#something something “he has that sadness in his eyes that you only see in Eastern European gay porn” that i always hear from my friends lol

[all-of-your-mercy]

hey I like your new pfp, its giving retro futuristic vibe to me for some reason (in the best way) keep at it ♥️

awww ty bestie...... it's actually a pfp of myself that i edited a little bit :)

[mudstoneabyss]

hi

Earl

[wombywoo]

I don't know. Whenever I see Quinn's eyes, I can't help thinking his soul has been drained away. Probably something to do with all his trauma. 😔 Poor guy, not even the slightest bit of happiness in those eyes.

He's got the sadness in his eyes you only see in eastern European gay porn and residential south yorkshire, etc.

to be fair--I think it's largely due to how massive his eyebrows are; damn things cast a shadow over his lovely hazels. But I honestly don't know what a *happy* happy expression might look like on him :'^)

[senditcolton]

If You Want It Done

summary: after a disappointing playoff loss, brady reappears on your doorstep eight months after he ended things. and he has nothing on his mind but taking out his frustrations by having you desperate and keening for him once again. however, you aren't about to submit without a fight.

song inspo: NFWB by Hozier & Rats by Motionless in White word count: 5.1k warnings: feminine reader. smut! hair pulling, fingering, unprotected penetration, spanking, slight choking, oral (m receiving), and - as always - a healthy amount of dirty talk. plus somewhat toxic and insanely cocky brady.

a/n: no tricks here. just a sweet treat in the form of long- awaited Brady Skjei smut. technically it's a continuation of this blurb, but i just combined the original and the addition into one fic for you all. enjoy and happy halloween.

Sadness. Humiliation. Shame.

Those should be the emotions running through Brady as the plane lands back in Carolina after Game 4 of the Eastern Conference Finals. Because he wasn’t back ready to fight for another win. He was here to pack his bags and go home.

The best team in the Metro. Swept. By a wild card team who barely made the playoffs.

It was a disaster, an embarrassment. And Brady should feel the heavy weight of that failure, even if he might only be responsible for one-nineteenth of the blame. Or, at least, he should feel the waves of sadness crashing over him about the way it ended, or the mere fact that it did end.

But he didn’t. Perhaps he had earlier, when that final buzzer sounded and the fans in South Florida cheered. But now, having sat with those feelings for the better part of 24 hours, he was no longer sad.

He was angry.

And so, when the wheels touched down in Raleigh and he collected his car, he didn’t drive home.

Instead, he drove to yours.

~

A tired sigh leaves you as you pull up to your quaint cottage-style home. A long work week was cause for an even longer relaxing weekend and you were ready to start that weekend by getting inside and having a long nap. Or a strong drink. Or perhaps both.

However, after hopping out of your car and wandering up the small path that leads to your front door, your plans placed on a momentary hold when you see someone leaning against your siding, their baseball cap pulled low.

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling,” you call out, ready for this stranger to flash you an award-winning smile and tell you all about how their company could save you money on roofing repairs after last week’s storm.

But when their head lifts, you stop in your tracks as you recognize the face staring back at you.

Hell, you used to wake up to it every morning for eight months. Until he ended things.

“Brady.”

His name falls from your mouth in complete practiced apathy. You didn’t need him to know how much time you spent crying over him in the last month. You especially didn’t need him to know how your heart still skipped a beat when his eyes connected to yours.

“Did you see the game?” he asks.

“I heard.”

“And?”

“And what? Do you want to cry for you?”

There’s a humorless chuckle that comes from Brady as his head falls before he takes a step towards you.

“You always knew how to make me feel better,” he says, the sarcasm lacing his voice. And when you hear it, that dry scathing tone, you realize that you didn’t recognize the man in front of you.

Brady was always soft, gentle, welcoming. It made the dichotomy between you even more obvious; you all sharp edges and harsh words and burning fire. It was part of the reason the two of you broke up.

But this Brady… there was something different. Something dangerous. it intrigued you. But not enough for you to give in.

“I’m not going to coddle you, Brady. You should know that by now.” 

“I don’t want your sympathy.”

“What do you want then?” you ask, finally taking a few steps forward, closing the gap between you and your front door. “You want my pity? You want me to say ‘poor you, poor Brady’?”

It’s your turn to let a scoff fall from your lips as you reach into your bag for your keys, Brady now behind you.

“If you wanted someone to feel sorry for you, you came to the wrong fucking house,” you explain, unlocking the door.

Before you can even reach the handle, you feel Brady step forward, his hands falling on your hips as his body crowds you into the smooth wood. You attempt to take a deep breath to calm your heart but it doesn’t help because when you breathe in, your senses are filled with the smell of his cologne. A smell so familiar. One you missed.

Brady moves closer, his body almost pinning you to the door and you can’t stop your knees from trembling as you feel the heat of him behind you.

“I came here because I missed you,” he whispers into your ear.

“And it took you getting your ass kicked to realize that?” you shoot back. Although, the waver in your voice betrays you, revealing how much your body was responding to him; his touch, his words, his warmth. Brady just lets his previous sentence continue, as if he didn’t even hear you.

“And because I know you missed me just as much.”

You couldn’t let him do this – let him come crawling back to you when he was broken or bored. You no longer belonged to him. It was a recipe for disaster.

“I think you’ve forgotten that I’m not one of those girls that would fall on their knees for you.”

“You seemed to enjoy being on your knees for me when we were together.”

“And we’re not together anymore. So, find someone else to fuck your frustrations out on.”

“Is that what you did?”

“None of your business.”

You feel his grip on your hips tighten and you barely have time to react as he effortlessly spins your body until your back is pressed against the wood of the door, your eyes now looking up at him.

“You’re lying.”

Brady almost spits out the words, as if even the barest suggestion that what you said was true was poison to him. Your eyes follow the movement in his temple, the clenching of his jaw, the storm in his eyes. This wasn’t the side of Brady that you knew.

But it was a side that you were always curious to discover. Throughout those eight months, you wanted to know if Brady had that same fire hiding within him – a passion and intensity that could match yours. And now, you could finally see it peeking through.

You wanted it to come out completely. 

“And you can tell?” you ask, wielding your words with edge and precision. “Does that make you feel worse? If I told you about all the other men that ended up in my bed?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t? Are you sure? You knew what you giving up when you left. Can’t blame me for moving on.”

“You wouldn’t,” Brady repeats, one hand falling away and you barely have time to comprehend where it had gone when you feel the steady weight of the door fall away from you.

Your body lurches back, the momentum pulling you until it is abruptly stopped by Brady’s strong arms, pulling you close and lifting you over the threshold. Your feet find the hardwood of your floors before Brady is spinning you again and you find yourself pressed against the door once more, this time inside your house instead of without.

“You wouldn’t,” he reiterates, “because no one could make you feel as good as I did.”

You hear the deadbolt click, the sound causing the heat pool in your stomach. Brady’s hand moves back to your hip, pulling you close again as he leans in until your lips are barely touching. It’s intoxicating, having him this close to you once again. You are about to surge forward, connect your lips to his, let your fire burn with his. Until Brady speaks again.

“No one could make you feel as good as I’m about to.”

That statement pulls all rationality from you and you don’t hesitate to close the gap between you, crashing your lips onto his. Brady returns the kiss with as much intensity, his hands gripping you tighter while yours move to trace over his arms, his broad shoulders before tangling into that salt-and-pepper hair. The kiss is frantic, all teeth and tongues and it takes a moment before Brady finally pulls away, connecting those brown eyes to your own

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “You always will be.”

The words cut right through you; as a threat or a promise, you weren’t really sure. But the instant that Brady crashes his lips back into yours, you find that you don’t care.

God, you missed this. You would be lying if you didn’t spend many restless nights reminiscing on how his hands felt on your body. How his lips felt on your skin.

But you wouldn’t tell him that. The words would never leave your mouth, not while Brady is standing in front of you. You wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. At least, not yet.

Instead, you get lost in Brady’s kisses, your hands coming to tangle deeper in his hair, pulling him closer to you as your hips roll up to meet his. You think you can hear a dark chuckle rumble from Brady and vibrate directly into your body, sending sparks of electricity flowing through you. His hands roam across your body, up from your hips to the soft material of your blouse before landing on your breasts, giving them a squeeze, causing your head to fall back.

“Missed these perfect tits,” he mumbles, his movements against your chest continuing in response to the soft moan falling from your mouth. Your moan turns into a sharp gasp as Brady grips the center of your shirt and tears it open. The sound of the buttons scattering across the hardwood floor floods your ears and it inexplicably turns you on even more.

If this was any other man, you would be pissed off at him for ruining your one of your favorite shirts. But this was Brady. A new Brady.

In those eight months you were with him, he was nothing but a gentleman, both outside and inside the bedroom. And he was more than satisfactory. But you knew there had to be something underneath all that charm. An untamed animal just waiting to be unchained.

And if this was the key to its cage, you weren’t about to stop everything to cry over a few buttons. But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to complain at all.

“You’re buying me a new shirt,” you mutter against Brady’s lips. Brady swiftly removes his mouth from yours as he looks down at your newly exposed bra.

“Gonna buy you something new to wear under it,” comes his response as his thumbs trace over the edge of the plain nude material and this time, you can stop your eyes from rolling in annoyance.  

“Do you really think I wear lingerie to work?” you quip, staring up at him.

You can see his eyes harden and it is in that moment that you realize he was enjoying this. The chase, the tease, the dare, the push and pull between the two of you.

“If you don’t like it,” you continue, your voice taking on a sultry tone as you continue to meet his dark brown eyes, “then take it off.”

The quick sparkle that appears in his brown eyes makes you think that he has taken the bait, that you might have gained some control over the situation at hand – a situation that you were wholly unprepared for but welcomed none the less. And when Brady leans back in to lock you lips together once again, his hands wandering around your ribcage towards your back, the confidence grows.

However, it takes a sharp plummet when you feel his hands drop from your frame. If Brady had given you a split second longer, you would have broken the kiss to question or quip him again. But you have barely any time to miss the sensation of his hands on your skin before you feel them grip the back of your thighs as Brady uses his athletic strength to effortlessly lift you off the floor.

You gasp, a gasp that Brady gladly swallows before he spins, tearing his lips away from yours to look around your house. There is a part of you that wants to tell him nothing has changed from the last time he was there – the furniture is the same, your bedroom is still two doors down on the left – but your lips have already busied themselves marking the smooth skin on his neck.

There was also a power in your decisions; forcing him to find his way through your space all while doing your best to distract him. And it seems to be working as you feel Brady’s pulse shudder underneath your mouth.

You feel him take a lurching turn right and a slight flash of confusion runs through you until you feel his body lowering. The soft material of your couch hits your knees and the skirt you had on flows out around you as you now straddle Brady.

“Forgot where the bedroom was?” you chirp into his neck, feeling his desperate hands return to your torso as he removes the tattered remains of your blouse from your waistband.

It seems that it takes a minute for your words to register but when they do, Brady’s hand lifts to tangle in your hair. Another gasp escapes from your chest as his fingers tighten before pulling your head away from his neck. He quickly reverses the roles, his own lips moving to your newly exposed throat, your breath transforming from gasps to soft sighs as his mouth works against your skin.

“Who says I’m not going to take you there after I’m done here?”

“Who says I would let you back into my bed anyway?” you retort to keep some semblance of control.

Your pathetic attempt is clearly read by Brady, who makes you falter once again as the hand not tangled in your hair effortlessly unclasps your bra. His lips depart from your neck as he helps slide the material down your arms, throwing it carelessly somewhere in the room. You both hate and love the smirk that appears on his face as he takes in your heaving chest, your pebbled nipples. His dark eyes dart back up to you briefly before he is tugging you into him for another animalistic kiss.

“Seems that you like it so far,” he whispers into your open mouth before he pulls away again, lifting your body upright and pulling you closer. “I’ll take my chances.”

You wish that you could say something back, something to knock his arrogant confidence down a peg but your mind goes blank as his lips move to your collarbone, leaving faint hickeys against the taut skin before moving down to your chest. His lips close around one of your nipples, tongue moving to tease the sensitive peak as his hands rest on your ribcage, his thumbs running across the delicate skin on the underside of your breasts. Your hands fly to the back of his head, keeping him close and you can feel his lips curl against your skin. The action both turns you on and pisses you off, a combination that you weren’t sure could even work until now.

You fly into action, hands moving down to grip the fabric stretched across his broad shoulders, tugging at the material and pulling it upward before he finally breaks away to help you remove the shirt entirely, tossing it away to join your clothes on the living room floor.

His lips return to your chest, moving to leave no skin unmarred with his love bites as your hands drop to his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle in silent encouragement. Brady’s hands lower before coming to grip your ass and you gasp as he pulls you forward, the action causing your hips to roll. You both let out moans at the sensation of you grinding against him and it turns you on more to feel his erection against your core.

“And here I thought I was the masochist,” you joke, moving your hips of your own volition, pressing deeper into him. The grunt that your actions pull from his chest has you grinning. “Who’d know you get this hard from getting your ass kicked?”

You must’ve struck a nerve, prodded at the memory he came here to forget, because the only thing you hear in response is what could best be described as a growl before he lifts you off of his lap enough to slip out from underneath you. Your brain recognizes the weight of his body disappearing from the couch and you attempt to turn, just to keep your eyes locked on him but Brady doesn’t give you a chance.

