#like upon another read things might mutate

[lunarviolets]

i feel like i need to read the sundial at least five more times to have enough authority to speak on it

[delyth88]

Another moment I love in X-Men: First Class is when Charles and Raven have to convince the CIA that mutants exist.

Charles has been giving a very technical and important presentation and the whole time he’s aware that the person he needs to convince is just thinking about lunch. So when he finishes speaking and is ridiculed by these men, he take great delight in skewering them with what he sees in their minds.

You can see he’s enjoying taking them down a peg or two, completely confident he can make them believe - and I love the little pause while he checks what pie is being served in the cafeteria.

Before then explaining his mutation in a rather long suffering manner. It sounds like he still doesn’t expect them to believe him.

I love how he laughs at their reaction to this, he’s absolutely confident they will believe him in the end, so he can afford to humour them.

Before becoming deadly serious and digging through Stryker’s mind.

And there he comes upon information that’s more important and secret than I think he expected.

I wonder if this is him seeing the plans for missile deployment and being alarmed about it, and just verbalising it.  Or was it calculated to shock them?  If so, what reaction did he expect? Cries of ‘spy!’ and being arrested seem quite a likely response in the 60s.  So what was his plan here? Was he going to wipe all their memories and just walk out if they didn’t come onboard?  Could he do that in such a way that he left no trace or paper trail?

Raven is watching all of this and doesn’t seem to be surprised when Charles first reveals the secret of the missiles, trusting he knows what he’s doing. But then everyone starts shouting and you can see how alarmed she is.  She’s spent her whole life in hiding worried what might happen if someone found out about her secret, and now, when they don’t even know about her yet, they want to lock her up.

You can see her think for a moment, then look across at Charles to check, and then she makes a decision to reveal what she can do.

Had they discussed what to do before this?  That if they didn’t believe Charles she would shift her form to prove mutants exist. Or had they just never considered the spy angle, and she’s just making it up on the fly? What was on Charles’ face at this moment? Surprise? Was he worried things were getting out of hand? Or still quietly confident?

She makes her choice, and stands up, transforming into Stryker. (I screen capped the image below at an awkward point – but if I have to see it then so do you.)

This of course brings everyone to a screeching halt. Everyone is silent and Raven shifts to her natural form.

I love the sigh of exasperation and the tone of irritation in Charles’ rejoinder.

Such a fun scene!

It does make me wonder at the sort of person Charles is that he has the confidence to go in to the CIA and show them that he can read minds and Raven can look like anyone she chooses.  In an era of spies and fear it seems like they were trusting a lot to chance. I think even the nuclear option, as it were, of erasing the memory of every person who had ever had contact with Charles feels like a risky choice.  And I wonder did he have such confidence because of his abilities, or because he also believed that it was the truth and he clearly didn’t mean them any harm so it would inevitably work out.  

19 days of X-Men 3/?

[evilminji]

Why Dont More BNHA SI-OCs end up Animals?

No, seriously, Nedzu is both terrifying and an INCREDIBLE asset.

If you were a Villian. An ends justify the means sort of bloke, as it were, why WOULDN'T you try and make another Nedzu? Sure, he promises terrible, terrible, blood soaked Vengeance, the likes of which sane men fear to contemplate and madmen shudder to behold, but? It's not like THEY'LL get caught!

They are VERY smart.

They have a plan!

Are you catching the sarcasm? Cause they sure are catching these Probably A Stoat Hands! And a tire iron! No survivors! *Nedzu's back up coughs awkwardly* Fine. SOME survivors! But he's still upset.

He dislikes Labs.

And think about it! Really, what is more likely? Some rando has? Two(2) SEPERATE Quirks? One of which not only kicked pre-birth, but is continual and very likely the ONLY THING keeping THAT PARTICULAR SOUL in that body. While the other is? *spins the wheel* Meh. We'll figure it out later.

Those are VERY different Quirks!

They would require VERY different secondary adaptations. Some of which might CONFLICT. Fatally no less. It would also be a rather notable quirk mutation, from their parents.

Possibly HEREDITARY.

Gonna have your OC grapple with the reality the not ONLY have a Chronic, Life Threatening, Quirk Reliant Medical Condition. That if the ever get arrested, falsely or not, they better PRAY those cops both notice and GIVE A SHIT about their medical bracelet... or that's it.

One pair of Quirk Suppressing Handcuffs.

Any medical grade Suppressant.

They'll die. Plain and simple. Dressed up in fancy medical jargon, their body will just... given out. Like a puppets who's strings are cut.

Oh, and it's HEREDITARY.

Because Quirks run in bloodlines. And once a mutation happens? It's here to stay! So her/his/their KIDS all stand the chance of being yoinked from another world. And their grandkids. Great grandkids. For however long it takes to shift into something else.

Here's a brochure on adoption.

You know, assuming you live that long.

Is it a great idea to explore? Fuck yeah! Am I gonna do it? Fuck no! So free to a good home I guess, just lemme read it! But!! You know what SIDE STEPS all this?

Quirked Animals!

Perfect for all you dub-... actually, let's not lie to ourselfs, WILDLY UNETHICAL scientific needs! You can splice in genes for intelligence Quirks! Maybe you'll get it right! Ballpark it! So what if loads of them die horrifically? Something, something, in the name of progress! They tell themselves.

Nedzu :) Violently :) Disagrees :)

But he ALSO! Only soooorta gives a shit about... like a small handful of humans. A fellow Quirked Animal? Who needs Schooling and legal Gaurdianship? A guide to the world of humans?

Not to MENTION? My Ace ass love the concept? Of abstracting attraction!

Because!

You are a Cat.

You are a Quirked Cat. You Quirk allows you sentience and memories of being human. Do you still find humans attractive? Or was that your human body? Do you find CATS attractive? They are animals. Your mind rebels. But? Were two images, drawn upon a wall, presented too you? Which would be desirable to you now?

Well groomed fur? A charming grin?

No one and nothing?

You are a Cat. A teenager. Around you, your peers speak of dates and crushes and dreams of marriage in some far off future day. You struggle to reach the seat of your desk, too see the board properly. You have nothing you can add to their conversations.

Clothing feels oppressive and wrong against your fur.

It feels worse to be naked.

You are a Cat.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @the-witchhunter @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @ailithnight @mutable-manifestation

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Visitation

This one was written during Season of the Witch, after Immaru said what he said to Eris.

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there.

Ikora Rey and Eris Morn stood together at the table in Ikora’s office, pouring over a map of Savathun’s spire, the locations of various secrets marked upon it. Eris was adding the details of the unlock mechanism for another location that had been found in the most recent passthrough.

Immaru floated in from an adjoining room, angrily hovering over the map, his spiked shell shivering in rage.

“Figures you’d be here. Something I said must’ve touched a nerve. I had a little visit last night from your psychopath boyfriend.”

Ikora looked at Eris in confusion. Eris shrugged and shook her head.

“Eris doesn’t have a… boyfriend.”

“Are you kidding me? Have you seen the way that guy looks at her?”

“What guy?” Ikora asked.

Eris looked up impassively from her adjustments. “I have no idea who you are speaking of.”

“Sketchy. Wears a lot of green. Has a fucked up sewed together abomination of a ghost that can’t speak?” Immaru visibly shuddered.

“Hmmm…” Eris returned to the detail she was providing on the map. “…and what did the Drifter say to you that has you so terrified?”

“That’s the thing. He didn’t say anything. Just stood there staring at me with those cold dead eyes. Then he bounced a coin off of me a few times while that darkness mutated freak he calls a ghost scanned me. Like he was figuring out which bits of me he could cut off without being noticed. Didn’t matter what I said to him. He just stared at me. Then he walked away.”

“It does not sound like anything of note happened at all.” Eris said dispassionately.

“I’m curious as to how he got in there.” Ikora muttered.

“The Drifter has his… methods.”

“That wasn't nothing that happened.” Immaru floated closer to Eris, his shell twisting sideways. “I’ve given enough threats to know when I’m receiving one. You keep that psycho away from me. You need me. Someone like that doesn’t follow the rules. Someone like that’ll cut you up for no reason, just because, just like he did his own ghost. He’s unhinged.”

Ikora sighed, “I will increase security.”

“I do not control the Drifter,” Eris stood as she finished her sketch detailing the order in which the runes needed to be activated to open that particular door. “…and, with all due respect to Ikora’s security methods, if there is somewhere he wishes to be, there isn’t much anyone can do to keep him out.” She twitched her fingers and her soulfire wreathed Ahamkara bone flew from where it had been sitting on Ikora’s desk to her hand. “If you do not want him to visit you, I recommend you avoid taking actions which might attract his notice.”

“Yeah it’s totally just coincidence he showed up after I started talking shit about your dead ghost. Not related at all.”

Ikora raised her eyebrows.

“Hmmm…” Eris turned to leave.

“The fuck are you smiling about.” Immaru snarled.

“Hmmm…” She walked out the door, cradling her glowing orb.

[understandableparadox]

tHE HOMESTUCK OC TUMBLR POLL TOURNAMENT!!! YOUR CONTESTENTS!

@ineffable-gallimaufry

Tamiss Eriism

They're my trollsona! Here's the bio I used for art fight:

Your name is TAMISS ERIISM.�� 

Flowing through your veins is good thick VIOLET blood. While you don't care much for the hemospectrum overall, you still find yourself admiring the way it looks. You think it is VERY PRETTY, you love living underwater, and the perks it gives you are TRULY ENVIABLE.

Perhaps connected to your high status within the hemospectrum is your MASSIVE GOD COMPLEX. In your opinion, you might be the best person on the entire planet, maybe even better than THE CONDESCE HERSELF. Though you probably wouldn't say that to her face. You'll prove your great power one day by overthrowing her so everyone will respect you for your TRUE POWER. Though that's not making very much headway. Maybe some day though, with your SICKLE in hand, you'll finally prove yourself.

You are ever so slightly obsessed with CULINARY and CRYPTOGRAPHICAL HISTORY. You are in fact quite fond of most HISTORIES, and take an interest in many forms of the PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE. You even model many aspects of yourself after HEROES you saw in your books. One, a cobalt blood, gave you a great appreciation of SPIDERS AND ALL SORTS OF INSECTS, though your lifestyle gives you hardly any opportunity to view any for real. There was another from the same place on the hemospectrum as you who you also found REALLY COOL. He inspired much of your personality such as your INTEREST IN DRAMA, ROMANTIC NATURE, and AMAZING HAIR STRIPE. Sometimes you even feel like you can HEAR THEIR VOICES but that's probably normal. Despite how TOTALLY COOL you are, people hardly tend to notice you. Once your plans are complete though, that WON'T HAPPEN ANYMORE.

You also like READING TOMES OF KNOWLEDGE. Though most of the knowledge is either on BEING A HUGE LESBIAN or MATH YOU DO NOT QUITE UNDERSTAND. Or communism. It is quite a ball though.  

Your trolltag is atlanteanAscension and you speak iin a wway remiiniiscent 8f y8ur favv8riite her8es.

Halpetasprite

She's just like... well it's like if Lil Hal got tossed into Nepetasprite instead of Equiussprite. he/she pronouns. 

