independent agent, but officially you worked with SHIELD. Fury had recruited you although you had yet to move back to New York to be closer to everything. At the moment, you were enjoying an extended stay in Europe. It had started with a small mission and you decided to vacation for a while, take a well deserved break.

"Champagne?" A waiter asked you. You nodded, taking a glass from his tray before he continued on. You'd managed to get yourself an invitation to a gala in Stuttgart and you weren't one to pass up free food and wine so you went. Your gaze floated across the room and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Everyone here had the same look: stuffy, stuck up, money coming out their-

"Pardon me," A man said. He walked up behind you, bumping into you accidentally.

"It's fine," You said automatically. Looking up at him, your eyes widened slightly. Now he was handsome. He smirked at you and you opened your mouth to say something but he turned away. Unfortunately, just as quickly as you had seen him and he had already gone. You wandered around for a few more minutes before the guest speaker walked out. You worked your way to the front of the crowd to listen to him. Even with your heels though you weren't tall enough to see over everyone. Suddenly you looked up, seeing movement on the stairs. For a moment you thought you'd see the man from earlier walking down. "Is he another guest speaker?" You wondered. Before you could get any closer to get a better view, you heard screaming. And then everyone started running. You finally elbowed your way to the front and saw the mysterious man walking away from the guest speaker who was now lying unconscious across the big fancy table. You ignored the speaker and chased after the dark-haired stranger. He had a dark smirk painted across his lips. Just before he walked outside, there was a bright glimmer around him and his sharp suit transformed into golden and leather armor. "A bit much," You thought with a silent chuckle. To get a better view, you transported yourself next to a small souvenir booth, watching as he approached the terrified crowd. Duplicates of his suddenly appeared around the edge of the crowd, including one only a few yards away from you.

"I said, KNEEL!" He yelled, slamming his scepter on the ground. The crowd immediately followed his orders. Your phone in your pocket buzzed and you discreetly checked it.

Are you still in Germany? - Fury

LOL I'm assuming you're heading my way. You should see this guy! 👑 - Y/N

Wait for the team, Y/N - Fury

…or what? 🙄😏 - Y/N

You pocketed your phone and walked out, skirting the crowd and making your way to the mystery man. The real one you assumed.

"Is not this simpler?" He started. "Is this not your natural state? It's the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation." He spoke eloquently, not surprising you all that much considering his attire. Although his phrasing confused you slightly. It was as though he wasn't speaking to fellow humans. You supposed most men who considered themselves superior often did so though. "The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life's joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled. In the end, you will always kneel."

"Not to men like you," You spoke up, having snuck up beside him. He smirked, walking towards you and towering over you.

"There are no men like me," He gloated. He reached out to grab you but you ducked and ran behind him. Whipping around he held his scepter out, pointing at you. "Let her be an example to you!" He yelled to the crowd. As he shot, the Captain dropped in. He stood in front of you and blocked the blast with his shield.

"I didn't need that, Steve," You hissed.

"Just shut up and help me," He replied. You rolled your eyes and teleported to a more strategic location before Mr. Gold and Leather noticed.

"You know, the last time I was in Germany and saw a man standing above everybody else, we ended up disagreeing," Steve said. You rolled your eyes.

"We get it, Steve, you're old!" You yelled. Sometimes Steve got on your nerves. The man turned to you but Natasha quickly distracted him. She was flying the quinjet above, aiming a machine gun at him. They continued fighting and you watched the movements of the stranger, looking for a weak spot.

Suddenly you hear loud rock music blasting over the PA. Just before Iron Man swoops in, the music preceding his actual appearance, you see your chance. "Over here, pretty boy," You call out, your smirk almost matching his. As he approaches you, you whip out one of your knives from your thigh holster, twirling it in your hand.

"Oo, feisty," He grins. He points his scepter at you, about to touch your chest with it, when you teleport behind him. In the split second of his confusion, you jump up, grabbing the horns of his helmet, and kick him in the back of his knees. He falls back and you duck out of the way, letting him land hard on his back on the ground. He lets out a huff as the wind gets knocked out of him and you quickly stand over him, planting a foot on his chest. You know he could throw you off easily but you're holding a knife to his throat as well so you take your chances.

"Your turn," You say. He holds his hands up, his armor glimmering once again before revealing a much simpler outfit. You shook your head, still confused as to where he was from. This clothing was obviously not bought at the local department store. Once the team had restrained him and loaded him into quinjet, you wandered over to him, watching him closely. Cap and Stark were passive aggressively talking off to the side, as if the stranger couldn't hear them. You shook your head and walked over, taking a seat next to him. "Hi," You said with a small smile. "What's your name?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"You do not know who I am?" He asked. You shook your head and chuckled.

"You're a well dressed man who apparently wants to take over the world. That's about all I know. Fury never tells me anything so I'm flying blind here."

"I am Loki of Asgard," He grinned. He was about to launch into his "Glorious purpose" speech, when thunder and lightning rattled loudly outside. Loki got a frightened look on his face, trying to look outside from his seat.

"Are you ok?" You asked. Loki's head whipped back to you, eyes staring into yours.

"I-no," He admitted, something in his eyes .

"What's the matter? Scared of a little lightning?" Cap asked Loki.

"I'm not overly fond of what follows," He said. As he spoke you finally figured it out.

"Your brother is Thor!" You exclaimed.

"Unfortunately," He replied as the God of Thunder himself landed on the roof of the plane. When Stark opened the back hatch and Thor landed inside, you frowned, nose scrunching in disgust.

"Oh my gosh what a himbo," You mumbled. Loki stared at you for a moment, eyebrows raised in surprise, and opened his mouth to say something but was swiftly yanked out of his seat by his brother.

You didn't see Loki again until the Helicarrier. Up until that day you'd never doubted Fury even though you didn't like working with others, but suddenly you weren't sure who to trust. Stark and Banner thought Fury was up to no good with the Tesseract and, while Steve didn't want to agree with them, he just confirmed their theory. You just helped him break into the storage room and we're staring at each other in shock.

"Weapons. Fury is making weapons. That lying-"

"Ok," You sighed, interrupting the Captain's exclamation. "Get this back to Tony. I'm going to check on something else. Meet back at the lab?" Steve nodded and headed out with the gun.

You stealthily made your way to Loki's cell. While you were mildly terrified, you needed to talk to him. When you walked in the room, you saw Natasha already there.

"There's not many people that can sneak up on me," Loki said, smirking as he turned to face her.

"But you figured I'd come."

"After. After whatever tortures Fury can concoct, you would appear as a friend, as a balm. And I would cooperate."

You listened as they talked, hiding in an unseen corner of the room. "I've got red in my ledger, I'd like to wipe it out," Natasha said.

"Can you? Can you wipe out that much red? Drakov's daughter? Sao Paulo? The hospital fire? Barton told me everything. Your ledger is dripping, it's gushing red, and you think saving a man no more virtuous than yourself will change anything?" At this point Loki had stood from his seat across the cell and was slowly making his way, stalking, towards her. "This is the basest sentimentality. This is a child at prayer, pathetic! You lie and kill in the service of liars and killers.You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away!" Finally he slammed his fist against the glass, startling both you and Natasha. "I won't touch Barton. Not until I make him kill you! Slowly. Intimately. In every way he knows you fear! And when he'll wake just long enough to see his good work, and when he screams, I'll split his skull! This is my bargain, you mewling quim!"

Natasha had backed away, shaking, eyes wide in terror. "You're a monster," She gasped.

"No," Loki chuckled darkly. "You brought the monster."

"So, Banner. That's your play," Natasha said, suddenly not crying or seemingly emotional at all. Loki was shocked. Natasha hurried out of the room, thanking Loki and talking hurriedly on her ear piece.

You quickly slipped out of your hiding place and hurried over to the cell. "What are you doing here?" Loki sneered.

"I have some questions," You said. He rolled his eyes and huffed. "Personal ones. This is for my own agenda."

"Fine, one question," He relented, smirking slightly. Loki fully expected you to still be trying to gather information from him.

"Look, I listened to your little speech there. I don't completely agree with you but you have a point. In some respects we're no better off than you," You said. Loki raised an eyebrow curiously, watching as you stood right against the glass, staring up at him confidently. "If I were to help you, what would be in it for me? I want an honest answer or at least a believable lie. Don't give me a "glorious purpose, bright lure of freedom" speech. Tell me something I can believe. What would you do if I helped you?"

"I can't promise you anything except your life. I promise I won't kill you. Now, if you're stupid enough get yourself killed-"

"I get it," You chuckled. Nodding you smiled at him. "I'll let you know." With that you left, leaving the God of Mischief to his thoughts.

When you rejoined the rest of the team in the Lab they were, unsurprisingly, arguing again. "I'm sorry, what were you lying?" Tony said, showing Fury the files he'd just hacked. Steve was standing next to the weapon, Fury was yelling, everyone was pointing fingers. You shook your head but saw your opportunity. In the commotion, no one was paying any attention to the scepter. You bit your lip nervously. You had to make a decision.

The entire Helicarrier was in chaos. It was nearly impossible to make your way to Loki's cell without being seen but you eventually made it. With so many agents running around you didn't want to risk teleporting and find yourself at the wrong end of their guns.

When you finally reached the cell you saw the door open and Loki standing in it. "No!" Thor yelled, running at him. You almost cried out to stop Thor but then you noticed movement from the other side of the glass cage. As Thor tumbled through Loki's illusion you grinned.