His large hand finds the space between your shoulder blades and pushes you forward, your torso falling until your chest meets the back cushions. You can’t stop the gasp that falls, your arms lifting over the edge of the couch as your back arches, your hips pressing back towards Brady now looming behind you.

A dark chuckle echoes throughout the room in response to your actions as he pulls the material of your skirt over your hips, exposing more of your body to him. He doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t even bother removing your underwear, instead choosing to move it to the side before he slips two fingers into your already soaked core.  

You let out a moan, your head falling forward as Brady’s hand moves, winding you up and my God, you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss the feeling. His thumb quickly finds your clit, pressing against the bundle of nerves and you can’t stop the way your body responds to his movements.

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs. “You have no right to that attitude when you’re this fucking desperate for me.”

He emphasizes his words with a curl of his fingers, the tips grazing your g-spot and the combined sensation of his hands skillfully moving against you almost has you falling over the edge. Brady doesn’t give you your satisfaction that easily though as he removes his fingers from your core. You whimper at the loss, listening intently to Brady’s movements behind you, impatient to feel him once more.

Brady doesn’t leave you wanting for long as you hear the rustle of his pants hitting the floor and before you can blink, you feel his hands practically tear your panties down your legs before he enters you in one swift, harsh motion.

The moans that you both let out are delicious and desperate. You whine as you move your hips back, pushing him impossibly deeper. Brady groans, his hands quickly finding purchase on your hips, gripping you tight before he begins to move.

“Oh god,” you moan out as Brady fucks into you with quick hard thrusts, showing no mercy, your ass rippling every time it meets his hips. You are grateful for the couch cushions in front of you, helping to support your upper body as your fingers dig into the fabric so deeply that an irrational part of you worries you might tear it.

“Not God, sweetheart. Just me,” Brady replies, his movements barely faltering. “Come on, say my name.”

You wish you could tell him to fuck off, make a quip about his cocky attitude but your mouth doesn’t seem able to form the words or any words for that matter. The only thing you want is for him to continue. A sharp smack against your ass jolts your body forward and your head whips around in surprise, eyes connecting to Brady.

“Say. My. Name,” he repeats, now more command than anything else, every word punctuated by another spank and you are helpless to comply.

“Brady,” you whine, your desperation painted on every letter, your eyes staying locked on him, drinking in his reaction. He groans, his teeth coming to bite his lower lip, his gaze dropping from your face to connect to where his cock disappears into your pussy.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweetheart.”  

His quiet encouragement is all you need to continue moaning his name over and over. One of his hands falls from your hips to join yours in gripping the back of the couch, his body now completely covering yours, the new leverage only increasing the strength in which Brady thrusts into you. Your head falls to rest against the back cushion, the sounds of your staccato whimpers and breathy curses filling the living room along with the continuous depraved slapping of skin against skin.

You whine as you feel his hand disappear from your hip and slowly trace up your body, the softness of his touch a sharp contrast. The gentleness doesn’t last long and your whine turns into a gasp as Brady’s large hand wraps around your throat, pulling your head upwards.

“Keep saying my name,” he says, his hot breath fanning across the shell of your ear. “Let everyone know who’s making you feel this good.”

“You are, Brady.”

“Yeah? Can anyone else fuck you like I can?”

“No. Only you.”

“That’s right. Only me,” he growls in satisfaction, emphasizing his words with his rhythm.

“Fuck, Brady, please,” you plead, your voice strained from how much focus it took to pry the words from your mouth. “I’m close.”

“Well then, come on sweetheart. Touch yourself. Remind me how good it feels when you cum on my cock.”

The speed in which your hand falls is reckless, frantic to get that additional pressure that you were craving. As soon as your fingers press against your clit, your head falls back against Brady’s shoulder in relief. His praise is muffled against your skin as he peppers your shoulder with kisses, only interrupted by quiet curses as he feels your core flutter.

It is hot, so unbelievably hot – how he’s fucking you, how he’s holding you – that it doesn’t take long for you to finally fall over the precipice, your own hand faltering against you as your orgasm rocks through your body. A groan falls from Brady as he feels you clench around him; a groan that he muffles by sinking his teeth into the flesh of your shoulder, the additional sensation causing you to moan louder, hips rocking back against him as his motions halt.

The haze that pricked at the corner of your eyes slowly dissipates and you can feel Brady’s hand fall from your neck. The cool air cascades over your back as Brady lifts himself away from you causing goosebumps to appear. A small whimper escapes when you feel him remove himself from your core and steps away. The submissive part of your mind, still in control, panics in fear that he might leave. But the concern is short lived as Brady sits down next to you, pulling you back into his lap.

He wastes no time capturing you in another kiss, stealing any remaining breath from your lungs. Brady attempts to break the kiss but you don’t let him, hands lifting to cup his jaw and pulling him deeper into the kiss. He doesn’t resist and allows you to continue to kiss him, his own arms wrapping around your body.

Eventually your hands move, trailing down his throat, dancing over his chest and you smile against his lips as you feel his abs tighten in response to your fingers sinking lower until they finally reach the desired destination.

You gently take his still hard length in your hand and stroke him a few times, which was easy to do with your prior release clinging to the silky-smooth skin. You grin as you feel the vibrations of Brady’s soft moan in response to your ministrations. The cloud of your orgasm had lifted and, in its absence, your own confidence returned.

“Want me to take care of that for you?” you question, only moving far enough away to ask, your lips brushing against his occasionally. Brady doesn’t respond; you knew he wouldn’t. He had worked too hard to give up the dominance he held over you so easily. But you weren’t deterred.

You kiss him deeply one more time before your lips follow the path your hands previously traced: down his throat, over his collarbones, across his chest. An occasional moan and curse fall from Brady as you continue your descent and you grin, knowing that his resolve was slowly cracking. Your body moves, shuffling from being perched on top of his lap to kneel on the plush carpet between his thighs. Brady’s eyes are needy when your own eyes dart up to meet his stare. Your hand strokes him again but you make no attempt to put your mouth on him, the dare hanging clearly in the air.

“Baby, please,” Brady finally speaks, his hips punching upwards.

“Who’s fucking desperate now?” you quip, unable to contain your excitement at regaining the upper hand. Your jaw drops open in surprise as Brady’s hand darts out, grabbing your neck once more, his eyes growing dark.

“You want to repeat that sweetheart?” he asks, that dominant energy rolling off him again. Except this time, it doesn’t make you back down. Instead, it just spurs you on, that heat and elation as it returns – the battle, the chase. Your dropped jaw just morphs into a wicked grin and you are ecstatic to see a similar smirk twist onto Brady’s lips; a quiet confirmation that he was still enjoying the newfound push and pull between you two.

“Come on Brady. Admit it. You are just as desperate for me as I am for you,” you explain, your voice dipping again into your lower sultry timbre. “Tell me, do any of those other girls have a mouth like mine?”

You flatten your tongue against his shaft and lick a bold stripe up his length before moving your lips to leave a lingering teasing kiss on the head. Brady groans, his head falling back as his hand moves from your neck to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer in an attempt for you to fully wrap your lips around him.

“No one can fuck me like you can?” you continue, hand wrapping around his cock. “Well, you’ll never find someone who can give better head than I can.”

You don’t give him any chance to respond as you surge forward, finally taking him into your wet mouth. Your tongue traces every vein that you could feel as your hand moves against the rest of him. Brady’s moans sounding from above fuel you and you continue to work your sinful magic against his skin.

It may have been months since you two were in this particular position but you feel like a part of you will remember everything about Brady, including all the spots that make him groan and twitch and throb. Your lips move to suck on the tip, teasing the area where the head meets the shaft with your tongue.

“Fuck,” Brady curses, his hips jumping causing his cock to thrust into your mouth. You gag a little before withdrawing – not completely but only enough to catch your breath. Your eyes dart to his and find that he is already staring at you, his salt-and-pepper hair falling over his forehead. The moan you release at the sight vibrates around Brady causing an identical moan to escape him. You inhale deeply before lowering your head, relaxing your throat until the entirety of his cock is nestled in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking good at that,” he groans, his fingers twisting in your hair. You move, shallowly bobbing your head as you feel him pulse against your tongue, a tell-tale sign he was getting close. The assumption was only confirmed by the next word Brady spoke. “Fuck, baby, gonna cum.”

You pull your mouth from him, replacing it quickly with your hand and continuing the pace you had set.

“I won’t waste a drop,” you say, keeping your eyes locked to his as you wrap your lips around him once again, your hands moving to the side his thighs and pressing your fingertips up into them. Brady understands your silent request, hand once again tightening in your hair as he moves his hips upward, taking control.

“Yeah? You going to swallow it all like a good girl?”

You nod your head, keeping your mouth open and accepting everything he gives, moaning against his skin as he increases his pace. It’s only a few more moments before Brady throws his head back against the couch cushions, a long groan emulating from his chest as his own orgasm hits. You feel his cum hit the back of your throat and you greedily pull him deeper, determined to keep your word.

You let Brady collect himself and take a few deep breaths before you slowly raise your head, sliding off of his cock. You wait until his eyes connect to yours before you swallow, releasing a satisfied exhale afterwards. You can’t help but make a show of it, licking your lips before opening your mouth to show him that you indeed didn’t let anything go to waste.

Brady grins, a smile which you quickly mirror before his hands are on your body, hauling you off the floor and back into his lap. Your lips connect and you sigh, savoring the euphoric glow that surrounded the two of you. The two of you continue to make out for a few minutes, relaxing before you pull away, looking down at Brady.

“D’you feel better?” you joke, the remembrance of why he came to your house in the first place – and what it all meant now – nagging in the back of your mind. You aren’t sure if you can see sadness lingering on the corners of Brady’s smile as his hand runs soothing circles across your spine.

“A little.”

“Need anything else?”

“Maybe a shower,” he replies, looking up at you with those brown eyes that always made you weak. A sparkle that spells nothing but trouble for you flashes in his irises as his smile turns into a wicked smirk. “And perhaps a round two, starting with my head buried between your thighs.”

“Demanding, aren’t you?” you breathlessly chuckle, your head shaking in playful disbelief as your tear your gaze from his.

“I just know what I want.”

“Which is?”

“You.”

His quiet declaration has your head turning back to him, connecting your eyes once again. The emotions displayed in his own stare are unfathomable and you know that this isn’t the place to attempt to decipher them. You don’t have time to unwind and unravel the mess that defined you and Brady’s connection: your prior relationship, the subsequent break-up, and everything that happened today.

So, instead, you gently climb from Brady’s lap, standing upright before stretching out your hand towards him. He accepts your offer and you help lift him off the sofa before dragging him down the hallway to the second door on the left, back into your bed.

Like he always belonged there.

Like he never left.

tagging the skjei-sy sluts (affectionate) who asked for a continuation + a few others I think would appreciate this: @smileysvech @pyotrkochetkov @cellythefloshie @comphy-and-cozy @laurenairay

[blues824]

Imagen the remarried empress with a female Alois trancy where everyone feels a bit yandere for her but rattrash.

🦋She has a dark past she hides from everyone nobody knows it only her and her demon servants (I feel sad what alois went through so much so I could not put it in the request I'll send the link where you can read it. )

https://kuroshitsuji.fandom.com/wiki/Alois_Trancy

🍰She becomes ingaged to kosiar and they can relate to there angry outburst kosiar didn't know about her past until he asked her why she is so bi polar and her telling him her backstory kosiar is ofcours mad with what his wife went true but still loves her no matter what.

(her asks for her if it was okay to name her lady trovi to escape her hated last name and it only gets used in professional settings and she loves it. )

🦋Imagen her getting invided by navier to te new years party and her haply sending navier a letter she would stay there for months after that before she missed her so much alois mc doest know about rattrash yet .

🍰Her arriving the eastern Palace and hugging navier when she sees her and showering her in gifts and compliments making rattrash and sovieshit jealous because navier gets love especially from the lady trancy te most difficult lady to pleas or befiend .

🦋Alois mc is haply waking to navier's room unil she gets intruped by rattrash asking who she is and if she is going to visit her "sister navier " and introducing herself as sovieshit his mistresses making the Alois mc give her a death glare and walks away before the Mistress loses her eye.

🍰But rattrash doesn't relize she is messing with a ticking time bomb and continues until she gets slapped by alois mc lucky het butler was there to remind her of the tea party with navier making her happy and following her butler like nothing happened.

🦋Rashta crying to sovieshit that she was actackt by what she later knows is lady trancy and how sovieshit had a crush on her because of her beauty he still does so he said to rattrash not to mess with her she can be dangerous especially to those who she hates .

🍰Imagen if ergi tells her she made one of her maids lose a eye because she spild tea on her dress and not to mess with her she is known to be violent to the people she doesn't like so if she wants to keep her eyes stay away from her and people forgive lady trancy because of her beauty .

🦋Imagen during the dinner party wher rattrash is crieing about how nobody likes her because she is a commener causing the alois mc to trow something at her and starts yelling to her navier having to calm her down or she whoud have stabed her fork in rattrash her eye.

🍰Later after the dinner she has a mental breakdown and navier holding her she doesn't know what made you feel so broken until she hears hear her backstory like rattrash she was sold as a slave only for some dirty old guy his needs and inheared the disgusting man his name land because of it and hearing that rattrash constantly use her past as a excuse after she hid everything form hers made her lose control.