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@vi-timepiece

Luciol Lanten

Limeblood, mutant, based off a firefly. The stripes on her body can glow. She/it, nonbinary. Enjoys stargazing. Matesprits with Vichtr Unikke 

Vichtr Unikke

Supposed to be goldblood, is blackblood instead because mutation. Has difficulty controlling psionics. He/they, trans man. Likes robotics. Matesprits with Luciol Lanten

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Starlight-prism.tumblr.com

Chylia Merian

Handle: achromaticAdversary

Classpect: Sylph of Doom (Derse)

Pronouns: she/they

Chylia is a hemoanonymous limeblood troll (dancestor ghost) who is great with survival and fighting thanks to the sabertooth lusus that miraculously saved her from culling. She's very competent and was the only member of her Sgrub team to reach god tier. But they also take themself too seriously in such a way that they wind back to being silly! Like half of the things they do are for the aesthetic, to be honest. They wear a dramatic black mask and cape, and they use a giant machine gun to feel powerful and edgy. They used to dye their hair fully black, but now they partially dye it so the white roots can be partially seen. Chylia is a total edgelord and I love her and I hope you do too after reading this!

Full information and backstory here, as well as more art: https://toyhou.se/23778562.chylia-merian

Erizoh Stilde

Handle: pincushionsApex

Classpect: Knight of Rage

Pronouns: he/him

Erizoh is a jadeblood who rejected the role of his caste from an early age, faking his culling upon receiving invitation to come live in hiding with the heiress instead. He took up the hobby of plushmaking at the heiress's suggestion, and he also dabbles in cross-stitch and crochet. He's honestly pretty pretentious about his art, and is kind of an asshole, but in a certain "wet-cat" way that makes people like him regardless. He has a weird fixation with his grubhood self, specifically stabbing a plush version of it with pins. He was the first troll OC I made, and he came from a dream where he was trying to sell me a cow plushie and guilted me into buying it. I love Erizoh, he's such a loser.

More information here, as well as more art: https://toyhou.se/22085532.erizoh-stilde

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Venom draws on tumblr

Garlik Femara

A 9ft tall purple blood

She isn't the brightest (bimbo energy) and is all around friendly

She was "brainwashed" by the clurch because they saw her as a useful asset but she did not want to be a subjugulator and was showing signs of rebellion.

She is a killing machine but the circumstances are very specific, he trigger is a list. Most specifically a list of names but if given any list something in her brain is triggered to bring forward the highblood rage.

Nahlee Rovian

He is just silly.

He is just a guy who would eat a slice of cheese off of the floor, cheese of unknown origin. 

He is a sweet and funny guy and is way too easily trusting. 

If this guy was a playlist it would be "weird al" and "ninja sex party".

He smells funny.

No rizz.

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@chococookiez

Novasu Kirazi

- not pictured: her limeblood matesprit who she would kill for

- would overthrow the government and destroy the hemospectrum if they could

- WILL defeat you with the power of friendship and a gun she found

Mauami Sigera

- who is this creature and how did it get here

- perpetual °^° face and may or may not have arms

- it's just trying it's best

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@thehomestucker-surgeburbofficial

Gaemir Jurami

Your name is GAEMIR JURAMI. 

You tend to enjoy things like DIGGING UP FOSSILS and PRESERVED ORGANISMS. You also like to COLLECT COOL ROCKS you find outside your hive. Occasionally you will BREAK THEM OPEN to see if ANYTHING IS INSIDE. You enjoy watching DRAMATIC AND SAD FILMS from time to time, as well as ROMANCE MOVIES. Your favorite actor has to be by far, TROLL TOM HANKS.

On DIGCORB, your trolltag is skeletalTragedy and you tend to speak R4ther dully. In short, brief sentences. Usu4lly in 4 very serious m4tter.

He/They

Ceferi Fetris

Your name is CEFERI FETRIS.

You enjoy GARDENING. Mostly things like PUMPKINS or BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS that you give to your MATESPRIT and MOIRAIL. You also enjoy STARGAZING. It never fails to relax you. You tend to DRAW WHAT YOU SEE in the stars as well. Sometimes it's just MEANINGLESS SYMBOLS, other times it’s FULL SCENARIOS. You may even indulge in your hobby of PHOTOGRAPHY and TAKE PHOTOS OF THE STARS too. You also have a BIG LIBRARY, full of FICTION BOOKS, mostly the GOOD SCI-FI ONES and MAGICAL STORIES of WIZARDS.

Your trolltag is floralGallery and you speak wit>h hope and beaut>y in your heart. Al>l> is wel>l> in t>he presence of you.

(SIDE NOTE: She Is Also A Trans Woman!!!) She/Vir

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@spaceypineapple

Fendir Sanqui

fendir's a bronzeblood adventurer who idolizes troll indiana jones! hes got a pretty large collection of artifacts and loves learning about history. he also really likes myths and legends!! hes a very emotional guy who wears his heart on his sleeve, though he often (unintentionally) ignores the emotions of others. he's very very silly.

Trenas Maladi

trenas is a rustblood author who has the worst case of writers block ever seen. she's very tired all of the time and comes off a bit harsh, but she means well!! she's very nosy and knowing other people's business. she's very good at giving out advice to people too. she enjoys monsters and romance stories ABOUT monsters.

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@hareofhrairHareofhrair

Shafan Nishal

Shafan has been around since 2015, making friends in the tumblr ftc! They're a Brer Rabbit pastiche, a laid back traveling musician, trickster and occasional smuggler, and they love nothing better than sharing a smoke, swapping a story, and stealing from rich folks. A more or less homeless vagrant they wander from place to place, breaking hearts and singing songs. They make friends wherever they go, but they have a powerful fear of commitment that keeps them from getting too close to anyone. As soon as someone starts looking too attached, they skip town, and boy can they run! Shafan is faster on foot across open ground than just about any troll alive, at least according to them, and they're always happy to prove it with a race. So if you've got a story to tell, a song to share, or you just need someone to deal you weed for a (mostly) fair price, look for the white haired rusty playing banjo on the corner and come say hello!

Popahv Arlech

Popahv came from an amazing homestuck ttrpg campaign called Binary System, which we even tried turning into a fanventure for a little bit there! Popahv is just a sweet little guy with some serious attachment issues. He loves his friends more than anything and thinks it's his responsibility to take care of them, whether they want him to or not. Add this to an exploit in the game giving him some extremely overpowered mind control powers, and Popahv becomes just a little problematic! He means well, honestly. He just wants everyone to be happy and peaceful and never ever leave him. Meet the original Friendship Yandere, Popahv!

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Mythfan12.tumblr.com

Meadys Serpin

A rustblood museum curator/rebel supplier, Sylph of Rage, living embodiment of customer service face hiding blind fury

Wessun Ghunne

Oliveblood living out in the desert since birth, Maid of Void, you know those background applications that you never see pop up but are vital to the computer running? that's him

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@ask-swagger-dagger-trolls

Taluco Ialens

First started as a Trollsona, but after a while turned into her own thing and became a Fantroll. She is a Mutantblood due to some deep lore which will take to long to explain. She is an Artist and a big fan of fruity drinks

Soyuka Detoxa

Soyuka was a former escort in a corrupted church, with the help of Taluco (First Character Entry), she was able to turn the once brothel into a proper place of worship. She managed to be quaded with a Death God and a Rebel Leader...so...bonus bragging points for her. She speaks Alternian Spanish.

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@dzcool3

Teranz Zitchk

he found his own corpse in the woods and that made him a channer. he taxidermies badly and hates everyone. has a real self-pity complex

Kizats Hatrak

a member of the troll men in black. a wildly incompetent bully who still manages to make and believe wildly inaccurate conspiracy theories despite being behind many herself. She knows shes kind of a terrible person.  

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@sekhmentson

Cysgod Quared

Mad scientist

Betroy Focalx

Local Horoscope Writer

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@tasonix10 for tumblr and Tasonix12 on Twitter 8-]3

Noizod Explos 

Noizod Explos is the dancestor of Terriy Explos (My trollsona). Noizod is a troll with an interest of the weird and mysterious, mainly in mad scientists and old food mascots! Noizod is a heir of time/heart, a derse dreamer, And A rust blood. Their typing quirk is misspelling words sometimes and replacing every 7th word with the number 7.

Noizod has low psionics, yet is cursed with the visions of the past, which has led them to try and be like their ancestor, the Observer.

Noizod’s strife Kind is A yo-yo, and lacks a lusus.

Turpen Cansoi

Turpen Cansoi is an indigo blood that owes money to higher bloods, and because of this he’s been DEMOTED TO LOWER CASTE STATUS. Now he lives his life as a low caste blood and tries to make a Quick buck for a living. Turpen is either a maid/Page of breath And a derse dreamer.

There’s Not that much about Turpen other than that. Except the casino theme and being The Session starter, thus Why his trollian Tag is “wheezingCoupier”

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@ethersmith

Sutoka Reddol

4 foot 5. Lesbiab. About 9 sweeps old but sgrub.

A rustblooded thief and thief of void skilled in pocketpicking, lockpicking, parkouring, sneaking, knife throwing, yoyo tricks and flute playing. She happens to possess psionics that let her hide her horns and grip onto surfaces. She's also immune to most poisons. Except alcohol. She'll pass out at the slightest sip of alcoholic beverages. Gunfire stuns her. Her lusus is a rat and her typing quirk adds a lowercase letter after a capital letter. Llike Tthis.

Eeliza Lindel

8 foot. 11 sweeps old.

Just about the least competent fuchsiablood to live twice. Her skills include being okay at leadership, insulting lower castes and making enemies. Formerly the heiress of her planet Liesteria, now the boss of a mafia known as the Kalpon gang. Her lusus is a big ol' gaggle of eels that do not make the same enemies as her. Her quirk surrounds individual words in square brackets and duplicates the letter e.

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@waffletardis

Sarnen Rambuc

Sarnen is a talented prankster, thief, and craftswoman. She mostly tinkers but loves to try inventing her own machines, staying positive throughout the trials and errors. Her favorite prank involves the use of her robotic hands hidden under her gloves, they are detachable, so imagine someone’s surprise when they try to give her a handshake and they seemingly pull her hand straight off! Despite her apparent hunger for shenanigans, she genuinely cares about others, and no one will earn the ire of her foolery unless they are rude to someone she cares about. (Such as her matesprit, she loves her matesprit so much she will not hesitate to tell someone about her matesprit) 

Idzill Stoatl

Idzill has a passionate love for art, and can be seen displaying many skills of the craft. Although Idzill is also quite impatient if they are not actively doing anything, and usually goes straight from a zero to one hundred when trying to solve a problem. Tongue gets stuck on something frozen? Try to skillfully use a knife. Art not making the money you want? Go straight to becoming a vigilante assassin… Idzill uses their dexterous skills to be quite the terrifying assassin, though they try their best to only accept hits for people they would consider bad. Idzill does not speak and uses signs 🪧 with their quirk painted onto them to communicate, that’s one way to view sign language i suppose…

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Part 1

[invisibleraven]

T-R-O-P-E

Fills for the Favourite Fic Trope Bingo Card!

Okay babes, here we go! I took it upon myself to write a ficlet for every square of the favourite fic trope bingo card. I only have a few written, but I'm going to start uploading the few I do have and strive to have one fill a week. Warnings and pairings will be in the chapter summary, so you can skip any fills you like.

Trope: Major Character Death <-AO3 Link!

Warnings: What it says on the tin ^

Pairing: Ray/Rose

Ray can still remember the face of the doctor when he showed them Rose’s scans-his grim optimism, assuring them that Rose could beat this thing but the inner sadness to his eyes that made Ray aware the chances were slim.

Yet they didn’t let that dissuade them, because cancer might be tough, but Ray was confident that his wife was tougher. Rose was the bravest, strongest woman he knew, so there was no way she was going down thanks to some mutated cells.