"Are you ever not going to fall for that?" Loki asked Thor, locking him in the cell. Thor roars and slams Mjolnir on the glass which cracks under the impact. Both you and Loki are surprised, having thought the cell was indestructible. Loki walks over to the control panel slowly. "The humans think us immortal. Should we test that?" Before he can press the button, Agent Coulson shows up with one of the weapons you'd seen in storage.

"Move away, please," He says. "You like this? We started working on the prototype after you sent the Destroyer. Even I don't know what it does. Do you wanna find out?"

As Phil was speaking you snuck up behind him. And just before he shot Loki you shoved the scepter into his back, stabbing him through. Pulling it back out you dropped him to the ground and grinned at Loki. 'Pity,' You thought. 'Phil always seemed to be such a nice guy.'

"Why did you do that?" Loki asked, staring at you in surprise. There was an odd look of terror and excitement on his face. "I didn't promise you anything."

"Yes you did," You said, walking up to him and handing him the scepter. "You promised me loyalty." The facade cracked for a moment, a soft smile slipping through. "And you're pretty."

"I like you!" Loki laughed, grabbing your waist and pulling you against him. "Shall we?" He asks, gesturing to the red button.

"Of course," You reply. Your hand hovers over it and you glance back at Thor who is in disbelief. "It's nothing personal, Thor," You say. "Or, actually," You look back at Loki and smile. "It definitely is." You press the button and air whooshes around you as it falls to the earth below.

"You're gonna lose," Coulson says weakly.

"Am I?" Loki asks, turning to look at him.

"It's in your nature."

"Your heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky. Where is my disadvantage?"

"You lack conviction," Phil replies.

"Not anymore," Loki sneers at him, holding you even tighter.

"So what are you gonna do about it?" You taunt. Suddenly you're both blasted out of the aircraft.

"So that's what it does."

You scream, closing your eyes and clinging to Loki as you both fall. "Calm down," Loki yells. Suddenly there's hard ground below you. As you open your eyes and reorient yourself you see it's actually hardwood.

"Where are we?" You ask.

"Stark Tower." Standing up you see the city skyline before you just outside the window. "It's about to begin," He says. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes," You reply immediately, taking his hand. He tilts your chin up and kisses you softly in contrast to his overall demeanor.

"We shall rule together then, my queen," He promises. You nod and kiss him again before you walk out to the balcony to wait for the inevitable arrival of the Avengers.

"Together."

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[firelxdykatara]

I’m just really confused as to where this idea that Zuko is gaycoded came from. Like people are allowed to have that headcanon but I don’t understand where people are coming from when they try and claim that he was undisputedly gaycoded and trying to deny it is homophobic when he’s only ever shown romantic interest in women.

I made a pretty long post on the topic a while back, but the ultimate gist of it is this: there are a lot of elements of Zuko's status as an abuse victim and trauma survivor that resonate with queer folks. This is understandable and completely fine! However, there are some parts of the fandom who have taken that to the other extreme and will now insist that those elements are uniquely queer, and that they can only be read as some sort of veiled gay/coming out narrative, even though that doesn't make much sense since there is no part of Zuko's narrative which is unique to any sort of queer experience.

I think the problem really does stem from two things being conflated--Zuko's history of abuse and trauma, and trauma&abuse being something a lot of queer people have experienced. I suspect it goes something like 'I see a lot of myself in Zuko, and I was abused for being gay, therefore Zuko must be gay too in order to have had similar experiences.' This can then lead to feeling dismissed or invalidated when other people point out that those experiences are not unique to being queer--but on the flip side, abuse victims and trauma survivors whose abuse&trauma do not stem from queerness (even if they are queer themselves) can feel invalidated and dismissed by the implication that their trauma must be connected to their queerness or it isn't valid.

This is also where the 'people don't actually know what gay coded means' part comes in, and I realize now that I didn't actually get into what gay coding (and queer coding in general) actually means, since I was so hung up on pointing out how Zuko doesn't really fit the mold. (And the few elements that exist which could be said to count are because of the 'villains historically get queer coded bc Hays Code era' thing and mostly occur in Book 1, not because of how he acts as an abuse&trauma survivor.)

Under a cut because I kind of go on a tangent about gay/queer coding, but I swear I get back to the point eventually.

Queer coding (and it is notable that, with respect to Zuko, it is almost always framed as 'he couldn't possibly be attracted to girls', rather than 'he could be attracted to boys as well as girls' in these discussions, for... no real discernible reason, but I'll get into that in a bit) is the practice of giving characters 'stereotypically queer' traits and characteristics to 'slide them under the radar' in an era where having explicitly queer characters on screen was not allowed, unless they were evil or otherwise narratively punished for their queerness. (See: the extant history of villains being queer-coded, because if they were Evil then it was ok to make them 'look gay', since the story wasn't going to be rewarding their queerness and making audiences think it was in any way OK.) This is thanks to the Motion Picture Production Code (colloquially and more popularly known as the Hays Code), which was a set of guidelines which movies coming out of any major studio had to adhere to in order to be slated for public release and lasted from the early 1930s until it was finally abandoned in the late 60s.

The Hays Code essentially existed to ensure that the content of major motion pictures would not 'lower the moral standards' of the viewing public. It didn't just have to do with queerness--cursing was heavily monitored, sex outside of marriage was not allowed to be seen as desirable or tittilating, miscegenation was not allowed (most specifically interracial relationships between black and white people), criminals had to be punished lest the audience think that it was ok to be gay and do crime, etc. Since same-sex relations fell under 'sexual perversion', they could not be shown unless the 'perversion' were punished in some way. (This is also the origin of the Bury Your Gays trope, another term that is widely misunderstood and misapplied today.) To get around this, queer coding became the practice by which movies and television could depict queer people but not really, and it also became customary to give villains this coding even more overtly, since they would get punished by the end of the film or series anyway and there was nothing to lose by making them flamboyant and racy/overly sexual/promiscuous.

Over time, this practice of making villains flamboyant, sexually aggressive, &etc became somewhat separated from its origins in queer coding, by which I mean that these traits and tropes became the go-to for villains even when the creator had no real intention of making them seem queer. This is how you generally get unintentional queer-coding--because these traits that have been given to villains for decades have roots in coding, but people tend to go right to them when it comes to creating their villains without considering where they came from.

Even after the Hays Code was abandoned, the sentiments and practices remained. Having queer characters who weren't punished by the narrative for being queer was exceptionally rare, and it really isn't until the last fifteen or so years that we've seen any pushback against that. Buffy the Vampire Slayer is famous for being one of the first shows on primetime television to feature an explicitly gay relationship on-screen, and that relationship ended in one of the most painful instances of Bury Your Gays that I have ever personally witnessed. (Something that, fourteen years later, The 100 would visually and textually reference with Lexa's death. Getting hit by a bullet intended for someone else after a night of finally getting to be happy and have sex with her s/o? It wasn't remotely subtle. I don't even like Clexa, but that was incredibly rough to witness.)

However, bringing this back to Zuko, he really doesn't fit the criteria for queer coding for a number of reasons. First of all, no one behind the scenes (mostly a bunch of cishet men) was at all intending to include queer rep in the show. This wasn't a case where they were like 'well, we really wanted to make Zuko gay, but we couldn't get that past the censors, so here are a few winks and a nudge', because it just wasn't on their radar at all. Which makes sense--it wasn't on most radars in that era of children's programming. This isn't really an indictment, it's just a fact of the time--in the mid/late 00s, no one was really thinking about putting queer characters in children's cartoons. People were barely beginning to include them in more teen- and adult-oriented television and movies. It just wasn't something that a couple of straight men, who were creating a fantasy series aimed at young kids, were going to think about.

What few instances you can point to from the series where Zuko might be considered to exhibit coding largely happen in Book 1, when he was a villain, because the writers were drawing from typically villainous traits that had historically come from queer coding villains and had since passed into common usage as villainous traits. But they weren't done with any intention of making it seem like Zuko might be attracted to boys.

And, again, what people actually point to as 'evidence' of Zuko being queer-coded--his awkwardness on his date with Jin and his confrontation with Ozai being the big ones I can think of off the top of my head--are actually just... traits that come from his history of trauma and abuse.

As I said in that old post:

making [zuko’s confrontation of ozai] about zuko being gay and rejecting ozai’s homophobia, rather than zuko learning fundamental truths about the world and about his home and about how there was something deeply wrong with his nation that needed to be fixed in order for the world to heal (and, no, ‘homophobia’ is not the answer to ‘what is wrong with the fire nation’, i’m still fucking pissed at bryke about that), misses the entire point of his character arc. this is the culmination of zuko realizing that he should never have had to earn his father’s love, because that should have been unconditional from the start. this is zuko realizing that he was not at fault for his father’s abuse--that speaking out of turn in a war meeting in no way justified fighting a duel with a child.

is that first realization (that a parent’s love should be unconditional, and if it isn’t, then that is the parent’s fault and not the child’s) something that queer kids in homophobic households/families can relate to? of course it is. but it’s also something that every other abused kid, straight kids and even queer kids who were abused for other reasons before they even knew they were anything other than cishet, can relate to as well. in that respect, it is not a uniquely queer experience, nor is it a uniquely queer story, and zuko not being attracted to girls (which is what a lot of it seems to boil down to, at the end of the day--cutting down zuko’s potential ships so that only zukka and a few far more niche ships are left standing) is not necessary to his character arc. nor does it particularly make sense.