🦋Heinley acedently lisend to the lady trancy her horrible background and wanting to protect her from sovieshit he sees her as his sister and wants to help her get a new title in the western empire so she can be rid of those memories of her past after that he let her burn down the trancy manor .

( about lucka kosiar put a gravestone for her so she can remember her brother he knows how important family is )

I’m changing it so that Reader is married to Kosair.

TW: Pedophilia mentioned (former head of Trancy manor)

Sovieshu Vict

He attended yours and Kosair’s wedding, and he had to admit that he was jealous of your husband because you were so beautiful. It was a great time, and you both had a great impression of each other. Unfortunately, your paths didn’t cross very often, but when they did your butler would give him a sour glare. Luckily, you were invited to the New Year’s Party a few years later, and he would get to see you once again.

Sovieshu hated the way you immediately clung to Navier the entire time. To be fair, you hadn’t seen each other in a while, and you saw her as a sister, and your husband wasn’t there, but he was there, too. You presented Her Imperial Majesty with gifts and kisses on the cheek upon arrival, and the emperor couldn’t help but be jealous. Once the disaster of a party was over, you retired to the guest chambers in which you would be staying with your butler.

Over the next few days, he tried to talk to you but Claude would always usher you away. One day, however, Rashta came to him crying about how you were mean to her and slapped her. You had a certain reputation preceding you; you were a woman who, if one was to get on your bad side, it could result in physical, emotional, mental, or financial pain… sometimes all four. Sovieshu stroked the young mistress’s hair as he warned her not to go near you again, or she could lose an eye. You see, unlike her, your story was a good one because you built up your way to wealth rather than slept your way into higher society.

When your husband returned, His Imperial Majesty couldn’t muster up the strength to see you so in love with another man. You also seemed to gravitate towards Prince Heinrey of the Western Kingdom, which just further pissed him off. Like… he was an emperor, and you were more amicable towards a measly prince as well as a lord (your husband, Kosair). Little did he know that he was one of the people who had yet to face your anger for daring to betray your lovely sister-in-law.

Rashta

She had no idea you existed until the New Year’s Party. Everyone was whispering about you, and she went up to Sovieshu and asked who you were. That’s where he told her that you were Lady Trovi, wife of Kosair Trovi and his sister-in-law through his wife. You were invited due to you being the heiress and current head of the Trancy estate and wealth. She did not hear his warning not to get in your way.

A few days later, she saw you making your way to Navier’s chambers along with your butler. The young lady saw this as the perfect opportunity to befriend you, so she called you by your title and married name (‘Lady Trovi’). You turned and saw the young lady, who you assumed to be a servant who was dressed in a vibrant light blue dress. However, imagine your own surprise when she introduced herself as Sovieshu’s mistress. She asked if you were going to see “Sister Navier”, and you responded by slapping her and shouting that you were the only person who could call Her Imperial Majesty by that title.

Later that afternoon, she met with Duke Ergi, who informed her that she only dealt with a small shred of your wrath. He told her that you had actually stabbed out one of your servant’s eyes just for spilling tea on your gown. Now that Rashta thought about it, she had seen a maid with an eyepatch walking about from your guest room to other places in the palace. Maybe the upcoming dinner could be a chance to reconcile with you?

Nope. She ruined any chance of reconciliation by complaining to Sovieshu about how no one liked her because of where she came from. You were fed up with being cordial, and you stood up and slammed your hands onto the table. You threw a butter knife at her, missing her by only a little, and you started screaming about how you, too, came from nothing but you never used it as an excuse to be… for fear of getting the mature community label… a jerk. This caused everyone to stare at the mistress in disgust and disapproval, and Navier moved to hold you and walk you back to your room. Your butler followed in tow, picking up your coat that you had left behind.

Navier Trovi

She met you before the wedding, and you saw her as a sister figure almost immediately. She was the one to suggest that you change your name to Trovi, since she knew that you did not like your past but rather the things you learned from it. She enjoyed your presence as well, and she knew that if she was going to make it through the New Year’s Party with Sovieshu having a mistress, she needed you there. So, she invited you. You would be staying in the palace two months following as well.

It was unfortunate that the party went as horribly as she thought it would, but you did not discover the fact that Sovieshu had a mistress. For all you knew, Rashta was just another noble who accidentally outshined the Empress. However, a few days later, there was a loud commotion outside of her room and when she went to investigate she found your butler holding you back from attacking the mistress, who had a visible handprint on her cheek from a harsh slap. You were calling her a ‘common whore’, disgracing the way that commoners build themselves up to greatness.

The upcoming dinner was a sight to behold. You stuck by Navier’s side, as your husband, her brother, was not present yet, and she was the only one who could keep your anger in check. Claude became well acquainted with Her Imperial Majesty, and she saw the Faustian contract mark on your tongue. When you were asleep, she went to the library to do some research. Claude knew this, but he also knew that she wouldn’t say anything lest you be killed for this unholy binding.

Navier expected the dinner to be a hot mess, but it was worse than she thought it would be. Rashta was crying about how no one liked her because she used to be a commoner when you got fed up and stood up, slamming your hands on the table and quickly throwing a butter knife at the white-haired girl. It didn’t hit her, but it cut a strand of hair. Navier quickly got up and hugged you, bringing you to her chambers. Claude followed the two of you with your coat. Once there, she let you cry it all out. She knew you were a commoner originally, but you told her that you inherited the Trancy name because the original man was a pedophile and you basically seduced him. You hid everything, but you could tell that Rashta was hiding things as well, and you told your “sister” Navier.

Heinrey Lazlo

He met you at the New Year’s Party, and you were sticking close to the Empress… the woman he fell in love with and set his sight upon. He was curious as to who you were, as he was new to the Eastern Empire. You seemed a bit childish at heart, but from what he could tell you were loved by everyone. Your butler trailed not far behind you, no matter where you went. That’s when he noticed a strange mark on your tongue whenever your butler was next to you.

Anyways, there was the whole dress drama that went down, and to say he was kind of angry would be an understatement. However, you were livid. How dare Rashta compete with Her Imperial Majesty?! And she even dared to blame it on her instead of admitting that she copied her dress?! She also stated that she was the person who was receiving his letters. Heinrey could see through the lie, and Claude took note of that. The two began their suspicions towards each other, but it did not concern you nor Navier.

The dinner a few days later was a disaster, as you threw a knife at the Emperor’s mistress. You were then led by Navier to her chambers, and your butler followed closely behind with your abandoned coat. Once the coast was clear, he also followed and listened in on the conversation you were having with his Queen. To hear all of the horrors you went through was absolutely heart-breaking, and he vowed right then and there that he would protect you as he would protect a sibling.

When Kosair was exiled from the Eastern Empire, Heinrey informed you that you both could go to the Western Kingdom and seek refuge there. Your butler bowed before going to pack your things for you. You wished Heinrey luck in his endeavors, and went back to the Trovi Manor. When the whole thing with the guards happened, he noticed an elegant blur going around, and he knew it to be Claude Faustus, your butler.

Kosair Trovi

Your matrimonial union to him was arranged by Lord and Lady Trovi as well as the former head of the Trancy Manor. This infuriated you to no end, and you both clashed at first. Both parties were fearful for your future as a married couple. After one such fight, he actually realized that he was in the wrong, and he apologized by purchasing a bouquet of your favorite flowers and proposing in the traditional form. Needless to say, you both got married.

It was unfortunate that he was always out-and-about, as you did grow to love your husband. Oftentimes, you reminisce about how you told him what you went through in your childhood, and he held you as you sobbed. You felt comfortable feeling vulnerable in front of him, but other than that you just had your butler. When he did come back, however, you had another issue: Rashta, the Emperor’s mistress. From what Kosair had heard, you have been thrown into hysterics twice and almost stabbed her. 

He knew there was something up with Rashta, and when he kidnapped Lord Rimwell he figured everything out. Her story matched yours a lot, but you went through significantly worse. You see, the former Head of Trancy Manor was a pedophile, and took you in with that intent in mind. You just picked up some skills and seduced the man into making you the heiress once he inevitably passed. Rashta was at least consenting in her encounter with Alan Rimwell.

Then, soon after, he was exiled from the Eastern Empire. Heinrey allowed you both to go to the Western Kingdom to escape, but one thing that you both made sure to do was to delay your own departure until Claude returned. After all, the butler was their best chance of easing their way outside of the palace because Sovieshu went yandere for whatever reason and tried to trap Navier from leaving.

[ozai-the-bonsai]

Thank you for answering my Zuko request ask. My request is Zuko x reader, water tribe princess. They have an underwater cave kingdom. Her father chose to follow his ancestors decision to stay in isolation like the other tribes. Her mother was murdered by an earth king assassin or a northern water tribe assassin (Ozai set it up to look like either tribe). They enter an alliance and betroth Zuko and the reader. Ozai wanted access to their underwater passage ways and healers for his army. The two meet before his banishment and seem to like eachother. During his banishment the underwater kingdom is open to him. They make a plan to lure the avatar and put him to sleep during a celebration banquet. Sokka finds the princess beautiful and flirts with her. Zuko has to keep his fire in check when spying on them. During the banquet a fight breaks out, Zuko vs Sokka and Aang. Sokka thinks Zuko is holding the reader hostage. Katara and the reader have a water bender fight before the Gaang escape. “I’m sorry sister of the south, but I have to protect my people so stand aside!” Aang realizes how sad and trapped the nations have gotten.

Pairing: Zuko x Water Tribe Princess!reader

Summary: See request

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: I guess implied sex, but nothing explicit

Additional details: Perhaps I didn't really have to give any thought to these details at all but I cannot start writing something out with question marks in my head. So this is how I imagined the underwater cave kingdom to be: the only way into the kingdom is through a special current in the sea. The kingdom resides in the Eastern Sea between the Eastern Airtemple and the Chameleon Bay of the Earth Kingdom. Which means that they control the waterways leading up to Ba Sing Se. Even though it is an underwater cave, the cave itself is not filled with water. I didn't really like the idea of everyone having to somehow breathe underwater all the time and literally live like people in Atlantis, hence I figured the almighty Waterbenders of the tribe have (with the assistance of the Ocean Spirit) found a way to keep the water away from their city. You can imagine it like a huge vein of caves inside a submerged volcano in the sea but without the water filling in the caves. Lastly, everyone is able to breathe normally without any oxygen shortage due to rich underwater plant life (like the algae) and the plankton around the caves, which produce the needed oxygen. Note: I am a computer scientist, not an oceanologist, so there may very well be problems with my construction. If that is the case, I am really sorry!

"Princess, your guest is here."

Your blue eyes found the servant standing at your door through the mirror as you combed your hair. Realising how fast your heartbeat became by the second, you simply nodded at the servant, not uttering any words. It had been quite a while since you had last seen him, all the longing and the daydreaming had left you overmuch excited for his return.

Deep down, you really wished that you were the sole reason for his return to the Eastern Water Tribe; however, you very well knew that he was here for the big day that is tomorrow. For him, duty always came first - even though he did love you with all his heart.

The moment you saw his reflection through the mirror as he entered your chambers, your heart skipped a beat. Slowly, you turned around and stood up, your gaze meeting his. "You are finally here," you muttered, taking big steps towards him. "After all those long months, you are finally here."

As soon as you saw the shift in his amber eyes, you found yourself inside his arms, his lips capturing yours hungrily. The determination had left its place to longing. "I wish we had more time for each other, my love," Prince Zuko whispered in your ear as his warm lips left a trail of kisses down your neck, stealing your next breath. "But you know - we cannot allow distractions."

"I have missed you, Zuko," you spoke as you wrapped your arms around his body; his cold, firebender armour cold against your silver, satin gown.

Prince Zuko and you had been betrothed ever since you two were kids - eleven, to be more precise. At first, it was simply a great way to form an alliance with Fire Lord Ozai in exchange for giving the Fire Navy access to your tribe's underwater passageways and exceptional healers.

Your father, the Chief of the Eastern Water Tribe, had decided to form such an alliance and side with the Fire Nation after your mother was murdered by a Northern Water Tribe assassin.

Originally, the Eastern Water Tribe had lived in isolation, not meddling with the complications of the other Nations. Even during the war, the tribe had stayed neutral for many decades. The only sided act that could be considered had been carried out to help your sister tribes - whenever a Southern or Northern ship was spotted, the men of your tribe would ensure they had a safe and easy ride through the Eastern Sea.

Of course, the way your sisters and brothers from the North repaid the kindness of your tribe had changed everything. That night, as your mother gave her very last breath in the arms of your father, each and every person in your tribe swore to make the North pay for what they had done. Knowing that as the Eastern Wate Tribe alone, you would not stand a chance against the forces of the Northern Water Tribe, your father spent countless nights trying to find a way for your tribe to gain more power.

Then, one day, the proposal from the Fire Lord reached the Royal Chambers of the Eastern Water Tribe.

However, not to lose the upper hand, both your tribe and the Fire Nation had been holding this alliance as a secret - on the surface, it seemed like it was just two nations doing trading and some political business, nothing more. Also, only the Royal Families in both Nations knew about the betrothal.

Even after Zuko's banishment, your tribe left its doors wide open for him and his crew whenever they needed help around the Eastern Sea; they were also granted special access to your tribe's underwater passageways. Moreover, your father, the Chief, agreed to help the Banished Prince - his future son-in-law - on his quest to capture the Avatar.