She was a trooper through the whole thing, going to each chemo session, even as they made her tired and frail. Sitting there with a weak smile on her face as they pumped her veins full of poison that was supposed to help. Ray was there every time, reading to her, talking to her, keeping her occupied.

When her gloriously thick mane of curls began to thin, to come out in clumps, Ray helped her cut it short, then eventually buzz her head, even offered to do his own in solidarity, but Rose had put the kibosh on that. “I like your hair, especially since you went all silver fox,” she teased, running her fingers through his now grey locks.

“Watch now yours will come back in as dark as ever,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her now smooth scalp.

“Until then, maybe I could invest in some scarves? Or a fun wig?” Rose suggested. “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be a redhead.”

She made a devastating redhead, even though she was all skin and bones now, a dull grey pallor to her that made her seem so sickly. But her spirit never faded, always luminous and peppy, despite the tragedy that had befallen her.

That was until they did another scan, and the prognosis wasn’t good.

“It seems the tumor isn’t responding to the chemotherapy as we hoped,” the doctor intoned. “We can try surgery, then radiation to hopefully get rid of what that missed.”

“How successful is that course of treatment?” Ray asked.

“It’s greatly successful in most cases,” the doctor responded. “But I can’t make a promise that this will work-I don’t want to get your hopes up unnecessarily.”

“Can I take the weekend to think about it?” Rose asked. “This has been a very long day as you can imagine.”

“Of course,” the doctor stood, escorting them to the door. “But if this is what you want to do, it doesn’t do to leave it too long, we should schedule it for as soon as we can. Until then keep up the chemo-the tumor isn’t getting any bigger, which is the important part.”

They thanked him and walked to the car, the silence between them heavy and oppressive. Rose dozed off in the car, so Ray turned the radio off, taking the long way back. She slept so fitfully these days, even though she was constantly exhausted.

Ray didn’t know how to face Julie and Carlos when he pulled into the driveway-he already knew what Rose would choose. The cancer had done the unimaginable-it had beat Rose Molina.

He was tempted to shake her awake-she so hated looking weak and incapable in front of anyone. Instead he scooped her up, giving Victoria a weak smile as she held the door open, sure the truth was written all over his face.

They didn’t talk about it until they were in bed that night, the bedside lamp providing enough light to see just how tired Rose was, how draining this whole thing was on her.

“I wanna fight it,” she whispered. “For you, for the kids.” She coughed then, a wracking sound that rattled him. He helped her sip water once it was done, rubbing her back and hated that he could feel every rib, every knob of her spine.

“You don’t have to…” Ray gulped, the words caught in his throat. “Do it for you Rosita, if for anyone.”

She breathed, a rattling shaky thing now. “It is for me. Because I can’t leave you, the kids…”

“You won’t,” Ray assured her. “You’ll stay with us, no matter what. I just…worry that you’re fighting uphill for the wrong reasons.”

“I know,” Rose admitted. “But I can’t give up, not when I still have an ounce of fight left in me.”

So they sat down, as a family, to tell the kids what would be happening next. How it may not work, how they needed to prepare for the worst. There were a lot of tears and pleading, with Rose smoothing back her children’s curls, assuring them she’d rather take the chance it might work, than do nothing which definitely wouldn’t.

Victoria, all business helped Rose settle her affairs, just in case. Did all the research she could about the procedure-even though Rose forbade her from making suggestions to the medical staff.

Ray couldn’t remember much of the morning of the surgery. It was all agonizing waiting and trying to keep his mind on what was happening. It was the gray waiting room, terrible coffee, the hustle and bustle of a hospital.

Then the doctor came out, the expression on his face saying everything. His words were muffled to Ray’s ears, but the message was the same.

Rose was gone.

[pillbug-worm-pillbug]

You underestimate how long my love can last.

I face the mirror. My breath steams up and maybe its for the best I cant see myself. I might not be able to bear the shameful weight of it.

When I found out you'd gone west, I put my heart in a china box, such a delicate prison for such a violent, achey thing. But that forced it to be still, to take a big gulp of sea-foam air, and stop.

You were out west for two years. In that time, I learnt how to breathe again. You cut down trees and burnt bridges. You had an anger like my father's. You were out west for years.

But recently you came home again, silent in the middle of the night like an illness. Like a swift. You perched upon the mailbox down the road, and I'd look at you with eyes so shameful I was suddenly so anxious around cameras. Photographic evidence of my descent. In a video where I look at you too soft, too long.

The china box rattles. Surely, I think, surely the heart I locked away cannot still be beating? A new one grew in its place long ago, tasted all four seasons, grew me wings. I dont need that old thing. But I open the box and the heart has grown teeth. I'd bite you if I had less sense. I'd mark you as mine, as something that I want.

Maybe I don't love you, maybe my heart has mutated somehow. Or maybe I never loved you at all. All I know is that I want to put my teeth to your flesh and be around you all the time and listen to you talk or -- no, not talk. You are so much better at written word. I want to read you for hours. Want to know every corner of your mind. Your angry mind that spoiled out west. I still want to know it, deeply, truly. Tell myself in another life you could have been my everything.

You tell me a story. Its honestly good. I tell you so, and you spoil me the ending, and I think the ending is pretty lousy. But Gods, I could never say it. I want to say you're amazing, you're molten gold, tell me more. I don't know why I want you like I do. But I do. But I do.

And I know I do, because the strange, unkillable nature of love proves it everytime you message me and I hope against hope, indulge in a fantasy that maybe the message says what I want to hear. In my old heart's twisted make-believe, the message says "I love you".

[antorserper]

I’ll Never Understand

I’ll never be able to understand how other people think and feel. And I don’t think anyone will or can understand how I feel. When my entire world, life and future was stolen from me, taken away in an instant. Without a reason. Without a cause. And I’m expected to just move on as if nothing has happened. As if everything I’ve know for the last 7 years of my life vanishes in an instant and that’s not something that should effect me. How can people do that? Do they just not feel? Do they not have emotions as I understand them? And in the reverse, I’ll never be able to comprehend how someone can spend a third of their life with someone and in an instant, forget them. Move on and be with someone else and be so totally happy and never even think about, or care about or have any feelings for that person. As if I never even existed. It’s just a feeling of worthlessness. That you could zero impact upon another person who you spend almost every day with for seven years to suddenly forget you. Have a new person and be so utterly happy as if they’ve lost nothing at all. Rather, that they gained something by erasing them from existence. I feel like a ghost. Some form of ethereal being that can’t affect or have an effect upon the world. To be so meaningless. And I’m not supposed to feel anything? I’m supposed to just be okay. I’m supposed to just move on with my life as if nothing happened? I’m not like anyone I’ve ever known. Everyone I know seems to just say, “well that’s done, move along and move on.” I might be a ghost but people like that are zombies. They may be able to affect and effect the physical world, but in truth they don’t feel anything. Maybe they just can’t. Maybe they refuse to. Or maybe I’m just some freak of nature that has no business existing. I’m a failed mutation that will die out when I die. And those same people will all forget me within days weeks or months.To know you’ve had no impact on the lives you’ve been a part of is a devastating feeling. It leaves you hollow and cold. It makes you wonder if you ever existed at all. Perhaps this is all just a dream, or maybe I’m just in a coma. Or maybe I’m in a computer program. Or maybe I’m some lab experiment to see how much emotion pain one human can endure before they completely break, fully snap inside and enter a form of living death. Not alive. Not dead. Just there. I truly hate life. It’s given me nothing but pain and sadness. And those who have caused so much pain for me don’t know or don’t care, or both. I remember reading Huckleberry Finn when I was a kid, and how he attended his own funeral. And how he got to see the truth of how people felt and thought of him. I think I could die in this moment here and now, and the one person I spent most of my life with, who I gave my heart body mind and soul to, wouldn’t even come to say good bye. Because I already ceased existing in their world, as if I never existed at all. And yet so much of what they have now is due in large part to my efforts. The only reason they aren’t ruined, jailed or otherwise torn apart from their awful choices and trips to the edge of the complete and utter destruction of their lives is because of me. Because I was there when no one else was, Because I cared when no one else did. Because I paid attention when no else noticed. Because I acted when everyone else ignored what was happening. And not like a worthless pieces of garbage I’ve been thrown away as if I never had any value meaning or importance to them at all. How can someone be so unfeeling? And you want to know the most painful thing, the sickest and more twisted thing? If she called me right now, I’d go running to her to save her. Because I know no one else will. No one has ever truly care about her. Which is why I sacrificed my soul for her, and it was never appreciated and now I am forgotten and erased from existence. And yet I still must exist in my own private hell, listening to people tell me to “move on” because they could, because they don’t feel, they mustn’t or they wouldn’t say such things, because they know it’s impossible to ever recover when you’ve given everything left inside you to someone. And if I had the chance to start over, I’d do the exact same thing. I’ve give myself completely yo her because that’s where my soul belonged. It just was never valued at all. I hope there will come a time when she realizes what she had and what she has lost, and comes home to me where her heart is safe, she is truly loved, and where she will always be protected and nurtured. I just fear I won’t be alive to accept her back into my arms. I may die alone. But I will die thinking of her. My one. My only. My forever.

[valleynix]

Another chapter is finished >:)

The way I didn't trust that Bela from the opening scene for even a mere second.

<"Might you grant my sorrowed soul mercy with a kiss from your-“

Snorting at her dramatics, you lean forward>

Cass got the dramatics and long dimples when she smiles after her mama. Confirmed.

"it is a flaw of mine to tell my daughters no. They’ve become spoiled since their rebirths"

CANNON

<“If you’d told me how much you cared for them when I first woke up, I wouldn’t have believed you. I’ve heard the rumors.”

“That because of what I do to keep myself and my children alive and well, I must be a monster incapable of retaining any of my humanity?”>

It's the way that in your writing you're basically calling out the people that say Alcina is an awful mom and abuses her kids coz "she's a villain".

"you find yourself smiling upon feeling the absolute bundle of nerves and racing thoughts that is Daniela Dimitrescu."

This is so real, I turn into a happy puppy whenever she's mentioned. I just go 😍🥰💞

"She makes herself right at home in your personal space, tucking herself beneath your blanket and resting her head on your shoulder, interlacing your fingers together as she settles"

:') my touch starved ass is dying in here bro

<“Good morning, little-“

“Don’t be sappy this early,” Cassandra grumbles.

THE WAY I LAUGHED PLEASE I LOVE HER SHE AINT GIVING BELA A BREAK

Now there's going to be a transition to sth more serious. Because damn.

I really admire Reader, that they still (somehow) function and try to make things right even though they're severely traumatised and despite all that anxiety. And I imagine it must be really hard for them. To keep it together, to go on with all the mess there's in their head bc of what happened and only they're aware of. The isolation and lack of a person they can share their worries with aren't helping either. And I imagine they feel really pressured to succeed, to keep the Dimis safe. They desperately don't want to lose them.

But all that stress they put upon themselves doesn't work in their favour. Their actions are chaotic. They're getting lost between what they think is right and what they think they should do for not to lose the Dimis' favour.

Reader's internal battles about whether sth is right or not and struggles to manoeuvre between it all make them feel real, like an average person that has a lot on their shoulders. Because a normal person would have a lot of doubts too and it'd be hard for them to cold calculate everything just to get to the desired point. People have feelings and emotions and they often get in the way.

