#that's something that happens in real life too. in real life we valorize people who didn't have to do everything they could to save other pe

[lord-squiggletits]

Also idk if I can elaborate on this in beautiful enough detail, but I think that the Autobots going through unreasonable amounts of effort to save other people even at great personal cost to themselves is literally something good about them, and if you try to criticize that as a way the Autobots are “bad” then I really don’t get you.

[lactosa2]

It takes me everthing i have to make stuff for someone that is not Omen, it feels like cheating fr. Viper drabble this once, this woman deserve attention.

cc: smut, male reader, before the Valorant protocol. 4651 words (not letters) long ficc.

ANOTHER TYPE OF TOXINE

You were taking a nap on your desk, as a mercenary and current infiltrate, you had too much work to do and too many hours to stay awake, for this reason fatigue became part of your daily life, you felt like the protagonist of "Fight Club", you wanted to sleep and you longed for it, but every Once you were alone you could only think about how difficult the current work environment was and how you would like at least a week of rest.

You can't sleep, it's been like this for almost four months, the only thing you could do was your work and then think about more work. Thanks to your own dedication to your career, you left in your youth those social experiences and even love affairs that ended only in blocked numbers, pain foreign to years where a damn meteorite had not yet fallen on the face of the earth.

Although you did not lose focus on your work, the lack of rest and social life only affected you more than you knew, every time someone wanted to have something with you they were automatically rejected, whether it was a co-worker or even a pretty girl in a bar ready to be taken to a public bathroom, it was embarrassing how alone you felt, even more It feel like you are responsible for that loneliness

22:45 pm

Yyou were sleeping on the laboratory desk, your appearance was messy, your hair was bouncy and the bags under your eyes were very noticeable, your eyelids were drooping and your nose was slightly red, your eyes were tired, and your robe was on the floor while the nap became almost only escape from what, unfortunately, was your daily life.

You felt a hand hit the back of your head, making you jump in shock and shake your head to wake up. - "Mmnh?.." you complained with a hoarse voice with half-closed eyes, you looked back at one of your co-workers, wearing the ugly yellow suit, as if he were a beekeeper, the identification tag showing you your greatest displeasure, Jhon. "You faggot.." You laughed softly as you got up from the seat and took the robe that Jhon handed to you. "We already talked about sleeping here… how about you talk while you're sleeping?" He complained, his voice deep and intimidating, more than fear, made you laugh.

"At least I don't look like a character from Monster-inc" you said with a mocking smile and then laughed harder when he gently hit your stomach. "Sabine is looking for you…" his voice was tense, Sabine was the target of the mission, the reason why you and "Jhon" (it wasn't his real name, but here, no one knew anyone's name) should investigate and then execute. Over time, they both had to slowly figure out who she was and her past, his history and abilities, everything was necessary to find out his past and therefore Kingdom's objective.

"What does she want?." You sighed after asking, fixing your hair and putting on your robe. Instead of saying something to you, he just raised his shoulders slightly and turned around, walking towards the exit of one of the main laboratories.

22:50 pm

You murmured a cordial greeting as you entered the laboratory, the doors opening to the sides automatically as you sighed quickly, trying to go unnoticed on your nerves. "Doctor.." you said in almost a whisper when the woman's eyes landed on you, with an arched eyebrow and those piercing green eyes looking at you with… disgust? "Something happened?" you asked as you stood your ground, not wanting to appear weak, much less to someone you considered a scourge.

"The documents, you are in charge of verifying them and stamping them confidentially and for the press, however, there was a leak, tell me, why does the press know the side effects of Radianite in pregnant women?" Yes, Kingdom has been experimenting with people, with children, babies, even pregnant women, so why feel sorry for someone capable of all these atrocious things? - "I'm only in charge of stamping the address of these reports, but, I'm the one who sends them, that's someone else's job, besides… I guess this isn't because you called me, this has already been discussed with human resources."

She laughed softly as she walked towards you and you towards her. While it was wrong to manipulate someone and use her for your own benefit, the fact that she was capable of destroying others just for her career made any empathy you might have for her disappear, from your point of view, it was bad person, and she deserved to suffer, right?

You laughed as her lips caressed the side of your neck, the edge of her fingers touching the skin beneath your shirt, her hip and torso against yours as your hands found their way to her scalp, gently grabbing her hair and pulling it so he her head will tilt up so you can kiss her properly. The instant your hands touched her waist, her arms surrounded your neck, making you lean closer towards her and her kiss deepened. She leaned her body back, making you walk until she collided with the desk, grabbing her thighs tightly you lifted her up and made her sit on top of that cold steel table, her eyes softly closed as her hands caressed your hair and her other hand ran over your back.

She stopped kissing you and smiled with her eyes still closed, a satisfied smile on her that caused you repulsion, her legs pulled you towards her, hugging your hips while her hands grabbed the sides of your face and forced you to look at her, a face of her that you thought nonexistent, her playful smile and her intimidating green eyes now soft. "Where were you yesterday?" she asked while her nose was against yours, you smiled and quickly kissed her lips, laughing softly. "You see, this guy is an individual one and yesterday he had some errands to attend to" you whispered while She brushed her lips against yours, "Oh yeah?" She asked very quietly, her eyes playing with your patience, you laughed at her cheerful voice and kissed her gently, stroking her hair.

"We're leaving, now," you said as you gave her one last kiss on her cheek, easily grabbing her by the waist and giving her a slight spin in the air like a Disney princess, then leaving her standing while she adjusted her hair and lipstick, looking at herself in the hand mirror that who knows where she got it from, putting on a soft but shiny gloss, to tease her, you gave her another kiss, now you having shiny and a little more voluptuous lips.- "Do I look pretty?" you asked as you looked at her as she put more gloss on your lips, "Gorgeous." She whispered and then gave you another kiss, then turned around and walked as if swimming out of the laboratory.

This was almost a routine for both of them, you would wait seven minutes and then go after her, you would get in her car and they would change seats so you would be the one driving, you would go to her apartment where they would talk and if she was willing, they would spend the night together. For you that was not important, the important thing was what happened after having sex, she would be tired and satisfied, willing to talk about anything, indirectly, she would end up talking about work therefore giving you the information you needed to be able to calculate the costs. movements and transfers of Radianite in Kingdom, knowing if they would use it on people or on more technology.

You opened the passenger door and closed it when she was already comfortable in the seat, you got into the car and started the engine, you saw how she leaned towards your seat and grabbed the seat belt at your side, "baby, what are you doing?" you asked as you moved the gear lever to the right direction, "You have to wear your seatbelt.." she scolded you as she put your seatbelt on, you laughed softly and started driving, not caring if she was still not sitting properly, leaning forward your side. You didn't drive abruptly, you drove slowly and smoothly, respecting the space between vehicles, the trip was long, forty-five minutes without counting the traffic, on the way, Sabine didn't speak, in fact, she was in total silence, so you decided to grab her hand and look at her in the rearview mirror, -"Why are you so quiet..?" You asked softly, squeezing her cold hand, she just shook her head as she gave you a slightly forced smile.

"I'm always quiet.." she excused herself as both hands covered yours, caressing it with her thumb.- "Not with me." You responded as you left her hands in her lap so you could divert the path, parking on a corner of the road with almost no travelers, just trees, darkness and stars. Once the car was parked, you turned to her, taking off your seat belt and grabbing her hands, looking at her seriously, her eyes instantly became teasing, she jumped towards you, now sitting on your lap with her legs at your sides while she hugged you with all her forces. You didn't want to speak, because even if you wanted to comfort her you couldn't, there would be no sincerity, so you just made your hands run up and down her back, your lips caressing her cheek, kissing the soft blush on her cheeks.

Her body instantly pressed against yours, her face searching for affection, those kisses , although they were a nuisance for you, for her they were the reason why not to abandon everything. Your nose caressed her cheek, then, you placed kisses on her cheek, as the seconds passed, and for five more minutes, the car was off and in the dark, one of your hands running over his waist while the other pressed her hip, resisting the heat of wanting to touch her more

Did you hate her as a person? Yes, did you love every inch of skin that unfortunately she and only she had? Yes, unfortunate.

She didn't laugh, instead, she moved her body backwards, watching as her hips ground against your pelvis, laughing almost sadistically. You laughed and your hands squeezed her hips, keeping her in her place, where she belonged. You leaned in front of her and her arms surrounded your shoulders, kissing you softly and deeply, one of your hands stayed on her hip while the other moved to grab a considerable piece of her rear.

She didn't even think about at least taking off your clothes, no, this woman was a kind of leech, both of your time and energy, she was completely insatiable, you could be on the verge of fainting but then you would have her caressing you, asking for more.

Your hands desperately went up her shirt, kissing her abdomen, she laughed and leaned back, her back against the steering wheel while your hands made her back arch so that her breasts looked higher, while your lips ran down the center of her cleavage, your fingers shamelessly skillfully unbuttoned her bra, then, she herself took it off completely showing her breasts, the mole below her right breast and her erect nipples, without hesitation, you lansated and pressed your hands on her hips, sucking her chest while you closed your eyes in satisfaction as you heard her sigh your name in an inaudible moan.

Your other hand held her thighs, her fingers squeezing strongly and eagerly, her thumb seeking to get as close as possible to her intimacy, feeling the heat radiating from this area. You gently bit her nipple, removing her hand from her back and cupping her other breast with it, playing with her nipples so you could give them both attention. Your fingers pinched the soft, tender flesh of her, hardened but soft and tender to the touch, goosebumps as she sighed and raised her hips so that your thumb brushed against her cunt dressed in her.

You moved your face away from her chest, leaving the nipple erect and full of drool, she was panting with her face flushed and some of her hair stuck to her forehead thanks to her sweat. You kissed her neck with love, or what was supposed to be lust, your tongue and lips teased that white skin, now with open pores and trembling. You bit her shoulder, right where a beautiful little mole was located, your hands moving up her tight pencil-shaped skirt, raising it until you could see her black underwear, and to your delight, lace, you caressed her inner thigh while you kissed her collarbone, hand on her chest now removing her hair from her shoulders, leaving you more room to enjoy.

Her hands sank into your hair, pulling it towards her body, you could smell the perfume, driving your senses crazy and causing you to take big breaths through your nose, taking the aroma to your brain to drive your skin crazy. Your kisses moved up the side of her neck, caressing her jaw with her nose. Her hand on her thigh moved to her hip to make her jump gently, accommodating her above you and allowing you pleasure by feeling how her crotch rubbed against your already noticeable erection. Your already hard cock ached thanks to the lack of stimulation from it, but it didn't matter, she was there, panting and trembling, moving her hips forward to the front just for the slightest touch, it was more than enough.

At the contact she moaned softly, your fingers mockingly and almost maliciously running along the inside of her thigh, rubbing the desired area like a ghost or professional torturer, the outside of your fingers remaining slightly moist thanks to her anticipation. Without further hesitation, she pulled your hair to move your head up, kissing you with desire and desperation, quickly, her other hand went as quickly as possible to your pants, completely unbuttoning the button and lowering the zipper, you stood up a little to lower the pants just enough, when you sat down again she was no longer against the steering wheel, but against you, her chest against yours while she continued kissing you, neither of them opened their eyes.

Her fingers moved to where your erection was, lowering the edge of the fabric with need, her hands grabbed your cock gently, feeling the heat coming from it, her fingers gently caressed the beginning and then went to the tip, Making you moan softly, her fingers caressed the tip, spreading the precum wherever she could, stimulating you while she continued kissing you needily. From time to time in her kiss they moved away from her, but they quickly grabbed air and returned to the same thing.

your fingers moved to the inside of her thigh, she opened her legs a little to give easier access, one of your fingers moved the fabric of her panties to the side of her, exposing free her pussy. Your fingers moved deeper, passing from her entrance to her clitoris, making her sigh, two of your fingers ran over the area softly and with desire, feeling proud of how wet she was. She moved away from the kiss to breathe, feeling her mind blurred and her body in ecstasy, her legs trembled as she tried to open them even more, now with more access, two of your fingers collected the moisture and spread it once again, rubbing her clit erect, making her moan and move her head back with satisfaction.

Taking advantage of the view of her exposed neck, your lips did not resist and went directly to kiss her windpipe, changing the speed on her clitoris every so often, making her moan weaker, but with more pleasure in the her voice Her hand had already stopped stroking your erection, which only frustrated you more, you bite her shoulder and grabbed her hips with both hands, raising her as you leaned against her seat.

Both sexes were already against each other, there was no better feeling than that, she was anxious, you could easily see it in how she throbbed her pussy while she became increasingly wetter and her hips did not stop moving towards you. Her knees came up against the seat to rise and hover over your tip, threatening to destroy your sanity if she stopped trying to keep the pressure on her knees. You grabbed her hip with one hand and lowered her slightly. Your gaze locked onto her eyes, wanting to see her facial expressions as you filled her insides.

Once hers hips gently hit yours, you let out a sigh, one of your hands caressing one of her thighs while the other held her waist, looking directly into her green eyes. She breathed deeply, her chest moving up and down with each breath. -"That's it.." you kissed her cheek in support as you caressed her thigh, the hand on her waist traveling to her head to caress her hair, "Take your time…" she nodded and looked you in the eyes, without hesitation you leaned forward and kissed her deeply, wanting to take her essence into your soul.

Her chest sank against yours as you both had your eyes gently closed, her hips began to travel up and down, carefully and softly. You let out a deep sigh as you pulled away from her kiss, your hand cupping her cheek to move her face up so you could freely kiss her jaw and the side of her face. With the pace of the kisses, the rhythm was already constant, so Sabine moved her hips in circles, at a still slow pace, at the sudden pleasure, you laughed softly and moaned against her neck. With your hand on her thigh, you grabbed it and spread her legs wider, giving yourself a better view and just like that, two of your fingers played with her folds, making her shake while you felt her excessively wet pussy throbbing around of your cock, making you see the sky.

You laughed as your thumbs began to rub her clit in slow circles. She gave deep soft moans as she continued looking at the side of the window with a smile, which upon noticing, you kissed her cheek and moved your thumb from her face to her lips, making for her to give them a little kiss. -"You like it huh?.." Sabine smiled even wider, arching her back more, -"How can I say no to my lady.." you whispered in her ear, feeling how her hips moved with more grace and elegance, leaving you speechless, only moans every time her pussy touched your pelvis. As the seconds passed, the moans became more frequent and deeper, full of pleasure and deep passion for the other.