After hearing the news about the return of The Last Airbender, you contacted Zuko, letting him know that Eastern Water Tribe was ready to help him if he needed any kind of assistance. That was when he came up with a discreet plan, at the end of which he would have his honour back and you would have your Prince back.

"Are the preparations done?" Zuko asked as he stepped back to look into your blue eyes. You nodded as a cunning smile formed on your lips.

With slow movements, you started to take off his armour. "At this time tomorrow, the Avatar will have fallen into his forever slumber," your voice was a mere whisper as you placed the body armour carefully on the ground. Reaching onto your fingertips, you brought your lips to a level with Zuko's ear. "You will have got your honour and your throne back," Zuko shivered slightly as he felt your warm breath licking the skin of his neck. You could hear his breath getting deeper and deeper. "And I will have had my Prince back at my side."

You let your satin gown fall down onto the ground, leaving you completely naked as Zuko's amber eyes darkened with lust and desire.

[Time Skip]

"I have never been to the Eastern Water Tribe before!" the Avatar spoke with much enthusiasm in his voice while you and your father led him and his friends to the Great Hall, where the celebration banquet was going to be held. You yourself were being followed by a Royal Guarding whereas your father had two - ever since the assassination of your mother, you weren't allowed to go anywhere without a Royal Guardian.

Of course, there normally wasn't a Fire Nation Crown Prince under the Royal Armour. Since the helmet of the armour was large enough to cover most of his scar, no one took another look at him.

"We have always preferred living in isolation, you see," your father spoke with a deep voice, his dark blue robe moving with each step. "Not only isolated from the other Nations but from our sister Tribes as well."

Only you could hear the sorrow and anger in his voice when he uttered the words sister Tribes.

Katara, the last waterbender from the Southern Water Tribe, nodded at your father's words. "That is probably why we have never really heard anything about your tribe," she said, then a frown appeared on her face. "But, you haven't been acting neutral during this war, right?"

"Actually, we have." You spoke before your father could take the word. "Just like the North, we don't mess with anyone unless they mess with us. And since no one can find the Easter Water Tribe without having someone from inside, this has worked out quite well for us."

Aang, the Avatar, was frowning too. "At some point, you will have to take action - we all depend on the balance!"

A big, fake smile inhabited your father's lips as you arrived at the Great Hall, which was illuminated by bioluminescent plants hanging from the ceiling, casting an ethereal glow on the cavern walls. "That is why we are holding this feast in your name, young Avatar, to celebrate your return and offer you our support, as the Eastern Water Tribe, while you put an end to this war and restore balance to the world!"

Everyone sitting inside the Great Hall began to applaud upon hearing your father's words. You, too, had a fake smile on your lips as you turned right, only to come face to face with the boy from the Southern Water Tribe - who happened to be Katara's older brother.

"Is there something on my face?" You asked Sokka because of the way he had been staring at you the whole time. Hearing your question caused him to shake himself properly to get rid of the drooling expression on his face.

"No, nothing, it is just a regular face!" Sokka immediately went red after realising what he had said. Dropping your Princess façade for a brief moment, you raised an eyebrow at him, Sokka started to wave his arms in the air. "I didn't mean it that way, I meant you have just your face on your face."

The brow was still arched. "You are not making this any better."

From behind, you heard Katara giggling.

Taking a deep breath, Sokka let his head fall down to his chest, averting your gaze as he spoke. "I was staring at you because of how pretty you are." He muttered quickly, almost as if he didn't want you to understand what he was saying.

A small, professional smile formed on your lips as you placed the side of your index finger under Sokka's chin to lift it up gently so that you could look into his eyes. "I really appreciate the compliment, Sokka from South."

As you all made your way towards the main table, you slowed down your steps on purpose, waiting for Zuko to catch up with you. Taking the hint, the Banished Prince walked a little bit faster. "Keep your fire in check, my love." You whispered, your gaze still fixed on the table in front of you with a big smile inhabiting your lips. "You are steaming, literally."

It was impossible not to feel jealousy radiating off Zuko's body but on top of that, he was indeed producing steam on top of his head with his firebending. He quickly shook himself to get his temper under control.

"I don't like the way he is looking at you," Zuko whispered under his armour, walking you towards your place next to your father. "You should have worn the betrothal necklace I have made for you."

You had to tighten the grip you had on yourself not to giggle, you found it somehow adorable how jealous he was getting. "Nobody knows that I'm engaged, we cannot blow up our cover just yet."

Katara was seated to your left and the Avatar was right next to your father. Sokka, upon seeing that you were headed to the seat next to Katara, decided he wanted to make himself comfortable close to his sister. Zuko clenched his fists.

"That peasant is pushing his luck," Zuko muttered under his breath. "But my patience is not infinite."

As if you have any, you thought to yourself while gathering your icy blue robe neatly before taking your seat.

[Time Skip]

"Is that a betrothal necklace?" You asked Katara while waiting for the dessert to be served. "Who is the lucky boy?"

The young waterbender's right hand went immediately to her neck as she shook her head while giggling. "Oh no, you have got it wrong - I am not ready for something like that, yet." She corrected the situation. Then, sadness fell onto her blue eyes. "I got this from my mother, who got it from my grandmother." Katara turned her gaze away. "This necklace is the only thing I have left of her."

Understanding the meaning behind her words, your expression softened immediately, empathy inhabiting your eyes. "I am so sorry, Katara." You spoke with a low voice as you placed your left hand on top of her right one in a sisterly manner.

"Thank you," Katara spoke with a low voice as well. "She died when I was little, during a Fire Nation raid."

Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, you pulled yours back. "I can understand how you feel." You said, your words causing the young waterbender to look into your eyes. "I lost my mother, too."

Before you two could share more about both your pasts, the Avatar came flying on an airball. "Hey, Katara, you should check this out!" Aang called at the waterbender. "I have met an incredible Waterbeding Master!"

The moment she heard Aang's words, Katara's eyes were highlighted. "Please, excuse me, I need to go with Aang."

As soon as his sister was gone, Sokka quickly slid onto her seat to be right next to you. "So, uh you enjoying this banquet?" He asked, trying to sound casual.

"It is just another feast for me" You responded with a smile as the servants brought the dessert. "But, how about you? How are you finding the Eastern Water Tribe so far?"

"It's... different," Sokka admitted, glancing around. "I mean, it's not every day you visit an underwater kingdom, am I right?" He chuckled nervously, making you laugh as well.

Upon seeing that the dessert was finally served, Sokka quickly stuffed some into his mouth, swallowed the piece probably as a whole, wiped his mouth smoothly with the blue napkin and turned to look at you once again, acting like the awkward stuffing moment hadn't even happened. "It seems like we will be sticking around longer than just a night."

Looking at where he pointed his head, you raised an eyebrow upon seeing that Katara and Aang were practising some basic waterbending moves with one of the masters' in your tribe. "Oh," you muttered as you turned back to Sokka. "I didn't know the Avatar was looking for a Waterbending Master."

Sokka nodded at you while leaning in a little bit closer. Once again, you could feel the jealousy radiating off Zuko's body. "He needs to master all four elements so that he can face and defeat the Fire Lord. Water is the next in line."

"I see," you said, your arms crossed over your chest. "In that case, you indeed need to stay a little bit longer than intended."

As if the Avatar will be leaving this place any time soon - once we put him into his eternal slumber, Eastern Watertribe will become his forever home.

"Since I won't be practising any waterbending for obvious reasons, would you be interested in, maybe, hanging out?" Sokka asked you, it felt like he had to use all the courage he could gather. "Or do an activity together?"

For a brief moment, you put your princess façade down without even noticing. "Shouldn't you have waited for the third date for that?" You put your hands over your mouth upon realising what you said. After the short, awkward silence, you and Sokka both burst into laughter.

Sokka's eyes wandered to your neck for a second. "You don't have a betrothal necklace?" He asked, kind of surprised. You needed a moment to remind yourself that nobody knew about Zuko; then, you shook your head.

The image of Zuko clenching his jaw and fists appeared in front of your eyes - even though you couldn't see him for he was standing behind you, it was quite easy to imagine how he looked like at the present moment.

"Well, who knows - maybe you will get one before we leave the Eastern Water Tribe." Sokka spoke, his voice flirtatious.

"That's enough!"

Before you could grasp Sokka's words, you saw a fire blast flying in his direction. The next thing you knew, Aang was standing between a frightened Sokka lying on the floor and a furious (and jealous) Zuko throwing away his helmet. The Airbender used his glider to dodge the flames and save his friend from getting burnt.

"Zuko?!" Aang shouted in a confused way. "What are you doing here?"

The Banished Prince held you from your upper arm and made you stand by his side. "Zuko, you're hurting me!" You tried to keep your voice as low as you could. Upon hearing you, he loosened his hold on you.

"Sorry, love, I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered.

"There is a Fire Nation spy in the middle of your celebration and nobody is going crazy?!" Sokka asked in the circle as the noise in the background dimmed down. You realised how Sokka's eyes wandered from Zuko's hand holding you from your arm to your blue eyes which shined with fear. Of course, it wasn't for the reasons Sokka thought - you were afraid that your plan was about to fail.

"He is holding the Princess hostage!"

Without giving you any time to react, Sokka threw his boomerang right at Zuko, who ducked to avoid the boomerang, making you duck with himself. The next moment, you saw fire and air blasts clashing at each other, causing a giant explosion that threw both Aang and Zuko off of their feet.

Taking the opportunity, Sokka ran towards you. "Come on, follow me, there isn't much time!" He told you as he tried to drag you behind him but you forcefully shook your arms free from his hold.

"Let me go, Sokka." You spoke with a dangerous voice, which caused Sokka to take a step back rather clumsily. His blue eyes were wide with shock.

"You..." He stuttered while pointing behind your shoulder. "You are with him?"

The moment you heard Zuko's voice coming from behind you, a smirk formed on your lips. "Yes, you peasant - she is with me." He wrapped his arm around your waist. "For the record, she does have a betrothal necklace."

You chuckled at his words. "The Crown Prince of the Fire Nation craved it himself!"

Sokka's jaw dropped - if it could go any lower, it would hit the ground.

Upon realising that Aang was getting ready to take off, your father's deep voice filled the Great Hall. "Guards, do not let the Avatar escape!"

You knew the fear and betrayal falling into Aang's big, grey eyes had to make you feel guilty at some point, but it really didn't. Using the water from the cups next to you, you froze Sokka's feet to the ground while Zuko went after the Avatar, followed by the guards.

"Be careful!" You shouted, mostly for the guards to hear. "We need him alive!"

The water whip hitting you from behind left you screaming in pain as you quickly turned back, only to see the rage inhabiting Katara's pretty face. She was using the water from the waterfall that adorned the Great Hall.

"Why?" She asked as she generated ice spikes and threw them in your direction, one by one. "Why are you siding with the Fire Nation?" Using the waterfall as she did, you created a wall of ice with a swift movement of your hand. All the spikes Katara sent crashed into the wall, either falling onto the ground or getting stuck in the wall. "After everything they have done to our families?"

"Our families?" You asked while sending the ice wall at a breakneck speed. "It is funny how you so readily assumed that I was scarred by Fire Nation as if they are the only villains in this story!"

Katara turned the ice wall into a pile of water, created a huge wave out of it and tried to wash you over with it - only for you to part the wave in two with your hands. "I don't understand."

The water from the wave started to elevate in single drops, which then froze. "My mother was murdered by an assassin from the Northern Water Tribe." You spoke with a venom-like voice as the ice drops turned into ice bullets. Katara pulled more water from the waterfall.

"It... It cannot be. The North wouldn't do that! No one from the Water Tribes would do such a thing!"

You let out a condescending laughter as you made the ice bullets rotate around their own axis. "You are still so naive, Katara." Taking a deep breath, you took your offensive stance. "I am sorry, sister from the South, but I have to protect my people from the likes that have taken my mother away from me - so stand aside!"

However, before you could launch your attack on Katara, a boomerang hit the back of your head, knocking you out and sending you into a relatively long slumber.

"Sokka, Aang!" Katara yelled in joy as the boys caught up with her. "How did you manage to get away from the guards?"

"Hop on, there is no time to waste!" Aang was flying his glider with Sokka hanging from his leg. Taking the boomerang, Katara wrapped her arms around Sokka's body as the Airbender flew them clumsily towards the gate from which they had come in the first place.

"Aang kind of crushed the cave right on top of their heads," Sokka replied to Katara's question after getting off the glider. "Anyways, do you think you guys can get us to the surface?"

Katara nodded at her brother. "Sure, I guess we could just reverse what the Royal Guard was doing while he took us down here." Realising that Aang was calmer than usual, Katara laid her hand on his shoulder. "Aang, is everything alright?"

The young Avatar shook his head. "I have never truly realised how trapped the Nations became through the war," he spoke, his sadness dripping from his voice. "We... We used to live for balance and for happiness; not for one's selfish interests and desire for revenge."

"You are not alone this time, buddy," Sokka said as he patted Aang gently on the back. "I couldn't have imagined how... corrupt this whole Tribe has become." He put on a giant, but fake, smile. "I am sure it will be nothing like this stink-hole in the North Pole!"