And, Reader franticly wants to escape what they truly are, but I think if they accepted and embraced their darker side, the mutation, that would work in their favour. They're not "just a human", but it doesn't have to be an inherently bad thing.

You really put a lot of work to make every one of your characters complex, act and react accordingly to the events and make it feel like they're all alive inside their little fictional world. I love to read about them so much <3

HEHEHE >:)

*i was trying so hard to make it very... horror-y and unsettling, like something is clearly wrong but everything looks fine, yknow

*I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR, the thought of Cass copying her mama in some capacity is so <3333

*Alcina is best mom, i don't take criticism

*THE WAY I'VE DONE THIS (and something similar) SEVERAL TIMES LMAOO. the people who say "they're abusive!! they're SAers!!" all because they kill people need some brains. being a villain does not mean you would be the literal scum of the earth

(that's why i try to make it clear none of the Dimis would ever intentionally disrespect Reader's boundaries no matter what (feralness aside) and why i make it so apparent how much Alcina loves her daughters)

*i have some good news: you're going to love the next chapter (lots of Dani content) >:) i literally love her so much pls

*PLEASE LMFAO I LOVE THEIR SIBLING DYNAMIC, Bela tries to do literally anything and Cass is just, "Ew. Stop" HAHAHSDLFJSH

*i do think it's often easy to forget that despite it all, poor Reader has been through so much in such a short amount of time, and that's bound to make them a little... unstable. and it's easy to think you're making the right choice, blinded by what you think you should be

it's something i briefly addressed in the upcoming chapter fifteen, where Reader has been so caught up in their own head that they forget just how much their knee-jerk reactions harm/affect those around them. like, the Dimis are people with thoughts and feelings too, and their devotion to making everything right has completely blinded them to what's going on when they're not around

it does get better, and you'll see why in chapter twelve? i think? they have to learn they can trust these women they're trying so hard to protect, even as hard as it may seem and as much as they may doubt the conclusions of such acts. for being as traumatized and slightly stupid as they are, though, it's certainly going to be a journey

(plus, with Reader trying to protect them from that life and what happened, it makes them think they have to bear the burden alone, not realizing how much of a strain that puts on them. telling them all their trauma, everything they've seen... it's just not as easy to do as it is to say it aloud)

i know it can get difficult reading about this dumbass making mistakes that seem obvious to the rest of us, but with everything they've been through... :')

i'm really glad you're still enjoying it, and i look forward to what you'll say for the next chapter (and the Dani scenes >:) ) <3333

[nerves-nebula]

OKAY UPDATE I MIGHT HAVE GOTTEN AN EXTRODINARILY MINISCULE AMOUNT OF SLEEP BUT I'M ON SEASON 2 EPISODE 6 NOW (just finished it) AND YOO

ANIMATION IS ALWAYS AWESOME, THE FIGHTS ARE ABSOLUTELY EPIC AND THE CHARACTERS HAVE ALL DEVELOPED!

I feel like in season 2 they found their footings with thecharacters, and also LEOOOOO LETS GOO they gave my boy (neutral) the episode focus that I wanted and more!! And Splinter doesn't feel as sus now, he's just a funny rat man methinks. What came off as ick is just him having no thoughts but pretending he has all of the

(<- I don't have a solid opinion on him yet, part of me thinks they're doing a decent job incorporating him more but part of me wonders why they're not talking about everything else like yea he's trying now but the brothers are starved for any attention from him so that's kinda an unhealthy dynamic???? IDK plus I'm probably projecting xD)

BUT BACK TO LEO!! Leo my darling I am loving how he's sticking out more as a character (? if that makes sense). He's less of "oh hey blue brother" and more like HEY IT'S LEO! I think it's great that they touched upon the fact that he isn't listened to as much (though in previous episodes Donnie tends to be the person that will trust Leo's judgment, but in less serious situations?) He's got SO much going on, he is harnessing gender, sass, and I think that he's like a partner to Donnie's genius (emotional smarts vs non-emotional smarts. Leo knows how to manipulate situations into his favour and able to predict people's behaviours and reactions. Really cool and I love how they're showing that more) <- also I am vibing so much with your Leo gender comments like YEAH you're right

My opinions on Raph are mostly the same, I just really like himand think he's fun. Raph is being more protective in this season both in checking in on the others more but also trying to push them so he can see they can protect themselves (so he doesn't have to worry about them as much? It's interesting development, though I think he deserves to be wrapped in a blanket and given his favourite foods (if he finds comfort in that sorta thing). He's great!

Mikey!! Same as Raph I like how they've developed his character more and he is SO youngest sibling vibes. Epic seeing him get better at fighting and how he doesn't have to sacrifice his naturally not-overly-serious nature to be like that. He's growing and probably has committed multiple pranks off screen, love that for him <3

DONNIE!!!! He's great my autism beam is locked and loaded and firing. The fact that one of the first things he did when he had to develop some level of technology in the woods was making a shell cover means something to me. Blorbo creature, but I want to finish season 2 before I read any fanfiction to avoid spoilers.

ALSO JUST MENTIONING DONNIE AND LEO DISASTER TWINS! They feel more like twins in sweason 2 like they have a secret dynamic and it's funnn! They feel more like equals in a way?? though that could've been that they were still getting used to writing the characters in season 1 and they settled more into a rhythm in season 2? Might be that I'm noticing more, but anyways it's great! Love that for them!

QUICK THOUGHTS: even though Big Mama and Splinter are canonically exs, they do NOT have the amount of exs vibes that Draxum and Splinter have. They are so divorced, such exs. Had Draxum not been so obtuse when he successfully kidnapped Splinter I feel like they could've had something, ya know (pre-mutant turtle era). Draxum mentioning that Splinter likes the turtles a lot before mutating them makes me feel like if Splinter said he hated them Draxum might have considered another animal lowkey.

THE REVEAL OF THE BROTHERS' ORIGINS!! So it debunks a lot of my previous ask BUT I still headcannon a fair amount of it. Lowkey playing with the idea that Raph and Leo are considered the oldest because those are the two turtles Splinter picked up first and interacted with <- does that make sense? IDK but I think that would be the FUNNIEST reveal

I will be going back to watch the rest of season 2 but after learning about so much more I HAD to send an update! The show is SO good and I started watching it at the perfect time (<- you don't need to know my life but something shitty happened just before the weekend and I was planning to have an existential crises but instead as part of a trauma response my brain attached to this instead and it will now become a personality trait and now ROTTMNT will exist permanently within me, It's happened with a few other things but ANYWAYS) and it's so fantastic to watch. I will share theories later when I'm at least half way through this second season. I hope season 3 comes out soon, but I saw that there was a movie so I'll watch that after season 2!

GOING FERAL THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TALKING ABOUTT THE SHOW BECAUSE THIS ONE WAS OF THE BEST DECISIONS I'VE MADE IN A WHILE. TO BINGE AND WATCH AND OOOOOOOOOOOO IT'S GOOD

YOU'RE ON SEASON 2 ALREADY??????? glad that I've affixed this show as a permanent part of ur personality >:) now we can talk about it >:)

also I'm so sorry but the show is uhhhh WELL its been cancelled (or "paused" but it doesn't look good tbh) and hasn't had a new season since 2019,,,,,, BUT THE MOVIE IS SOOOO FUCKING GOOD so maybe that'll make up for it ? :')

AND UR SO RIGHT ABOUT draxum and splinter having more Divorced Vibes than splinter and big mama asfdfdf it's WILD but I love it

TO BE HONEST I LOVE SPLINTER but I am also of the opinion that its like, a Good Person but Bad Parent situation. he was kind of a shitty neglectful dad before season 2 :') he loves his boys for sure but like ! !!! ough! !

I actually binged rottmnt over last summer so I'm not as fresh on the specifics as I used to be, but I've been watching clips and random episodes to remind me of how certain characters act or w/e and its SOOO FUNNN augAHGAG. So another binge might be imminent,,, we'll see.

[nomanslannd]

..... incoming from another dimension. Reestablished Dec, 2022

#  NOMANSLANND : Private and selective Ian Rogers also known as Nomad from Earth-616, loved and curated by Laura. The mun of this account is over twenty-five and does not interact with those under the age of eighteen, and does not do nsfw with those under the age of twenty-one.

..... enter the void

✘ Carrd - Rules and About for Nomad  ✘ Interest tracker - Fill out to show interest ✘ Headcanons - More on Ian   ✘ Memes - Stuff to get things going    ✘ Discord - Mutuals only, just ask ✘ Draft count: 0 (26/05/24) ✘ Asks: 0 (26/05/24)

..... more information

✘ Unable to access carrd? See guidelines, character profile and verses below the cut

✘ Guidelines

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own the character of Ian Rogers, he belongs to MARVEL. However, I do own my original take on the characters and any head canons I have written. I also own all the graphics used, including the icons. They were made by me.

MATURITY: For the safety of all those involved this account is 18+ and also writes NSFW content with those over the age of 21. Please don’t take it personally but the mun of this account is 25+ and as such does not wish to write with minors. If you follow, and are under 18 you will be blocked; you’ve been warned.

BLOG: This account is private and selective and only roleplays with mutuals. However, more often than not if you follow me, I will follow you back – unless I cannot see anyway for our characters to interact. This blog is also OC friendly.

PLOTTING: You can always message me if you’d like to plot; however I do have an: interest tracker. I would appreciate it, if you have the time that you fill it out, because it’ll give me a better idea of what you know about my character, and how its best to contact you and interact.

FORMAT: I use XKIT rewritten trim reblog to keep my dash tidy. I don’t expect you to do the same, but I’d appreciate if there weren’t 4+ replies in one post because its overwhelming for me. However, if you don’t have any access to these sorts of tools, just let me know, it’s fine I understand we all have different accessibility levels. I use icons, however, I have no issue with gifs/icons or even iconless accounts.

ETIQUETTE: Please don’t leave me on read. I understand if you’re no longer feeling the conversation or plot; I just ask you come to me and let me know. I have no problem dropping a thread – I just hate waiting for a reply, and not knowing if it’ll ever come or not. You also don’t have to match my length. Let’s just agree to make the same amount of effort; if my replies are too long just let me know and I can match you. No stress.

MEMES: Like everything else, memes are mutuals only. However, if you’re a mutual you can send as many sentence starters, memes as you’d like there is literally no limit, please don’t feel shy.

FOLLOWING: I tend to follow an account for around 24-hours, or until I see activity, if the person hasn't followed by then I usually unfollow no hard feelings! I just don't follow people who don't follow back because at the end of the day this is a rp account.

GODMODDING: Godmodding is taking control of another player's character during rp. It's frowned upon and with good reason: you only control your character and no one else's.

REPLIES: I rarely reply instantly, just because I work part-time and I'm also studying. So everything goes into the queue. So it may take a few days for it to be posted. If I haven't responded in 3+ days feel free to message me, especially since tumblr can be glitchy I just might not have seen your reply or know I'm tagged in something.