Her hips moved even faster, your lips hungrily finding hers to share another even deeper kiss while the touch on her clit became faster, her hands went behind your back, looking for a place to depending on her health, reaching under your shirt and touching your back, sinking her nails into it, you moved away from the kiss to look at her face, her eyes closed and her mouth open, her eyebrows furrowed and her forehead with sweat, her moans high and deep, the sight only making you want to give him more. Her hand on her face went down from her to her waist, grabbing it harshly and not gently, sinking her fingers into her skin, grabbing her and moving her faster against you, her fingers in her Her clitoris slowed down. She gave a deep moan and then opened her eyes, looking at you with need and longing.

The sight of her was too much, her body moving so sensually against you, too much to sit still. "Fucking look at you.." you complained and kissed her roughly, the softness of the beginning is no longer there, she is too tempting not to fall in love… fall in love??????

Her back arched as she continued to let herself go. You love seeing her like this, with her clothes in disarray and her body trembling, making her feel free, in a way that stress couldn't affect her, you loved doing it, so that you could later kiss her and hear her laugh at a bad joke on your part, Yes, you liked it.

You made the movement of her hips slow down, your fingers leaving her clitoris from one second to the next, making the lack of pleasure and the denial of her much-loved orgasm go away. -"Not yet.." you whispered and stopped moving her completely, you adjusted her, making her torso completely stretched, seeing her long torso and her exposed breasts, her head stretched back and her legs open, with you still inside her. she. Your mouth went straight to her tits, biting and sucking on the nipple of her left breast, your favorite thanks to the mole it had.

While you sucked your fingers they returned to her clitoris, slowly and almost without pressure, torturing her. Your free hand went to her butt, giving a hard slap that turned out to be loud, making her sigh, “Move,” you gave her order as your nose nuzzled against her cleavage, glistening in a soft sheen of sweat. Her hips moved gently, moaning from the pent-up pleasure.

With the seconds she moved faster and faster, now your fingers pressing and rubbing her clit in circles as easily as you could, your kisses rose to her jaw, licking her, "Keep going.." you moaned softly. eyes tightly closed. “keep, keep going” you let out another moan. You laughed softly and gave another hard slap on her ass, making her shake her entire body, and seeing her mischievous smile, enjoying the treatment of her.

As her hips moved faster, the fingers on her clit took the most pleasure in her body, now twisting and spreading her legs even further. You moaned even louder, the way her insides felt was perfect, wet, warm, tight…

You slapped again and that same hand quickly grabbed her hair to pull it and make her kiss you, her arms wrapped around your neck. "Deep.." she demanded, so you moved against her, drawing a deep, honest moan straight from her throat, - "Just like that!..Y/n.." her lips trembled and she pressed her chest against yours, your slow fingers on her clit with the purpose of teasing.

"Please.." she asked in a low voice at your teasing, you bit your lip so as not to moan out loud, although you wanted to let her know the pleasure she gives you, you want to listen to her. "Yes doctor?.." you asked with pleasure in her voice, pressing her against you. "God damn you y/n I'm-" before she could finish her hateful sentence your hips slammed into her hard, making her moan loudly, your fingers now rubbing her clit as fast as you could. .

She moaned loudly, her legs shaking as you felt her getting closer. It felt wonderful, your body sweating and your mind feeling blurry, the feeling of being inside her was always perfect, each time better than the last, you moaned loudly and pressed the tip of your nose against her neck. "that's it… come for me" your voice was hoarse and almost unmodulated, you felt drunk, ecstatic.

You moaned loudly and moved even faster, you heard her voice weak and broken, full of pleasure and exhaustion, her insides tightened for a few seconds until the tension vanished. You moved even faster and harder while her legs trembled and her arms tightened against your shoulders. You heard a light scream and you didn't stop, you had to take her to the highest point. You felt her juices burst as her body trembled and shook with each thrust, her legs trembling and moving, squinting and opening them wider in desperation, her insides feeling easier to get in and out of, which only made you feel uncomfortable. I went crazy more.

You kissed her and the moans of both of you fell silent in each other's mouths, your legs trembled as you stopped rubbing her clit, that hand resting and squeezing her thigh, you lifted her up and leaned against the seat, now, she was the one who moved frantically. . Even if she was already done, she loved the pleasure, and she couldn't miss the opportunity to make you cum down from her.

"Keep.." you begged her with her broken voice, a few tears of pleasure in her eyes, your arms wrapped around her and you pressed her against you, moving her desperately. "Please let me cum inside.." you begged for permission as she let out a moan mixed with a laugh. Before you could beg again, you let out a soft cry as she took three last hard leaps onto you, emptying yourself inside her. You pressed her against your chest, feeling the world blurry after such a powerful orgasm.

They both breathed heavily, after a few seconds she took you out of her and lay on your chest, you laughed softly and grabbed her shirt and pulled it down, covering her chest, just as you adjusted her hair and panties. "I have to admit… You're unique" you laughed and sighed again, dazed with pleasure, you put your pp of hers in your boxers and adjusted her clothes, you did the same with her.

She leaned down and kissed your cheek, then, she let herself be overcome and fell silent on your chest, your hands caressed her hair and you kissed her forehead, "Baby… I have to drive home" you continued brushing your lips against her hair, your hands caressing her legs.- "later.." you laughed softly and leaned over to grab a jacket from the back seats and covered her with this, enjoying the way she snuggled against you, she looked so fragile, even if it was wrong, you felt that you loved her, you loved being with her, you weren't pretending anymore. And you'd be lying if you said you didn't cry when you thought she would find out who you really are, a mercenary…

You pushed away the sorrow and just held her even closer, looking towards the foggy window, a living example of the love you knew you shared, you just hoped that even if she found out who you were, she wouldn't leave you, or at least, she wouldn't suffer so much for you. like you already do for her.

[runicmagitek]

stole this from @wingsyouburn because why not! Not going to tag anyone, but if you'd like to fill this out yourself, consider yourself tagged!!

How many works do you have on AO3? 384 :')

What's your total AO3 word count? 1,836,435

What fandoms do you write for? Yes.

Ok but real answer? Current active ones are FF, Fire Emblem, and 13 Sentinels. I'll bounce around tho, depending on what inspires me. Like I always dip in and out of any video game fandom.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 1) Sweet Dreams (Witch from Mercury, sulemio) 2) Finally, Beautiful Stranger (FFVII, aerti) 3) Wings of Valor and Compassion (Overwatch, pharmercy) 4) Give Them Something to Talk About (TLOU2, Dina/Ellie) 5) No Safety in Desire (BotW, Urbosa/Zelda)

It does please me that my top fics are all femslash HSKDJAJD

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I definitely try my best to!! Unless it's very rude or makes me uncomfortable in some way, then I either don't comment on those specific bits or just ignore it altogether. I've had a handful of people make very backhanded remarks and I try to give them the benefit of the doubt, but it's really awkward when an absolute stranger treats me with too much familiarity just bc we share the same ship.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably Limbo? It does not have a happy ending and ends on a very horrifying note. What Becomes of Practice also comes to mind, seeing that the main character goes through hell and ends up dying, though IS reunited with her father in the afterlife 😭

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? God I really don't know. I'm more of an angst writer, so a lot of those happy endings are prefaced with a lot of pain lolsob so I feel pretty much any of my angst with a happy ending fics can qualify for this!! Tho I have received a ton of comments about how fluffy and cozy Finally, Beautiful Stranger's ending was, so I'll pick that one!!

Do you get hate on fics? Not regularly, but it has happened. I've gotten "ew this is gross" remarks on just writing about gay people. I've gotten weird comments about a brief nightmare scene in a fix-it fic, despite tagging for it, bc "she's suffered enough, why would you do this". And more recently, I've gotten some "this doesn't make sense, why would this character ever be depressed/angry" bc I guess female characters who are conveyed as bubbly in the source material aren't allowed to experience any range emotion outside of that and shame on me for wanting to explore darker themes, like recovering from trauma and depression. Bonus points when the male pov character does way more fucked up stuff and no readers call him out on it (sorry, I'm still very bitter about this)

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Hell yeah! All my smut, even my attempts at pwp, always incorporate feelings and more often than not gain a plot along the way. I can't help it. I love the build-up and tension leading to the main event. I need to give my readers blue balls, I guess fjlahdskdh

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? Not really. I'm more of an AU person than anything. Even going through my fics, the only proper crossover I've written was If You Had Life Eternal, but even that is like, reimagining Warcraft characters in the Diablo universe and that's kinda it.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? SADLY YES >:/ thankfully, it was removed from FFN, but I really hated that someone copy-pasted my fic and just changed the character names to fit their ship.

Have you ever had a fic translated? I have!! Several times!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Nope. The closest I've come is like, sharing ideas on a single continuity with someone else and then writing it out on my own. I do like collaborative stuff with people I trust, but I don't want to co-write anything lolsob

What's your all-time favorite ship? EVER????? It varies from fandom to fandom, even year to year. Celes/Setzer will always have a special place in my heart, even if I don't write for them as often anymore. But right now, keinatsu is dominating my life and I don't see any light at the end of the tunnel.

What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? God, so many. I have my one Setzer fic that I posted the first chapter, managed to write the second one two years later, and then…. did fuck all with it. Also remembering the Darill/Maria/Setzer longfic I wrote and even did an initial editing pass, but that's now rotting on my laptop. It got a bit too personal at one point and I don't know if I'll ever share it :/ oh and that one Overwatch longfic I got 80k~ into and then abandoned bc the fandom was shitty and I didn't want to invest any more time in it

What are your writing strengths? Dialogue, describing scenery, evoking all kinds of emotions.

What are your writing weaknesses? jfc I'm incapable of shutting up and keeping things short

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? I guess it depends? Like I used French in Darkness/Starlight for Jidoorian and the only times Setzer spoke in that was when he was open about his feelings, but didn't want Celes to know. But if the reader translated those parts, they could get more insight as to where his headspace was at. But normally, I would want things written out in a way that's understandable to the audience. If there's a phrase or whatever in a different language, I try to italicize it, but that's it.

First fandom you wrote for? Vividly remember writing about my self-insert OC in a post-canon FFVII/Sailor Moon crossover that lived in spiral-bound notebooks at the age of 11. But the first fandom I actually posted something for online was Metal Gear Solid back in like… 2001???? It was forever ago lolsob

Favorite fic you've ever written? This changes over time, but I'm still very proud of What Leads You Here. I put a lot of work into it and am so happy I could share it with the fandom and even happier that a ton of folks enjoyed it!!

[k-ya]

october

A messed up surprise plan vs. A sweet surprise gesture

We talk about the bad one first and leave the good one for a happy ending.

So I had a cringe era as a child, of making a treasure hunt for someone on their birthday and watching their reaction at each milestone.

/ insert dorm life (the only place I could make such fantasies real) /

So I planned this grand endeaver, which almost got caught red handed by the person it was meant to be for. Anyway so remember I mentioned some "supposed" friends who were nice to hang with and all. The surprise venue kept changing until my little surprise hunt fucked off and we had a blast swallowing the large chocolate cake until everyone was sleepy. Or at least she was, from all the desi pop dancing. She really did appreciate grand things.

Regardless of everything though, 15 days later, when I returned back to my room after obsessing over valorant with another friend of hers, I smelt something burning in my room and when I barged in, concerned about what had happened, I saw a tiny choco pie cake with a single candle burning proudly in the middle of it. What I liked most about it? The fact that she respected my boundaries of not wanting to celebrate my life, but also making me feel that I was special and important to her, by making an effort of a tiny gesture of appreciation. Again, not for congratulating, but for appreciating. Because the last time I had told someone it was my birthday but I would prefer to not celebrate it, they intrusively enough made it as big as they could. And if it wasn't enough, they made it humongous. Cakes thrown accross the hall, over all our bodies, and hair. I remember showering thrice that night to get the stickiness out of my hair. And although it was nice to be with so many people, it was a little too much for someone as lethargic as me. Not going to lie, it was amazing, happening, a story worth telling but-

If I had to choose my best birthday, it would be with a person who despite liking grand and shiny things, understood my reasons and made my appreciation just like I would have wanted it:

The two of us, with a little to eat, alone all night, talking about life, while holding each other until we went to sleep.

What else does a writer write about?

[bambi-kinos]

do you hate it? weird joke to make

Mmm...ramblings ahead.

I don't "hate" it per se. I don't want it bleached off ao3 or anything. If people want to read it then whatever I guess, there's a whole novel about a Canadian woman who fucks a bear so it's not like there isn't precedent. I was on tumblr when it became a thing, I e-dated someone who was on the first wave of omegaverse fanfiction after the initial Supernatural kinkmeme post. Quite literally there when the deep magic was written. I saw it all happen and kick off, I thought it was a hoot at the time.

What annoys me about it is that it's invaded fandom in general. As usual fandom will say one thing "don't push sexual content on people without their consent" and then do another, which is putting omegaverse shit on your dash without asking. Tumblr Savior doesn't work on mobile either so there's no filtering it. It reminds me of how choking has become a pervasive porn thing that has invaded real life, if you don't want to be choked during sex then you get a lot of shitty attitude, and if you don't want to see omega garbage on your dash then you can also get shitty attitude. I was in a persona 5 server where a moderator put a user in a timeout chair for posting it outside the designated channel (there was a special channel for triggering sex stuff) and it resulted in an internet brawl. (Whatever you can imagine insert it here, the details aren't important. Everyone felt oppressed and was arguing over who was more oppressed.) It was very tedious to sit through and it all stemmed from the fact that people just push this stuff on you and get mad when you say "I don't want to see this."