And, regarding his date with Jin:

(and before anyone brings up his date with jin--a) he enjoyed it when she kissed him, and b) he was a traumatized, abused child going out on a first date. of course he was fucking awkward. have you ever met a teenage boy????)

Zuko is socially awkward and maladjusted because he was abused by his father as a child and has trouble relating to people as a result. He was heavily traumatized and brutally physically injured as a teenager, and it took him years to begin to truly recover from the scars that left on his psyche (and it's highly likely, despite the strides he made in canon, that he has a long way to go, post series; it's such a pity that we never got any continuation comics >.>). He was not abused for being gay or queer--he was abused because his father believed he was weak, and part of Zuko's journey was realizing that his father's perception of strength was flawed at its core. That his entire nation had rotted from the inside out, and the regime needed to be changed in order for the world--including his people--to begin to heal.

That could be commingled with a coming out narrative, which is completely fine for headcanons (although I personally prefer not to, because, again, we have more than enough queer trauma already), but it simply doesn't exist in canon. Zuko was not abused or traumatized for being queer, and his confrontation with Ozai was not about him coming out or realizing any fundamental truth about himself--it was about realizing something fundamental about his father and his nation, and making the choice to leave them behind so that he could help the Avatar grow stronger and force things to change when he got back.

TL;DR: at the end of the day, none of the traits, scenes, or behavior Zuko exhibits which shippers tend to use to claim he was gay-coded are actually evidence of coding--they aren't uniquely queer experiences, as they stem from abuse that was not related in any way to his sexuality, and they are experiences that any kid who suffered similar abuse or trauma could recognize and resonate with. (Including straight kids, and queer kids who were abused for any reason other than their identity.) And, finally, Zuko can be queer without erasing or invalidating his canon attraction to girls, and it's endlessly frustrating that the 'Zuko is gay-coded' crowd refuses to acknowledge that.

[moonlitceleste]

Elevator Love (Ch. 1)

A/N: Welcome to my first multi-chaptered fic! This was supposed to be a one-shot but I kept writing and here we are. I’m not super happy with this, so I’m probably going to rewrite it eventually. Staring at my document hasn’t seemed to help so far, so I’m probably gonna take a break on this and work on requests. For now, just sit back and enjoy :D

Marinette gnawed on her lip nervously as her fingers toyed with the ladybug keychain on her white crossbody purse.

Her eyes were glued to the towering Wayne Enterprises building before her. The big “W” atop it seemed to stare her down, issuing a silent challenge for her to walk past its doors.

“You got this, Marinette!”

The heroine smiled weakly at Tikki’s assurance—although she did appreciate the sentiment, Marinette wasn’t quite sure she could agree.

She was not prepared to meet Tim whatsoever.

Sure, they had been friends for nearly two years—but regardless, Marinette couldn’t help but stress.

It had all started when Tim decided to commission MDC for a few pieces, offering a large sum of money in exchange for her efforts. Despite being doubtful of whether or not he was truly who he claimed to be, Marinette accepted the request.

Soon enough, back-and-forth emails progressed to casual texting, which led to an eventual friendship. The two seemed to click naturally, which was evident in their smoothly-flowing conversations.

Tim knew everything there was to know about her (barring her identity, of course), yet they had never met in person.

He was the co-CEO of a multi-billion dollar company and she was a prominent designer that moonlighted as a superhero—finding time to video chat one another was hard enough.

But now that Marinette had finished université, she had nothing tying her down to Paris. 19 was a young age to be done with school, but her life wasn’t exactly normal.

That’s why a few weeks before graduation, Marinette decided to email Bruce Wayne.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision; Tim had made an offhand remark about how he wished he could be there for her graduation, and the cogs in Marinette’s brain began to turn. Maybe he couldn’t come to Paris, but she could go to Gotham.

Once her mind was made up, it was only a matter of planning.

It was surprisingly easy to get ahold of Tim’s father; from then on, everything else fell into place.

Perhaps attempting to surprise someone as smart as him went against her better judgement, but it was too late to turn back now.

Marinette’s phone pinged, and she scrambled to press her thumb to its home button. Speak of the devil.

Mr. Wayne

It’s ready.

Tell your name to the receptionist at the front desk, and she’ll give you a lanyard with a pass into Tim’s office as well as a set of directions.

I apologize again for not being there to guide you; unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to.

Marinette tucked the gift box she was holding under one arm, freeing her hands to type out a response.

Marinette

Thank you so much for your generosity, M. Wayne!

I really appreciate all your help in planning this, and for allowing me to surprise Tim in the first place.

Despite your busy schedule you’ve gone through so much trouble to help me. I really can’t thank you enough!

Once she pressed send on her last message, Marinette inhaled deeply.

Her hands moved to smooth down the soft fabric of her blush pink dress.

It was an admittedly simple ensemble, but the billowy sleeves and fluttery skirt gave it a delicate flair. Her white strappy sandals, circle purse, and wavy half-up braided hairstyle tied it all together nicely.

Marinette checked herself over one last time to make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. She tucked her phone into her purse, grabbed the box containing Tim’s gift, and turned to look at the imposing building with a burst of newfound confidence.

Here we go.

-

“To the right…” Marinette muttered. “Or was it to the left?”

The designer scrunched her nose in confusion, turning around in a circle to better survey the building.

She had already obtained the lanyard and directions, but decided to make a last-minute detour to the bathroom. It shouldn’t have been a problem since Marinette was a few minutes early, but now she was lost. Sure, the place had a fairly open floor plan, but it was enormous! She couldn’t be expected to navigate this.

In hindsight, maybe deciding to deviate from her original schedule had been a mistake.

Marinette sighed and started walking. She didn’t want to disturb anyone, so wandering aimlessly was her only other option.

Well, it wasn’t her only option—she could easily use her Ladybug magic to give herself a push in the right direction, but Tikki would disapprove. Oh, and it was wrong to use her powers for selfish gain. Marinette totally remembered that.

Turns out she didn’t even need to use her Ladybug powers, though; it only took  a few minutes of searching for her to stumble across what she was looking for.

About 10 meters away was a set of elevators lined up against the wall. A glowing “up” arrow was visible on the panel beside a pair of open steel doors.

Marinette’s eyes widened at the sight of the open elevator. She promptly broke into a jog, careful to keep her speed somewhat appropriate for the environment. The doors started to close, and Marinette’s heart raced faster. There was a shadowed figure inside, but due to the angle they likely couldn’t see her.

“Wait!” she called as loudly as she dared.

It was almost funny how similar the experience was to her lycée days.

Marinette pushed the thought to the back of her mind—she would rather not taint her day with memories of that dumpster fire.

She turned her attention back to the elevator, whose doors had retreated. Thankfully, the person inside heard her. Marinette slowed her pace as she covered the last few meters, but was mindful to not walk obnoxiously so.

As she approached her destination, it became increasingly apparent that whoever was inside was remarkably tall.

Ugh, she could practically hear Tim’s jest in her head—are you sure it’s not just because you’re short? He loved to poke fun at her height with short jokes, even though he was only 8 cm taller than her.

Anyways, despite her petite stature, Marinette was sure the person inside would be considered tall by any standards.

She prepared a friendly smile, a “thanks” on the tip of her tongue when they finally came into view.

The first thing she saw was a pair of worn black men’s work boots on what was an admittedly toned body.

Marinette didn’t let her eyes linger on the muscles there, rather opting to trace her gaze from the man’s body up to their face. And wow, was that a gorgeous face.

She wasn’t the type to fall for someone based on appearance alone, but Marinette would be crazy to think this wasn’t the most attractive person she’d ever seen.

He had messy black hair with a pure white streak in the front, tousled to perfection in a way that would make a supermodel jealous. His brilliant green eyes were pools of emerald, richer than any shade she had seen before. Marinette would gladly drown in them.

Speaking of his eyes, he was looking at her with his captivating gaze and mesmerizing face...

Marinette would forever deny swooning at the sight. She would never swoon.

(She totally did.)

Say something! she scolded.

“Uh, than-thank you.”

Oh no. It was the stutter.

Not just a stutter, but the stutter. The one that only appeared when she was nervous and/or talking to hot guys.

Marinette had long outgrown it—or at least, she thought she had—but apparently now it was back with a vengeance.

Her face heated up, and she moved forward to press the button to her designated floor before taking her place some distance away from the man. She turned her head away in embarrassment, hair shielding her face so he couldn’t see her flushed cheeks.

If she had been looking up, perhaps Marinette would have been prepared for the flood of incoming mass. But she was too busy cursing herself to notice the group of people entering until she felt a nudge on her right side.

Marinette squeaked at the stack of boxes that was suddenly in front of her face and looked up to see a small group of workers entering the elevator, pushing a large platform truck stacked with packages. She shuffled on instinct to make more room.

The cart seemed way too big to fit, especially with the capacity of the elevator. Someone would have to contort themselves, or at the very least they’d be squished up against one another uncomfortably. 

Marinette watched as they pushed the platform truck in all the way. It left the tiniest bit of wiggle room, just enough space for someone to squeeze past.

The designer found herself slowly edging towards her left each time another person wiggled their way past the load.

The elevator wasn’t too crowded, and the process went relatively smoothly—that is, until the last worker attempted to get inside.

He had a build somewhat similar to her Papa: tall and large, so his struggle was understandable. It took a minute of grunts and loud sighs, but he managed to slip past the obstruction and into the elevator.

His large frame, however, meant less space for everyone, and Marinette felt the sudden impact of being shoved.