Taglist: @annonymatic @yoongiesstar @lost-inthe-v0id @lokigodofmyheart @4l3x1s @potato87123 @asciendo @angelruinz @unamused-boss @junieshohoho @yourlivewire @itszzmoon @coolgirl458 @vyliie @6000-fandoms @aerikim246 @mymummydustxx @xenop0p @saikikusouswife @marsbars09 @stell404 (I took everyone from my taglist from Cry for the Moon because of zuko x reader, I hope that is alright for you! If not, I am sorry for the inconvenienc :/ )

[katyahina]

The most common Bloodborne fanart mistakes

We all approach fanart differently! Most people draw characters simple and get the point across, with any alteration being down to art-style. Some people willingly take artistic liberties based on their preferences. And some people try to be very accurate to the canon, to the point where they feel sad upon finding out that they've been unaware of something (like me and all three of my fans fsjfhjds). The latter is often caused by both lacking spread of good references and artists using fanart of other people for the reference rather than the source material. If you also belong to this category of fanartists with me, here are some of the most common fanart pitfalls to avoid!

Lady Maria's eye colour: It is a somewhat frequent mistake to draw her eyes blue! In reality, her eyes are very pale green, even a little desaturated, so, greyish-green:

Henryk's skin colour: In the game, it is hard to know unless you deliberately zoom in his face, and even then it might be accidentally blamed on the lighting! I especially see this mistake in Eastern fanart. Thanks to a dataminer Zullie the Witch though, we can know for sure that he is brown:

(Here ( x ) is the page with all sliders)

Little girl's ribbon: Most drawings depict this one as simply... well, white ribbon. It can be tied around a braid, a ponytail, or simply rest on whatever other hairstyle. But in the game both the icon and the way it is worn by Messengers features a layer of frills:

Only one daughter: Gascoigne and Viola have two daughters: one, younger, is the little girl that used to wear the white ribbon which we never see, and another, older, is the one we can talk with later and see dead.

She is not an obvious encounter, and it certainly doesn't help that her little sister doesn't mention her! There are many fanarts that only depict just the little girl whereas the intention is to depict the whole family, and some even use this older sister's design for her, though, as a result! Two of them existing is also confirmed by the voice credits:

Micolash's hair: This is probably the most obvious case of people using existing fanart as a reference. His hair is purely black and somewhat messy, even curling somewhat!

But it is a common fanart thing to give him brown, 'pointy' hairstyle. I think it is sorta 50/50 though because black hair is hard to work with in art, and sometimes 'brown' is just a way to have better colors in general! Lighter color is needed, and simply lessening it to 'dark grey' can just feel not so satisfying. It is an error usually if he is like.. idk, next to a character whose hair IS drawn as black, so there is an obvious comparison.

Adella's hair colour: She has a reverse problem! Commonly drawn with completely, no-shade, pure raven black hair, exactly what Micolash's hair is, when hers is simply dark brown:

Edgar's hair colour: A frequient one is depicting him as that 'yellow' type of blond, when in reality he is strawberry blonde (if not somewhat a redhead):

Yurie's hair and eyes colour: I've fallen for this one myself, and it took me some time to withdraw from, so it is better to just not do to begin with. However, it is simultaneously 'the most widespread mistake' and 'not a real mistake' since this character is bald; although her data states she is a blonde, only her (rather fluffy!) blonde eyebrows are observable. Her eyes are grey, like with plenty of the characters in Bloodborne!

Fanart of her almost exclusively depicts her with black hair and blue eyes, though. Again: technically she is bald, and colour of eyebrows might not match head colour, so the real error is only when artstyles that color eyebrows and eyelashes darken them!

+ Possibly this happens because her name is mistaken for Japanese name Yuri. This is not true: the existing name Yuri is written as ゆり or ユリ, whereas this character is named ユリエ. This little fucker エ at the end is not silent, and this is the key: she is yu-ri-YEE, not yu-REE! Also, ユリエ would be a Japanese spelling of the name Julie - Czech, French and Danish variant of the name Julia. I personally think this is most likely, since Yharnam is heavily inspired by Czechia!

Brador's beast hyde: It is hard to call a frequient, because fanart of these characters together is not frequient... xD But I've seen a few instances of Brador wearing his beast hyde while next to a Laurence who is still alive and a human. This is not possible, since Laurence was the first Cleric Beast, and the hyde Brador is wearing IS that of a Cleric Beast:

We can not know whether Brador killed Laurence or someone of the following clerics since Soulsborne hates clarity and Miyazaki drinks my tears and my tears alone jfhdfhsdhfdhs But we can conclude for sure that he only has this hyde after Laurence was killed. (Naturally, in some types of fanart, this doesn't count! For example, the 'everyone is here' types of fanarts or simple shitpost doodles do not have to be strict to the timeline! In fact, they should not be, lol)

"No-Beardor": Again, this is sensitive to the time context and intention: it counts when the intention is to depict his 'invader' state as it is during the game! Naturally, bro probably shaved more than once in his life fhhhdjss I think it is the fault of a particular "screenshot" of him going viral as a reference for him, when in reality his invader and jail state features a rather noticeable beard:

Gratia's clothes: Again, not a popular character to draw, but at some point a fanmade Wiki claimed that she is wearing Yharnam Hunter's set! This found the way in fanarts of her, when in reality, she is wearing an altered Old Hunter set, wearing a cap instead of a wide hat and missing the large flowing cape and her left glove:

Arianna's hair and eye colour: Her eyes are often drawn as either blue or brown, when it reality, it is, strangely..... purple? Meanwhile, there is a frequient fanart trend depicting Arianna with her alien baby in which her hair is still yellow, whereas in reality her hair loses colour after the event:

I've actually made the exact same error the one time I drew her with her kid :') This situation ties Arianna with another important character, Annalise, who used to be a redhead and has lost her hair colour in connection with her pregnancy, presumed aborted. I elaborated more here ( x ), but the point stands: this change is impossible to spot in the game with its dramatic fucking lighting dfdsfsgdfs It is something only really spotted through data analysis!

__________

I think that's the most frequient ones! There is really no problem in taking artistic liberties, but there is a category of artists that do not really want to and there are details that just can't be spotted in the game by normal means! And some errors can be painful to look at, like white blue-eyed blond Henryk fanart :pensive:.

In recent couple of years, we are being spoiled with awesome references thanks to dataminers and bloggers that spread the information! As for ER fans, they are actually having it easy since dataminers started to expose all the models right away whereas BB fans had a long 'dark era' xd But in general, Soulsborne games are built around the idea that no one will be able to beat the game alone; we all gotta communicate online through the notes other players have left! This mentality further travelled into understanding the story of these games by exchanging the information we've found.. And like, what I am trying to tell is that I am very happy that the same mentality of cooperating spreads on creativity as well! All the references here are the result of awesome dataminers hacking the game and being kind enough to share with the community! There are many more things such as model rips, internal filenames and super handy screenshots galleries that sometimes help to not only create a more accurate fanart, but also to even understand some extra lore! Yeah, like Arianna's hair hinting at a very important plot twist about Cainhurst. x) My point is!! communicating about what we have noticed with other fans is how these games existed and formed the coolest community, and fanart might be not different. What I shared here is just a really small portion of what can be used, and someone found this post useful, I am happy!

[lady0ctavia]

As We Ponder Belief

(2p!Prussia x Reader) - Chapter 33

Note: This story is based vaguely during the mid 1200s in Eastern Europe where the Teutonic Knights fought the Northern Crusades to try and convert the native pagan population to Christianity. As a result, this story will have heavy religious themes all throughout. It should also be noted that, while referencing real-life events and locations, I am not striving for full historical accuracy. This is for the sake of the story I am telling.

Once again, this series will have heavy religious themes throughout, including discussions of bible stories, doctrine, and scripture verses, as well as critical analysis of Christian doctrine and beliefs. So, if you don't like that, you will want to skip out on this.

The couple froze upon seeing Gilbert standing in front of the stables, effectively blocking their way. He was fully armored with a sword in hand, the blade raised and pointed toward his younger brother. His white hair appeared groomed and his countenance wide awake, signaling that he hadn't been to sleep at all that night. His red eyes flashed dangerously, glaring daggers at (y/n) and Gillen.

"Well? Answer me! Where are the two of you going?" He demanded, venom dripping from every word. (y/n) shuddered. This was not the Gilbert she knew.

"Gilbert, (y/n) and I are leaving Malbork Fortress. We only ask that we leave peaceably," Gillen spoke with the confidence and eloquence of a seasoned diplomat. "I understand that you are upset, but please allow us to leave. This is our decision."

"Upset? No, Gillen, I'm not upset. I'm enraged. Not to mention shocked. I already knew that your faith in God was fading, but this? Betraying the Order and your vows, to run away? This is completely unlike you. I wanted to be wrong, but I had to come down here to make sure my anxieties were nothing more than mere paranoia. Only to find that I was right," Gilbert's tone was frigid, but quiet, with each word teeming with ungodly rage. He lifted his sword up further, now aiming it directly at his younger twin brother.

Anxiously, (y/n) took a step back as Gillen moved to stand in front of her. I thought I saw Gilbert angry before, but this? She thought to herself. But this? This is different.

"It is not my faith in God that has faded, Gilbert. If anything, my faith is stronger than ever before. But rather it is my faith in the Order that has begun to wither," Gillen carefully explained without mincing any words along the way. Cautiously, Gillen reached to grab his own sword, resting his right hand on the hilt. "I don't want to have to fight you, Gilbert. But I will if you leave me no choice. And I beg of you, don't force me to make that choice." He pleaded.

"Do you truly believe yourself to be righteous in this decision? To leave everything behind? Including me? Your family?" Gilbert hissed.

"Gilbert, I don’t want to leave you behind. You’re my brother. My twin. I will always care for you. But I cannot stay here when my conscience dictates I must go elsewhere," Gillen explained, a palpable sadness in his voice.

(y/n) observed the scene before her, analyzing every move and word. Gilbert and Gillen Beilschmidt, the two brothers who had welcomed her to the fortress and made it feel like home... Now stood at odds with one another. One dedicated to the Order of the Teutonic Knights as well as his vows. And the other prepared to leave it all behind. As she watched, she couldn't help but think of Gilbert specifically. He had kept telling her to avoid wanting or chasing after something or someone she couldn't have. Explaining to her the importance of keeping Gillen at the fortress. With him as his family.

"Gilbert," (y/n) called out, hoping to calm him down. "I know you love your brother. And if you want, you can come with us. That way the two of you wouldn't have to be apart." She attempted to establish some sort of peace. An attempt that ended poorly, much to her dismay as Gilbert snapped.

"Oh, shut it, (y/n)! Don’t you realize this is your fault?! Gillen was fine until he met you. We were all fine until we met you! You seduced my brother, don’t try to deny it! This is all on you!" He hissed, now pointing the sword directly at her.

As (y/n) felt herself begin to tear up, Gillen set his bags down and pulled out his sword, wincing as he did so. Noticing his pain, she began to worry. No, he's not fully healed yet! He shouldn't be fighting anyone! He pointed the sword at Gilbert, a similar anger to that of his brother now radiating off of him.

"Don't you dare speak such vile words to her, let alone accuse her of something so damnable!" Gillen snapped back at his older brother. "I can assure you; I was not seduced. But rather, I am leaving the Order of my own volition."

"Oh!" Gilbert rolled his eyes, laughing bitterly. "And you mean to tell me that you just so happened to fall in love with (y/n) during this whole process?"

"I have," Gillen declared confidently. This caused Gilbert's laughter to stop almost immediately, replaced with shock.

He stood there, frozen still. Silence crashing down around them. Gilbert refused to lower his sword. His shock gave way to even further rage as his eyes hardened. But he still didn't say a word. (y/n)'s eyes locked onto him, and upon closer inspection, she noticed tears beginning to form around the corners of his eyes. Gillen must have taken notice of this as well, with what he said next.

"Gilbert, you aren't just angry, are you?" Gillen lowered his sword; his own blue eyes began to soften. "You are jealous."

In that one moment, (y/n) could see Gilbert's resolve begin to falter. His hand holding the sword began to tremble. As he slowly began to lower the blade, he squinted his eyes shut, tears beginning to run down his face. When he saw his brother becoming less of a threat, Gillen put away his own sword. Taking a few steps forward, he attempted to reach out.

"Gilbert-"

"Just go," Gilbert hissed under his breath, his face cast downward. "That's what you're here for, isn't it? To leave? Then do it. Just go."

Gillen paused for a few moments, watching as his brother finally lowered his sword all the way, the blade's tip now scratching the dirt below. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Gillen looked back to (y/n) and motioned with his head for her to follow him. She complied and followed after him as he opened the stable doors. But before she entered in, she couldn't bring herself to simply walk past someone she considered a dear friend. Even after hearing everything he said.

She stopped just beside Gilbert, standing parallel to one another. Him facing the fortress ahead of him, her facing the stable behind him. Tears ran down his face and onto the dirt, and his teeth remained grit together, as if in severe pain. She couldn't bear seeing him like this, but regardless, she had no idea what to say. What could she say?

After taking a moment by Gilbert's side, she continued forward into the stables. As (y/n) got to work setting bags and materials into the back of a cart, Gillen brought out one of the horses. A beautiful black stallion he then worked to connect to the cart. On which there was a spot for someone to sit down and hold the reins. Once they were done finishing up in the stables, Gillen placed his hands on (y/n)'s shoulders.