I actually didn't used to have a firm opinion on this stuff UNTIL it started invading fandom spaces. I was once called "queerphobic and a bad feminist ally" for pointing out that omegaverse stuff was very disturbing for many people and should come with tags and warnings attached. They shut up fast when I replied I was bisexual but yeah.... I think it radicalized me in a way lmao. It's an attitude that's been there since the beginning, there have been entire essays written about how getting railed by a dog dick is the most feminist and gender affirming shit ever. But there are internet users who genuinely believe they are fighting for gay rights by writing/reading omegaverse and that's blatantly not the case. It feels like stolen valor, there's real gay oppression happening in the world and then there's first worlders who think it's "queerphobic" to not eroticize anal leakage and dog dicks? Come on. So that's something I dislike intensely these days. 10 years ago when it first popped off I just wrote it off as something I could ignore. And then fandom made it something that is impossible to ignore.

And for the record, yes, I do know most enthusiasts aren't like this. My own partner is into it and we just don't bring it up, been together for almost 4 years now, etc.

What I don't like (not even hate, just dislike) is how pervasive it is and it's just assumed that everyone loves it and that it's okay to push it everywhere into everything. I catalog books for a living and there are romance novels now where omegaverse is the theme and I'm like "jesus christ" lmao, content where the Assigned Bottom at Birth defecates to show his affection for the Assigned Top at Birth is now mainstream, I have to see it irl too. There's no escaping it. That upset me a lot unironically, I found it incredibly threatening that dog dicks is what's associated with "queer activism" in the real world. The authors that write this stuff are often the kind of people who are convinced they're tragic heroes fighting the good fight, it's awful.

Though interestingly when I mentioned it to friends who read it, they unanimously agreed that they wished it hadn't made the jump to irl. The lawsuit thing seems to have really embarrassed everybody. There's a big divide between the authors who have mainstreamed it and users who read it where not-pushy users desperately don't want a spotlight but the self pub authors are convinced that they are activists. It's interesting, I could probably write a whole essay examining the divide.

Overall I wish I could go back to when it was easy to ignore and super missable but that isn't the world we live in anymore, so if people are going to push this content everywhere I'm going to make some jokes at the expense of them. I think everyone can live with that.

[bubblyhoney]

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

-

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

-

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

[featherquillpen]

Fanti: a Panfandom Reclist

Lately I’ve become enamored of “fanti” fanworks, fanworks which come from a place of simultaneous love and frustration toward canon. What do fans do when we love something but we also can’t stand parts of it? We transform it to embrace the parts we love and confront the parts we don’t. So here are some fanworks that do that.

Fanvids

What We Had by cherryice (Doctor Who)

A fanvid about Martha, Mickey, and Jack, the companions most screwed over by the Tenth Doctor. You can feel the absolute love of these characters, and the absolute rage at the way they were shafted in favor of white, straight companions.

Origin Stories by GiandujaKiss Smithee (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

A fanvid about Spike’s cool swishy leather coat. Which he stripped off the corpse of a black woman who he killed. In this vid, I feel a transcendent love of Nikki Wood and all the other Slayers, and a fierce conviction that Spike should never have worn the coat again, once he had a soul and could comprehend his crimes.

Fanfics

Sitting Left of the Dealer by BlackEyedGirl (Leverage)

This fic critiques the racist undertones to Nate’s often patronizing and dismissive relationship with Hardison by making Nate also Black. In this AU, Nate and Hardison are closer friends, brought together by their unique challenges on cons. Also, it makes you realize how much Nate’s grifting style in canon relies on white privilege.

my boy builds coffins by waldorph (Star Trek AOS)

The absolutely incredible premise of this fic is that the Star Trek movies with Chris Pine are the origin story of the mirror universe in Star Trek TOS. It makes way too much sense, when you think about the militarism of Starfleet in AOS, and how that mirrors (ha!) the heightened militarism of the mirror universe in TOS.

Animorphs Alternate Ending [part 1, part 2] by Jennifer Lott (Animorphs)

A classic Animorphs fic written in the early 2000s hosted on its own website, now cross-posted to Wattpad. Animorphs is a mixed bag when it comes to disability. It has amazing disabled characters, but they all get cured or killed. In this fic, the disabled auxiliary Animorphs learn that Jake means to sacrifice them for the greater good, and they refuse to put themselves on the chopping block.

The Battle of Songhu by azn-jack-fiend (Doctor Who)

This fic subtly criticizes the British triumphalism of Doctor Who by setting the classic two-parter The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances in 1937 Shanghai instead of London. In the canon episode, the Doctor is able to reassure the unfortunate Nancy that despite the hardship of the Blitz, Britain will triumph. In the Sino-Japanese War, though, the Doctor can give no such comfort to a Shanghainese woman. What’s a Doctor to do in a country being devastated by imperialism instead of a country committing imperialism?

my last thought a fever dream by menswear (Ender’s Game)

lol so what if we dunked on the massively homophobic Orson Scott Card by making Valentine a real human woman and making the homoerotic subtext between Ender and Alai into text. a related genre: any and all fics where Harry Potter is trans now.

What the Water Gave Me by iesika (Hannibal)

I have not seen Hannibal or read any fic, but when I asked my friends about fanti fic, my friend haygahr recommended this as a fic that critiques the show by engaging on a real level with the kinds of murders that happen most often in real life, and their devasting consequences, rather than treating murder as a plot device or aesthetic.

Changes of Perspective by Sixthlight (Rivers of London)

I have loved the Rivers of London book series for years, but had to quit it last year because my ACAB levels had reached critical and I could no longer engage with books valorizing cops. Luckily, I still have this, the ACAB AU of Rivers of London where the Folly is full of awful oppressive magic cops, and Peter Grant and his friends are the magical resistance.

The Realms of the Immortals by nirejseki (Tortall)

Daine hated Stormwings for their monstrous nature, and killed her share of them. Canon pushed back on Daine’s prejudices to some extent, especially via the character of Rikash, but it never really went far enough to depict Stormwings as people, just like dragons and griffins and all the other Immortals who are less stinky and off-putting to humans. I love this fic for bringing all Stormwings, not just Rikash, to full color as a culture worthy of respect.

What We Pretend We Can’t See by gyzym [text, podfic] (Harry Potter)

This is an “epilogue? what epilogue?” Harry Potter fic that straight up takes potshots at the epilogue. In this fic, Harry tried to be with Ginny, tried to be an Auror, and neither of these things has worked out, and his years of trauma and abuse aren’t something he can easily shake off. I love the meta bit where Malfoy learns that Dumbledore was gay all along and is positively outraged that he didn’t come out as an example to the queer youth of Hogwarts. Yeah, JKR, why didn’t he? Huh? Is it because you’re a ‘phobe? Yes it is!

[fukuokadivision1]

Alternative Rap Battle (MIHANASA Ver.)

Bring the Beat!

[Sanyu:]

"You don't deserve to walk on the same earth as us. You don't deserve to live in the same plane as us.

You don't even deserve to breathe the same air as us." Well newsflash, buddy: I'm still here! So just shut up!

People always try to make me out to be something I'm not. Because I'm not like them, I should just be left to rot!

But that won't ever happen! It's not my time yet! And if you mess with me or my family, consider your life forfeit!

Mayhem and upheaval, Hypnosis Mic! A rivalry of champions, Alternative Battle!

Throw us some ill beats, DJ Sparks fly off the desperation! We cram into these rhymes!

This is no exhibition, it’s a historic battle! The format is ruthless, this otherworldly magic!

We’re greedy, east, west, south, north! Till we take it all, we’ll throw these insults!

Take or get taken, there’s no time to hold a grudge.

Are you game for more? Do you want more!

[Tasuku:]

"It's your fate to live as the next family head. Your duty is to make sure that we are all warm and fed.

This is your destiny; don't try and fight it. Sit quietly. Disobedience we won't permit."

But look how easily I defied my fate?! I'm now living my own life, which, by the way, is great!

Don't let others dictate your world. Live how you please! Or you would rather live life on your knees?

Run and gun, Hypnosis Mic! Violently valorous rhyme power, alternative rap!

Connect these dope beats, DJ! Quickly snatching it up for real, and stuffing it full!

One for the treble, two for the bass! Painful brats may die but the flow never will!

This battle of rhymes is karmic retribution! Till we take it all, we’ll throw these insults!

Take or get taken, there’s no time to hold a grudge.

Are you game for more? Do you want more?

[Ming:]

Worth more than treasure, more valuable than gold. These precious, young gifts that can never be sold.

It's so priceless and beautiful watching them grow. They teach more than any knowledge can ever bestow.

Which is why I will forever be their shield! I'll be their strong tower as they play in the fields.

And too any who seek to do harm to them, I'll teach you the true meaning of the word 'mayhem!'

Mayhem and upheaval, Hypnosis Mic! A rivalry of champions, Alternative Battle! Throw us some ill beats, DJ Sparks fly off the desperation!

We cram into these rhymes! This is no exhibition, it’s a historic battle! The format is ruthless, this otherworldly magic!

We’re greedy, east, west, south, north. Till we take it all, we’ll throw these insults. Run and gun, Hypnosis Mic! Violently valorous rhyme power, alternative rap. Connect these dope beats, DJ Quickly snatching it up for real, and stuffing it full!

One for the treble, two for the bass. Painful brats may die but the flow never will. This battle of rhymes is karmic retribution. Till we take it all, we’ll throw these insults.

Take or get taken, there’s no time to hold a grudge.

Are you game for more? Do you want more?

[wexhappyxfew]

The Nightingales of Fortune Favors the Brave

A Band of Brothers Fanfic Coming Fall 2021 (or presumably whenever Landslide finishes up!) 

HELLO!! If you’re reading this, then as you can see, I’ve finally created a master post with all my Nightingales (well, not really mine THE PUBLIC’S but you’ve all gifted them to me ever so graciously, and it honestly, it means the world to me). Just to see the excitement and reception I’ve gotten from so many people in the fandom involving a female group of Pathfinders - an area of war, I have wanted to cover ever since nearly over 2 years ago I got involved in the fandom. All OC’s will have their creators name listed beside them - I did not create any of these OC’s, all credit goes to the lovely people who crafted and gifted them to me for FFTB!

Viewing where I currently am in my life, I’m going to going to college this year! I got accepted into the school I wanted, the program I wanted, even a scholarship! And I’m beyond excited. I really wanted to have something there for me when college does finally, you know, HAPPEN, and so Fortune Favors the Brave was the only way to go! To have a wonderful group of Nightingales, of female Pathfinders in the Band of Brothers fandom, seemed to be the way to go. Updates and such will definitely be different - I’m picking up more work hours this year, probably even summer classes, night classes, weekend classes - whatever I can do to benefit my degree and myself, I’m taking the opportunity. 

And so, updates will presumably be quite different, depending on a variety of things, but...this will be my college story! No matter how many years it takes to complete and update and write, this will be the thing I have with me through it all for when I need a mental break from school! And I am beyond excited for when I do finally get to share this story more than anything! 

We have such a great group of OCs here - different backgrounds, different reasons for joining, different creators who gifted them to me, different friendships, relationships and abundances of sisterhood and brotherhood moments. I’m truly beyond excited to showcase the Pathfinders side of the war in the light of 16 female OCs, whose stories will be told through their viewpoints based on different episodes whether whole or split! 

So thank you ALL!! These past 2 years have been a joy in the fandom and let’s hope for another few more! I’ve managed 3 fics and 4 books total and I’m excited to bring, presumably, my FINAL Band of Brothers fic in the fandom to you all in the near future. Thank you!! <3

THE NIGHTINGALES 

Team C DZ C for 506th PIR, 501st PIR 

-> 2/506 PIR (Stick 2/Plane #4) 

-- TOCCOA VETERANS --

Team Leader 

Captain Eleanor Graham - @basilone

Eleanor Graham had never met a challenge she couldn’t conquer - the eldest of four and a farmer’s daughter, teamwork and diligence were drilled into her mind like clockwork, along with being as much of a leader in the eyes of her family as she could. There was more to life than a farmer’s wife for her future though, no matter how much she adored the farm her family had grown to craft from the ground up. Iowa brought no opportunity except the farm life deemed fit for her, so upon seeing the advertisement “ It’s Your Fight Too “, OCS had never seemed like a better choice in her eyes. Because it was all their fights - man, woman, child, anyone - it was a World War, a fight for all their lives, for human lives. And with the capability to obtain Captain just before leaving for Camp Toccoa, it solidified her position for not only leading in Easy Company, but leading the Nightinagles - the first stick of female Pathfinders.

Assistant Team Leader

Lieutenant Florence Godfrey - @pxpeyewynn

A British lady and an artist at heart, from the little town of Avebury, set inside Wiltshire of Great Britain, her father made it big in New York just as the war that swarmed throughout Europe, erupted into spitfire. And suddenly thrust into the world of an America before war, was unsettling. Her country fought while America remained neutral. Yet, when the advertisement flooded throughout New York City - she couldn’t help but take it as her only way to get into war. OCS was beyond enough challenges, but walking in as a Lieutenant for Easy and for the Pathfinders, she was no longer the little girl who prayed at night to whomever was above to end the people’s suffering, or avoided interaction to instead draw in her notebook. She was a Lieutenant, and she was a woman at war - yet what was she even fighting for? 

Eureka Operators (each equipped with a Eureka Transponder each)

Sergeant (NCO) Marie Reynal - @thoughpoppiesblow

Grandmère Reynal always held her at night, under the dark night sky and sang in her soulful Cajun French, the words flowing from her lips and remaining an ever-present comfort in times where food was hardly ever on the table, or when she had to watch the other girls at school get the latest Mary-Janes and she was stuck with her old ones. Her grandmère taught her to appreciate the small things in life. But when the “It’s Your Fight Too” poster came out in the papers, Marie Reynal knew there were larger things in life than the newest Mary-Janes at school. Packing up what she could, Marie headed out to Camp Toccoa, equipped with nothing but some clothes and her fiddle. 

Corporal Edith Lockner - @mercurygray

Remember to look up - her mother would always tell her that. Especially when things on their little farm got hard in Stanford, Illinois where the only thing that occurred there was the wagering price of corn that fluctuated with the ever-changing times. So...she figured that’s why she always tended to look to the stars when her mother would tell her that before bed each night, looking out the wooden window under her quilt as a cold draft blew in. She always imagined herself up there, amongst the stars and for once seeing what the stars saw. But to be up with those stars and to get to study them, she’d need a lot more money than what ever amount the corn tended to bring in. And the Airborne with a fantastic pay grade, along with the Pathfinders and their earnings -- it seemed her ticket out. Maybe there won’t be stars - but anything’s got to be better than here. 