She couldn’t help the soft yelp that fell out of her mouth as her feet stumbled, and before she knew it her left side was firmly pressed up against someone.

Oh god. It was Hot Guy. Of course it was him.

She pressed her lips together in mortification, arms squeezing Tim’s gift to her chest even tighter.

“Sorry.”

Marinette nearly jumped as the husky voice spoke quietly next to her ear. Her head whipped towards the direction it came from, which wasn’t exactly hard to place. There was only one person on her left side.

She turned her head to face the man with the white streak. She had to crane her neck awkwardly in order to properly see him, which really put into perspective their height difference.

His green eyes were sincere, and Marinette could see the apology in them.

The lack of space wasn’t his fault whatsoever, but it was nice to see someone care about her boundaries.

“U-um, it’s okay.”

Marinette smiled at him shyly, then diverted her eyes away. Her brief burst of courage could only take her so far.

Before she knew it, the ride was over. The elevator stopped with a ding, and coincidentally enough, everyone was headed to the same floor.

Marinette fished out the set of directions Mr. Wayne had written from her purse, skimming over them once more. Her stomach filled with butterflies at the thought of finally meeting her best friend.

She barely noticed the workers pushing out the platform truck or Hot Guy walking away, the outside world long forgotten.

Marinette’s body went on autopilot, following the instructions on the paper until she found herself stopped in front of a sleek door. She didn’t know what it was made of, but she was glad it wasn’t glass like many other things in Wayne Enterprises. That would make her surprise a lot harder to pull off.

Above the key card security system on the left was a name plate, nearly identical to others she had passed on her way here. The name Tim Drake was written in elegant silver cursive letters, the metal gleaming as if it were brand new.

Marinette’s chest tightened in anticipation as she pulled out the lanyard Mr. Wayne had given her. She took a deep breath before knocking twice.

There was a short pause before a familiar voice responded.

“Who is it?”

She scanned her card and opened the door.

“Marinette?!”

-

A/N: For reference, Marinette is 5’3” (160 cm) and Jason is 6’4” (193 cm), so there's a 13" (33 cm) difference. I tried to use French terms and measurements so it'd feel more like Marinette's perspective.

And yea, I'm not super proud of this so I'm probably gonna rewrite it in the future. I have a bunch of other WIPs to work on though, so sorry in advance for my wacky updating schedule!

-

PERMANENT TAGLIST @avengerthewarrior @enternalempires @freesportspalacesalad @h1sss @nathleigh

[valley-of-the-lost]

I don't know if you watched BPA, but.. I have a question, that I don't know if you can answer this, but it's been nagging at me (this is a multi-part ask, this will be a quick rundown): A blog that used to be interested in Barbie claimed that BPA has some racist undertones; this is because, as they claimed, due to the antagonist (who has, as they put it, brown skin) tries to take over the kingdom of a white princess/queen. 1/?- Barbie Multiverse Anon

Okay, so, a quick explanation. This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a few days, and I sincerely apologize to Multiverse Anon for making them wait this long for me to weigh in on this. When I received this ask I was neck-deep in part of an art challenge that wore me out and I had not watched BPA (which I assumed was Barbie Princess Adventure) at the time, and I felt that this was the type of ask that I needed to chew on for a couple days and talk to some people before I was certain of my thoughts on it.

Now, I have done some cursory research, watched Barbie Princess Adventure myself, and bounced it off some of my friends for their take as well. Thus I will attempt to answer this to the best of my ability.

I do agree with the unknown blogger in question that Prince Johan is a brown-skinned character, and that the plot has racist implications due to the combination of this, him being the antagonist, and the fact that his kingdom lost a war to Amelia's prior to the plot to drive his motivation hence why Amelia is taking over the rule of both her own and his kingdom. However, I disagree with them that this is an ongoing theme or that there's a pattern of racist undertones in previous Barbie movies. At least from my own knowledge. 

(under a read more because I don’t want to clog people’s dashes, this is not a simple topic to unpack + the movie did some weird things I wanted to explain too)

Before I really delve into the meat of why I take this stance, I want to quickly discuss why I had to even assert that I agreed that Johan is a brown-skinned character as its own point on the off-chance someone else encounters the same initial weird impression I did. You can skip this part if you want, I'll put a triple asterisk where this ends (***).

Prior to watching BPA myself, I did some cursory research on the Barbie Movies wiki, prompted by this ask. I put together that Johan was probably the antagonist that was being referred to, but when I was on his page, his wiki picture was just this.

This was all I had to go off of at this point, because he didn't have a screenshot gallery for me to cross-reference him throughout different points in the movie. So the conclusion I drew at the time was "he just looks like a tan white guy". This impression was reinforced by his light eyes and recycled Ken face model. I cross-referenced this with some friends, and we came to the conclusion that at best he looks racially ambiguous, with no reason to think he was a character of color unless there was other indication about his race in the movie itself.

And then I watched the movie. And changed my mind when I saw what he looked like in these scenes.

Johan looks noticeably darker than he did in his single wiki picture, especially when next to other more obviously white characters like Barbie and Amelia. His skin tone is closer to Alphonso whom I would call a brown character pretty confidently in the same movie (I wanted to minimize comparisons across movies to eliminate the possible different variables that would come with it).

While this might not be as noticeable to other people casually watching the movie, I found this a bit jarring myself because I was focusing on his skin tone in particular due to the subject of the ask and my initial impression from the wiki picture when he was arguably at his lightest in the whole movie, as well as when he was introduced he was at his darkest because it was set at night. Also the way the animation team decided to shade him to convey that its nighttime confused me because he looked a lot darker than I thought someone of what I assumed his skin tone would look. And then the next scene with him and Barbie further confused me, because he suddenly got this reddish undertone that really highlighted their difference in skin color.

(Barbie’s hands are on the left and Johan’s are on the right for sake of direct comparison)

Finally, in his last scenes in the movie, Johan's skin tone is most like that of his wiki picture's. Darker than Barbie's when they stand in the same shot but light enough that he could've passed as a tan white guy. What cemented my confusion is that he still looks like this in the throne room, where he was before when dancing with Barbie so it should reasonably have the same lighting and bring out that reddish undertone, but no he still looks like that. So my final conclusion on him was that since he looks like a brown-skinned character in around 2/3s of his scenes and there's a 2D painting of him in the bg when Barbie and Amelia are kidnapped, that he is indeed a brown-skinned character and the animation department probably fucked up their lighting which messed with how uniform his skin tone looked across scenes. ***

Now that I've explained my process of confusion and then final agreement that Johan is indeed brown-skinned, let's discuss how this compounds with other elements to create a rather unfortunate picture. I'm afraid its a bit worse than Anon described.

First off, the added context of the history between Amelia's kingdom of Floravia and his kingdom of Johanistan. Prior to the movie proper, these two countries fought in a war and Johanistan eventually surrendered to Floravia. The two countries signed a treaty that said that after her coronation, Amelia would rule both Floravia and Johanistan.

There is a severe lack of critical details about the war itself, such as what caused it in the first place, which really works to the film’s disadvantage, since the absence of clarity does little to clear up the questionable implications of what is known about the relationship between Floravia and Johanistan.

Amelia’s kingdom is the one that took over Johan’s initially, since they won the war and Johanistan would be ruled by Floravia’s queen, with the implication being that she’d depose Johan’s family, the original ruling family. While the lack of details makes it so it can’t quite be said that Floravia is colonizing Johanistan, it also means that it can’t be said that Floravia is not colonizing Johanistan. What is known about the war is very broadly reminiscent of tactics white people have used to colonize other countries, such as using a war to depose the original royal family for the colonizer’s own gain (the US colonizing Hawaii by staging a coup against their ruling family because the white plantation owners got mad) and putting the other country in a disadvantageous position with a treaty (Opium Wars). This would probably just be viewed as normal Kingdom vs. Kingdom politics if... well Johan wasn’t a character of color.

Combined with viewing this movie through the lens of real-life racial biases (which people are predisposed to do because we're inherently based in reality), the likely conclusion drawn is that this white ruler (Amelia) is effectively ousting a character of color (Johan) and his family out of power and force-assimilating his country, and there's simply not enough clarity about previous events before the movie takes place to dispel it sufficiently.

This also poisons the plot proper because Johan's motivation is to take advantage of the law that the rule of both kingdoms falls to him if Amelia doesn't show up to coronation and regain rule of his own kingdom and Floravia as a nice plus. The intention was probably to show him as greedy for wanting lone rule of Floravia and Johanistan, taken together, it honestly comes across as the movie villianizing a character of color because he wants to regain sovereignty of his own kingdom from a white ruler. Its completely understandable that Amelia wouldn't want to lose her own kingdom especially coming off of war, but also her kingdom is also the one ousting out the previous royal family of Johanistan without giving any good reason why they can't compromise.

The effect would be somewhat mitigated if another character of color had a similarly prominent role as Johan on the side of Barbie, but there's really not. The closest I'd argue would be Alphonso, but he doesn't have equal plot relevance. This does, in my opinion, make Barbie Princess Adventure's plot give off racist vibes like that unknown blogger said. But I do not agree with them that there's a "pattern" of racist undertones in other Barbie movies.

Due to the lack of details of what exactly they meant by a "pattern" of racist undertones, I am assuming they mean a consistent pattern of racism across the movies, for example the movies consistently dipping into anti-Asian sentiments with their villains, or their plots inherently having racist vibes woven into them like I just talked about in BPA.