✘ Basic

Name. Ian Rogers (Zola) Alias. Nomad Age. mid-late 20s (main), younger on request Species. Human, mutate Origin. Dimension Z Parents. Arnim Zola (biological father), Mary Zola (biological mother), Steve Rogers (adopted father) and Sharon Carter (adopted mother) Identity. Secret Citizenship. Zolandia

✘ Indepth

Created in Dimension Z by Arnim Zola for an as of yet unknown purpose, Ian was rescued from his test tube by Captain America and was thought by his "father" to be dead. He and Cap were captured by the locals of the dimension, the Phrox, and were sent to be executed because they were thought to be servants of Zola. Ian was put on a chopping block, but Cap was able to break free of his shackles and managed to save Ian, being quickly struck down by the tribe's leader later. A member of the tribe took pity on them and begged their leader to let them live, saying that Cap didn't serve Zola because he had seen him fight his minions shortly before they captured them for trespassing. Their leader grudgingly agreed to let them live. Eleven years later, he and Cap were still trapped in Dimension Z. After a battle between Captain America and Ian against Zola's army, Captain America was blasted off a cliff by Zola's daughter, Jet Black, and Ian was taken to Zola. Ian refused to serve Zola, but was brainwashed to hate Cap and love the will of Zola. Ian fell into Zola's bio-mass tank, which contained the same material Zola used to make him. Since it was coded to regenerate, Ian was healed from Sharon's attack. After Cap and Jet Black left Dimension Z, he acquired Captain Zolandia's shield and began leading the Phrox against Zola's Mutates along with Sharon, who raised him like a mother. Legends of him grew and he became known as a Nomad: a man with no name, no face, and no home. During one of their raids at Zola's fortress, Sharon apparently died, but was actually captured. Nomad later resurfaced in search of his adopted father so that they could stop Zola and his invading army from conquering New York City. After a long struggle, Captain America succeeded in breaking Ian's terrible brainwash as well, making him finally realise that Cap was the good one and Zola only wanted to conquer. During this reunion, however, Ian was shot through the throat by the newly arrived Sharon Carter, who thought Ian was a threat to Cap. Many think Ian died; however he survived, and is ready to stop Hydra for good.

✘ Verses

v: man out of dimension (main)

Based on Earth 616, follows mostly comic book canon with a few teaks

Most people in Ian's life think he died trying to take down Hydra, only a few know he survived. Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes and a few higher ups at S.H.I.E.LD. Currently Ian's working cases, as well as fighting alongside Sam. He goes by the alias of Nomad. He has a reason for not wanting to tell his parents his alive and it has everything to do with Zola and the people who left behind.

v: stuck in another world (MCU)

Ian fell through the cracks, so Doctor Strange is not aware that he is from the multiverse

When Doctor Strange's spell goes awry, people from the multiverse are transported to the marvel cinematic universe Ian is one of them. Not knowing anything about the world; Ian is in search of Sam Wilson, the only person he believes he can trust.

v: stuck in no mans land

This verse is selective, and is used on occasion.

Ian is still stuck in Dimension Z, his father is gone and he's on the run from Zola just trying to survive while also running a resistance against the evil dictator. (in this verse Ian is 16-18-years-old.)

v; take on me (the last of us au)

This universe is completely separate from marvel and takes place in the last of us universe

Ian is a recently defected Fedra agent, turned Firefly. Ian joined Fedra to try and be of service after losing his parents and not knowing if he sister (who he hasn't seen in years) was alive. He had felt aimless and wanted a purpose in life. However it became increasingly clear that Fedra could not be trusted. That was when he defected to the Fireflies, because he realised it was the only way to take them down.

v; chasing cars (greys au)

This universe is completely separate from marvel and takes place in the greys anatomy universe.

Ian is a resident at Greys Solan Memorial hospital -- he's backstory is this: his father was a gang leader; who was abusive towards his mother. After falling pregnant she ran away; however ended up dying in child birth. Sharon, her mother's childhood friend, and her husband Steve ended up stepping forward and agreed to raise Ian as he didn't have any other living family and he couldn't be put back into his father's care.

[n0rdic-kn1ght]

“Damn That Impudent Dhampir” - An Alucard Tepes X OC Fanfiction (Part 10)

The next night, a messenger from the village of Danesti came to our door, alerting us that there had been night creatures spotted, nearby. Alucard and I were shocked that the battle was going to happen so very soon. Without any further thoughts or delays, we immediately prepared ourselves. On horseback, we traveled to the village, and lead Greta, and all of her villagers towards the castle. There weren’t too many of them, so keeping them inside and around the castle wasn’t too much of a hassle. We gathered around in the main hall, as soon as we returned. I stood in the middle, talking with some of the villagers. I asked them about these night creatures that they had been seeing. Their answers were pretty mundane; describing the monsters as ‘frightening’ and ‘ugly’. However, I realized, the more I chatted with these villagers… their answers did have one thing in common that stuck out to me. I was told by them that these night creatures seemed more ‘alive’ than ones you might normally encounter. A few even mentioned they thought that they had eyes that were way too human-like. I had never heard of anything like those descriptions about night creatures. I surely had never seen one with ‘human-like’ eyes, either. I bit my lip in thought, as I walked over to a far wall. I leaned up against it, staring at the floor as I contemplated the whole situation. I knew there would be a chance that some of these villagers would flee, or cower away from the fight… I glanced around, and noticed that as Greta and a few assistants of hers were wandering around. They were explaining how to use the weapons to the men and women that were wielding them. However, it looked to me as if they would have a hard time. I felt quite sorry for these people. The majority of them didn’t even know how to defend themselves properly, and now this battle was due to throw itself into motion at any time. My weary gaze traveled over to the right of the main hall. Some young children were crying, and so terribly scared. My heart ached for them, and I nearly had to hold back tears at that sight. I remembered being a young kid, and feeling that awful, terrifying feeling of true fear. These poor children would be kept inside the castle, of course, while the rest of us fought. Even so, I knew there was the possibility night creatures could still get to them. I then averted my gaze, unable to think about it any longer. I shook my head, almost violently, to keep my composure and stay alert. It was then that I realized Greta had been standing next to me. I suddenly turned to face her, and she gave me a small smile. I smiled back, subtly, almost unable to smile fully.

“You’re a half-pixie aren’t you?”, she asked me.

“Yes”, I replied, nodding.

“I haven’t seen a pixie, or a variant of the species in so long…”, she added, with an admiring gaze.

I blushed at her admiration, and I laughed nervously.

“Unfortunately, our kind is diminishing quite quickly, over the last thousand years”, I told her, with a shrug.

“Oh? Why is that?”, she wondered, tilting her head.

“Well… there’s been an extremely odd genetic mutation plaguing my kind, according to a book on our history. I read that about three years ago”, I explained. “Supposedly, lots of pixies have been born with infertility, or have been sterile.”

“That’s so sad to hear…”, she shook her head, slowly, looking very sorry.

“It’s alright. Not much I can do… however, for some reason, the relations between humans and pixies have been ever so fruitful”, I went on. “Obviously, how I got here. The catch is that it’s looked down upon for pixies and humans to be with one another, in that way.”

“Why’s that?”

“There was a war very long ago, between pixies and humans. For some context, pixies are the reason that humans nowadays have magic. We brought our knowledge with us, when we left our homeland of Pierra. Humans, however, tried to take credit for what we naturally possessed and passed down to them. They decided that we were a lesser kind, and that they could do without us, ever since we gifted them what we knew.”

Greta was silent for some moments afterwards, staring at me with wide eyes. Eventually, she softened, and slowly closed her eyes.

“That is terrible… Your ancestors never deserved that. I had no idea that magic originates from pixies”, she told me. “Humans should be eternally grateful.”

I laughed, softly.

“They should… however, most of them don’t even know about that war, at all, or of the true origin of magic. You very seldom find the truth, because too many of them didn’t want it in history books”, I replied. “Thought it might soil their kind’s image.”

She nodded, slowly. “I see…”

I glanced back down at the floor, and suddenly felt a nudge in my side. My head quickly whipped up, once more. I looked up to see Greta smirking at me.

“He’s staring at you…”, she whispered, subtly nodding her head to somebody in front of me.

I slowly turned to see who it was. It was Alucard. He was staring at me. However, once I looked up, he realized I met his gaze. He immediately spun around, in a flustered manner. This was the second time that I’d caught him staring at me that way, since I’d met him. I couldn’t help but blush, and smile real big.

“Heheh… isn’t he cute? Are you sure you guys aren’t more than friends?”, Greta asked me, narrowing her eyes at me, teasingly.

I immediately began laughing, and I sighed.

“No… I reassure you, we aren’t”, I answered her, honestly.

“Well, I can definitely tell he likes you a whole lot”, she pressed on.

I giggled, and shook my head, trying to brush it off.

“I don’t think so… him and I don’t actually get along too much”, I told her, my smile slowly fading.

Greta sighed, and slowly turned to look at me.

“In that case, do you guys not get along more because he is avoidant of you? Or are you the one more avoidant of him? This is important.”

I thought for a moment, but immediately knew it was mainly Alucard who made it extremely difficult for us to get along.

“It’s… it’s more him. You see, we’re only living together, because a friend of ours insisted that we do so”, I began. “We were both on our own, and so she encouraged us to give it a shot. I guess we kind of are, but… we barely talk, and sometimes it’s like living with a stranger. He’s very rude to me, a lot, and even when he’s helpful… it’s like he’s only doing it for himself—no genuine selflessness.”

She slowly nodded, and then took my hands.

“He probably just has a lot of feelings towards you, and so it makes him act out. He’s a man… of course he doesn’t want you to know he likes you so much. Men are very afraid of women, no matter what they might tell you. Besides, I’d be pretty afraid of you”, she told me, with a laugh.

“What? Why?”, I asked, laughing as well.

“Because! Look at you… you’re a gorgeous little pixie with buxom curves… you stand out amongst everybody, and that would get any young man’s attention!”, she complimented me. “And don’t think I can’t tell you like him, too.”

I blushed a ton, and averted my gaze.

“Y-yeah… I really do.”

She let go of my hands, and gently placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Keep your head up, okay?”

I nodded at her words, before she began to walk away, to help more of her villagers. I decided to make a bold move, and start a conversation with Alucard while we had time. I moved from my place against the wall, across from him, and I walked confidently in his direction.

“Alucard, hey, I—“, I started up, immediately causing him to turn to face me with curiosity.

At that moment, we all heard and felt the ground shaking, and horrible noises erupted from outside the castle. Alucard and I gasped, and gave each other knowing looks. Villagers around us clamored, and children cried. We could hear Greta’s voice over the commotion, commanding her soldiers, and quickly telling them how things would go for them. I saw couples kissing each other, with tears in their eyes, and a pregnant woman was held closely by her husband. They both sobbed, and I could sort of hear her man profusely apologizing, promising he would do his best to come out alive. I looked back at Alucard, and realized he had still been looking at me, the entire time my eyes had been wandering around.

“Get ready! Strike!”, Greta screamed above the raucous.