Wireman 

Corporal Chiyoko ‘Luna’ Omori - @papersergeant-pencilsoldier

Know your place. Eyes down, mouth shut. And most importantly, honor your family. Chiyoko Omori has never been one to step out of line, nor has she been one to speak when otherwise not spoken too. Trained in the art of kendo, the Japanese martial arts that her ancestors trained in, she leads with discipline and integrity amongst the group of Nightingales training as Pathfinders, as the solo wireman of the group. Her intelligence, more than once, has saved her and in war might just save her again and again. Her father’s garage had always been home to a multitude of repairs and many she had learned to do herself. But there she had been Chiyoko. But for war, she must forget who Chiyoko is and embody the only other name besides her family name that she will ever know - Luna. 

Lightmen (each equipped with 2 Halophane Lamps each) 

Staff-Sergeant (Senior NonCom) Sarah Prowse - @junojelli

For once in her life Sarah Prowse would not have her twin brother by her side. He hadn’t been by her side for years after he went back home to fight with the English and lost his life at Dunkirk. But this was real, this was happening - and the Pathfinders withheld the opportunity to prove to herself that Edmund had died with valor and courage. And he would not have died in vain. The nannies had always said they were inseparable but they weren’t those kids anymore. This was real life. And in real life, there was love and loss and pain. And sometimes the only way to get through it all was to do the thing to distract you most from it all. Some days she wished her family could’ve just stayed in England - maybe Mum would still be here. With her sharp mind, and the ability to read people like an open book, rising to the rank Staff-Sergeant had come easily - reading the field and reading people were pretty similar...right? 

Corporal Jean Dawson - @tvserie-s-world

Life in Louisville, Kentucky had always been a sort of cozy-comfort that Jean Doxon had always enjoyed. The weekend fairgrounds filled to the brim with people enjoying the night life it offered, early summers filled with watching her father race horses around the tracks sprinkled throughout the town and nights by her boyfriend, Glenn Hartley, where the sky seemed to stretch forever into the night. That is before the war sent him away to the Pacific. And their only form of communication was reduced to letters, with pressed flowers and the hint of rose perfume. Jean refused to mope about, when she knew this war was hardly far from over. Quick-thinking on her feet, and a town champion for knot-tying in her days in elementary, she packed what she could and left for Georgia the second she was able to take the first train out. The Airborne had much to offer, but more importantly so did the Pathfinders. 

Corporal Mercy Codonoa - @whoahersheybars

Mercy Codona always been a traveler, never staying in one place and always on the move to somewhere new that she might've never quite been before. This meant new neighbors, new friends and a new way of life. Something the United States readily offered. Each new town in a new state had a different way of life than the next. She figured that's why she was so quick to adapt to her surroundings - nothing was ever permanent, nor set in stone. Neither was family. Orphaned by 17 and left to fend for herself, left in the care of her mother's estranged sister, Mercy took the liberty by herself to do what she could to support herself. Taking up odd jobs in each town she traveled to and managing what she could to feed herself. But she was proud of her Romani-Croat heritage and what her ancestors had done in their past lives. She intended on continuing what their stories had not finished. If only she could continue to support herself. It was only when the "It's Your Fight Too" showed up newly on the Fort Wayne clipboard by the post office in April 1942 and then and there in that moment did she decided - with the extra money the Airborne offered, along with that of the Pathfinders, she'd be able to support herself in the future as well as possibly find people with the same dreams as herself for their futures, and for once finally belong.

Private Kennedy Rutlidge - MINE

Kennedy Docherty had always had quite a wild and exciting mind, always having a new idea, or a new method on selling the most recent paper that got her a few cents an hour. All through her schooling years and even up to her senior year, she took to the busiest corner on Lake Ave and Lyell Ave, calling out to sell her papers, before heading home for the night and running her normal routine the very next day. She spent summers at Lake Ontario, in her grandmother's home on the lake, where some of her fondest memories of her youth had been born. She always believed that's why she was always fascinated with flying, like one of the birds or hawks that flew out across the lake in the early morning. What she'd give to get that feeling just once in her life, away from school and away from the constant need to make as much money as she could to help with the family. The words "It's Your Fight Too" scrawled across the paper in early April had caught her eye within a second and left her running home just that night to break the news that she was signing up. And almost a week later, she found herself packed on a train towards Camp Toccoa, Georgia, bright eyes and the last bit of innocence fading from sight.

Security Personnel  

Sergeant (NCO) Alexandra Calypso - @iilovemusic12us

A Boston girl who grew up with her proud Jewish faith, with a Greek mother, knew hard work and sometimes it was pushing yourself to the very limit beyond what the human body could handle sometimes. So that meant falling, scrapping your knee a few times, sucking up the tears, sending a quick prayer to God and moving on with your life. Life had always been like that - they weren’t the richest, nor the poorest, but there wasn’t ever enough food on the table or enough money to fix the roof, or even to keep the mortgage paid. But her parents never stopped working. And she supposed what drove her to the Airborne and to the Pathfinders was seeing how hard they worked. And they paid well she had heard. She could work with it. And if anything, the Pathfinders were more accepting than any school in Boston she’d been to. 

Sergeant Nellie Shaw - @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant

Hailing from a small, coastal town in Maine, the proud Scot wanted more than anything to stay out of war when it finally came knocking on America’s doorstep. But Nellie Shaw, loyal as saint, knew that there was one thing she could do for this country and that was fight. Give her a pack of cigarettes or a bottle of gin, and she’d go in swinging for the war effort, even with her grumpy morning attitude that slowly became infamous in her elementary school days among the school children. She had no purpose on a farm on a mountain side anymore, rather destined to do what part of the fight she could. Taking Greer Riddell under her wing, the fellow Scot befriended the least likely person to enjoy her company and yet Nellie’s easy-going companionship slowly became integral to the entirety of Easy Company and the Nightingales. 

Private Greer Riddell - @leighinthesky

Schruz, Nevada was home for 21 years and by the looks of it, home for the rest of her life. A bee farm in a tiny town wasn’t idle for the rest of her life, but if she never got the money for college to get out of the small town, she feared she wouldn’t ever leave. And knowing the military had offered 16 women a stick of a plane to get their shot at becoming Pathfinders for the Army was her ticket straight to Toccoa, Georgia for training. The pay could send her not only to college, but could get her out of that tiny town which had confined her to nothing but her family and a cute little bee farm where hard work always paid off. Don’t be fooled by her subdue and withdrawn nature, the second her hands touched the rifle - the field was hers and yet so was the valley.

Codebreaker [Betchley Park Member]

Sergeant Laverne Robinson - @vintagelavenderskies

For her 23 years of life, Laverne Robinson had known just about every spot in London where you could catch a smoke break and not get caught by one of the older women and get scolded for doing so. She blamed her older brother, he blamed her. It was a mutual thing. But that had been the only thing to fear in London - until war struck, which sent every eligible man off to fight for the effort. Her brother included, leaving her staring out the rain speckled window all alone as the smell of her mother's soup wafted past her nose. Yet, like many women of the time, she wanted to fight too. Fluent in French and German and skilled in mathematics and code-work, Bletchley Park seemed the best fit. Working on codes, both sculpting and breaking them inside the building, keeping her lips shut and going on about her normal day when not inside the institution, life didn't seem as dreary as she had anticipated. Because she knew she was apart of the effort to end this war. That was until, she was called upon in late March 1944 to join up with the 101st Airborne with the first female stick of 12 pathfinders to make the jump into Normandy and assist them in anyway possible. Laverne knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity and if her brother were there, he would've told her to run with it. Becoming a professor of mathematics would have to wait.

REPLACEMENTS

Corporal Alessandra Lisi - @tvserie-s-world

Alessandra Lisi had never known her parents. She was always told that sickness had taken them when she was just a child. Her brothers had been older than her and had tried to protect her from the sight of her parents dying. And so when their Nonna had taken them into her home without hesitation, Alessandra grew to look to her Nonna as the other parental figure she’d ever had. Of course, her brothers were always there for her, protective as they were, they never let her get into any sort of trouble without hearing about it first. Alessandra grew to adore her Italian heritage, cooking with Nonna on Sunday’s, inviting family over to enjoy the meals and even getting to stir the sauce as Nonna dropped in fresh, cut tomatoes. That was life and it had always been life as such. But when war sent her 3 brothers away, she knew she would not go down without a fight either. Upon receiving the paper in November 1943, she noticed the cover page withheld the picture of 12 women, adorned in jump wings as well as military grade goggles and scarves standing with wide smiles and bright eyes in front of a C-47, the title 'The Nightingales', lying just underneath. Female Pathfinders. If her parents were here, they would've been telling her what Nonna would've been telling her now. Fight for what you believe in, because while there's life, there's hope.

Private First Class Bettie Smith - @sgtxliptons86

Brooklyn, New York had it all - the kids in the streets, the shops on the corners where you could get a piece of candy for as little as 5 cents, even the corner stores in the summer where you could get ice cream for a dime. And as Bettie Smith grew older, running the streets of Brooklyn became like a weekend job - checking in on the younger kids of friends, riding bikes past the floral shops and picking up flowers for her sister, getting a bag of charcoal for her father. Even throwing some curses towards the boys who would heckle her for the way she wore her hair or the old shoes laced on her feet. Her older sister wasn’t too pleased with it all, but ever since Ma had passed, she seemed to let it slide - it was an escape for Bettie. So when war came knocking on the Smith’s door, anger, yet pride for their country filled the home, as well as the streets of New York, as more men and women began signing up for the cause. More friends left to join the effort, leaving Bettie there on the concrete doorstep. So when Bettie received the daily paper in November 1943, showcasing the 12 female pathfinders of the 101st Airborne, front and center for all to see, Bettie took it in quite large strides and took the first train of December 1943 to Fort Benning, Georgia.

Private Annie Laine - @wereinadell

Annie Laine, the daughter of Finnish immigrants, had always dreamed of leaving the quiet countryside her parents had always preferred for their family for the big cities of the Midwest - maybe she’d go to Chicago and study theater, or maybe she’d go and finally attend college in Milwaukee. Anything to get out of the small town she currently resided in. But the countryside had brought alone its perks - orienteering and hunting were big in the Laine family and every child, her 3 brothers, her and her sister, had all been taught the noble art. Swimming the streams, fishing in the lakes, taking hikes through the forests and coming back with a deer for dinner - life had always been quite peaceful Annie felt. But she could always hope that one day it changed. And it seemed war rung those bells quite early on. Annie was tired of structured life and if anything, she knew that the start of structured life in the military would fall quite nearly to shambles once they hit war. The November 1943 issue of the daily newspaper brought upon not only sudden interest in the military, but in that of the female pathfinders who were paving their way in all of military history to be the first stick to jump into continental occupied-Europe. All it took was what cash she had saved for college and a small suitcase to get her on the way to Fort Benning, Georgia.

Private Marla Hughes - @hellitwasyoufirstsergeant

Lafayette, Louisiana had been home all her life - Baton Rouge just to the East and New Orleans just a little further. It had always been home for as long as she could remember. With the fancy parties her father always allotted for the family to attend, talking with the men in pristine suits, or the women with the big hats, some days Marla Hughes just wished to be able to go outside and enjoy nature instead of suffocating amongst the people who seemed to live in a world that didn’t even seem like real life. She supposed that was when she had hit her breaking point and joined the Airborne in Fort Benning, Georgia. She was tired of the life that did absolutely nothing for her. There was more to this world, so much more and yet she was confined to a party dress and an expensive glass of wine that tasted bitter when it rushed down the throat. There were small bars, where the music played, and you could dance until your feet grew tired, there were beer bottles awaiting to be clinked together with friends and there were people beside the stuck-up society she was forced into. The Airborne accepted anyone far and wide - and maybe she could strip of the posh life given to her and finally be set free.

THESE ARE THE NIGHTINGALES!!!

> if you have any questions, feel free to send them in! if not, it’s all good! these are our 16 nightingales! :) thank you to all of you who sent them in back in early December! It’s been an honor to craft these wonderful OC’s!