"I would like for you to sleep in the cart for the time being. You've had a long night, and we've an even longer journey ahead," He told her.

"But what about you?" She inquired. "Are you not tired as well?"

"I am, but I'm not about to allow you to travel in the dark like this. I don't want you getting attacked, hurt, or worse," He gazed at her with pleading eyes. Relenting, she nodded and allowed him to help her into the back of the cart.

Once there, she wrapped herself in a blanket and placed a pillow beside her, but still couldn't bring herself to lay down quite yet. Gillen walked beside the horse, guiding the beast outside before stopping beside Gilbert, who remained standing just outside. Wordlessly, Gillen boarded the cart and took a seat just behind the horse. Taking the reins, he gave one last look at Gilbert, the latter of which refused to look in his direction, tears still falling from his eyes.

"Goodbye, Gilbert," Gillen bid his brother farewell. And with that, he urged the horse onward, taking (y/n) and Gillen away from the stables. Away from Malbork Fortress. Away from the Teutonic Order and its knights. Away from the pagan tribes and all of the senseless violence. Away from Gilbert, Albrecht, and everyone else she'd come to know. Away from everything.

The last thing (y/n) saw before feeling herself begin to fall onto her pillow was Gilbert Beilschmidt standing there before the wide-open stable doors. His white figure becoming smaller and smaller as she and Gillen rode away, condensing even further as she saw him fall to his knees.

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

A bit of a shorter chapter, I know, but that's how it sorta panned out. And with that, the first arc of the story is done! As always, let me know your thoughts!

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

Much has been said and shown about Moldova over the past few weeks, mainly due to the referendum and presidential elections. Nonetheless, very few of us (including myself) have really sat down and tried to immerse ourselves (or at least understand) into the issues ordinary Moldovans have to face on a daily basis. Moldova is always looked upon as Romania's poorer little sister or a heavily Russified region, but to help them integrate themselves, push through the difficulties, and reach a particular goal, we must pay attention and try to hear them first.

The Slovak newspaper Denník N (in cooperation with its Czech counterpart, Deník N) published a wonderful article written by the Czech journalist Petra Procházková that delves deeper into the ordinary Moldovan soul and is a true eye-opener. You may not be able to relate to every opinion shared in the article (God is my witness that I didn't, either), but it might help you understand where it all comes from. It shows why it is important not to remain in our comfortable bubbles but speak out, explain, support our points of view with solid arguments. It also proves that the world sees Eastern Europe as a region not worthy of attention, which is something that must change in the following years.

Here is a link for those who can (and want to) read in Slovak:

For those who cannot but are interested in the topic, I am putting my own translation of the article below (warning, Russophilia mentioned; despite that, I encourage you to read it as someone who genuinely, from the bottom of her heart, cannot stand Russia and what it represents):

I shed all my tears there. How Lora from Moldova uprooted her cherry orchard and why the EU is to blame

(by Petra Procházková, Deník N)

The second round of Moldova’s presidential election on Sunday (November 3) will determine the country’s future. The candidates are the incumbent head of state, Maia Sandu, and the former prosecutor general, Alexandr Stoianoglo. The former represents the pro-Western direction of the country; the latter promises to mend broken relations with Russia, as well as maintain a certain type of neutrality until it becomes clear who will actually win in the region.

A young man in a sweatshirt stands by the stalls at the local market, passing the time. He has just arrived from Italy. Here in the westernmost tip of Moldova, in an area with fertile soil that is hard to find elsewhere in Europe, and people who know how to make the most of it, you cannot find work at all.

‘I’ve been travelling there for three years!’ Nikita says, pulling out his phone to show us some photos. ‘Here we pick watermelons, here pumpkins. They’ve got it nicely organised. They give us free accommodation, they feed us, though they charge a little for food. But not much. I get 7 euros for an hour of hard work. People here wouldn’t even dream of that. But now I have to go home for the winter.’

Around Nikita’s birthplace of Lipcani in Moldova, the soil is as fertile as in Italy. After all, 77 per cent of Moldova is farmland. Everything imaginable is grown here in the north-west. But Nikita is only one person out of a third of the working-age population who pick Italian or Spanish apples instead of Moldovan ones, or who look after feeble German pensioners. They even work as receptionists in Moscow or history teachers in Omsk. The dispersion, both geographical and professional, is enormous.

For there is no one left in Moldova who does not have to stay there.

‘It’d be enough for me to earn 10,000 lei (a little over 500 euros - ed.) at home. And I’d never go anywhere. It’s so beautiful here!’ Nikita says and goes off to kill time.

Cabbage and chrysanthemums

A woman in a warm waistcoat offers cabbage for 7 lei a kilo (about 0.35 euros - ed.). That is a good price. A few kilometres down the road, some men sell it for 10 lei. Ruslana, however, has lowered the price because the customers are few and ‘I’m not going to throw it away’.

‘We own a decent piece of land, but we can’t sell much of the produce. How much do we need per month to be able to live a normal life? About 10,000 lei. And I can’t earn that much from flowers and cabbages. But there is no other work here,’ she says.

Ruslana comes from the village of Trestieni. At home, she has children, a husband, grandparents, a pig, chickens, and several dogs. ‘We bottle and preserve everything we grow, we buy milk from our neighbour or exchange it for what we have in turn. We survive.’

Ruslana will not vote on Sunday. Whether it is one or the other who wins, she says, it will not make any difference to her family.

Even cheaper than Ruslana’s are the cabbage heads of Timur who lives in the neighbouring village of Satul - a kilo for 6 lei (about 0.30 euros - ed.). Neither he nor the other inhabitants of this remote region know that the World Bank has invested millions of euros in various agricultural projects in Moldova - for example, to boost the country’s competitiveness. Timur has heard something about this, but where is the money? He has no idea. Probably in other parts of Moldova. It certainly has not come here.

Nor has he heard that in 2022, the EU has temporarily liberalised trade in seven Moldovan agricultural products: tomatoes, garlic, grapes, apples, cherries, plums, and grape juice. These products were allowed to enter the EU market in larger quantities and with no customs duties. There are dozens of other EU projects and NGOs supporting Moldovan civil society and agriculture, but their echoes do not reach very far here, in the region between Ukraine and Romania.

Sugar and men’s suits at half-price

Timur will vote, but refuses to say who. Besides cabbage, he sells apples, a kilo for 0.50 euros. When he finds out that we are a Czechoslovak team, we get three apples for free. He served in our country in the 1980s, he announces with a smile. He spent two years in the 152nd Engineer Battalion in Zdechovice. He says he liked it there.

‘They say Stoianoglo wants us to be with Russia. But I’m not really sure about that. I have to ask you this. You know what? I’m going to vote, but no matter what the result is, I’m still going to stand here and sell. Sandu is supposed to lead us towards the EU. Stoianoglo towards Russia. You don’t want us in Europe, but Russia would accept us. I don’t think anything will change in my lifetime. For the worse, maybe.’

At home, Timur speaks Romanian, but his Russian is perfectly clear, without any traces of an accent. ‘I switch between languages as I please,’ he says.

The enterprising farmer manages to make a living not only as a ploughman and market seller. Every week he travels to the neighbouring country, Ukraine, to the city of Chernivtsi, for a big shopping trip. ‘It definitely pays off. Because a kilo of apples costs 10 hryvnia there, 10 lei here. But if you buy euros here and then exchange them for hryvnias there, it’s half as cheap as in Moldova,’ he says.

‘In Moldova, you buy a kilo of sugar for 20 lei; in Ukraine, when you re-count the money, convert it and exchange it, it’s 10. I buy what I need, bring what the customs allow me to bring, and sell it cheaply at home. And I can even dress myself well there. A suit here costs half as much as it does in Ukraine. And don’t even get me started on gas! Compared to us, the Ukrainians pay kopeks. But you can’t take gas with you. But these are all small things. What matters is that there is no war.’

The money for a funeral is saved for decades

Timur is one of the few who does not complain significantly or live from hand to mouth.

Vladimir died at the blessed age of 80. That’s quite an achievement by local standards. He had been on sick leave for the last three years, so more money was put aside for the funeral. His wife has survived a stroke and for the past twenty years, she has been thinking about how they will both say their final goodbyes to their fellow villagers. She has been saving money and now, her efforts have finally resulted in a nice, not too flashy, but not too modest funeral.

We are in the westernmost Moldovan village of Criva. It lies in the valley of the Prut River and is one of those villages where the old and the young live in a forced symbiosis. Productive adults have gone abroad to work, both to the West and to the East, to Europe or to Russia. Ideology played very little part in their decision-making. What mattered the most was who knew whom, who they bumped into, who helped them find a job.

‘My friend went there, so I went there as well,’ is the most common answer from Moldovans at the tip of the region gripped from above by Ukraine and from below by Romania.

The late Yuri’s daughter lives in Canada. This time, she sent more money than usual to help give her father a decent funeral feast. He deserved it. He drove a tractor in an agricultural county where the soil is the right colour and consistency. He supposedly did his job better than anyone else. He lived to see the collapse of collective farms and the decline of one of the most fertile parts of Europe, according to his relatives who also worked in agriculture. But the collectives collapsed with the fall of the Soviet Union, the borders with Russia remain closed, and nobody wants their apples, cabbages, nuts, potatoes, garlic, onions, or watermelons anymore.

A funeral is the worst kind of nightmare for Moldovans, and not only because it is a sad event associated with the death of a loved one. It also eats up a large part of the family’s savings. The final farewell here has its iron rules: the deceased’s shoes must be put on, and they must be dressed in new clothes, including underwear. This costs 3,000 lei. A car to take the open coffin with the body to the cemetery costs 2,000 lei. This, of course, is in addition to the payment for the priest’s services. If the body has been previously deposited in a morgue, one has to pay another 2,800 lei.

A new gravestone and the work involved in digging the grave and placing the coffin in it cost another few thousand lei. The most modest table in a restaurant costs around 6,000 lei. This is another trauma for the family, if we stop thinking for a moment about the death of a loved one - such a modest feast is considered a disgrace. In short, for less than 20,000 lei, you cannot secure a ‘decent’ funeral.

And a wedding? Unless you invite at least a hundred people, it is not a Moldovan wedding. In that case, you need to prepare at least 80,000 lei.

Victoria is saving money for a dance with her great-grandson

Campaigning for the election is not exactly a big affair here. There are only a few posters of Alexandr Stoianoglo, the challenger to the current Moldovan president Maia Sandu, in Lipcani and the surrounding villages. Lipcani is, for a change, the northernmost town in Moldova. From here, it is close to Ukraine as well as to Romania.

Alongside the posters, we finally come across a live campaign in the form of a woman in a stall holding a newspaper with Stoianoglo’s picture on the front cover. The volunteer’s name is Victoria. She has two grown-up children: a son who works in Russia, and a seriously ill daughter whom she looks after. Her daughter, Victoria’s granddaughter, also lives in Russia. Victoria worked all her productive life in the food distribution department of the local agricultural trade union. When the Soviet Union collapsed, so did the union.

‘How can you abolish agriculture in an agricultural country?’ she asks angrily, hoping that Mr Stoianoglo will steer the country in the right direction. ‘This president [Sandu] is leading us to ruin,’ she warns the few people who pass her by. The town, like all the surrounding villages, does not give a lively impression. The most active part of the population is somewhere in Europe or Russia.

Victoria has her reasons to complain. She has to work very hard to get something to eat. Not only does she hand out newspapers with Stoianoglo’s face on them, but she is also rewarded in kind. She refuses to reveal with what or how much.

‘I worked for thirty-eight years. In one place! And now, my pension is 2,770 lei (142 euros - ed.). My granddaughter used to help us from Russia, but then they closed the banks! We haven’t been able to receive anything from her in months! Tell me, is it my fault what is happening, and that because of this, the Russian banks are closed and I will starve to death here?’

Victoria lives in an old house that has never had gas. That seems to be an advantage now that prices have risen sharply again in the last year. Russian gas prices have been perfectly mirroring the deteriorating relations between Russia and Moldova over the last few years. As a result, raw materials are becoming more expensive. After Chișinău joined the anti-Russian coalition condemning Russia’s aggression against Ukraine, Moldova had to give up cheap Russian raw materials for good. Many Moldovans take this personally, blaming both President Sandu and the EU.

‘We use wood for heating. Imagine, a cubic metre of wood cost 700 lei a few years ago. Now I had to buy a cubic metre for 1,400 lei. But if I wanted to heat my house, I wouldn’t have enough money to pay for electricity. I also have to pay for the internet. How else can I keep in touch with my granddaughter?’

A disability pension for her daughter could not be arranged. She is not the first person to tell us that it ‘does not work so easily here’. Mostly, she complains, it costs money. ‘To get the pension, you have to pay the official. And I don’t have the money for that right now.’

The granddaughter - now a geography and maths teacher with Russian citizenship living in distant Omsk - found herself literally on the other side of the front line as a result of Russia’s aggression against Ukraine. Without her financial help, both Victoria’s and her daughter’s situation has worsened dramatically. Victoria is genuinely upset about the sanctions; she says the war in Ukraine, literally just a few kilometres away, is none of her business. And the European Union? It has caused all of this.