Despite the Barbie movies occasionally dipping into offensive territory, in my personal experience I have not observed a pattern of racist undertones or consistent racism targeting a specific group. I acknowledge that I could fully be wrong and a lot of things could have slipped past my notice, especially since I have not seen all the movies, but from the ones I have seen I have not observed a pattern with regards to this. However, I will point out the offensive/iffy things in the movies that I know of, with varying degrees of detail depending on how much I can remember. This is by no means a full compendium of all the problematic stuff Barbie films have touched on but these are the ones I am aware of at present.

Barbie of Swan Lake - Antisemitism. There was a TikTok on this somewhere that discussed this more in detail that I can't find but will link if I do, but what I do remember was Rothbart was given an extremely large nose which is reminiscent of the "Jewish nose" ethnic stereotype. Also there was something about his name and Tchaikovsky himself being antisemitic and those views being reflected in his ballet. I don't remember all the details I'm sorry and google wasn't giving me much.

Barbie in the Princess and the Pauper - Antisemitism. Preminger hits a couple of antisemitic stereotypes in the movie, such as having a noticeably larger, hooked nose compared to the other male characters which is reminiscent of the ethnic stereotype of the "Jewish nose" and being greedy and corrupt (literally mining every singe piece of gold out of the mines) which is a stereotype of Jewish people. His name is also of Jewish origin which by itself wouldn’t be a necessarily suspicious thing but combined with those other tropes it does add up.

Barbie Diaries - Tia, a black woman and also the only one with curly hair in the cast, making an iffy comment about "getting the tangles out of her hair". POC with different hair textures have gotten a lot of racist shit for their hair so even though this is a small oneoff comment seeing Tia talk about her hair like this in a negative manner rubbed some of my friends with curly hair wrong.

Barbie in a Mermaid Tale 2 - Polynesian racism. Another friend of mine who is Hawaiian brought this up in Mermaid Tale 2, when Merliah and co decided to have a luau (which is a traditional Hawaiian party or feast usually accompanied by entertainment) in Australia. My friend found it a bit iffy they were doing this when most everyone is white, but what they found worse was when poi was being served in the luau. Poi is a traditional Polynesian dish, but in the movie they claimed it was an Australian and Hawaiian dish, which its not, there’s no Australia in its origin. And then there was a "gag" where the people eating the poi were gagging on it, so essentially this movie was making a joke out of another culture's aesthetics and food.

Barbie Princess Adventure - Reread the above text.

Maybe my sample size isn’t big enough but I’m not seeing a pattern or a trend here, which in my opinion would be a larger cause for concern because for these movies their issues are largely contained to their specific movie, and a pattern would be indication of a wider problem. Maybe you see a pattern I don’t, that would be completely valid.

Now, do I think this means you can’t enjoy Barbie Princess Adventure? No, I’d be a bit of a hypocrite if I said that because I still enjoy some of the Barbie movies I listed above that I just said also have problematic elements (Swan Lake and Princess and the Pauper specifically). But I do think it is good to at the very least be aware of it, hear it out, keep it in mind. At the same time I understand why people would be turned off by this topic because they’re here to have fun riding the serotonin of childhood nostalgia and not delve into discourse.

But I hope I answered your question to your satisfaction Multiverse Anon! I’m going to go take a nap now I’m tired 😭.

[mrsgiovanna]

Unhinged - Don Giorno x Fem! Reader

A misunderstanding causes the reader a whole lot of distress. Blame it on the stress of planning your wedding to the Golden dreamboat or his shifty behavioral cues. Needless to say this occurs many years after the events of Vento Aureo. Some mild angst, some fluff, some mild nsfw- a mixed bag that nobody asked for really, unashamedly self indulgent 🥺💭💖

You always judged those unhinged girls. You know the type, the ones who would steal their partners phones and “run into them” at very convenient times. Pathetic, you’d always think, so you could not understand how, in heaven’s name, you found yourself sitting in your car across from your favorite Café, spying on your fiancé. You were thankful for the oversized sunglasses that hid most of your face as you stole a glance at yourself in the rear view mirror. You can’t imagine what your eyes might look like at this point.

It all started a week ago… Giorno was an extremely busy man, you of all people knew that best. He always made time for you though, however, the closer it got to your wedding, the less you saw of him. You were busy yourself, so you didn’t really have much time to yearn for his company, but the coldness of your bed was always a reminder that someone very important was supposed to be occupying that space. It wasn’t just the scarcity of your lover that had set off alarms in your mind, it was more his odd behavior. He was so secretive these days, keeping conversations shorter than they needed to be, hiding his devices from you when he received texts, discarding every scrap of paper from his pockets before properly greeting you when he did manage to come home in the daylight. Each time you questioned his behavior he just sweetly smiled and replied that everything was alright.

And so continued this mistimed waltz on eggshells until that fateful morning. A swirl of emotions bubbled up in your chest suffocating you when you found some kind of broken jewel clinging to Giorno’s suit. You couldn’t really make out what it might have been part of, or what lewd activities managed to dislodge it from its original owner and onto him, but for the first time in the years you have been together, you were suddenly unsure of whether you could spend your life with this man. Did you even know him at all?

The walls of the villa never felt so restrictive before, you needed to get out, clear your mind, perhaps even get another perspective. You could just be overreacting as you know you are inclined to do sometimes. Giorno was still in the shower, you contemplated letting him know that you were going out, but decided to just go. He can stew a little, get a taste of your personal hell for just a few hours. Hurriedly throwing on the outfit you laid out, you grab your keys and headed off to your favorite coffee shop, calling Trish while you were on your way there, asking her to meet you. The two of you had grown closer over the years and right now you needed a friend who would give you sound advice without sugarcoating the facts.

Giorno had sauntered out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, his upper body still glistening from the shower with his wet hair cascading down his back. He expected to find you there just doing your hair or putting on your mascara, he loved watching you get ready. It gave him a chance to fully admire you, making him feel proud, bordering on arrogant, that you were his and only he got to see all the different sides there were to your beauty. He knew he was being distant with you but he had his reasons for being so preoccupied. Walking towards the nightstand to check his phone, he sees the jacket he wore yesterday on the floor with the little jewel still hooked onto the fibers of the expensive fabric. Throwing his head back in resignation, he called Trish, already aware of what you might be thinking, and knowing that she’s usually the first person you’d turn to when you needed to chat.

“Hi Trish, do you have a second to chat? I’ll make it quick,” he starts off, putting the call on speaker so he can get dressed for the day.

“Giorno, what did you do? She already called me in a state, I’m on my way to meet her for coffee as we speak,”

“Okay look, I can explain everything, just know that I’m not being unfaithful,”

“How did this escalate so fast? Why are you giving her reasons to jump to these conclusions so close to the wedding? You better not be messing around,”

Giorno could hear the suspicion that edged Trish’s voice, so he explained everything and begged her to calm you down while he tended to a few issues.

You felt your shoulders relax as the tension melted away after pouring your heart out to Trish. After speaking to her it dawned on you that coming out and asking Giorno would be better than letting this outlandish scenario fester in your mind. After giving you the pep talk you needed Trish left to get on with her day while you stayed to organize yours. Sipping the last bit of your mocha Frappe, you darted towards your car when suddenly your attention was caught by a flash of gold and a flourish of a deep cerulean blue coat entering the Café. Certain that your eyes were playing tricks on you, you blinked a few times, but it was as clear as the blue sky above you, Giorno had arrived there with another woman. Hastily getting into your car, you sank into the soft leather seat and fished out your oversized Chanel sunglasses to conceal your presence as much as possible in the off chance he looked in your direction, although chances of that seemed very slim given how engrossed he was in their conversation.

Oh you hated every painful second of this, all the tension and anger that you’d let go of, found you all at once, marring your otherwise beautiful features.

You watched as he pulled out her chair and sat across from her, smiling that charming smile that could disarm a terrorist. He barely looked away from her, you wished he would see you, wondering what kind of explanation he’d conjure up. You contemplated going back inside to confront them, but you didn’t trust your emotions, tears stinging the corners of your eyes. You wouldn’t dare give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry… and so you watched, preparing yourself for what you may or may not see, however your resolve shattered when you saw Giorno pull out a little black box and slide it across the table towards her. She beamed as she opened it examining the contents without taking it out… was it a replacement for that trinket that you found? He always did have impeccable taste, you had always thought it was reserved for you though. Unable to watch any longer, you started the car and sped off, not wanting to go home, but having no motivation to go anywhere else, you just drove aimlessly for a while.

“Oh Mr Giovanna, these are perfect, they’re exactly what I needed to complete her bracelet, I’m sure your fiancé is going to love it!” exclaimed the lady sitting opposite your lover.

“Please, call me Giorno. I would hope so, it’s more sentimental than anything else, I’m just astounded that you were able to recreate the intricacies of the original design. Your talent knows no bounds,”

“Ah, like any artist, I’m always intrigued by beauty and mystery. How were you able to get a this many dainty gems at this short notice?”

“I have my network, I’m just glad you can complete it now, I can’t wait to give it to her,”

“Well you won’t have to wait too long, I should have this ready by the close of business today,”

“I won’t keep you any longer then, thanks once again for handling my request,” said Giorno with an extended hand as he stood up to leave.