[faorism]

needing the au to drop wherein i can commit to writing a historical au,, because since i first watched the db cooper job my mind went straight to OT3! OT3! OT3! (unlike with the van gogh job, since i aint playing with that fucking lieutenant)

one day maybe one dayyyyy i will sit down and i will write the ot3 into that episode's story. so, it'll be the backgrounds for the characters in the flashback (so, stephanie ritter, steve reynolds, and reggie wilkins), but with the necessary personality adjustments (parker, eliot, and hardison respectively). basically, vintage ot3 with some hot as hell aesthetics and secrets and avoiding as much as possible producing copraganda.

so. my thoughts. what i see happening. and this got super long so im throwing this under a cut. and for ease i will call them by their modern day canon names except when making a point.

first, general thoughts about the characters.

and so: steve to eliot. nothing much here on the surface. eliot still volunteers, too much an indoctrinated white man to have been forcibly drafted. so its still one man gone to war. one man come back. eliot would had been noticed early in training for his ability to pick shit up, and they teased at maybe sending him to a special unit. maybe they do, or maybe they don't because they just need to funnel fuckers to the jungle. the vietnam invasion was a terrorist imperialist venture and there's no romanticizing from me about anything done being at all valorous or special or brother-in-arms'y. and eliot commits war crimes under the american stars and stripes instead of just to keep moreau's champaign running. but also maybe moreau is eliot's superior. he certainly would have been rewarded for this ruthlessness. (eliot of course strove to impress moreau because there aint an eliot spencer who wasn't that man's dog at some point, i!!!! dont make the rules). eliot's friend died and eliot's gone off to carry out his wishes and moreau lets him because he Knows eliot is gonna come back. whether its to come back to the same squad, or follow him into deeper spy shit for the military, or to fuck off and go private. then eliot meets parker.

now. stephanie to parker. beth plays normal so well im mad at her, but there's something edgy and strategic about stephanie that i think parker can grab onto. i feel that maybe she was kind of a thief still, but there's more realism to this world so archie wasnt a super secret spy with lasers to practice with, but just a guy with sticky fingers whos a little bored and wants a protege. parker is good really good at what she does, and not having to deal with lasers makes me easy. but she's into scams that are less grifts and more Catch Me If You Can slight of hands. she's always looking for easy money (she was into lifting cars at one point! literally she follows where the crime is). she's doing something in an airport and someone tries to recruit her as a flight attendant because she's got the Look. and yall, flight attendants? that shit was like being a model and an astronaut and a time traveler back then. and according to a teacher i had, who once worked as in the f.a. union, those ladies back in the day were rad and queer and free spirited and runnnnning shit. i think, yes, it's a Job which i think we might resist placing parker into. but! of the jobs, at the time, i really see her rocking it during the time period. (also come on, the opportunities to swindle distracted people of their shit would be endless. they would just think they dropped their stuff in the airport! not that it was stolen.)

finally, reggie to alec. i think hardison will be the hardest to translate. even tho i admittedly listen to a lot of true crime podcasts, i dont know much about fbi life and also definitely don't know about it historically. part of me desperately wants to put him somewhere else even if it does have to stay within the fbi. i might cheat and make him like a Q(uartermaster) to 007/00s like in james bond, and he's like UGH this is horrible god i hate working for the fbi but they will give me funding so...... anyway, here's this totally cool [radio term]. that said, if hardison is stuck in the fbi, why he ends up there is that he is a fucking savant when it comes to research and the man can put together a presentation like no one else. that white man gets all the credit for profiling but it was hardison who goddamn was the google of the microfilm days. reggie felt super square but that might be because he had to deal with mcsweeties db cooper shit day in and day out for years. hardison is more himself. and definitely still a nerd. alec would be into dime fantasy novels and comics and ham radios and oh god he also would be into star trek like the original star trek as it came out and he would be into the zines yes! yessss. omg. also he plays a mean arcade cabinet. but he's mostly well adjusted but lonely. his colleagues dont appreciate him because fbi esp during that time were fucking wilding out and racist as hell aaaaaand im sorry im srry im trying so hard to have fbi hardison make sense but also! acab. ANYWAY.

second, the relationship

i think it would be fun to play with what it means to have parker/eliot start off first and bring in hardison afterwards. (if white collar is your thing, it would be like this canon divergent ot3 fic wherein peter burke is the last to join in.) i feel they would be Super Intense esp since they are carrying this big ass secret. kind of broken and dysfunctional and there's the passion and the commitment, but i think there's also a tenderness that's super hard for them to achieve? and i think there's a way that hardison plays such an important part in who they are and how they are. like, sure i think parker/eliot would have joy but they won't have levity. they would have compassion but they won't have gentleness.

eliot meets hardison after being recruited by nate. i think they get close because while nate and eliot have an interesting and compelling mentorship/friendship, nate is still eliots superior; sometimes its nice to complain about your boss, as hardison will say to eliot to try to make friends. i think hardison and eliot would become legit friends and not just work buddies because they are just not cut out of the same cloth as the rest of their colleagues. they grab beers after work. after hard days, hardison cajoles eliot into going to the arcade. they are friends. real real truly deep best friends, in a way hardison didn't think he could have with a fed and eliot didnt think he would have after his friend died. but also? they are like "buds" who are buds who are desperately tryna to cross any lines because there's a.... tension? an UST between them they dont know what to do with.

parker meets eliot by way of a "lets have my friend for dinner, he's a blast." and immediately immediately hardison is like... wow this woman is beautiful but like, really attracted to her personality. and parker things hardison is kinda dorky but cute dorkie? anyway, they have a puppy love situation growing. and it keeps growing until bam. eliot and parker are like. are we into alec???? fuck we are aren't we.

i think stephanie and steve would never tell reggie (even if somehow they were to be a thing). but parker and eliot? hell yeah they tell hardison. eventually. after a while. sooner than maybe they should. the tension if they should say something is one of the things that build up as UST between them for so long; parker and eliot know they are carrying this huge thing. two huge things. eliot being db cooper and also their massive crush on him.

if i could control myself to stick to a pwp, it would be another christmas. maybe the christmas nine (more?) years down the road. the damn snow grounded hardison's flight back to his nana's, and parker and eliot hear this and invite him over. the egg nog gets flowing and parker eventually is like,, fuck this. and comes onto hardison. and hardison would be like wow wow what but... idk, free love and swinging were In The Thoughts And Minds Of The People. he still checks in with eliot who is like. her body, man; i aint gonna tell her what to do. and for a sec hardison is like, man is this a cuck situation? i guess i can be for it but also...... aint mad if i aint alone. and eliot is so grateful and idk. i just want them all to be happy and having fun and no one to be left out. and yeah i am kinda brushing over a lot of the racial politics which, in a more developed fic rather than a pwp, would definitely need to be brought in; but idk that needs to just be in the bedrock of whatever plot is going into this.

it takes a lot of maneuvering of their lives but they make it work and eventually hardison is a keeper of eliot's secret too.

(apart from the historical aspect, another reason i probably won't actually write this is because i know myself. i would want to do worldbuilding. i would follow eliot and alec to their jobs, but i wouldnt want to write outright copaganda. the grit/realism i would be comfortable with would take a level of research i dont think i can commit to. but if someone wants to take this up or if you figure out a way around this issue, pls do i wont be mad)

[parasite-core]

so! you wanted to talk about your ocs, yeah? hm, idk about them so can you give a little introduction about who they are and their likes or something like that? or at least about some of them? thanks! 🥰💞

Thank you! Sorry for the delay I wrote way too much then wrote less but still too much then I took medicine that knocked me out lol.

So I’m going to talk about Draven because he’s who I’m fixated on, but if you want me to jump to another OC just say the word and I’ll talk about someone else instead.

So my first attempt at answering got out of hand and was not a “little introduction” so I’ll tag you in a separate post with all that if you feel inclined to read it after seeing the ‘short’ answer lmao. Even this answer got long so you can imagine the other went very detailed.

Let’s start with the part that’s short, his likes and dislikes.

Likes: Cats, he grew up with a big blonde cat named Captain who only liked him and he’s loved cats ever since.

Leto, his surrogate brother.

His friends…begrudgingly sometimes.

Music, he’s a big music lover, especially violin music but really anything he can tell had real passion put behind it.

Makeup and generally making himself look beautiful: it offsets the scars a bit and people—including his enemies—already call him uncomfortably pretty so why not lean into it. Plus it makes him feel good when people call him pretty/beautiful. (He might be slowly having some gender self-revelations but Draven isn’t very insightful so it’s taking him a while)

Dislikes: Demons, demons, demons. Glabrezus (treachery demons), Succubi (you know), you get the point. He really hates demons. He doesn’t mind tieflings/ abyssal sorcerers/ other people who just happen to have demonic blood in them, so long as they don’t let it define them. Which is good for him since he recently discovered *he* has demonic blood in his bloodline so he’d have had a way worse breakdown if he’d been upset about the blood in general not just which specific demon it belonged it (Jerribeth, a Glabrezu, and likely the cause of his entire family’s deaths…so yeah, baggage)

Other things he hates…people telling him how he should feel about something. He’ll feel how he should feel in his own time and not a moment sooner.

Having people’s lives in his hands. He’s a commander of an army he has no choice in the matter but he hates it so much he wishes he could just be a front line grunt fighting demons and risking his own life not giving the order that might kill dozens or more of others if things go wrong or he miscalculated. He carries the weight of every person who has died under his command and take it very personally.

People insulting tieflings for their existence.

About: this still got long but less long than the first time.

Draven Imani is a warpriest of the goddess of righteous valor, justice, and honor, Iomedae. After his family was killed by demons when he was 8 and he was the sole survivor, he was saved by Iomedaen crusaders. After he was healed, except for a Mark of Deskari on his wrist that festers and remains open no matter what healing is applied, they had him bandage up and keep it secret, although vicious rumors already began spreading. He was taken in by an Iomedaen orphanage called the Light-Oath Orphanage. This is where he gained his faith, and his desire to follow in the footsteps of the crusaders who saved his life. This is also where he met his best friend and surrogate brother, the tiefling Leto, who he’s been inseparable from for 13 years.

The two of them made a group of 6 who all wanted to join the crusades for various reasons, and they set out for the Crusader hub city of Kenabres. Unfortunately when they were an hour out of the city, a demon slipped through the wardstone barrier. Draven sensed it first, the evil mark on his wrist burning and bleeding in response. It was too late to flee or warn the others, and one by one they fell. Draven lost his eye while trying to protect Leto, and doesn’t remember the rest of the fight from the shock and trauma. Next thing he remembers is waking up in a healer’s bed in a temple of Iomedae in Kenabres, Leto waiting for him, his other friends dead, and unable to see out of half his vision.

The for next year he retrained himself how to fight with his sword and shield with only one eye, relearning to judge distances and to mostly figure out his spacial awareness. However because everyone saw him as irreversibly damaged, he got relegated to the lowest, least prestigious, most mocked rank of the crusades: the Raven Corps. And there he rotted in guard duty and being degraded by both townsfolk and other crusaders, all of whom see the Raven Corps as the lowest of the low.

Then the Wardstone protecting the city was destroyed, the Stormking, one of Deskari’s generals, lead an attack on the city and began slaughtering everyone, and the party was swept underground by the silver dragon Paladin of Iomedae, Terendalev, who told them they had a destiny to fulfil.

And then Auriel Answerer, Draven’s friend and mentee from the Raven Corps died right next to him striking a fatal blow against a Baphomet cultist. And it turned out Auriel was supposed to be Iomedae’s Chosen One. So because Auriel vouched for Draven, now Draven is the one allowed to wield the Holy Sword Radiance—although Radiance themself seems begrudging of this.

Draven met his hero, Commander Irabeth Tirabade, a half-orc Paladin and former Raven Corps member who once saved the city and was promoted to commander of the prestigious Eagle Watch Legion in recognition. Irabeth immediately gave Draven a field promotion to acting captain of the Raven Corps for recent events. No pressure or anything.

We destroyed the final wardstone shard that Deskari cultists were trying to corrupt into a weapon, via our archer Hiskaria avoiding a boss battle while the party fought her and kept her distracted by being bigger threats until it was too late. Then Hisy jabbed the stone with the rod of cancellation and it broke and destroyed her and two of her minions. And a single shard hit each of us after we had a vision of what had meant to happen—of the doomed world we weren’t meant to save—and how our actions had literally broken fate. Afterwards in reality the Wardstone shards sank into us and bequeathed new powers to each of us.

The night after becoming Mythic Draven met Iomedae in our dreams and received a number of really helpful boons from her. So Draven was in awe there. And learned from meeting the warrior goddess that maybe he should be less self deprecating about his own facial scars.

Since then he met the Queen of Mendev, got promoted to Commander of his own legion (The Adamant Shield Legion) with Irabeth friggin Tirabade as his mentor and advisor, they liberated an impenetrable citadel in two days, found out Leto was now working with the cult of Baphomet for unknown reasons, but he promised Draven that he wouldn’t let them hurt him. It turned out he’d been acting strangely since meeting a Glabrezu on the battlefield, and when Draven tried to ask over sending Leto only told him that “wishes come true at the most unexpected times”.

Since then. Dray’s learned that the mark on his wrist means he also made a wish to a Glabrezu, that he doesn’t remember because he was a traumatized child who was just tortured and saw his family killed when he got his mark. And not just any Glabrezu—Lady Jerribeth, the original architect of Drezen’s fall, and very likely the cause of his family’s deaths. And not only that, but Jerribeth’s blood runs through his veins, from within the last few generations of his family. So the Crusader, the demon slayer, who fights demons but embraces tieflings, is struggling to put his money where his mouth is when it’s his own blood touched by a demon’s influence. Also killing another mark bearer places a new mark of Deskari onto him, so he has a new one on his neck now from killing a raider half-fiend berserker who also shared Jerribeth’s blood and mark. He’s scared of the implications.

And that’s Draven so far.

[creative-type]

wake from death (and return to life) ix

AO3 first summary:  Zoro had always been told Kuina died falling down a flight of stairs. But she didn’t fall, and she wasn’t dead.

.

.

It took Kuina almost five minutes of dangling over the rails of the ship to realize there was no wind. She was punch-drunk and giddy, the weight of uncertainty rolled off of her shoulders now that she had a clear path forward. She was a Revolutionary. She was going to be the greatest swordsman in the world.

Kuina allowed herself those five minutes. With everything she’d gone through in the last week and a half she’d more than earned them, and it had been so long since she’d felt any real excitement for her future. But no swordsman worth their blade would let themselves get lost in childish emotionalism. Kuina steadied herself with a few deep breaths, mentally drawing in the flights of fancy that had momentarily escaped from her imagination—daydreams of facing Dracule Mihawk at the behest of the Revolution, of proving once and for all that she could do what so many thought impossible, of reuniting with her father and Zoro proudly bearing the title Greatest.  

It was like trying to wrangle a gaggle of unruly children. The more Kuina struggled to contain herself the more her imagination tried to run free, but she managed to settle back into the state of tranquil serenity that was more befitting of her training. The practical side of her, the part that quietly disapproved of this most recent turn of events, knew that now that she’d painted the broad strokes of her future it was high time to figure out what the hell Aria de Gris was doing now. It was then, and only then, that she noticed that the air was unnaturally still.

The sailors around her were not perturbed even as the Valor’s sails hung limp from their moorings. Kuina could feel that they were moving on the clear, mirror-flat sea. Slowly, but that was better than being dead in the water. Kuina wandered to the ship’s bow, noting that the Valor was sailing almost due south. If the Revolution had followed the same heading since leaving Tolouse, and Kuina had been unconscious for two full days, that meant…

“Don’t worry, we should be out of the Calm Belt by the end of the week.”

Kuina flinched, sword half-drawn before realizing it was only Dara using what had to be the most annoying Devil Fruit ability in the history of the world. Dara laughed as she popped out of the deck, hooking her thumbs in her pockets as Kuina shot her a glare.

But most of Kuina’s irritation was at herself for letting herself be caught by surprise, and she returned her attention back to the water. It was impossible to sail through the Calm Belt without some sort of engine, which the Valor lacked, to say nothing of the danger presented by the innumerable nests of sea kings that buffeted the Grand Line from the Four Blues.