Immediately, we went screaming like Vikings rushing into battle. I summoned up my bow and arrows, and I flew out of the castle as fast as I could. My eyes widened at the sight outside. The sky was a horrible, dark gray. Thunder struck here and there, causing the ground to rumble. Ugly, winged night creatures flew above the castle roof, screeching their hideous noises. Ahead, villagers were already stabbing, shooting, and sparring with the creatures. One of the night creatures soaring above attempted to swoop down at grab at me, horribly scratching up my right thigh. I screamed and cursed in pain, before quickly shooting it with a poisoned arrow. This alerted the other four, and I quickly fluttered away. Once I felt brave enough, I spun around, mid-air. I faced them, head on, and shot them down. However, I didn’t realize there was a fifth one. I got the shock of my life when I was suddenly wrestling this night creature, mid-air. I held it back with all the strength I had, and I punched and kicked wildly at it. This only seemed to make it angrier, and it viciously clawed at my right ear, tearing a piece of it clean off. I screamed in pain, again, and anger coursed through me. I growled, and could feel my body heat rising. I didn’t have to look in a mirror to know I looked rabid. I hadn’t been this angry in so long. It was instinct that on a rare occasion, pixies can get angry enough to start experiencing a berserker rage, almost like a viking taking hallucinogenic mushrooms before a war. The little fangs I had grew slightly, and my eyes were now bloodshot. I wildly stabbed a poisoned arrow into the creature’s eye, causing it to screech in agony. I stabbed it again, and again until I was certain it was dead. The smell of blood seemed to egg me on, and my vision blurred with the high body temperature I acquired in my rage-filled state. With a violent cry of rage, I flew into the midst of the battle, shooting and stabbing every night creature I could. The rest of the battle felt like a blur to me, but the very last thing I remembered was how my body temperature had grown too hot from my rage state. I staggered about in the middle of the battlefield, my vision now extremely blurred. My eyes couldn’t focus properly, and I panted heavily. I fell to my hands and knees, and somebody had picked me up. I didn’t know who picked me up, but it scared me out of my wits. I thrashed in their arms, desperately pushing at them. I was afraid I was being kidnapped, or killed, or something. I couldn’t speak, so I only let out inarticulate growls and cries of anger. Eventually, though, I passed out in their arms, the last of my consciousness fading to a deep slumber-like feeling.

Hours later, I awoke in my bed, with a start. I sat up, immediately. I panted, my heart racing.

“It’s alright”, a voice from next to me suddenly spoke, and I immediately realized it was Alucard.

I slowly turned to look at him, and I sobbed slightly.

“What? Where’s everybody else? I have to keep fighting, we can’t be sitting around!”, I raised my voice, trying to get out of bed.

He grabbed my wrist.

“No! You need to rest! I don’t know what the hell happened to you out there, but you were acting more psychotic than an animal ridden with rabies”, he scolded me, insisting I stayed in bed.

“Let go of me, you dick!”, I shot back at him, yanking my wrist out of his grip.

“Lorena!”, he yelled at me, his voice echoing through the room.

I turned to face him, with an extremely defiant glare.

“What the hell is your problem?!”, I screamed back.

“You have been out for two whole fucking days!”

I gasped, and felt a huge wave of shock wash over me.

“Wh-what?!”, I disbelievingly breathed out.

“Everything is okay, now… there were many, many casualties, but the people of Danesti—or the ones remaining—are safe and sound. You fought well. Greta even told me to tell you that she thanks you very much”, he told me, with a heavy sigh.

I sat down on the bed, and put my face in my hands.

“Come on, now… It’s okay”, he reassured me. “You don’t have to feel this bad.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder, and I shook him off. I stared up at him, tears now rolling down my face.

“No! You must think I’m a monster, now…”, I said, sobbing harder.

He sighed, and shook his head.

“No, I don’t. You’re wrong.”

I scoffed, “Yeah, right.”

He grabbed me by my shoulders, and stared into my eyes with an intense gaze.

“I don’t think you’re a monster. I’m just wondering what the hell that was, out there.”

He raised his eyebrows at me, expectantly, his eyes not leaving mine.

“It’s… It’s a survival instinct of pixies, and other pixie variants…”, I explained. “It’s like a rage state that happens on the rare occasion that we’re under enough stress and anger. It stems from our more prehistoric ancestors, known as sprites. They came from Denmark… they were vicious warriors, and most of them were eventually vikings.”

Alucard sighed, and then an awkward smile plastered upon his face.

“Do you know what I think?”, he asked me, softly.

“What?”, I asked, with a sigh.

“I think… you were so brave. So strong. If your ancestors are vikings, that battle showed me that you’re just as strong as them, if not stronger”, he told me.

At first, I only stared back at him. I sighed, not truly believing that’s what he actually thought of me. I shook my head, subtly, as I stared at him. He just kept on staring back, his eyes glazed with a wonder in them I hadn’t seen before.

“I know I haven’t been… very good to you. I’m sorry about that”, he apologized. “I really mean that.”

“I… I forgive you. I’m just—why?”, I questioned, shaking my head with a disappointed look in my eyes.

He sighed, and stood back up.

“I guess… you fascinate me more than I’d like to admit. I’m a man of science, a lot like my father, and I strive for knowledge… however, I’ve never been so curious about anything until you came around. I-I guess you just… ever since I met you, you’ve created this itch in my brain that I can’t quite figure out. You’re just… so familiar, and something about you just draws me in”, he began. “I feel like no matter how much it scares me, I just want to know more about you… I acted out, and I’ve been so rude because I don’t know how to handle these intense feelings. I’m very sorry.”

My heart thumped in my chest, feeling like it could just soar right from my ribcage. I breathed in deep, breathing in some of Alucard’s pheromones. I stared deep into his eyes, and I slowly stood up off the edge of my bed. I didn’t know what to say, I was so touched by Alucard’s revelation. I couldn’t believe that’s all it was this whole time… Greta was right. He just was having a hard time with his emotions. I slowly reached up, and cupped his face in my hands. Wasting no time, he suddenly gave me a quick kiss on my lips. I gasped, but I smiled.

“I-I’m sorry, I just…”, he apologized, blinking, seeming dumbfounded by his own reaction, as if he wasn’t expecting to make a move on me.

I blushed, and laughed very softly.

“It’s okay…”, I replied, with a little smile. “I… I didn’t mind that.”

“Actually… neither did I”, he said, scratching the back of his neck, awkwardly.

We were silent for a while, and just stared at one another, unsure of what to say. I could feel the electricity between us, though, and it was exhilarating.

“I… I’ll be in the library…”, Alucard told me, finally breaking the silence.

I nodded. “Y-yeah. Hehe…”, I nervously giggled.

He gave me a smile, and then turned and quickly walked out. As soon as he left, I laid back on my bed, and stared up at the ceiling. I was so very happy that we finally seemed to be getting along, and I was even more happy that he kissed me. A goofy smile appeared on my face, and I sighed with pure relief and bliss. I was in love… deep love. I couldn’t wait to see where it would go.

[bbg100]

My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix", published in 1994. Susan Stryker.

---

During the performance, I stood at the podium wearing genderfuck drag-combat boots, threadbare Levi 501s over a black lace body suit, a shredded Transgender Nation T-shirt with the neck and sleeves cut out, a pink triangle quartz crystal pendant, grunge metal jewelry, arid a six-inch long marlin hook dangling around my neck on a length of heavy stainless steel chain. I decorated the set by draping my black leather hiker jacket over my chair at the panelists’ table. The jacket had handcuffs on the left shoulder, rainbow freedom rings on the right side lacings, and Queer Nation-style stickers reading SEX CHANGE, DYKE, and FUCK YOUR TRANSPHOBIA plastered on the back.

(Pictured: Not that performance.)

Monologue:

The transsexual body is an unnatural body. It is the product of medical science. It is a technological construction. It is flesh torn apart and sewn together again in a shape other than that in which it was born. In these circumstances, I find a deep affinity between myself as a transsexual woman and the monster in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. Like the monster, I am too often perceived as less than fully human due to the means of my embodiment; like the monster’s as well, my exclusion from human community fuels a deep and abiding rage in me that I, like the monster, direct against the conditions in which I must struggle to exist.

I am not the first to link Frankenstein’s monster and the transsexual body. Mary Daly makes the connection explicit by discussing transsexuality in “Boundary Violation and the Frankenstein Phenomenon,” in which she characterizes transsexuals as the agents of a “necrophilic invasion’’ of female space (69-72). Janice Raymond, who acknowledges Daly as a formative influence, is less direct when she says that “the problem of transsexuality would best be served by morally mandating it out of existence,” but in this statement she nevertheless echoes Victor Frankenstein's feelings toward the monster :

“Begone, vile insect, or rather, stay, that I may trample you to dust. You reproach me with your creation” (Raymond 178; Shelley 95).

It is a commonplace of literary criticism to note that Frankenstein’s monster is his own dark, romantic double, the alien Other he constructs and upon which he projects all he cannot accept in himself; indeed, Frankenstein calls the monster

‘‘my own vampire, my own spirit set loose from the grave” (Shelley 74).

Might I suggest that Daly, Raymond and others of their ilk similarly construct the transsexual as their own particular golem?’

The attribution of monstrosity remains a palpable characteristic of most lesbian and gay representations of transsexuality , displaying in unnerving detail the anxious, fearful underside of the current cultural fascination with transgenderism. Because transsexuality more than any other transgender practice or identity represents the prospect of destabilizing the foundational presupposition of fixed genders upon which a politics of personal identity depends, people who have invested their aspirations for social justice in identitarian movements say things about us out of sheer panic that, if said of other minorities, would see print only in the most hate-riddled, white supremacist, Christian fascist rags. To quote extensively from one letter to the editor of a popular San Francisco gay /lesbian periodical:

"I consider transsexualism to be a fraud, and the participants in it . . . perverted. The transsexual [claims] he/she needs to change his/her body in order to be his/her “true self.” Because this “true self’ requires another physical form in which to manifest itself, it must therefore war with nature. One cannot change one’s gender. What occurs is a cleverly manipulated exterior: what has been done is mutation. What exists beneath the deformed surface is the same person who was there prior to the deformity. People who break or deform their bodies [act] out the sick farce of a deluded, patriarchal approach to nature, alienated from true being."

Referring by name to one particular person, self-identified as a transsexual lesbian, whom she had heard speak in a public forum at the San Francisco Women’s Building, the letter-writer went on to say:

"When an estrogenated man with breasts loves a woman, that is not lesbianism, that is mutilated perversion. [This individual] is not a threat to the lesbian community, he is an outrage to us. He is not a lesbian, he is a mutant man, a self-made freak, a deformity, an insult. He deserves a slap in the face. After that, he deserves to have his body and mind made well again."

When such beings as these tell me I war with nature, I find no more reason to mourn my opposition to them-or to the order they claim to represent than Frankenstein’s monster felt in its enmity to the human race. I do not fall from the grace of their company-I roar gleefully away from it like a Harley-straddling, dildo-packing leatherdyke from hell.

The stigmatization fostered by this sort of pejorative labelling is not without consequence. Such words have the power to destroy transsexual lives. On January 5, 1993, a 22-year-old pre-operative transsexual woman from Seattle, Filisa Vistima, wrote in her journal, “I wish I was anatomically ‘normal’ so I could go swimming. . . . But no, I’m a mutant, Frankenstein’s monster.”

Two months later Filisa Vistima committed suicide. What drove her to such despair was the exclusion she experienced in Seattle’s queer community, some members of which opposed Filisa’s participation because of her transsexuality- even though she identified as and lived as a bisexual woman. The Lesbian Resource Center where she served as a volunteer conducted a survey of its constituency to determine whether it should stop offering services to male-to-female transsexuals. Filisa did the data entry for tabulating the survey results; she didn’t have to imagine how people felt about her kind.

The Seattle Bisexual Women’s Network announced that if it admitted transsexuals the SRWN would no longer be a women’s organization. “‘I’m sure, one member said in reference to the inclusion of bisexual transsexual women, “the boys can take care of themselves.” Filisa Vistima was not a boy, and she found it impossible to take care of herself. Even in death she found no support from the community in which she claimed membership. “Why didn’t Filisa commit herself for psychiatric care?” asked a columnist in the Seattle Gay News. “Why didn’t Filisa demand her civil rights?” In this case, not only did the angry villagers hound their monster to the edge of town, they reproached her for being vulnerable to the torches. Did Filisa Vistima commit suicide, or did the queer community of Seattle kill her?’