It was a mission to try and recreate your mother’s heirloom bracelet from a faded, wrinkled picture, but he was determined to give you something special, that would make you feel closer to her as well. Your lineage was a mystery, your father unknown, so when your mother arrived in Italy it was one of the few valuables she had had on her person. She did everything she could to provide for you when you were little, but she unfortunately had succumbed to her circumstances leaving you to fend for yourself in an unforgiving world. His heart clenched when you recounted stories of your childhood, which somewhat mirrored his own. You never complained though, he could see your heart ached when you thought of her, and all the things she would have helped you with especially now. Still, the way you concealed your heartache with a trained smile, would always make him wonder how such strength could be contained by something so angelically beautiful. Drawn out of his reverie of you, Giorno had arrived at his destination and continued with his day until it was time to collect your present and head home.

By the time you had finally found yourself at your driveway, you were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to bury yourself in a cave and hibernate until everything was over. How arrogant of you to assume this would last when every good thing in your life came to an end. Dragging your wary body up the stairs, you buried yourself under the soft comforter, shutting your eyes with the hope that it would all have been a dream by the time you resurface.

When Giorno finally made it home, the first thing he did was seek you out. Usually you’d be quietly nestled on the couch reading or working on something, or you’d be tinkering in the kitchen making some sort of delicious treat, both as a means to relax and indulge your shared sweet tooth. But you couldn’t be found in either of those places. He found you huddled on the bed you both shared, looking so fragile as you slept in a fetal position. He didn’t want to disturb you but he couldn’t help gently brushing your hair off your face, which unfortunately resulted in you waking up.

“Gio, I didn’t expect you back this early…” you murmured, still waiting for your eyes to adjust to the light. The events of today came flooding back to you and you resolved to just come straight out and confront him. Noticing the change in your demeanor, Giorno sat next to you on the edge of the bed, while he loosened his top shirt button and took off his tie.

“Giogio, I don’t know how to put this delicately, so I’m just going to say it… you’ve been acting so different lately, always so secretive, hiding things from me, and this morning I found remnants of some jewelry that didn’t belong to me on your clothes… and probably the worst thing of all is that I saw you with someone while I was out this morning. You both looked very comfortable with each other, and… I… who is she?” you rambled on, your voice barely louder than a whisper. This wasn’t playing out how you had imagined it, with most of the fight being forced out of your body by melancholy. Seeing the evidence of your anguish in your eyes, Giorno reached out to cup your cheek, you mentally chastised yourself for automatically melting into his touch.

“Ah my sweet principessa, I love you, only you, I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you or break that trust. The lady you saw me with is a jewelry designer, I commissioned something very special for you, so we just met so I could give her the materials to complete it… I wanted to give it to later at dinner tonight, but you’re in no condition to go out, so let’s stay in, okay?” he explained as he pulled out a box from his breast pocket and settled down next to you. “Go on, open it,”

You gingerly take the box, opening it slowly, curiosity and embarrassment fighting against each other in your mind.

“Gio, how did you manage to find it after all these years? I thought it would have been melted down and broken up completely.”

You simply couldn’t believe your eyes, it broke your heart when you sold off the bracelet to pay off her debts after she passed, it killed your spirit entirely when you were told it wasn’t enough to cover what she’d owed. That’s how you found yourself in Passione, working as one of Bucciarati’s underlings.

“Well, unfortunately I couldn’t find the exact piece bella, trust me, I tried. You’re probably correct in saying that it was taken apart, so I had this recreated to its exact specifications. I hope you like it,”

Giorno’s voice was so tender, as was his expression. Tears clouded your vision, it was the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for you, you were at a complete loss for words.

“Gio… Tesoro, I don’t know what to say, thank you doesn’t seem like nearly enough. And I’m so sorry I ever doubted you, I feel like such an idiot, that’s probably because I am one. How can I make it up to you? I totally understand if you’re too upset to talk to…” your rambling was cut off by Giorno’s lips gently pressing against your own. His hand softly grasped the back of your head, slightly tilting your face upwards to deepen the kiss.

“That was thanks enough amore mio, I love you,”

“Ti amo con tutto il mio cuore,” you reply, while trying to hide your embarrassment by nestling your face in the crook of Giorno’s neck.

“Molto bene, your Italian is improving bella, I’m proud of you.”

Giorno snaps the sparkly trinket onto your wrist and admires how your eyes light up when you look at it. The glimmer of his eyes in the soft lighting of the room awakened a yearning within you. Giving in to the feeling, you kiss Giorno’s collarbone, earning a hum of approval from him, as you softly trailed kisses up his neck and onto his jaw, finally settling on his lips. You felt him smiling into the kiss, he ran his tongue across your bottom lip asking for entry, to which you willingly obliged as your hands toyed with his braid, undoing it completely. His hands ran up and down your body, worshipping the dips and curves he adored so much. Breaking away from the kiss for a moment, he looked down at you, eyes darkened with lust, hands hovering over the buttons of your shirt asking for permission to disrobe you, which you granted with a small nod. He was so gorgeous, so strong and he exuded such charisma that you found yourself submitting to his every request, spoken or otherwise, lapping up every bit of praise he afforded you as you took him in his entirety. Once, twice, you had lost count of how many times you both peaked.

At some point in the night you had woken up ensconced in the warm embrace of your sleeping lover, finally being able to form a coherent thought, you promised yourself to never baselessly doubt his love for you ever again. With that you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to fall asleep again, feeling completely safe, content and loved.

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Idol

A/N: I’m back to writing after my little break; I just needed this week to get back to enjoying writing again and I definitely am so here we are! I have so  many requests and yet here I am writing out a Draco fic. This is inspired by a conversation I had with the always lovely @dreamer821​ who loves Cassandra Clare just as much as I do - our conversations are making my day and I think you’re amazing. But it got me to thinking and this is the end result. I hope you all like! And yes, requests are still being written!

Summary: Bookshops, book signings. 

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: none - fluff.

Word count: 2.3k

You unzip your jacket the moment you enter the warm shop. Draco copies your movement, unbuttoning his suit jacket underneath it too.

You shake your head at him fondly. Only he would dress so formally to an event such as this one.

The welcoming scent of old books and worn pages washes over you as you step further into the bookshop. Your stomach had been full of butterflies all day for you were finally meeting your favourite author after being a fan for so long. Draco had surprised you with tickets to the event for your birthday knowing how much you adored her books but how rare it was for her to travel to the UK.

Draco follows you to where chairs have been set up in expectation. He leans close to your ear, murmuring, “Where are we sitting then, love?”

“I don’t want to seem too eager by sitting right at the front, but I’d like to have a good view and be able to hear her.”

Draco smiles, “What about the third row?”

You nod, letting him lead you to two seats furthest from the aisle. You sit in the final seat; turning your body diagonally for a better view. Draco sits in the seat beside you, carefully placing your bag of books down on the floor in front of him. He had insisted that he be the one to carry them as you had piled six hardback books into the bag after long consideration over which books you would take to be signed. Eventually, you decided on the original hardbacks of the series that made you fall in love with the author in the first place. Nostalgia and sentimentality winning the battle of choice.

A hand on your knee makes you realise that your leg was bouncing with nerves and excitement.

“You okay?” Draco asks, eyes searching your face.

“Nervous. Excited.”

Draco chuckles, watching you fondly. From his happier moments at Hogwarts, he remembers you walking around with your nose permanently hidden away in a book. There was always one series that you would return to over and over again – rereading the first books then reading the new book when it was released. He never stopped noticing how much you adored this author, even after you fell in love with him. He didn’t need to understand your love for this particular muggle author; he just accepted it as part of you. So when he caught wind that she was visiting the UK on a book tour for her most recent work, he immediately bought tickets and surprised you on your birthday.

It was the hardest secret he has ever kept from you. It was the only secret he has ever kept from you.

“Are you happy with your choices of books?” He asks, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You nod, grinning, “Very happy. And I get doubled signed thanks to you coming with me.”  

“What better use of your partner is there?”

“Very true.”

“Have you thought of any questions you’d like to ask her?”

You bite your lip, “I have but I don’t know if I want to ask anything.”

“Why not?”

“What if I mess up and make a fool of myself in front of her?”

“Then I’ll have to make a bigger fool out of myself to take the attention away from you.”

You sigh, sliding further into your seat, “I can’t help but wonder how you’d do that.”

“I won’t need to,” Draco reassures, “You aren’t going to mess up.”

“You astonish me with your faith in me.”

“As you astonish me, dear.” He takes your hand in his, tangling your fingers together. “Now, let’s meet your idol.”

Quiet falls over the expectant crowd as the interviewer and your favourite author take a seat at the front of the room.

Your hand tightens on Draco’s as you take in the sight of finally seeing your idol in the flesh.

Draco leans towards you, whispering, “Can you see okay?”

You nod at him as the interviewer greets the crowd and the event begins.

The latest book in her series wrapped up the previous plots from past books before bringing in new issues for freshly introduced characters. Angels and demons were using Earth as a battleground and it was down to a group of misfit teenagers to stop it.

A cliché plot but when you first read the books as a misfit teenager at Hogwarts, you fell in love with the world-building and character development. You had also formed somewhat of a crush on the sarcastic blonde-haired character that as you sit next to him, reminds you of Draco.

He hadn’t read the books, and he didn’t intend to, but he was happy to sit through the interview for you. Anything for you.

You sit entirely enraptured by the author as she details her inspirations for the novel as well as her hopes for the series.

You couldn’t be certain you weren’t dreaming.

Soon enough, the interviewer opens up to questions from the floor. Hand after hand shoot up, all wanting an opportunity to ask a question, to talk to the author.

Draco nudges your side with his elbow. You turn to him, catching his eyes. You stare at each other for a moment before he mouths, ‘go on’. Your hand raises itself in the air.