Even as Kuina tried to wrap her mind around it, a dark shadow emerged from the depths directly in front of the ship. A high-pitched, eerie wail, almost like a siren’s song, reverberated through the air and deep into Kuina’s chest.

A monstrous head breached the surface so close to the Valor it sent rippling waves across its hull. Sprays of water jettisoned thirty feet into the air, exposing only part of a stripped, misshapen body before submerging once more. Great flukes, as large as a whale, but covered with algae-like strands of hair, slapped against the surface of the sea and sent sprays of salty water against the deck. Someone in the crow’s nest above whooped out a cry of encouragement.

Thoroughly confused, Kuina looked at Dara, whose grin only widened as she pointed to a tiny speck bobbing to the space recently vacated by the leviathan. “Oh look, there’s Cam. Someone should send a boat after her.”

“As if she’d take it!” a Revolutionary Kuina didn’t recognize shouted from across the deck.

“True,” Dara said contemplatively. Beckoning Kuina to follow, she meandered to the starboard side of the deck and loosened a rope ladder into the sea. “It’s probably faster to just let her swim.”

If Kuina hadn’t been so amazed by the fact Camille hadn’t gotten herself eaten, she would have marveled at the speed with which she cut through the unnaturally-still sea. Kuina considered herself a good enough swimmer, but Camille looked like she’d been born for the water. She moved like she was part fish, each stroke strong and graceful, returning to the Valor in moments. When she climbed back onto the decks she seemed sad to be there, looking back longingly at the water.

“So, how’s Fin?” Dara asked.

“Good, good. I adjusted the harness to fit more comfortably.” Camille arched an eyebrow at her friend while adjusting a leather thong around her neck, from which hung the biggest tooth Kuina had ever seen. “And his name isn’t Fin.”

“Well since you haven’t said what his name is, you’ve left me no choice but to improvise,” Dara retorted. She nudged Kuina in the ribs. “Can you believe she went through the effort of taming a sea king and then didn’t name it? ”

“You tamed a sea king?” Kuina said. “ How? ”

Camille rolled her eyes. “I didn’t tame anything. We’ve just...reached an understanding.” She gave Kuina an appraising look. “I’m surprised the doctor let you out of her grasp so soon.”

“She almost didn’t,” Kuina admitted.

Dara wrapped an arm around Kuina’s neck, ignoring the choked yelp of alarm and Kuina’s efforts to squirm free. “Forget about that! Did you hear, Kuina joined up. She’s officially one of the team!”

“I thought that was a given.” Camille said, utterly disinterested as she wrung the excess water from her shirt.

“When did you hear that?” Kuina said at the same time.

“Pfft, Dara knows pretty much everything on this ship,” Camille said. “You get used to it.”

Kuina frowned. She didn’t like the idea of someone with Dara’s ability nosing her way into business that wasn’t her own. If there was anything she’d learned since sailing with the Revolution, it was that there was very little in the way of privacy while at sea. Ships crowded everyone together, crewmates eating, sleeping, and working in close proximity. While the forced closeness had its advantages, Kuina was used to spending great blocks of time alone. It was something to get used to, and to be wary of.

“Don’t worry, your secrets are safe with me,” Dara said, tweaking the end of Kuina’s nose. “You saved me from losing five hundred berries, and to Lizard of all people. I am at your service.”

It took Kuina a moment to remember Dara’s ill-thought wager with Elizabeth, and before she could voice her protest Dara had taken her by the arm to make official introductions to the crew, Camille laughing a half-step behind.

There was John the cooper, and James the blacksmith. Among the deckhands Kuina was introduced to rapid-fire were Kojo, Zhao, Lin, Char, Sean, Jen, and Tiva, and by the end of it she had gotten them so thoroughly confused with one another she had no idea which one was which. Others were working belowdecks, or off-shift and resting.

Elizabeth was still regretfully in charge of cooking duties, while Lyudmila was the ship’s quartermaster and second in command. Kuina was surprised to hear that in addition to taming sea kings in her spare time, Camille was the crew’s navigator.

“And what is it you do?” Kuina asked as Dara dragged her back below decks for the grand tour.

“Get newbs like you up to speed. Now here’s Trini’s room—try not to get stuck in here unless you want to spend the afternoon feeding lettuce to snails.”

Kuina blinked in amazement. The communications room was packed full of terrariums housing snail phones of every size and color. At its center was an enormous machine that looked vaguely like what the marines used to send their faxes, with thin cords attached to half a dozen den den mushi. Behind the machine sat Trini wearing an oversized pair of headphones, deep in concentration.

“She’s scanning the airwaves,” Dara said in an exaggerated whisper, carefully closing the door once more. “Not that there’s much to intercept in the Calm Belt, but you never know with the marines these days.”

“The marines can cross the Calm Belt?” Kuina said. “I can barely believe we’re crossing the Calm Belt!”

“It’s all thanks to Fin. Sea king bulls don’t typically fight with one another unless it’s mating season, so even if he’s pulling along a tasty treat we should be all right. I think his song has something to do with it, too.” She made an exaggerated gesture. “As for the marines, I have no freaking clue, but it must be a pretty new development since Boss doesn’t know about it, and the Valor isn’t sea-king proofed either.”

“That’s right, this was a marine ship,” Kuina murmured, looking up at the planks with fresh eyes. It was funny, without the marine’s distinctive painted hulls, she’d never would have been able to tell the difference.

“Oh, yeah. Came with all the amenities, which is how Trini got her state of the art snail room.”

“So if you guys had a sea king snuck up your sleeve this whole time, why didn’t you use it during the battle?” Kuina asked. “A monster that size would have been useful on Tolouse.”

“Ach, must everything be about fighting with you?” Dara said. “You must never have seen a real sea king, but Fin’s practically a baby, not even half-grown. And it’s surprisingly smart—for all my teasing, Cam was right. The thing has a mind of its own and acknowledges no master. I don’t think we could get him to attack a ship if we wanted to.”  

“But he’ll pull a ship through the Calm Belt?” Kuina said.

“It’s better than going the long way around, eh?” Dara said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.”

At the barracks, Kuina had her choice of seven open bunks. One, which happened to be closest to the door, had a small crate propped on top of the thin mattress. Inside was stuffed with clothes and basic belongings. When Kuina looked askance at Dara the light in her eyes dimmed.

“That’s Danny’s stuff,” Dara said. “The rest who died already have their things stowed for when we get back to base, but as far as any of us know she doesn’t have any family so we’re not really sure what to do with hers. I’d say for you to take the clothes since you don’t have any, but I don’t think they’d fit.”

Kuina drew her fingers over the box, trying to think if she’d said anything about any family in their short time together, but all she remembered her mentioning was an apprenticeship under a cruel master. Kuina’s throat tightened as the memory of Danny screaming hysterically echoed in her mind unbidden.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Dara rubbed her neck uncomfortably. “It happens. I already told Boss when I bite it to sell all my stuff and use the money to have a party. If you all can’t be happy, at least you’ll be drunk.”

“I don’t drink,” Kuina said.

“Then you and Mila can be mopey together,” Dara said with determined cheerfulness. “It won’t matter to me, I’ll be dead. Now, where do you want to be? I’d be careful about that middle one there, it’s next to Lizard, and she snores terribly. ”

Kuina took the hint, and changed the subject, trying not to wonder how many of the bunks available to her had only emptied after the battle of Tolouse.

After the tour came lunch, and with two solid, if not especially tasty, meals under her belt, Kuina was beginning to feel more like herself again. The itch to train was back, and Kuina wanted nothing more to test the limits she’d recently expanded and chase after the high of battle, but much like her time on Belo Betty’s ship she was first subjected to the humiliation of being the newest and lowest-ranking sailor on a large and understaffed warship.

“You’re kind of shit at this, aren’t you?” Camille observed from her perch at the ship’s bow, watching as Kuina ran her mop over the deck for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You could help,” Kuina said.

“And deprive you of the opportunity to learn? Never.” She gave a long, catlike stretch. “By the way, you missed a spot.”

Kuina muttered an oath as she stabbed the mop into the bucket. “It isn’t as if it’s dirty.”

“Water expands and seals the wood, salt protects against rot.” Camille yawned, as if bored by the conversation, and wandered back to their useless rudder. As she passed Kuina, she said, “If you want to live in a drippy, softwooded ship, be my guest. As for me, I’d prefer not to die the first time a Grand Line squall hits.”

She left Kuina with her head bowed and cheeks burning. But the words had their intended effect and Kuina redoubled her efforts, determined from that point on that no one could in good conscience reprimand her sailcraft ever again.

It was nearing dark when de Gris and Lyudmila emerged from the captain’s quarters to call a meeting with the crew. After a long day of labor, Kuina’s muscles ached and she yearned for the sweet respite of bed. And it wasn’t as if the work had been taxing, especially after Clara Cross emerged from the infirmary like an avenging angel to tell off the entire crew, but especially Kuina, for overexerting herself.

There were some things not even Devil Fruit magic couldn’t sweep under the rug, and apparently the exhaustion of a near-death experience was one of them.

“All right everyone, gather round!” de Gris yelled. “Watchmen too! There aren’t any ships out here, and if the sea kings come after us we’re fucked anyway. I want everyone to hear this. Where’s Trini? She can leave the damn snails for ten minutes.”

The crew scrambled to obey the order. Kojo (or maybe Sean) went to gather those who were still belowdecks. Minutes later everyone was assembled in a loose circle around the main mast, with de Gris at the center. She paused a moment to ensure everyone was paying close attention, and under her stern gaze the idle chatter vanished into deathly silence.

Rays of dying light cast against de Gris’s back and framed her face in deep shadow. “I know you all have been wondering lately why the hell we were called to the East Blue so suddenly, and why we’re leaving just as quickly. I’ve heard you lot asking where our next destination was and wonder why I’ve not said where we’re going once we hit the Grand Line. Well, the answer’s simple. Until today, I didn’t know.”

From the folds of her coat, she pulled out an old and crumpled sheet of paper. Kuina squinted her eyes and was just able to make out the blurry picture of a masked figure. The bounty underneath, however, was clear as the sky above. Master-at-Arms Gemini, Wanted Dead or Alive. Bounty: B48,000,000.

Beside her, Dara snorted. “Oh, I bet the marine who thought up that name thought he was very clever.”

It was difficult to tell much from the photograph, but the one detail that was absolutely clear was Gemini’s strange, double-segmented arms, too long for an ordinary human and vaguely insectile. Kuina, who’d never seen anything like it before in her life, wondered what it would be like to fight someone who essentially had two elbows.

She brushed the thought away and turned to Gemini’s face. Their mask, fittingly enough, was divided vertically into halves, one dark and one light. The side that was dark was completely bereft of ornamentation; Kuina couldn’t even make out an eyehole to see out of. The side that was light, however, was painted with a garish grin. A shock of wiry black hair fell past their shoulders, but beyond that it was impossible to discern any identifying features. Baggy clothing and the poor quality of the photograph obscured anything else, even gender, and after spending this much time under de Gris's command, Kuina knew better than to assume.

“Gemini is a prominent figure in the criminal underground,” de Gris continued. “Arms dealing, drug trade, slavery, the whole lot. Removing them from the equation will make the world a safer place.”

“What’s an arms dealer got to do with the Revolution?” someone to Kuina’s right called. “And what have they got to do with the East Blue?” A murmur of agreement rippled through the crew.

“Enough!” de Gris bellowed, silencing them once more. “Tolouse's government were slavers, that much is now clear. They called it political exile to a labor camp, but the end result is the same—the World Government gave the king kickbacks for human chattel, using the Callihan Trading Company as a middleman. And we now now that the CTC was taking orders from Gemini. If Gemini is willing to go through so much effort to set up a scheme in some East Blue backwater, who knows what other fingers they have stuck into various pies around the world.”

“So we’re going after them,” Camille said, crossing her arms across her chest.

“That's right. So far Gemini has been able to stay one step ahead of us, but with the intel gathered on Tolouse we have the upper hand.” De Gris marched to the mast. In one smooth motion she drew a dagger hidden in her boot, and stabbed the bounty deep into the wood.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to Kyuka Island. In the days ahead I’ll be divvying out assignments. Any questions are to be directed toward Lyudmila or myself—out of an abundance of caution, you’re not to discuss your orders with anyone else on this ship. I’ll keelhaul anyone who tries.” At this her gaze went directly to Kuina, who got the impression these instructions were given strictly for her benefit. "Kyuka is marine territory through and through. I pray none of us fall into Government hands, but if we do, it's safest for the Revolution that each individual knows as little as possible about our plans."

After a pause, and hearing no objections, de Gris lit a cigarette for herself. “I’ll pay anyone who finds any intelligence on Gemini that leads to their capture or death the full value of their bounty. I’ll pay double to anyone who brings me their head. This chase has gone on long enough, I want this bastard dead. ” She flicked a bit of ash off the end of her cigarette and added, almost as an afterthought, “Dismissed.”

A gap in the circle opened to let de Gris through. As she passed, she grabbed Kuina by the shoulder. “Come on, greenhorn. It’s time we sort out your position on this ship.”

For the second time that day Kuina was led to the captain’s quarters. De Gris’s desk had been cleared away, the sea charts rolled back into their proper places and ashtrays emptied. Kuina slid back into a chair that smelled like tobacco. “What is it? Does the Revolution have Articles of Enlistment for me to sign? Is there a manifesto I’m supposed to study?”

“Don’t be stupid.” The sun had almost dipped below the horizon, and de Gris found a box of matches to light a kerosene lamp. The orange flame danced on its wick and flickered with the natural roll of the ship. “I’m told Dara gave you the runaround today.”

Kuina nodded.

“Clara never came screaming at me, so I have to assume you’re not feeling too poorly,” she mused, taking the time to light another cigarette.

“I’m fine,” Kuina said, rolling back her shoulders so de Gris couldn’t see the weariness in them.  

“And have you taken that sword out of its sheath even once today?”

“Uh...no?” Kuina said.

“Unacceptable.” De Gris leaned back in her chair and let out a long stream of smoke. “You’re not some swabby or rigging monkey, you’re here because of your blade.” She looked at Kuina as if she were an idiot for not realizing this sooner.