I want to lay claim to the dark power of my monstrous identity without using it as a weapon against others or being wounded by it myself. I will say this as bluntly as I know how: I am a transsexual, and therefore I am a monster. Just as the words “dyke,” “fag,” “queer,” “slut,” and “whore” have been reclaimed, respectively, by lesbians and gay men, by anti-assimilationist sexual minorities, by women who pursue erotic pleasure, and by sex industry workers, words like "creature", "monster" and "unnatural" need to be reclaimed by the transgendered.

By embracing and accepting them, even piling one on top of another, we may dispel their ability to harm us. A creature, after all, in the dominant tradition of Western European culture, is nothing other than a created being, a made thing. The affront you humans take at heing called a “creature” results from the threat the term poses to your status as “lords of creation,” beings elevated above mere material existence. As in the case of being called “it,” being called a “creature” suggests the lack or loss of a superior personhood. I find no shame, however, in acknowledging my egalitarian relationship with non-human material Being; everything emerges from the same matrix of possibilities. “Monster” is derived from the Latin noun monstrum, “divine portent,” itself formed on the root of the verb monere, “to warn.” It came to refer to living things of anomalous shape or structure, or to fabulous creatures like the sphinx who were composed of strikingly incongruous parts, because the ancients considered the appearance of such beings to be a sign of some impending supernatural event.

Monsters, like angels, functioned as messengers and heralds of the extraordinary. They served to announce impending revelation, saying, in effect, “Pay attention; something of profound importance is happening.”

Hearken unto me, fellow creatures. I who have dwelt in a form unmatched with my desire, I whose flesh has become an assemblage of incongruous anatomical parts, I who achieve the similitude of a natural body only through an unnatural process, I offer you this warning: the Nature you bedevil me with is a lie. Do not trust it to protect you from what I represent, for it is a fabrication that cloaks the groundlessness of the privilege you seek to maintain for yourself at my expense. You are as constructed as me; the same anarchic womb has birthed us both. I call upon you to investigate your nature as I have been compelled to confront mine. I challenge you to risk abjection and flourish as well as have I. Heed my words, and you may well discover the seams and sutures in yourself.

[samstree]

Hi Jin, I love both your fluff and your angst a whole lot so I come offering with either 34."Please don't" or 33. "Are you delirious?” from the Responses to “I Love You” Prompt List for Geraskier 💙

Mend What Is Bound to Break

Some hurt is unavoidable.

Responses to “I love you” prompt list: 34. "Please don't,”

(1k, hurt/comfort, angry jaskier, geralt tries his best, cw: blood and injury, read on AO3)

“I love you.”

That is the wrong thing to say, because Jaskier is growing more agitated.

“Please don’t,” he hisses, shifting away from Geralt on the small bed. The fit is too tight, so even when he ends up on the edge there’s still only a hand’s breadth between their bodies. Stubbornly turning his head away, Jaskier lets out an audible huff. “And don’t look at me with your puppy eyes. I know you are! You’ve fucked up real good this time, mister witcher. Batting your pretty eyes is not going to work.”

Geralt reaches out but thinks better of it. Instead, his arm wraps around the bandaged wound at his side.

The worst part is that Geralt knows he fucked up. In fact, he already knew when he set out for the kikimora with half of his potions empty and that barely healed concussion. The deep gash right below his ribcage is as inevitable as it is painful at this moment.

Yeah. He fucked up real good.

Jaskier is right to be angry. It’s just that Geralt wishes he knows how to deal with an angry Jaskier. A sad one? Sure. Geralt is a connoisseur at lifting his bard’s spirit at this point, but the best trick for that has no effect here—he’s just used it, and made it worse.

Jaskier being this mad at him is a first.

Geralt wants to curse but carefully swallows the urge.

“I’m sorry.” An apology seems to land better. Jaskier still has the back of his head in Geralt’s direction, but he’s listening. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“What shouldn’t you have done?”

Geralt sighs.

“Not take care of myself.”

“And why?” Jaskier deadpans, his shoulders rigid.

“Because—” Geralt shuffles towards the warmth of Jaskier, but the throbbing pain shoots up his spine. A low grunt escapes his throat. The next thing he knows, cornflower blue is all that’s in his vision and full of concern. “Because it worried you. Made you go into the woods and drag me back all by yourself. Again.”

The worry in those cornflower blue eyes freezes over.

“You think—” Jaskier pauses. “Seriously? You think I’m mad because you inconvenienced me?”

“No…?”

The bard makes an indignant squawk and plops down on the bed, fuming, his face bloated red. The only thing missing is smoke coming out of his ears to paint the full picture of his mood.

“There was so much blood, Geralt.”

The accusation comes out a lot softer this time. Something inside Geralt unfurls.

“I would have healed. Even without you.”

“You mean lying in a pool of blood for days, next to some dead creature and waiting for your mutation to knit your skin back together?”

Geralt feels like he shouldn’t answer the rhetorical question, so he purses his lips into a thin line. It turns out that is the wrong answer too.

“Unbelievable,” Jaskier scoffs under his breath.

“There were people nearby. A family living by the woods. A delay would have been too risky.” Geralt adds to the defense that Jaskier surely has learned from that farmer and his wife. The bard is still staring at the ceiling, his jaw clenched tight.

“I don’t care about other people.”

Geralt takes Jaskier’s hand. There’s still bloodstain under his nails.

“That’s not true.” He frowns. Only the gods know how much Jaskier cares under his frivolous appearance, or he never would have followed Geralt so many years ago. “It’s just…the way of the path. You have to understand that these things happen—”

“I have to unders—” Jaskier draws a shuddering breath, and to Geralt’s horror, the salty tang of tears fills the space between them. When their gazes meet again, Jaskier is crying openly. “As if I don’t—”

A whimper interrupts the sentence. The sight of Jaskier choking back tears is too much for Geralt to bear. He manages to get closer this time despite the stitches tugging at his skin.

“Come here. Please?”

It only takes a gentle pull for Jaskier to curl himself around Geralt, who immediately takes the chance to bury his nose into the crook of Jaskier’s neck and nuzzles into the calming scent of chamomile.

“I’m all right.”

“You almost weren’t,” Jaskier sniffles. His damp cheek rubs against Geralt’s forehead. “When I found you, the way you… Geralt, how can you say I don’t know what a witcher’s life is like? How can I not understand that each time you walk into danger you might not come back to me? How can I not when it’s all I can think about on some days? When I can’t even breathe at the idea...”

Geralt laces their fingers together and brings Jaskier’s hand to his lips, another silent apology sealed into the kiss.

“What can I do?”

After a long stretch of silence, Jaskier pulls back, his eyes still glistening. “I don’t know,” he whispers.

Jaskier’s distress won’t dissipate from the air. It’s not logical too, for him to be upset about something he already accepts as the truth, something set in stone. A witcher’s life is volatile. Geralt can’t promise he’ll always come home, and it’s something anyone close to him must come to terms with.

Maybe it’s not something Geralt can make better, but he can still try.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, inching towards Jaskier. “But it is what it is, Jask.”

When Geralt presses another kiss at the corner of his bard’s mouth, something in both of them sags with acceptance. Jaskier leans into the touch, allowing himself to be soothed.

Puppy eyes, right. Geralt gazes upon his bard with all the softness he can muster, and finally, finally, the furrow between Jaskier’s brows smooths over. Calm resignation replaces any trace of his earlier outburst.

Geralt wants to pride himself in the small triumph, in mending Jaskier’s heart. If only he wasn’t the one who broke it in the first place.

A deft hand hovers over the bandages before resting on Geralt’s hipbone, a thumb tracing gentle patterns. It’s all that needs to ease any pain in the world.

“It is what it is,” Jaskier agrees.

And there’s nothing more to it.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard​ @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[quicksilverrwrites]

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you can’t sleep and neither can peter, but at least you both know exactly how to comfort one another. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.4k 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, fluff, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: y/n is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.

It’s eleven-thirty, and you can’t sleep.

Your thoughts shift to your lessons in the morning; to how tired you’re going to be; to that iced coffee you’d had while getting your assignment done after class; about how that drink was definitely a bad idea considering how you’re lying awake now. It had tasted good then, and it had given you the energy you needed to fire out five thousand words in the span of a few hours… but now you regret it.

Sighing, you roll over. Your eyes glaze over the objects on the nightstand beside your bed. Your alarm clock, rectangular in size and wooden in material, glares at you. Eleven thirty six. Eleven thirty seven. The time seems to spiral, and you realise that you might as well do something with yourself if you’re awake.

You eye the books stacked on top of the alarm clock; you’d been reading one before and it had bored you half to death, so you can’t bring yourself to pick up any again. What else? What else?

Your gaze settles upon the picture frame on the dresser next to your nightstand, and you let out a sigh as you settle upon the silver-haired speedster within it. You’re next to him, a mere blur since he’d sneakily taken the camera from your hand and taken a picture with an expression that radiates cheekiness, but you’d liked the picture enough to keep it.

You’ve got a few more picture frames scattered around your room—photos of you with Scott, Jean, Jubilee and Kurt. Even some of Charles. You might not be close, but he is your uncle, after all. He’s still family.

And yet it’s Peter you keep your eyes on. It’s Peter's mischievous aura which calls to you across the room.

What would he be doing right now? He’s probably playing video games or practicing on one of his guitars. You’d been surprised to see him play well; you’d been surprised to see that he actually had the attention span it takes to successfully learn an instrument. You would know: your mother used to nag you about practicing the piano to perfection. Practice makes perfect, she’d always said, and yet she’d always left out how much energy it took to practice in the first place.

Is it too late to reach out to him? The two of you have a specific way of speaking to one another across distances by now, although even the thought of doing such a thing due to the time seems rude. Your mother had always told you that it was your duty to be polite, and your father had by example. You think you picked it up from him rather than her, but—

Don’t think of him right now. Don’t think of what happened. Don’t.

As if in an effort to push the memory of that night from your head, you move. You pull the drawer attached to your nightstand open to reveal a mess of junk inside, but what you need—and what you spy—is a pen and paper. You pull it from the drawer and slam the nightstand drawer shut quietly, and after, you get to work writing:

Are you up? Can I come over?

Your fingers buzz with azure energy as you feel your mutation working in your favour. A tiny portal of blue opens before you, one you could make larger if you wished but one which you keep small for now. It’s no larger than a letterbox would be, and the faint sound of music from the other side tells you that Peter is very much awake.

You slip the note through the portal, and then you leave it open as you wait.

When you receive no response for a solid fifteen seconds but can hear movement on the other side, you wonder if this was a mistake after all. It’s too late, you scold yourself, mentally preparing for rejection. Oh, god, this is going to be awkward. What if he—

An empty Twinkie box falls at your feet.

You blink at it, momentarily confused, and then you pick it up. You glance about the dessert’s display as you begin to turn the box over in your hands. Nothing on the front, but on the back—

Scrawled in pink glitter pen—probably his sister’s—, the box reads on the back: Yeah. Come through.

You grin lazily as you set the box down on your bed and extend the portal with your fingers like you’re prying open a heavy door. The orange light from Peter’s basement slips through and becomes one with the light of your dorm, which is yellow and warm with your room’s wooden accented walls and flooring. And as you slip through the portal and your bare feet touch the soft tartan carpet of his room, you let the portal shut with a soft shum behind you—

But Peter Maximoff does not look his best. In fact, he looks downright miserable.