“Yes, you in the corner next to the blonde-haired man.”

Your eyebrows fly into your hair; you point down at yourself checking the interviewer meant you.

“Yes, you. What would you like to ask?”

You clear your throat. Draco squeezes your hand in support, reminding you that he’s here. “Erm… well my question revolves around the lore that runs through the series. It’s so heavy with mythology and that’s essential to the plot, so I was wondering where you got your inspiration from?”

Your favourite author smiles at you; she smiles at you and you are certain you stop breathing. “That’s a really good question. There’s a lot of biblical references throughout the series given that it’s angels and demons, but I drew inspiration from everywhere. Greek mythology especially, I love the story of Hades and Persephone, so I wanted to include that in some format. But I also enjoy researching the lore and history surrounding witches and wizards such as witch hunts and knew I had to involve magical lore somewhere. The series really is an amalgamation of those interests. Thank you for your question! Thank you for coming!”

You settle further back into your seat as the interviewer takes more questions. You sit there in disbelief at the conversation you just had with your favourite author. Your heart pounds from the adrenaline. You could cry from happiness right now.

Draco’s arm wraps around the back of your chair; he leans in to whisper in to your ear, “You did good, love.”

“I did?” You mouth.

He nods, smiling at you before turning his attention back to the Q&A session. You let your mind wander slightly, taking it all in. Her books had been your lifeline through Hogwarts where you felt lonely and invisible; they had been your comfort through exam stress, and teenage stress. You knew you could return to her books and feel as if you were being welcomed home.

You didn’t know that Draco had noticed you.

It was the perfect relationship, really. You both adored books; Draco loved his non-fiction and latest journals in the advancement of potion making and medicine. You loved your fiction; transporting yourself to different worlds for hours at a time.

The library in your home was split down the middle; your books taking over one half, his taking over the other half. In the middle of the room was a couch where you would both spread out on a weekend and either read or catch up with work.

Draco’s hand on your shoulder brings your attention back to the room, “They’re moving onto the signing. Are you ready to meet your idol?”

Excitement bubbles in your gut, “Never more ready.”

You both the join the queue where you give your names to the worker waiting with sticky notes to put in your book. Draco says your name when asked; you look up at him questioningly, but he shrugs it off.

You’re practically bouncing in your spot in line as you amble closer and closer to your favourite author. You can see her head over the top of the line where she signs book after book, personalising each one.

The line gets shorter and shorter and it isn’t long before you’re standing in front of her, “You asked the first question,” she says, recognising you.

“I did,” You say, somewhat in shock, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Well (Y/N),” she starts, signing the first of your books and pulling the second towards you, “I loved that question, so thank you for asking it.”

“Thank you for writing these books; they meant the world to me through high school.”

“I’m glad they mean that much to you. Thank you for coming today!” She says, signing your last book with a flourish before handing the pile back to you.

You smile at her before turning away; watching Draco as he walks up to her with his pile.

“Another (Y/N)?” She chuckles.

“Not really, she’s my partner. I’m getting them signed in her name.”

She looks taken aback, “That’s lovely.”

Draco shrugs, “She would read these over and over again in high school. I never saw her without them. I couldn’t let her miss this at all.”

“That’s… really very sweet.”

Draco smiles, “Thank you.”

She takes her time signing his final book, saying to Draco that she’s writing a special message to you. She hands it back to him with a smile and a ‘thank you’. Draco nods his head before walking over to where you’re waiting for him with barely concealed tears in your eyes. She cannot help but think Draco looks exactly what she pictures the protagonist to look like.

“Love?” He asks, taking your pile of books from you and putting them carefully in the bag.

“Oh Draco,” You say, wrapping him up in a hug. Your face hidden in his chest; arms wrapped around his middle. “Thank you,” You utter, words muffled by his clothes.

Draco chuckles, placing the bag of now signed books on the floor, and running a hand through your hair, “You’re very welcome, love.”

You look up at him, tears still in your eyes, “You’re the best, I hope you know that.”

“I do, but it’s nice to hear it sometimes.”

You step back, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. Draco picks up the bag of books in one hand and holds your hand with the other. You walk out of the shop, taking a moment to fasten coats and jackets against the chill of the evening air.

“You asked a wonderful question, love.” Draco compliments.

“Thank you, darling. I wonder if she knew we’re a witch and wizard.” You muse.

Draco hums, “I do wonder myself. Is there a lot of witches and wizards in the books?”

You shake your head, “Not really. Though there is one figure that reminds me of Dumbledore in his description.”

Draco chuckles, “It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he met her once upon a time.”

You laugh with him, “No, I suppose it’d make sense.”

You fall silent as you walk down the street; hands swinging between your bodies.

“What did she say to you?” You ask Draco after a moment, “You looked to be having a good conversation.”

“She mentioned that I was the second person with your name, so I said that I was your partner. She thought I was very sweet; I’ll have you know.”

You lean into his arm, “You are very sweet. The sweetest.”

“I’m about to be even more sweet. Shall we get some dinner while we’re out?”

You groan in happiness, “Yes, please. I don’t feel like cooking tonight.”

Draco barks a laugh as he leads you into a nearby restaurant. You’re seated in a small booth and are given menus before ordering your drinks.

“Thank you for taking me, Draco. It means the world.” You say as the waitress goes to grab your drinks.

Draco smiles at you softly, “Anything for you, you know that.”

“I love you.” You grin.

“I love you too. You want to look at her signatures don’t you?”

You squirm in your seat, “I really do. Is that nerdy? It’s nerdy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not nerdy at all. I know that she wrote a special message for you in one of them.”

Your mouth drops open, “What? Really? You’re joking? Don’t joke about this.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this. She really did write a message for you.” Draco states, handing you the bag.

You pile the books onto the table, moving the ones she signed for you to one side. Focusing on the books that she signed for Draco. You run a hand over her signature; still not truly believing you met your favourite author.

“I can’t believe we met her,” You whisper in awe.

“You best believe it, love.”

You smile at him before flipping open the last book in the pile. The first two had simple signatures addressed to you, but as you turn the pages to the title page, you see her message inscribed in ink:

“To (Y/N), Few find a love like you have with him. He’s a keeper.”

And underneath is her shining signature. She had seen it so clearly; his love for you, and your love for him. It radiates from the both of you.

You show Draco the message and he laughs at it in disbelief, taking the book from your hands to read the message.

Draco eventually hands the book back to you, “I have to say I’m rather inclined to agree.”

“I think I agree with you. You are a keeper.”

His eyes shine with love and adoration as he holds your hand across the table.

********

General (HP) taglist: @the-hufflefluffwriter​ @obsessedwithrandomthings​ @kalimagik​ @summer-writes​ @lupins-sweater​ @slytherinprincess03​ @mischiefsemimanaged​ @soleil-amaryllis​ @masterofthedarkness​ @bforbroadway​ @chaotic-fae-queen​ @peachesandpinks​ @nebulablakemurphy​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @siriusly-addicted-to-writing​ @firewhisky-kisses​ @deafgirltingz​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @harrypotter289​ @sprvpti​ @accio-rogers​ @potterverseimagine​ @figlia--della--luna​ @angelinathebook​

Draco Malfoy taglist: @cheapglitter​ @the--queen-of-hell​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​

[mysticalmusicwhispers]

#i wonder what your thoughts on diaspora in hetalia are#cause its a pretty interesting topic (the post in question)

@urmomsstuntdouble a collection of things that I think about on a semi-regular basis below the cut (also thank you for the tags!)

Disclaimer: I think this turned into more of a discussion of immigration and immigrants, but I hope this strikes your fancy anyways 😅. Also this got SO LONG and I explained quite a bit of history (because idk whether anyone knows much about this), so the key thoughts will be bolded!

My thoughts are kinda complicated about this tbh; it’s weird, because if China really did exist as a personification in real life, we’d probably both be judging each other, just for different reasons 😅.

General Hetalia Cases

I think when discussing immigrants/diaspora, you have to think about why different immigrants left. @cupofkey kinda discussed that a while ago (if anyone hasn’t seen this superb post, GO READ IT NOW) about the Vietnamese diaspora, and I think there’s some of that in every country. How do the immigrants feel about the home country? Why did they leave: because of hard times, poverty? Political instability/revolution/war? Opportunities overseas? Are they doing well in their new home, or still struggling? Does their new country treat them like foreigners or outcasts, unworthy of even arriving, or doing anything besides menial labor, or have they been welcomed (rather unlikely)? Do they hate their home country (politically), or miss them? Would they ever go back, not just to visit family or the place of their birth, but to return permanently?

I think on the whole, hetalia nations would still maintain a connection to their immigrants, especially since most are still in touch with their culture, although they’ve crossed borders or changed nationalities. (However, the angst of not being as in touch with your culture as you think you should is so real; would our home countries be disappointed? Or do they sympathize, somehow?) In the end, we’re all the same that way. Plus, the alternative thought of them just disowning immigrants feels weird; I don’t even know how that would be possible. But I think that connection gets complicated by the reason people left, and their feelings for their place of origin; I’ll be using APH China and Chinese Americans as an example to discuss this hksdgsdf (sorry I don’t want to do more research than necessary and I have Thoughts about this)

**OBLIGATORY DISCLAIMER that immigration/diaspora discussions are almost always case by case and will vary greatly based on things like country of origin/race/ethnicity, country immigrated to, initial socioeconomic status, time period, etc. And even among diaspora, people can and will have vastly different experiences, and it’s not good to generalize. These are just some thoughts with one example.**

1. Waves of Immigration 

Depending on when people arrive, they’ve got different push/pull factors drawing them to a country and it also factors into how the nation feels about them and vice versa... Chinese immigration to the US has mostly two major waves (you could also say there were 3, counting the post-WWII/Communist China wave, but I won’t talk about that): one in the mid 1800s and the other after the 1970s/1980s into modern day; the gap is because the Chinese Exclusion Act (1882) that banned most immigration from China wasn’t repealed until 1943 (because of Japan’s attack on the US in WWII, the US needed China as an ally).