“I’m willing to work just as hard as anyone else on this ship,” Kuina said stiffly.

“And you will. Harder, even, since you’re so far behind. But a ship is like…” She gesticulated, trying to find the right word. “It’s like a person. A crew is its own organism, and every one of us has to fit into their part. You don’t expect a heart to do the same work as a kidney, and no matter how hard you try, you’re not going to be half the sailor as the people who’ve spent their whole lives on the water. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise.”

Kuina nodded. What she said made sense, and in many ways Kuina agreed with her. But there was something about agreeing with Aria de Gris that didn’t sit right with her, so she said, “I have to learn sometime.”

“Obviously. I’m not about to let you be a liability once we hit the Grand Line, but there has to be balance. You’re no good to me if you get yourself killed because you spent too much time studying the different types of sails instead of your swordsmanship.” De Gris was pensive for a moment. “I’ll have Mila set up a schedule for you in the morning. Half the day working chores, the rest training. A few of my men use katana, but you’re better than all of them. Most of what you’ll do will have to be self study.”

“That’s fine. I haven’t had a master in years.”

De Gris looked surprised to hear this, but didn’t comment. “We have regular sparing times as well, to help our less practiced fighters build their skill, and to give the mainliners a chance to get used to each other's styles. Depending on how this all shakes out, you might be pairing with Dara or Camille for the upcoming mission. Do you know how to use a gun?”

“Of course not,” Kuina said, caught off-guard by the question.

“Then you’ll learn.” De Gris cut off Kuina’s protests before they could begin. “Can you kill someone at twenty yards with your sword?”

“No,” Kuina said mulishly.

“Then you need to know how to fire a gun, and probably keep one on you as a backup weapon. I have no use for senseless pride on this ship, girl,” she said as Kuina scrunched her nose in distaste. It’s your job to listen to what I say, and it’s my job to try and put you in a position to not die. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Kuina said, still unhappy at the prospect of sullying her hands with a firearm.

Without warning, de Gris pounded her fist on her desk. The kerosine lamp tottered and threatened to fall, but her eyes never left Kuina’s, the scar on her cheek pulled taunt with her scowl.

“I said. Do. You. Understand ?”

“And I said yes, ” Kuina snapped. “I’ll learn to use you’re stupid gun, and when I figure out how to kill someone at fifty yards with my sword I’ll drop kick it into the ocean where it belongs." She crossed her arms across her chest. "I already told you I’ll do what you say so long as you don’t interfere with my ambition, so there’s no need to treat me like a child.”  

They glared at one another for a long while, hackles raised, but this time Kuina refused to let herself be intimidated into backing down. Slowly, still without breaking eye contact, de Gris eased back into her chair and doused her cigarette. “I have put too many people’s belongings into boxes because they wouldn’t listen. For your own sake, I hope you’re not one of them.”

For the second time that day, memory of Danny's last words echoed in her mind. “You’re in luck, because right now I don’t own enough stuff to fit into a box, let alone anyone to send it to.”

“No one at all?” de Gris said, eyebrows raising.

Kuina’s breath hitched as she thought of her father back at Shimotsuki village. Would the Revolutionary Army be able to return her meager belongings home without the marines knowing? Would he be able to stand knowing she’d joined Dragon’s cause despite all his warnings? What about Ipponmatsu? He at least wasn’t under suspicion by the World Government...Or was he, now that she’d attacked Tashigi?

Of everyone she knew, it was probably safest to give her belongings to Zoro , but gods only knew what part of the Grand Line he’d found himself in. She almost laughed at the thought of him using two of her swords for himself.

“No one,” Kuina said. Her hands clenched into fists, nails digging crescent moons into her palms, but she kept her voice calm and her tone even.

After another heartbeat of painful silence, de Gris said, “Well, you’re not the only one." The words were probably meant to be reassuring, but Kuina felt they were anything but. “If you think of anybody, make sure someone knows.”

“I don’t plan on dying,” Kuina said.

De Gris snorted and lit another cigarette. “None of us do. Now get some grub and get to bed. You have a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

Kuina rose to her feet. After a moment’s hesitation, she bowed slightly. “Thank you...Captain.”

De Gris waved her away with a dismissive flick of the wrist. “You don’t have to break your teeth saying it. I don’t give a damn what you call me so long as you follow orders. Just know I take discipline on this ship very seriously. Cross me, and keelhauling is the least you’ll have to worry about.”

Kuina didn’t doubt it for a second. Murmuring her goodbyes, she left de Gris to her cigarettes and her musings, grateful to be able to swallow the clean sea air once more.

[agentrouka-blog]

What do you think about how will dothraki and unsullied prevail at the end of books? Considering they would be snatched from their homes and set as foils to wildlings.

Hello anon!

I don’t really know. I have to confess my focus has been much more on my Starks than on Dany.

One thing I find fascinating about Dany’s two armies is how diametrically opposed they are, and I don’t just mean in terms of “discipline”, but in terms of slavery. The Dothraki are the people who capture free civilians and supply them to Slaver’s Bay. Not a few of her Unsullied soldiers might have become so after a raid not unlike Drogo’s on the Lhazareen village. 

Like the Wildlings and the Northerner’s, there is bound to be some level of bad blood there, but we have yet to see it. 

With the Wildlings and Northerners, Jon is building an independent framework for them to work together. Settling, oaths, marriage, common goals. These are things that are aimed to be separate from him as a person, and they can and should endure eventually, without him.

So, what is Dany’s strategy: 

Her original khalasar is bound to her personally, the Dothraki way. They follow her strength, their life is linked to hers. This is how Dany thinks of her leadership, too. 

"We follow the comet," Dany told her khalasar. Once it was said, no word was raised against it. They had been Drogo's people, but they were hers now. The Unburnt, they called her, and Mother of Dragons. Her word was their law.  (ACOK, Daenerys I)

The Unsullied are equally bound to her person.

Dany turned the whip in her hand. Such a light thing, to bear such weight. "Is it done, then? Do they belong to me?" (ASOS, Daenerys III)

They are “free” but the only option they have is to join Dany.

"It is a lucky name. The name this one was born to was accursed. That was the name he had when he was taken for a slave. But Grey Worm is the name this one drew the day Daenerys Stormborn set him free."

"If battle is joined, let Grey Worm show wisdom as well as valor," Dany told him. "Spare any slave who runs or throws down his weapon. The fewer slain, the more remain to join us after." (ASOS, Daenerys IV)

They are given no real alternative and their life remains tied to hers. Everything begins and ends with Dany.

We don’t really know yet how Dany will go about the other Dothraki, but it’s not unlikely that she will revisit Vaes Dothrak and unite the khalasars. 

Either way, if she brings a sizeable army of Unsullied and Dothraki to Westeros with her, and they do not all perish in her service, we will see that “united” army disintegrate once Dany is removed as the figurehead. 

Heck, we might see the Unsullied turn against Dany before the end, considering that their lives outside of Dany’s purpose are hinted at (Missandei’s brothers, their brothel visits) but not given any thought by Dany. These former slaves are likely to notice that they aren’t really former slaves, at some point. They will also probably at some point wonder why they are working alongside people who may or may not still identify as slavers. THAT is a conflict I would love to see. 

What I would like most, would be for Unsullied and Dothraki to decide in mutual negotiations where they want to go, post-Dany. People to people. 

The Unsullied might disband and choose to find individual purpose and joy in their lives outside of war. The way someone like Jeyne might recover from intense trauma, the way the NW brothers may return to a civilian life, the way someone like septon Meribald turned to the faith after being a brigand soldier. It’s that or perish, really. But I like to think that the members of the slave army will eventually find true freedom. 

The Dothraki are a different matter. They are not an artificially created monolithic solo-purpose weapon of war. They are a people with a culture and a way of life and a geographic home in the Dothraki Sea. If Dany ends up obliterating the original basis of their culture (like the Others did with the Wildlings) and many many of their fighting men end up dying, I would hope that the rest of them end up returning home, but the women will take over and something similar to the wildlings will occur: an adaptation to new circumstances, a new relationship with their neighbors, a shift away from their more predatory habits, a reforming of their culture on the rubble of the old. Keeping what they can and want, discarding what they can no longer use. Their experiences with the Unsillied and Dany’s entire slavery arc might leave its own mark. They will go on, but differently. 

The Point is, these formerly dehumanized human beings in Dany’s service will determine their own future without her “help”.

That’s the only way I can see GRRM resolve this without utterly obliterating the humanity of Dany’s army, and I think it is going to happen that way.

[flowerflamestars]

PLEASE elaborate on cassian and azriel as teenagers PLEASE

 YES MY BOYS OKAY LETS GO

So the moment it all actually comes together and starts is in Starlight: that first blood smeared kiss with aching ribs, Cassian’s retrospectively enormous fuck you to authority, that searing absolution: he’s Illyrian. 

What Azriel hears: Illyrian like me, like me, the only one.

This is where Azriel understands all at once. That he might have nothing but an uncertain future, but he can belong with this one bloody, beautiful boy who is just as deadly. That this is why Rhysand- Rhysand who has known love every single day of his life- is jealous. 

It’s about recognition. That the High Lord chose Azriel and recognized his talent- even if Rhys is the one who really has a father, who gets letters and gifts, who has a father. 

That Rhys’ bleeding heart that both Cassian and Azriel find incomprehensible meant that he’d dragged Cassian to shelter- but the High Lady had looked at the strongest Illyrian born of his generation and said, yes, you can stay by my sons side. 

Rhys went: New? Brother? 

But Cassian understood exchange. Alliance. And proceeded to prove himself further to the Camp Lords who spit on him by thrashing Rhysand within an inch of his life, every single day. 

Enter, Azriel. Overpowered, out of control, almost executed because an Illyrian who can’t fly is worth less than a lame hunting dog. 

Rhys might have come to learn Illyrian techniques, but at the end of the day, his power is incompatible with siphons, isn’t Illyrian at all. 

Cassian has been alone his entire life. He could shake the mountains when he was eight- but it didn’t earn him anything but more fear, more anger, more people who’d called him a bastard, a monster. He doesn’t remember his mother’s name, he’s never had anyone and doesn’t count Rhys because he thinks the High Lady is trying to collect him because her precious Prince clearly needs a guard dog. 

(he’s not 100% right, but he’s not 100% wrong either. Alyssar and Rhain plan for Rhysand to rule the Steppes one day, befriending Cassian has great future value if they all survive to adulthood)

And then Azriel blows up the first few shitheads they throw him in the ring with. No control, so very much power.

There’s a timeline where they ended up sexy rivals, each other’s only benchmark- but what happens instead is someone pushes Az off a cliff in training and he just falls. 

Azriel can’t fly.

So Cassian teaches him. This weary, beautiful boy everyone is afraid of who the dark loves, who spends every spare moment staring at the heavens like he’s never even seen the sky before. 

The snows blow in early. Cassian looks at Azriel. They’re exactly the same height, which is to say, already enormous, but Az always makes himself smaller. Always. He’s deadly and graceful and so, so, afraid. Not that anyone notices but Cas- no one else ever gets close enough to this boy the Camp Lords call a devil hidden in Illyrian skin.

Cassian sneaks Azriel back to the cabin, to his gifted bedroom that he is abruptly nauseatingly both proud of and ashamed by. 

He’s so sad, Cassian can easily share, easily keep him from freezing to death.

(in the back of his mind, he knows he wouldn’t. Az is strong like him, he wouldn’t freeze. He’d live, but it would hurt. Pain is supposed to make them stronger, and they hurt each other all the time. Surely, surely, that’s enough.)

The thing is, they’re equals. They’re alike, the only people either of them has ever met who are. And, as we know from Daylight and Starlight, they get each other. As friends, as brothers, as everything, they understand one another. 

Az might not talk much, but Cassian always listens when he does. Laughs, the sound so vast and lovely Azriel never knows what to do in the face of it. 

Cassian is absolutely brutal, but he’s fair too. Kind. Bewilderingly willing to share whatever he has with Azriel, who has even less, for the easy price of fighting each other, watching each others backs. 

They go to sleep each night in a too-soft bed, warm for once. Confounded by so many things around them- Cassian is briefly, utterly vindicated at the look on Azriel’s face when Alyssar gives him a pillow. 

Flash forward through winter and spring, to that early summer day.

Rhys is jealous of Azriel- because he and Cassian belong together. That Cassian had looked at Azriel- so very wrong to behold, more shadow than teenage boy, scarred and scared, half blind in the sunlight- and seen an equal. In Azriel. Not Rhysand.

Rhys, much like the spoiled child that he was who’d never before had someone say no, never before considered that anyone could be better, is a little bitch about it. He spends their teenage years getting over it, slowly. 

But in the meantime, Azriel is having a revelation.

He can belong.

It’s about recognition. Love, but also so much more than love. It’s only with each other- as friends, as lovers, as some mix in between because they know better than to think this will last forever, better still than to imagine that something so inconsequential as Azriel someday finding a man a who could love him without secrecy, that Cassian does like the way Morrigan looks at him, could ever, ever tear them apart- that they learn they can have. 

They hurt each other all the time in training, they have to- Cassian learns what Azriel thinks, that Az says to himself so many times over, with every reach- Cassian would never hurt me for real. Azriel realizes that no matter how strange he is, how scared, Cassian has never been afraid of him.

They look at each and see only equals, all in the world that can really belong to each other, because no one else exists as they do.

It’s Cassian setting the bones in Azriel’s hands after he broke them, Azriel using the darkness to steal bandages and to wrap Cassian’s weeping fresh tattoos, even though they’ll heal fine untended. Sleeping in that too small bed, warmer, because now they can touch. 

Gentle because no one in their world is gentle, but they can learn to give that to each other.

It’s standing shoulder to shoulder under hateful eyes, stronger, the strongest, together. Earning the exact same number of siphons, undeniable. 

Cassian telling Azriel the little stories he made for the constellations he found in the summer sky as a child. Azriel reciting, carefully, the fairytales him mother told him in secret before she died, just an hour each week- of honor, of valor, of love, of Illyrians who were more than violent.

They’re family, they’re everything, and that doesn’t change when Azriel turns twenty, and the High Lord of Night calls him into service. 