His eyes are red as if he’s been crying, his hair is messy—messier than usual, at least—and he’s wearing a band tee and some tartan pajama bottoms that look intended for comfort rather than style. You were about to say hey, but you stop in your tracks. You tilt your head as you look at him.

Peter is still. It’s strange, especially since he’s usually so eccentric. He blurts out, “What?”

You frown, momentarily stuck for what to say. “Nothing,” you respond, but it doesn’t seem right.

Peter stares at you. You stare at him. You’re both quite similar, so it strikes you then that you both know that you’re each not telling each other something.

“You okay?” You ask, suspicion clear in your tone.

Peter shrugs nonchalantly. It’s a rigid movement. “Yeah,” he says, far too confidently to be true. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You narrow your eyes on him. His tone of voice has all but solidified your suspicions. “Okay, first of all,” you say, crossing the small space of the room between you and the sofa, “you use a very distinctive tone when you lie.” You settle down on the sofa as you cross your legs under you. “Second, your eyes are really red. Have you been—?”

“No.”

Crying, you were about to ask, but he cut you off. You narrow your eyes again.

Peter sighs and averts his gaze, running a hand through his hair. “Tonight’s just… not a good night.”

You press your lips together as sympathy wells in your eyes. “Why not?”

“Can’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us."

Peter inhales deeply, and before you know it, he’s sitting on the sofa next to you. You’re used to how fast he moves by now. Something warms your heart in the way he sits with his body angled towards you. Like he’s opening himself up to you.

“Wanna stay here tonight?” He asks.

You glance at the other end of the sofa and then back to him. You’re reminded of how he took the sofa to sleep on that night after you guys got caught in the rain. “Here?”

Peter’s brows rise. “Is my basement not fancy enough for you?”

You know he’s joking even despite the lack of humour in his tone, and you let out a small huff of laughter as you flash him a lazy smile. You sit back on the sofa, reaching out your hand to intertwine it with his. Things between you are still blooming after your first date, but you both feel comfortable enough to do this. Peter’s fingers wrap around yours as he starts drawing patterns on the back of your hand with his free one.

“I just mean,” you murmur, just loud enough to be heard over the backdrop of quiet music, “won’t your mom mind?”

“She didn’t mind when you stayed over last time.”

Your lips quirk upwards in gentle amusement. “That time you slept on the couch. This time I was thinking, I mean, if you want to, then maybe—”

“Oh,” Peter murmurs. His head lifts upwards in a sort of understanding motion. “Yeah, I mean… ah, I can deal with whatever safe sex talk she wants to give me in the morning.”

Your cheeks flush red. “I didn’t mean that. I just meant maybe we could…” Oh, god, embarrassment— “cuddle.”

Peter grins. “Cuddle, huh?” He pauses, until— “Okay,” he murmurs, reaching an arm around the back of the couch to wrap around you. “I guess I could be down for cuddling.”

You snicker softly as you lean into his touch, your head resting against his shoulder. “Do you want to tell me why you looked so upset when I arrived?”

Peter tenses. “It wasn’t because of you, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“Mm,” you murmur, “I think I’m confident enough in our relationship to know that your reaction when seeing me is generally excitement rather than the dread that accompanies sad under eyes and red markings around them.”

He pauses for a few seconds before he lets out a long breath of defeat. “That obvious, huh?”

“Mm,” you murmur, looking up at him. “A little.”

His lips twist to the side as he lowers his gaze. “I was thinking about my dad.”

It’s your turn to pause now, looking up at him in a way you didn’t before. You assess every detail of his body again: the way his shoulders slump, the way his head hangs low, the way his hair falls in the way of his view and his eyes are heavy with something you haven’t seen in him before. He’s usually so full of life.

Is this what he’s hiding deep down?

“Tell me about it,” you say softly.

Peter grimaces. “It’s a long story, and the stupid thing is it’s mostly my fault.”

Frowning, you sit up and face him. “I don’t believe that.”

Peter lets out a humourless laugh that might be bitter if he showed a hint of anger, but he doesn’t. “It’s true. The only time I’ve ever been too slow and it’s in finding the most…”

He trails off, pulling his arm away from around you so that they both now rest in his lap. He continues, “It’s a mess.”

“Start from the beginning."

So he explains, if not vaguely: about trying to find his father, about finding a house empty and police arriving on the scene. Peter had fled at the sight of them, and—

“His name’s Magneto,” he admits. “Erik Lehnsherr. You’ve probably… seen him on TV or something."

Suddenly, it all adds up. You weren’t at school to see what happened with Apocalypse, but you’ve heard about it from your friend group. Peter doesn’t talk about it very much, and now you know why; had he been part of that whole adventure because of his father? He hadn’t been involved with Xavier’s School before, that much you know.

You suck in a breath. Okay, Y/N, push the fact that his dad’s a known terrorist aside— “Does he know?”

Peter shakes his head. “Nah. I had the chance to tell him and I didn’t. I screwed it up. And now I’m right back where I was before all of it, because I have no clue where he is and no way of telling him the truth. I couldn’t even do it for Wanda.”

“Hey,” you murmur, your fingers moving to cup his cheeks. “Fight or flight, right? It’s normal. To see him right in front of you—to have to muster up the courage to tell him? Knowing what a change that would be for you? Peter, that’s normal.”

Peter’s eyes well with softness as he listens to you, gazes upon you, and you think you’ve never seen him look so vulnerable as he lowers his head to your shoulder. He takes in a shaky breath; wraps his arms around you; pulls you into his lap—

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your shirt. It’s not his shirt this time; you’re wearing a pyjama set that consists of blue silk shorts and a top. “Not sure I believe you, but thanks, Y/N.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you believe me?”

Peter takes a deep breath. “Aside from mind control? Not sure.”

You press your lips together and begin to stroke his hair. “To be honest,” you murmur, “I’m not sure I’d believe you if you tried to tell me something similar about my father, either.”

Peter lets out a choked laugh. “Maybe that’s why we work together.”

Your lips curve upwards, still stroking his hair. His face is still buried in your shoulder. “Maybe,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his head.

Peter shifts so that he’s leaning against the back of the sofa and you’re in his lap again. You turn so that you’re straddling his waist, but your fingers find his jaw to cup the skin there. Your thumb brushes soothingly against his skin.

“You mean a lot to me,” Peter murmurs, staring up at you. It’s almost as if the music in the room has stopped; it’s almost as if the two of you are the only souls left in existence. His brows are slightly raised and there is awe in his voice as he says, “I don’t really believe you’re real half the time.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Definitely real, Peter. Definitely here.”

“Yeah,” he says, his tone riddled with amusement, “and here of all places. You could be anywhere. You’re like, perfect and—”

“Ssh,” you murmur, pressing a finger to his lips. “I don’t want to be anywhere but here with you.”

Peter tilts his head up towards you, a silent request for consent, and you kiss him in answer.

He wraps his arms around your waist as he deepens the kiss, your tongue slipping out to meet his own. He makes a low, guttural noise between pleasure and content at the feeling of it, and your free hand clutches at his shirt as your other hand remains at his jaw.

You spend the rest of the evening like that, whether it's on the sofa or in his bed, but in those moments together there’s nothing carnal about it. Your touches are soft and comforting rather than lustful and yearning, and as much as you’ve thought about him that way before, you know that now’s not the time.

Tonight, you both need this. Tonight, your sole purpose is to be there for one another.

“And for the record,” Peter murmurs between kisses, his words random and uncalculated, “I think your tragic backstory’s way worse than mine.”

[21stcenturyyfoxx]

Part two of story linked above!

“Root of elderflower, pickled toad legs —” the voice drawled on as his eyes scanned the inventory before him, pads of fingers ghosting the bottles; inspecting every inch of his storeroom.

“Professor, you should really rest. I can take it from here, surely.” You pressured, the man had still not taken his ailment seriously even as he adorn the breathing bubble placed on him after the ‘what wasn’t powdered elderflower’ incident.

“Ms. Y/L/N. I assure you if I require your assistance I will certainly call on you. For the time being I would go sit down and finish marks if I were you.” He spoke out as he turned his head towards you, a snarl placed upon his pout.

The twisting of guilt; a hot blade formed on his tongue slicing your insides into shrivels of former confidence.

Ever since the explosion in the potions room that day you had taken extra caution with Snape; not getting over zealous and most certainly paying the upmost attention to labels and what he called out to you. No more Daily Prophets to be read.

A sigh escaped through your nose as you retreated into the classroom, sliding into his teaching chair and magically summoning the papers so that they lay neatly before you.

With a quill in hand you began marking the second year essays on why Powdered Foxtail is highly combustible when mistaken for Elderflower.

Damn him to hell.

You felt heat on your face and wondered if it was embarrassment or the after effects of a near death experience.

Snape had wandered into the room holding two bottles of powdered substance. His eyes glinting with an expression you couldn’t read, his face didn’t give any indication of his scheme.

“Ms. Y/L/N, when you are finished I would like you to come sit here in the students chair and we shall have a little… quiz.” He smirked before turning on his heel and placing the bottles down on a students desk.

—-

After a while you had finished marking essays, your hand had cramped a few times in the process; your body automatically stretching itself out as you stood.

Walking over to Snape you eyed the bottles then turned to eye him.

He was hunched over a cauldron, tongue barely peeking through his thin lips; scribbling something down on parchment.

He looked most at home when he was brewing, quite focused and rather handsome from the soft glow of fire.

You had taken notice that he had shedded his frock coat, now he stood with a crisp linen shirt that went to clasp a tad too snug halfway over his outstretched palms; his vest secured around his middle and his cravat still hung around his neck, even while basically undressed in Snape standards he was still covered to the brim.

“Ms. Y/L/N..” he began, a lump formed in your throat; you feared you had been caught ogling the instructor. You steadied yourself for what he might say next.

“I want you to open those bottles before you and carefully inhale the aroma. Very carefully, lest we find ourselves back in the infirmary — and I could very easily find something better to do with my time than that of spending the entire night waiting for you to rouse from an incapacitated state.” He chided as he moved to stand behind you, watching your movements of opening each bottle.

“I want you to identify the scents. Tell me what they are and use for them, do you think you are capable?”

You could feel how close he was to you, almost suffocating.

“Yes.. I am.”

“Good.“ he surmised as he valiantly watched you, careful to take note if you had passed out as he would be the one to brace your fall.

You took a small intake of one of the contents, noting a woodsy scent mixed with rose and pine — a mutation.

“This one is Complexus Elderflora, also known as Complex Elderflower, it is known to treat insomnia and depression if ingested in things such as tea.”

You reached for the other bottle and carefully appraised it; another woodsy scent, soft notes of cinnamon and honeysuckle swam together beautifully.

“And this here is Vulpescauda or more commonly known as Foxtail.”

“And it’s uses?” He spoke mere inches from your ear.

“Foxtail is believed to heal wounds, almost in replacement of Dittany. It is said to also be used in love potions as an aphrodisiac to mend broken hearts — only when ingested, of course. The healing properties of wounds is strictly topical and on occasion sub dermal though.“ You spoke.

Silence befell the room, heat from his body radiating over your back; he was unmoving.

“Now you know the difference between Powdered Elderflower and Foxtail, Ms. Y/L/N. Let’s not have any more.. explosions, hm?” He said as he reached around grabbing the now closed bottles, his free hand gently resting on top of your arm, just at the elbow.

This indeed was going to be a time with him.

Especially now that you felt the current of electricity — of magic, that flourished through your system at the minuscule touch he provided.