‘I am going to vote because if Stoianoglo wins, maybe he will help me hug my great-grandson one day,’ explains Victoria.

Daniel is in sixth grade. ‘They send us pictures of themselves in the park, at the cinema, playing sports. They live like royalty! And how he does ballroom dances, in a tuxedo and with a little girl, they both look like something out of a fairy tale. When I manage to save a few kopeks here and there, I send it to him so he can buy something for himself. You know why? To remind him of his grandmother and great-grandmother. So he knows he has us still.’

Victoria has seen Daniel twice - as a baby and when he was four years old. That was when her granddaughter could still come to visit her family in Moldova. But then came the COVID and the war.

‘Why, I am not afraid that the Russians will attack us. They’re like that, you know, if you leave them alone and don’t provoke them, they’ll leave you alone as well. We have to get along with them somehow,’ Victoria declares, adding: ‘I was born in the USSR, I went to school and worked all my life in the USSR. I learned everything in the USSR. I had everything I needed then. And now I live like a pauper. But I still want to do one thing - dance at Daniel’s wedding.’

Why should an Italian baker be any better?

Sitting by a half-empty box of tiny garlic heads, she is annoyed. Her name is Lelia. She worked as a saleswoman all her productive life and even managed to work her way up to a restaurant manager. ‘One euro buys two loaves of bread. That’s what we ended up with,’ she laughs bitterly.

Lelia celebrated her 83rd birthday on October 4. In 1996, she decided that her life was not over yet and went to Italy to look after a feeble Italian man with a pension of over 2,000 euros. ‘His family paid me 1,200 euros a month. The grandpa was ninety, he was good to me. He worked all his life as a baker, and look at what a nice pension he had.’

With this statement, any praise for Europe ends. ‘And I brought up six children, worked for thirty-eight years, and got what? A pension of 1,800 lei. 93 euros! What makes that baker better than me? Did he have eleven grandchildren and eleven great-grandchildren like me? Go to hell with your EU!’ she shouts at us, as though we were to blame for her misery and need.

‘Russia is rich. You have nothing. No real natural resources. So no need to quarrel with the Russians,’ she concludes. ‘And yet you and Sandu want to drag us into a war.’

Her daughter, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren live in Russia. She will never have that kind of money. One of her younger grandchildren, however, works in France. ‘He graduated from two universities and got a job here in Moldova for a stupid 300 euros. How can you start a family on that? So he went to Paris to work as a taxi driver. With a degree in economics. If you believe in God, may He protect you,’ she ends the conversation with us because she says it leads nowhere. She is probably right.

It is all the fault of ‘those at the top’

The lady at the next stall has a pension of 1,900 lei (98 euros - ed.). Lora can count very well, she is an engineer. ‘Last year we uprooted twelve hectares of cherries. Oh, no! No disease! We grew them with love, but the real drudgery was picking them, and then we had to throw it all away three years in a row! Throw it away, you understand? We tried to sell a kilo of cherries here for 10 lei (0.50 euros - ed.), but nobody wanted to buy them. People are more likely to buy sugar or bread, but cherries? So we uprooted them. These twelve hectares are now a salt pan because I shed all the tears I had left there.’

Nothing grows on the land where the cherries, once a luxury item on Moscow’s markets, once grew on their trees. Thistles and weeds have taken over. Lora has kept two cows and is trying to sell her own cheese. Not a single person has come to her stall in the hour we have been talking to her.

‘We used to export everything to Russia before, but now? Not even a potato. Not even a litre of wine. Everything is closed, blocked, you can’t transfer any money, and you can’t get the goods across the border. So we sit here in the square with our goods like fools, waiting to see how the elections turn out. And what will they change? Nothing. And you in Europe are going to let us in with our apples? You have yours,’ Lora concludes.

When Lora’s Soviet collective farm disappeared, she fell from the pedestal of a chief economist to a job as a cleaner at a petrol station. But even that recently closed. She is left with two cows, which she says eat more than they earn.

Even Lora, the spokeswoman for the highly educated market workers, does not know what needs to change to make life better for Moldovans. She says the elections are useless. After a long silence, she shrugs her shoulders and finally reveals the secret of Moldova’s crisis: ‘What to do? You have to ask those at the top.’

[effervescentdragon]

i rly liked what you had to say in that long post and i agree with it, but something that i wanted to expand on a little bit more. what u talked about in dissonance vs acknowledgement but i think another key point in that discussion is the steps that people take when they're in the in group vs the out group. like when people are in the in group, they are more likely to be sympathetic to others struggling and are processing their own emotions. versus those in the out group who have little emotional investment and are usually a little bit more callous. people in the in group are offended by the callousness that people in the out group treat them with, which causes more tension despite the groups agreeing on things in general. for a non recent drama example: mick getting fired last year. the in group (mick stans) were very sad about this and very emotional. people in the out group (non mick stans) were like dude what did you expect he wasn't preforming and this writing was on the wall are u delusional and don't have eyes? meanwhile, micks stans knew that he wasn't doing well but they're processing their own emotions but the out group's behavior makes it so that bridge of agreement can't happen.

hello, thank you! okay so i do see your point and i think that the mick example is both a good and a not so good example in this case, and i'll try and explain why.

firstly i do agree about the "in" and "out" group, though that also very much depends on where you stand and you own pov. but to go off your definitions here, if i take myself for an example, i was in the "out" group (non-stan of either mick or daniel) and therefore my responses to both were coloured by either my apathy towards mick or my antipathy towards daniel; let's suppose there was no positive emotion there. however; these two situations are fundamentally not the same.

mick got fired because of his lack of performance. this is a thing that happens often and it can happen to every one of our blorbos at some point. this was a matter of racing, aka their job. so no matter if people like mick, dislike mick, like haas, dislike haas, or anything else, it doesn't matter - it was, at the end of the day, another racer losing his job. the only consequences were there for him and his immediate family, and for his fans, who were/are understandably upset over it.

what daniel did had nothing to do with racing.

daniel, of his own free will, went to be a guest on a podcast he already said he enjoyed (i think, don't quote me on that) which is known to be full of misogynistic trash takes. once there, he proceeded to laugh at misogynistic jokes and make that "subjectively good drivers" joke himself, therefore affirming once again the prejudice against women drivers. this all comes right after f1 academy has fought to be broadcasted; after w-series lost funding and had to stop; after the question of disadvantages of women in motorsports and overcoming the blatant sexism has been in our (motorsports' fans and public) minds and in the discourse for a while. he did that after he already went on another podcast and laughed at the hosts' questions about "which eastern european female fans' pussy is the best" (a misquote, but the gist is the prejudice that all eastern european women are obviously whores; also, i do remember him saying "budapest" real quiet, but not quiet enough not to be caught by the mic, so take from that what you will).

this wasn't about racing. this wasn't about his job, like it was with mick. this was about a man who is followed by millions once again giving his fanbase affirmation that women are shit. shit drivers, shit pussy, shit whatever. this is blatant, outright sexism, and this has bigger impact than mick's contract termination. this is affirmation of patriarchal structures that feminism fights against, only it's presented with a wide smile and an aesthetically pleasing face, so "it's not that big of a deal"?

it is a big deal to me. i am a woman. why should i be okay with someone saying i'm shit just because of my gender at any moment in this life? why should any woman be okay with that? because someone you (general) like said it? because he's a man and we can't expect better? because that's just the way world is?

that's the fucking point. we fight so the world isnt like that. so that it isnt acceptable for women to be trash-talked callously on stupid podcasts. so that male celebrities need to think about what the fuck they say. so that people reassess and question their own biases. so that little girls can see someone who looks like them in an f1 racecar one day and maybe get inspired the same way all these boys do.

and this is where the "in" and "out" group thing doesn't work in my opinion, see. because while i will understand if mick fans block me for being callous about their boy's situation since i have no horse in that race and its just my mild annoyance with him that caused me to be unberable and potentially gleeful about him losing the seat, daniel fans that are rallying up to defend him can go fuck themselves tbh. because the fact that you would rather harass people over their completely valid outrage about his sexism than think on the aforementioned sexism yourself means that i dont want to interact with you. you have no moral high ground here, despite trying to take it by any means, when instead of reflecting on the actual harm those remarks, like any other sexist remarks, bring into the world, you'd rather hide behind deflection and attack people who are, again, rightfully upset over the sexism. there is also the matter of some takes i've seen which are basically just an attempt to dictate to those not in the "in" group how they should feel about it, using exactly the fact that they are in the "in" group of his fans as justification of why everybody else in the "out" group is just a big meanie.

fucking cry about it, i don't care. for me, sexism will never be okay, and i sure as fuck won't hold back in expressing my opinion about it, especially on the opinion website. and especially not for someone i don't even fucking like.

i hope this made sense! i:) thank you for the ask!

[archersgoon]

lumatere main pov characters least to most homosexually inclined

6. finnikin. if i tried really really hard i could do something with him and lucian but it would not be worth the effort

5. isaboe. she doesn't interact with women her own age enough. and every older woman she knows is too busy having situationships with each other. nothing to work with

4. lucian. he has that sadness in his eyes that you only see in eastern european gay porn. lives in a closet

3. froi. gayboy

2. quintana. cave yuri. handsome. when it comes to you phaedra i'm afraid of worse

phaedra. if you don't already understand this one i can't explain it either you get it or you don't

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

FFXIV Write: Another Free Day

In which Marcelin Varlineau proposes to Ebegei Mol and receives a stunning answer. SFW.

“Marc, try this!”

“Marc, look what my insert relative’s name here made! Try it! Please!”

These were common refrains Marcelin Varlineau heard from his partner sounds so dreary but lover isn’t quite appropriate to use around family so perhaps significant other? Ugh. That’s even worse. They, along with his parents, were attending a hunt and feast to celebrate a religious holiday for the Mol tribe.

Of course, that meant Ebegei was introducing him to a seemingly endless number of relatives of hers as well as occasionally being given a look from his father which Marcelin knew to mean “get your ass over here so Mum can brag about you.”

Which she’s done a lot.

Presently, Marcelin was debating when the “right” time was.

We’ve been left alone for the past few minutes, so maybe we can…I can…

“Hey Begi,” Marcelin leaned down to kiss her head. “Can we go somewhere private for a minute or two?”

The xaela looked up at him, puzzled. “Are you well?”

Shit.

He reassured her (I hope) with another kiss, this time on her forehead. “Fine, my love. But there’s something I must speak to you about.”

Still very much skeptical, Ebegei nodded, let her mother know they were leaving for a bit, and then accompanied him to her favorite rock formation outside Mol Iloh.

He smiled to himself as he thought about the first time she had taken him there.

“Marc, like this. Pick me up and…” She gestured to a ledge. “We’ll be the same height if I sit!”

She’s under five fulms.

I’m six fulms eight inches.

With a half smile and shaking his head, Marcelin did as his lady ordered, and to his shock, she was completely right---face to face.

“Told you, Marc.”

And then she kissed him.

As did he that first time he did so again.

And soon as he placed her on the ledge, she wrapped her legs around him as much as she can and kissed him soundly.

“Begi,” Marcelin panted, smiling. “I need to ask you something…”

She raised an amused eyebrow. “Then ask, Marc.”

My darling Ebegei is nothing if not direct.

“Will you marry me, Ebegei Mol?” He whispered, cupping her face in his calloused hands. Please say yes. Please. Please. Please. PLEASE.

Ebegei struggled not to grin. “Only if you marry me tonight.”

WHAT?!?!

Marcelin blinked several times. “I…fuck, Hami will kill me if I—”

“Marc, Hami’s in Reunion. He’s on his way here with Daisuke.” WHAT?!?!?! SHE DID?!?! WAIT---DID SHE??!?! “I know it makes you sad that you and Hami aren’t together more, so I asked if he and Daisuke could attend as well. They were delayed in Gridania, which is why they’re late…” She chuckled apologetically. “I wanted it to be a surprise. Little did I know—” She tapped her head and laughed. “You already planned to propose!” She guided his hands from her face to her waist. She looks at me like I’m the only person on the star. “Oh Marc, you’re the greatest joy of my life. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Thank fuck.

He exhaled and pulled a ring from his trouser pocket. “This is a very special ring, Ebegei.” Marcelin held it between two fingers, his gaze never leaving hers. “You see it’s made from wood, yes? The wood is maple from Coerthas. And you see the inlay? Crushed shells from eastern La Noscea with mother of pearl from the Ruby Sea, white gold shavings I bought from Reunion last time we were here, and diamond dust from Thavnair. I worked with a goldsmith in Ul’dah to put it all together.” This has been my special project for the past six moons. Bells and bells toiling away. Worrying if she’ll like it…

Her pink eyes widened and then suddenly, she threw her arms around his neck. “All the pieces of us…our families…I love it. I love it.” Ebegei placed several kisses on his soft cheek. “I love you, Marc. My sun, moon, and stars.” Ooooooh, I know that look. She grinned madly, kissed him one more time, took the ring out of my hand, and then nudged him back so she could hop off the ledge. “Come. Let’s get married.”

And so we married in Mol Iloh in front of her family and tribe…and Mum and Dad and Hami and Daisuke.

Sorry, rest of my siblings.

We’ll have a party at the Shirogane house to celebrate.