IMMIGRATION WAVE 1: MID 1800s

These immigrants were mostly from southern China (Canton area), and they came to the US because of hard times (Opium Wars + political instability because of things like the Taiping Rebellion) and economic opportunity in the West (eg. Gold Rush (San Francisco is literally “Old Gold Mountain” in Chinese today) + industrialization, railroads, expansion etc.). There was Much Discrimination against those immigrants, and many worked as hard laborers in a variety of occupations (on railroads, gold mine, farms (in the South esp), laundry businesses; there were merchants as well, but they were the minority); many were looking to get some money that they could send back to their families in China and planned to return, but over time, they settled down and stayed. I think for those immigrants, Yao would definitely be understanding, even if he might not be empathetic. After all, he’s not thriving at that time either, and although he thinks Alfred is inferior to him (in many ways), he understands why people would be drawn by economic promise and quick wealth, even if it might not be the best strategy for getting rich. It’s not like staying in China would be better lmao. However, I don’t think he would approve (?) how many of his immigrants stayed in the US when most viewed it as a temporary move; I think Yao is very surprised by how so many of them persisted to carve out a home there, despite the discrimination and limited opportunities. Perhaps he admires their resilience, the creation of Chinatowns and community and how they still come to a country that doesn’t even let them in (see the San Francisco Fire of 1906 and the boon for paper sons), but still wishes they would come back, however unlikely that hope is. Personally, Yao would never be able to stay in Alfred’s country, the beautiful country, if Alfred’s hypocrisy prevented his experience, his immigrant’s experience, from being anything close to beautiful. (You were founded by immigrants and foreigners, but now you spurn them: the poor sojourners who continue to flee to your shores, and refuse them respite from the disasters at home.) And anyways, Alfred is just the next scrappy young upstart, barely 70 years old but with a swagger like he rules the world; how could he have something over himself, the Middle Kingdom, who has stood the test of time? (Admittedly, he’s doing nowhere as well as Alfred—even he can see that, despite his pride, and despite the haze of opium in his brain. Leaving is the logical, objectively sound choice. Still, his pride hurts vaguely when he thinks how his immigrants keep choosing a country that keeps rejecting them, over and over again, instead of himself. But it is no matter. The injury to his ego is inconsequential and easily brushed aside; for they are still his people, and they deserve a good life, wherever they are. His distaste for Alfred flares up again: Arthur’s bastard child, who takes advantage of his trade (see the Open Door Notes, 1899-1900), but refuses his people.)

if anyone wants more context or is interested in the history I mentioned, I highly recommend this pdf (from the book A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America by Ronald Takaki)

IMMIGRATION FROM 1949 TO 1980: according to Wikipedia, there was very little immigration from mainland China during this period due to the Cold War and China becoming Communist; most of the immigration was from Taiwan/ROC but counted in the quota for China. Since there’s a separate Hetalia personification for TWN, I’m not going to go over that. However, there were also many people from Mainland China who escaped to Hong Kong, still a British colony, during that period (I hope it’s clear why, but if anyone asks I’ll put it in a separate post); some stayed there, while others emigrated to the US; both trips were for more freedoms and a better life etc because China was really really messed up for a bit (also keep in mind the people emigrating all had the means to and were at least middle class, usually somewhat educated, etc.). I will not be talking about that group either because I don’t think it’s my place to, but please know they exist as well.

IMMIGRANT WAVE 2: 1980s ONWARD

A lot of people came from mainland China for education; there was also an. exodus of intellectuals following 1989 (which I Will Not get into). Many of these people sought job opportunities, like those that rapidly opened up in the computer industry, there are many students who come here to study abroad, who take SATs and TOEFLs to get into good US colleges or to conduct graduate research and get PhDs; some stay, others have gone back to like, advance China’s development (this sentiment of getting good students to go abroad and then go back to China to use their talents for Patriotic Purposes isn’t a new thing, stretches back to like the late 1800s). I don’t really have much to say about this group besides what’s below ↓. 

2. Immigrant Thoughts On Their Home Country

more complicated, because it varies by generation and time period and probably 203943 other things. Mainlanders that came over starting in the 1990s till now have relatively positive feelings towards China (imo, extrapolating from my life experiences); I think part of that is also because most* of these immigrants aren’t really escaping from something? They’re coming for an education/job opportunities (students studying abroad in the US (留学生 or liuxuesheng) for graduate school or university come to mind as one example), and they’re still very much connected to China politically and culturally, sometimes* more so than to the US. For these immigrants, I think Yao doesn’t worry too much about them? They’re pretty successful* overall*, and discrimination, although still A Large Problem™, isn’t the same from stuff that Yao (or his immigrants) remember from, say the mid 1800s (see above), or even during the paranoia about Communists after WWII and the subsequent Chinese Confession Program that made many people really scared of being deported. (Red China made Chinese Americans a target of the Communist panic, and the confession program was instated in order to make sure Communist spies couldn’t infiltrate the US. Those who immigrated illegally could confess that and gain citizenship; however you also had to weed out everyone you knew who also immigrated illegally.) I think Yao would see them as an extension of himself in a different land; they’re very much still part of him, and he gives them his well wishes.

However, I think that immigrants born in the US in modern day at least (1990s onwards) are definitely more ambivalent about China’s legacy + modern day Issues™, as much as we are connected via culture and heritage. Not quite sure how Yao would feel about that, because I’m not quite sure how much Yao is the state and how much he represents the people. However, I think there would be some mutual unease; does he see this as betrayal of some kind? Perhaps he doesn’t blame us for feeling as we do? Maybe he wonders what we feel about him; maybe he doesn’t want to know. Maybe he chooses the easier route: to focus on the bonds between him and his huayi instead of the grievances, and leave the rest unsaid. 

Additionally with first gen immigrants, there’s the conflicting feeling of being stuck between two worlds and value systems that oppose each other in many respects. Also there’s sometimes a feeling of not-quite-being-in-touch-with-your-culture (in other diaspora as well, ofc. here it’s often exemplified by forgetting or not knowing how to read and write Chinese proficiently, among other things 🙃); idk. does Yao see that as a bit of a disappointment? Would he wish us to try harder? Does he view it as inevitable, for those raised in the US; the environment is too different, and perhaps he won’t blame us for those differences, or shortcomings. Does Yao know, or care, about the racism? What about his immigrants who try to assimilate completely into American culture, who try to erase the Chinese part of their identity? Those that have tried it, but regretted it? Are they still his, when they have tried rejecting their connection to him, choosing to drop the “Chinese” from Chinese American? Does he consider racism when thinking about them? What about international adoptees? Does he claim them, when some have not been raised in a culturally Chinese environment, and when it’s still a sensitive subject on both sides of the ocean? I don’t have answers to many of these questions.

There are also immigrants who fled China because of war or persecution or upheaval, (one example is with regards to the Cultural Revolution), but I don’t feel qualified to discuss it here, and I don’t want to take it lightly.

But, despite everything I’ve discussed above, I’d like to think that however an immigrant feels about their home country or however long they’ve been there, all nation personifications would still wish them a better life (even Yao). I mean, it’s not always easy being an immigrant/part of a diaspora (especially when race becomes a factor). I really don’t think any of the hetalia characters would say “look at your struggles. What a mistake it was to immigrate somewhere where you still face so many challenges, although they might be different from the ones back home”. that’s just No. Also, I think that when you disregard sentimentality and their inherent connection to the people, countries would still be able to sympathize with people trying to strive for better, you know? People immigrate for a better life, whether it’s because it was getting rough when they left or because other places had more potential, and like. although nation-people can’t leave their own country, I think they understand the people who do, because it’s a chance to make a new life, and it would be unkind, counterproductive, limiting, to prevent someone from taking that opportunity if it came. And their children, and grandchildren; they are still connected to their origins even in a new country, by blood if nothing else, and nations are people too; they must have some sentimentality for their people born in a different land. I’d like to think that if Yao met a Chinese American kid running around San Francisco’s Chinatown, or bumped into an ABC high schooler in a well to do Massachusetts suburb, he’d stop and nod and maybe say hello, and wish them luck, wherever they go in the future. After all, they are the products of his immigrant’s hopes and dreams, and they are his too, as much as they live in Alfred’s land.

* (asterisks): this is a) from my experience and research; not everyone will have the same experiences! please keep this in mind and don’t generalize a very vast group of people. :)

Idk if that was too sentimental or rambly or something, but yeah, those are some of the things I consider when I think about nations and their diasporas. If you made it down here, thanks for reading! I greatly appreciate it. Also I hope I got all my facts correct, but if anyone spots anything incorrect, especially regarding the post 1980s immigration wave, please tell me! Tried doing my research but there are still a few things I’m unsure about rip. 

This might be deleted tomorrow because I’m feeling weird about it, but feel free to reblog! I’d also very much love some feedback too if any of y’all are feeling up to it