[licuadora-nasir]

Sad girls drink strawberry milkshakes

Pairing: Mortumstep

Warnings: None

Summary: Sometimes what a girl needs is to drink a strawberry milkshake at 2:00 a.m. while she listens to Lana del Rey after she confessed to catfishing her boyfriend with a hijacked comatose body from a hospital.

Notes: Work inspired by the Sidestep Question of the Day in the Fallen Hero Patreon server proposed by Jazz: Your step is at a 24/7 open diner at 2:38 in the morning (think something like Dennys) and the only customer. THANK YOU. It was life-changing for Celia.

Also, thanks @KanraChrome for proofreading this on such short notice cause I'm an inpatient little shit that got inspired and wrote this on a whim.

Read it in AO3

Lana del Rey knew what she was doing when she wrote Ultraviolence and whoever invented strawberry milkshakes at Denny’s knew what they were doing too. The one who probably doesn’t know what she’ll be doing is the tacky waiter if she stares at you for five more seconds. 

What’s her deal? Has she never seen in her shitty workplace a 6’2 foot tall Middle Eastern woman with a big, facial scar drink a milkshake alone at 2:38 in the morning? She should use a proper foundation that matches her skin tone and then maybe have the audacity to look at you—ugly hag.

You’ve been here a couple of minutes already, staring at the strawberry milkshake, mostly untouched because it looks too pretty to be finished. Perhaps if you were as beautiful as this strawberry milkshake you would be with Mortum right now, in his lab, as if nothing had changed between you. Maybe he wouldn’t have asked you for a week in order to think about it. Would have called you already because he loves you and misses you. Treat you with the same care he treated Corina or the way you’re treating your milkshake. Wouldn’t have looked at you with the fascination you would look at an experiment.

No, that’s not true. You could never be as lovely as this milkshake. 

He is not talking to you because you have deceived him. You have lied to him for months, pretending to be someone you were not. Maybe your feelings and actions were genuine but you were not thoroughly honest with either, catfishing him with the younger, better human version of you. You slept with him in a body that was not yours and that was wrong, you can see it now. You have hurt him, and this is on you. Time to assume the consequences of your actions and face them for once in your life.

You snuggle in your hoodie, getting cozy in your seat against the window of the diner. The Other Woman is playing on your MP3, and you take a long angry sip of your milkshake, ruining its immaculate aspect.

Nine years ago, you wouldn’t be sitting here alone. Anathema would have kept you company across the table with a milkshake of her own, having deep late-night conversations or just rambling about what she did that day. Were Ortega at her side, the attention digger would try to make everything about himself but you wouldn’t mind, satisfied to listen and to be between friends. Christ on a stick, you would have even dragged Ashfall if the day had been as depressing as today.

‘Come on Ash, join us, pretty please? Won’t you do this for your favorite buddy?’ He was always fussy about his sleep schedule but could never say no to your puppy eyes. 

Would you be capable of making those puppy eyes to him again? To smile without a care for Ortega? To sit down, laugh and enjoy the company of people who are no longer your dear friends while the countless eyes of the people murdered with your own hands sneak accusatory glances at you from the corner of the room?

You are not that girl anymore. Your hopes and dreams were shattered like the glass of the window you flew through the day of the Heartbreak incident. Your heart is as filthy as the sewer waters, your smile crooked and wicked, like a witch’s that got out from a children’s fairytale. 

Your face twists into a grimace, so you pick up your milkshake and continue drinking. The road you’ve decided to walk is a solitary one, behind you a bloody path of corpses and ruined lives. At first, you were convinced that they deserved the rampage of murder and chaos that was coming for them but every time you wash your hands, the blood is still there and you’re not that certain anymore. 

Their hands are gripping your ankles, sinking their nails in your scarred skin, heads raised at you, one single question hissed: “Was it necessary?” 

You don’t know. And you would be lying if you said you didn’t feel slightly remorseful about your actions, but they are pushing up daisies, so it’s not like apologies or regrets will bring them back. Your fallout with Mortum is the actual relevant matter. 

A solitary tear rolls down your cheek in mockery and you quickly wipe it, as if it never slipped in the first place. He’s the only person you have left. You have been on your own for too long and now that you know what it’s like to be loved and treasured, you don’t want him to take that from you. Being alone is frightening and you hate that feeling almost as much as you hate yourself. You never get to keep nice things for yourself before life takes them away from you. 

“Excuse me.” You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t notice the waiter at your table, with a new strawberry milkshake. 

“I didn’t order this.” You take off your earphones, annoyed you had to pause the music. 

“This one is on the house,” she replies quickly, leaving no room for debate and putting the drink in front of you. “Do you mind if I keep you company?” 

You scan her mind for threats, finding none. She thinks you’re lonely, and judging by your scars, that something horrible must have happened to you. She’s not wrong on that one; plenty of horrible things have happened to you. A broken heart being perhaps the only story you can share; not that you're going to. She also thinks that such beautiful eyes shouldn’t be filled with tears and that gorgeous women shouldn’t be so sad.

“Okay.” You mutter, flustered and embarrassed, because you wish you hadn’t heard those last thoughts. In normal circumstances, you would have given her the brush-off but she means well and you crave human connection, even if it’s superficial and with a stranger who won’t remember your name tomorrow.

The lady goes back to the bar to prepare a milkshake for herself, oreo-flavored based on the color, which matches her lively attitude. Makes sense, sad girls like you drink strawberry milkshakes.

[adickaboutspoons]

📓

part II

Something, something Stede becomes more withdrawn to respect Ed's impending nuptials, leading to Ed being confused and hurt, and something something dramatic confrontation in the night and Ed revealing that he didn't care much about his life when he made the stupid deal, but now he wants to live, and DOESN'T want to go back to the enchantress, and it leads to empassioned kisses in the dark that are curiously devoid of the feeling of tentacles. So, maybe, Stede thinks, he CAN be the eyes of true love. He can be the one to break the spell. So he lights a match.

And he's startled by seeing Ed's beautiful no-tentacle-beard face, for sure, but what's really terrifying is the look of sad resignation in his wonderful eyes, and the pain in his voice when he asks why Stede couldn't have waited one more day. They spend the night together and make love by candlelight. Stede falls asleep in Ed's arms to Ed tracing lightly over the features of his face as though he means to impress the memory of them into his fingertips.

The next day Stede awakens to find himself on a desolate shore, the ship nowhere to be seen. Filled with resolve, ventures into the world to find the man he loves.

He goes to the kingdom of the Eastern wind and asks if they know where the land East of the sun, West of the Moon, North-by-northwest of the Pole, and around the corner from the Southern Cross is. They don't, but they have a bone to pick with the enchantress who lives there (or at least with her husbands) so they decide to accompany Stede on his journey. In the kingdom of the Western wind, the ruler, a beautiful man with a knitted cap for a crown and no jewelry except a single teal stone suspended in a hoom from his ear, takes one look at the Eastern wind and decides that, though he also doesn't know where it is, he will also accompany them. The ruler of the kingdom of the Southern wind is a chaotic little man who has a marvelous time comparing his knife collection to that of the Eastern wind, and though he also doesn't know where the land is located, he heard that the North wind does, and would like to see it himself, so he joins the party. The ruler of the kingdom of the Northern wind is a large, imposing man, and he says that he has only been to the enchantress' land once, and only when he nearly blew himself up from blowing so hard. So he'd go with them, but only if there was fire to be had afterwards this time.

The party finally makes it to the kingdom of the Eastern wind and asks if they know where the land East of the sun, West of the Moon, North-by-northwest of the Pole, and around the corner from the Southern Cross. While there, they meet a man who sings so sweetly that, when he does, pearls fall from his lips. Stede gathers them up and strings them into necklaces, and invites the man to join them, which he does. They then meet a man capable of emitting a tone so pure, it will tame the fiercest heart and beacons the very birds down from the sky. Stede invites them to join them, and he does. They meet a man capable of pulling golden notes from the strings of his lute, a song so jolly that none who hear it can help but dance. Stede invites him to join their party and he does. And... To be continued is part III I guess, curse you hellsite!

[scary-senpai]

Idk. I went back to working on Collateral Damage after writing it almost killed me. The fic is about Garou at the dojo/takes place pre-canon and for the sake of my sanity I locked the draft in a box for over a year. I am going to put this draft out in the aether and then gnaw on furniture or something.

Content consideration: All the angst; T for Trashmouth, death of parents, literally everyone is made out of red flags, pervasive ennui I guess. Sadness. Abuse of commas and metaphor? Too much Charanko for that literally nobody asked for, and yet. Gratuitous creative license vis-a-vis the way the sunlight falls onto the dojo during the scene in which Bang and Garou meet and making some far-fetched assumptions about what that might mean. I don’t actually know how sunlight works. I don’t actually know how anything works. Writing this fic has probably given me an aneurysm but I don’t think it’s contagious. As far as I know all my betas are still alive, just busy. I kind of edited this but mostly I screamed into the void

“You need to tell me shit like this, you know.”

Garou squinting into his phone, turning the camera to a makeshift mirror. Fresh from the shower, his damp hair hangs tangled across his face. Ashen, waxen, and hollow-eyed, Garou tugs at his gi, running a hand over crumpled fabric that will not smooth for him.

Charanko looks down, hopelessly lost in the room they share. Yet again, they are the last students to leave the dorms. Their classmates are already long gone, warming up, stretching, waiting patiently for class to start.

Garou doesn’t seem to care. He can get away with being late.

“Have you seen my fucking face?” Garou continues. “I look like shit.”

Charanko only knows what not to do—refrain from offering any sort of consolation, or encouragement, or words of concern. He cannot say anything that implies Garou might be weak, because Garou is not weak—in fact, Garou's strength is all he has.

“It's like I got hit by a goddamn bus or something,” Garou says. “All week. Can't sleep. Can't...” The words catch in his throat. “Can't anything,” he says at last, running his fingers through his hair, tugging as they snag on the tangles.

Charanko keeps his breathing cool and even. But before he even opens his mouth, Garou silences him.

All it takes is a single, menacing glance to sever this attempted concern. Charanko's comments fall to the floor, unspoken, mingling with all the dust and the dirty laundry, and everything else condemned to hiding in plain sight. All the while, Garou’s eyes burn with a faraway flame—a spark as easily kindled as it is extinguished.

————-

It’s dawn, but the light is elsewhere. This morning, Garou and Charanko walk together in the darkness, just as they have been doing every morning, since they began sharing the same room.

Somewhere above them, the unseen sun has already started its regular, ritual creep along the eastern side of the mountain. Day is breaking somewhere, or so they’ve been led to believe—Bang's campus, nestled on the western precipice, is both sheltered and obscured by the summit, and the stony cliffs that cast the dojo in their shadow.

In the distance, they can hear their classmates begin their drills. The sounds ring out from the dojo and echo through the harsh and hollow scenery—students laboring beneath blood-red rays that have yet to reach them, waiting for a light they cannot see. 

Outside, the darkness is languidly lifting. Charanko watches the sky above fade from jet-black nothing to solemn hues of funereal blue—a sorry palette of bruises, ash, and incense smoke that colors as much as it reveals.

The world, like Garou, is in bad shape today: dark, harsh, and unforgiving, with harsh contours whittled by cold. The spring storms have culled all the petals from their boughs, and the surrounding trees shiver their miserable little branches, their limbs cutting reticulate fissures through gray and sodden skies. 

“I can't take much more of this,” Garou says.

It’s unclear to whom Garou is speaking, if anyone at all. But he’s stopped walking, and he leans his weight into a fallen branch until it snaps, loud enough to make a point.

“You know, my dad would have been 36 today.”

Garou is unforthcoming with details, but from time to time, he lets things slip. Now that they’ve been spending more time together, Charanko is more attentive to these clues, these little hints spring up like new growth from dead ground:

My father wanted me to finish school.

He never once came to a tournament.

He never once saw me fight.

It’s not all his fault, I guess, but fuck—

Garou raises his eyes to the roiling sky, dark clouds backlit by strained light. He stopped walking a long time ago. Maybe he’s waiting for Charanko to catch up, maybe he’s lost in thought. It’s certainly a scene.

Spring in the mountains is mercurial and distant; there’s always more bad weather ahead. Last night's storm spared them, but there’s always more, there’s always something.

Garou grips the cellphone in his hand. Five fingers grip the scratched and battered plastic, five fingers white and rigid, impossibly cold.

“I just want my dead mom to call me once in awhile,” Garou says, staring intently at his feet, at the broken pieces beneath them. “Is that too much to ask?”

Charanko is, as always, lost for words. What to make of this strange boy—this visibly exhausted child, who has dragged himself out of bed, into the showers, and now to class—and for what, exactly? To strike down Charanko's concerns with one breath and then sputter out confessions in the next?

He settles for a murmur and a silent nod. I heard you, Garou. I’m here.

But Charanko, of course, says none of this aloud; Garou is tasked with breaking his own silence.

“I know, I know,” Garou sighs, almost sounding like himself. “No phones in class.”

Garou slowly lifts his head to reveal his features, the wide smile that cuts across his face like an open wound.

“Get the fuck inside, Charanko. It’s gonna rain any minute.”

Already Garou’s laughing, back to normal, or whatever he can pass for it.

[lovegenom]

Im looking at something rn and i was reminded of a post i made with an aoi kondo image in it and the caption i wrote was He has rhat sadness in his eyes you only ever see in eastern european gay porn or something like that i wish i could find it. I wish I could find it