One last night, the desperate strength of Cassian’s embrace, his hands shaking, always gentle. Cassian telling Az not to trust those fucking high fae, Azriel making Cas promise he’ll be here when he can come back. That he’ll live. That they’ll both live.

A year of madness, a year of learning, a year by side of a High Lord who knew every inch of his territory, feared, respected, loved across of the Court of Night and beyond.

Az takes his vows, becomes something even more fearsome. And then Rhain sends him back to Illyria, to guard the Morrigan, his personal choice for his sons future bride.

(The bidding war for Morrigan’s hand has already commenced. To send her to Autumn is, more than anything, a fuck you from one High House to the highest. Rhain is hoping his terribly romantic, dreaming young son, might just elope. Do something foolhardy and reckless that he can pretend to disapprove of, and still get what he wants.)

The Morrigan thing happens.

Azriel understands- Azriel isn’t mad at Cassian. They’ve made no promises, this cannot even begin to touch what they each other.

Azriel is mad at Morrigan.

Because she used Cassian, because she hurt Cassian, and she doesn’t care. Doesn’t begin to understand. Thinks it’s nothing because of course bright, laughing Cassian would go along, act as though being dismissed is nothing to a bastard born boy.

But it’s still his job to protect her, and he will. Azriel is resolute in his duty, the best, right up until the moment Morrigan’s father takes her home. 

The one relationship in which Azriel has no authority, that Rhain had ordered him specifically not to interfere in. 

Still, Azriel warns the High Lord.

Still, it isn’t enough, and it takes him days to find her.

He has nightmares about it for three hundred years. It changes all of them- Morrigan, a casual rebel, who’d now rather die than not escape. Azriel, from dutiful to duty incarnate, locked in ice. Cassian, to whom the world had proved that in the end, no matter how much better he was, kinder, he was still a weapon.

A few things happen in short, dangerous succession. Alyssar takes Morrigan to Sangravah to heal. Azriel disobeys several direct orders to stop Rhys from killing Cassian. 

The boys reunite, the boys mourn.

Rhys takes formal control of the Steppes.

It’s love, it’s recognition, it’s existing in the understand they will never let something like it happen again: Cassian kills Azriel’s half brothers. Azriel goes with Cassian, shrouds in unescapable and devouring darkness the camp where his Mother died. They rebury her bones.

Cassian and Azriel, shoulder to shoulder against the world. Cassian and Azriel, a promise bound if not spoken: to protect Morrigan, who they’d failed.

Cassian and Azriel, the whole sum of each others family, no matter what shape it took. 

A whole world, together, Illyrian as no one else ever was. 

[previouslynebraskan]

Why humans are assholes

Hi, my pen name is Gwendolyn, and welcome to my TED talk on empathy

*side note, I suck at writing, and my train of thought is derailed frequently.  So buckle up, and I’ll be surprised if you make it with me to the end, as we don’t know organization.

First off, I’ll disclaim something terrible about myself.  I’m a Christian.  Even worse.  I’m a rosary rattler.  A Catholic!  Oh and you thought it couldn’t get worse?  I’m not even a good one.  God and I are only on speaking terms when I need him (which is pretty frequent, but not the point).  Church feels like an obligation most weeks, and just because I know the rules and believe in the rules, doesn’t mean that I follow them.  

Alrighty!  Terrible things out of the way.  Let’s begin.  Humans are assholes.  Most people, especially the population of Tumblr, will agree with me.  Between human atrocities, selfishness, and down right lack of care, humans are just assholes.  I am too.  I am human.  Ask my siblings.  Like any good older sister, I wanted nothing to do with my siblings, and when forced to see them at school, I was unprecedently mean to them.  Ask my husband.  I am ridiculously selfish, and only do things when it suits me.  And yet, there is an entire history of the human race, with worse individuals than myself.  And a lot of people might see that, and think, cool, I feel better about myself, because I’m not Hitler.  I feel better about myself because I wasn’t a member of the KKK.  Well, personally, I don’t.  The next disclaimer I am going to make about myself, I’m a self-diagnosed empath.  I’ve never been to a therapist.  I don’t currently have plans to either, but I’ll let God decide that path later.  The reason I bring this up, and the reason I mentioned my religion at the beginning, is because I truly believe that if not for my first disclaimer, my second might not exist.  

I am a crier.  And I get annoyed at criers.  But I don’t cry at reasonable things.  No.  I cry at other people’s feelings.  Let’s bastardize the golden rule real quick.  For those who are unaware, “Treat others how you want to be treated.”  Now, I’m sure many people recall going through a phase where they could translate that in their still learning brains to “I can treat people however I want because I wouldn’t care if they were that way to me.”  Now back to the golden rule.  The bastardization is, put yourself in someone else’s shoes.  How many of us got told this by their parents at a young age after not playing nicely with another kid?  Apparently, God took it upon Himself to write that verse on my heart.  And it went something like this:  I cried when my mother told me that her grandmother (whom I had only met twice and had no actual recollection of) died.  I was inconsolable when my grandfather died.  So much so that even now, almost fifteen years later, it still stops me in my tracks, my heart hurts so much.  I cried when Michael Jackson died.  I didn’t really even like his music that much.  I’ve cried at almost every movie I’ve ever seen.  My sister’s speech at my wedding included the moment where she had to chaperone me on a date with my then boyfriend, and we went to Frozen.  Now yes, I cried at the scene when her parents die in the shipwreck.  But it gets worse.  Elsa is out there, just ran away, no plans for shelter yet apparently, and she begins to break out into song.  At first I’m fine.  But then I can feel my heart, as she sings, “well now they know.”  I start bawling my eyes out.  And all I can give in response to my sister’s quizzical look of “What the fuck is wrong with you???” (Yes I cursed, I told you, not one of the good ones. Fuck off), was: “She’s just so happy!”  I wouldn’t necessarily say I was sad at that time.  But I could feel the relase that an animated character was expressing on the big screen.  I could feel the weight come off of her shoulders, and I cried.  I mourned for what she went through, but shed tears of joy that she had found peace.  Tonight.  I was watching Facebook videos instead of taking care of my nightly routine of getting ready for bed.  And a Mengele twin told her story of survival.  When she mentioned looking around for her father and older sisters, I felt that.  When she said she could still see her mother’s outstreched arms, I could see that.  When she mentioned the panic of trying to save her sister years after liberation, trying to find records of what was done to them, her rage and anger.  And then her forgiveness.  Do you know how strong someone has to be in order to forgive?  To let go of the pain in your heart, knowing you’ll never get revenge.  You’ll never get an answer.  And you just let it go?  That strength is super human.  This week, as we pass the 20th anniversary of the tragedy of 9/11, my hometown did a wonderful commemoration.  I cried.  My aunt gave me a look of disgust because I was crying, again.  I cried not only for those who lost their lives, but for their families who would never be whole, for the heroes who stepped up, then and now.  I am a proud Navy wife.  My husband is out sacrificing his time, so that I don’t have to.  And so that I can worship my stupid religion that I cling to, so I can walk around saying inappropriate words and wear not enough clothing.  But he made that choice.  There are a lot who didn’t.  Earlier this week, someone posted the transcription of the phone call of flight 93.  The moment that he said that the passengers wanted to sacrifice their lives, for the sake of our country, I hurt.  And then he asked the person on the other end of the line to pray.  Another video this week, an ex soldier, who fought early on in Afghanistan was telling a story about one of his soldiers.  They were getting ready for a raid that would likely kill them.  His soldier asks, I know we signed up to fight, but why are we doing this?  The man’s response was, for the people up in that tower who didn’t.  He goes on to explain the story of a young mother. Two kids.  Went to work like any other day, and her last attempt at human decency was to hold her skirt down as she jumped out of the burning tower, so the people below couldn’t see up her skirt.  

Crpl. Page was a Marine from my state who just passed away.  He was two years younger than me.  I never knew him.  But I grieve for his family and friends.  

See the worst part about being an empath in a world where human’s are assholes, is there’s never a shortage of people’s feelings to feel.  I’ve been told that you can experience an emotion so strongly that your body’s only reaction to the volume of what it feels is to cry.  And that resonates with me.  I feel joy to such an extreme when I’m with my family, celebrating time together.  I feel the sorrow of people missing loved ones, and their hearts breaking.  And there are times when I wonder if it’s a gift? Or if it’s a curse.  It’s a gift to be able to go to someone and say, I can feel for you and your situation.  I don’t feel sorry for you.  I feel your pain as though it were my own. But it’s a curse to feel the attrocities of humanity and just sit and wonder why it had to happen.  Why it had to come to this.   I got told I was crying for attention.  I wasn’t, but that didn’t matter. Supposedly, behavioral psychology could “fix me” if I wanted it.  I could be trained to control my emotions, and process them in a way that wasn’t so consuming.  It would definetly help my self diagnosed depression.  But let’s posit that God made me this way for a reason.  He gave me this gift with a purpose in mind.  What then?  The problem is, I don’t know how to effectively use it without letting it ruin my life.  I can never be a therapist, because I would be able to take on the feelings of my clients.  And while I do very much believe in tough love, I also belive that if you just have the right push in the right direction, great changes can be made.  Would the Holocaust have happened if Hitler had  better relationship with his mother? (this is a personal piece, I am reflecting on history classes I haven’t taken since high school.  I’m not fact checking this. Don’t at me.)  Would Columine have taken place if those kids had been in a better place mentally?  

You know what the awful thing is...? Look at all of these events.  Look at all of these heart wrenching dates in history.  And then look what came out of them.  Out of 9/11 came one of the most unified fronts America has had in a long time.  Out of World War II came men of valor.  A chemical reaction occurs when you take an object, and force it to experience a high degree of change.  And that is what gives us assholes grit.  Our experiences make us tougher, and make us better.  And maybe less of a crybaby in my case.  Or more of a cyborg who doesn’t experience emotion for fear of being consumed by them. 

Ramble is over.  For those of you who persisted and tried to keep up, good job and I’m sorry.  For those who didn’t, don’t worry, I wouldn’t blame you.  

Some effort is better than none at all, and if all you are capable of is existing today, then I hope you do, and I know you will do it beautifully.

[winterisakillerwrites]

Becoming - Part Three

Title: Becoming

One Shot: 3/6

Character: Tom Hiddleston

Genre: Realistic(?) fluff; Angst

Rating: T

Summary: Learning about his son was only just the start of the story. As Tom Hiddleston struggles to adapt to this sudden change in his life, he comes to learn that becoming a father might be the biggest role he’d ever taken on. *Sequel/Continuation of Lovers’ Eyes*

Authors Notes/Warnings: This story came about because I knew there was still so much about Tom and his son that I wanted to explore. I fully intended this to be a quick flash forward into their lives, a snapshot if you will….They had other ideas and so here we are. This is technically all one story but has been broken down into parts to make the reading easier.

Thanks so much first and foremost to @ciaodarknessmyheart who has dealt with me throwing all of these ideas at her and has helped shape them into something coherent and wonderful.

Thanks as well to @tinchentitri who also helped provide wonderful insight.

Hope you all enjoy!

Tag List: @tinchentitri @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @noplacelikehome77 @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @ms-cellanies @nuggsmum @inkededucatednnerdy @redfoxwritesstuff  @just-the-hiddles��� @wolfsmom1​ @theoneanna​ @hiddlescastle​ @sabine-leo​ @alexakeyloveloki​  @echantedbytwh @finchbaggins  @kenzieam @ciaodarknessmyheart

PREVIOUS

Wordlessly, Tom nodded as his heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t know if he wanted to scream at Keira or hug her for pushing the issue…Or at least for giving him a chance to say the words aloud. “I…I do know him, Jaime.” He swallowed thickly, the words sticking in his throat. “I’m…Jaime,” he cleared his throat and plastered on what he hoped was a warm smile, “I want to tell you a story, if that is alright.”

Jaime’s brow scrunched in thought, his eyes never leaving Tom’s face. “Okay.”

Keira stood quietly, grabbing their empty plates, placing them in the sink and  walking wordlessly from the room.

Tom took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He rested his arms against the table and let the words tumble from him. “A long time ago, before you were born, your mummy was at school. She was studying very hard trying to learn everything she could. And one day she met this person who ended up being your daddy. They enjoyed talking and reading and just being together.” He didn’t try to fight the soft smile that spread across his face at the memories which flooded through him. Eliza sitting in the library, surrounded by books, a pen twisted in her dark hair. The way her eyes would light up when he entered a room. The way his heart seemed to race when she took his hand. The joy that bubbled inside of him when he said or did something that made Eliza smile. God, he missed her. “Your daddy loved to make your mummy laugh and did everything he could to do so. But he also enjoyed making other people smile and wanted to learn more about how to do that…So he went to another school and studied really hard.

Your mummy was there, by your daddy’s side helping him. When your daddy finished learning all he could at the special school, he decided to take all he learned and travel around to help people smile. Your mummy couldn’t travel with him all the time but they talked on the phone as much as they could. Your daddy loved your mummy very, very much but he loved making people smile too. And people liked your daddy making them smile so he had to go away for longer and longer. Your mummy…She knew your daddy loved making people smile and she knew that she couldn’t go with him…So your mummy told him it was okay, that he could go on an adventure and help make people laugh and smile and be happy. And he did. He missed your mummy and your mummy missed him. But she was happy because she had you to make her smile.”

Jaime looked at Tom, his brow wrinkled in thought. “Was my daddy happy, making people smile?”

Tom choked out a strangled sob and quickly stuffed in back down, not wanting to upset his son. The guilt Tom carried was his own and he refused to push it onto Jaime. “He…He was. But he missed your mummy. He missed her so much but he didn’t know how to tell her.” His eyes closed involuntarily as he fought against the tears burning in them. They startled open as he felt Jaime climbing into his lap. “Jaime what are you…?”

“You’re sad. You need a hug. Mummy always said hugs make everything better.” The bold, simple innocence of the statement struck Tom speechless. Wordlessly, he accepted the comfort offered by the child in his lap, ignoring the quiet voice in his head telling him that this was backwards. He was the one meant to be comforting Jaime. The one who fought the monsters, both real and imaginary, and made the world a safer, better place for the people he loved. Jaime was so much like Eliza in this moment and it tore his heart.

After several moments, when Tom had been able to clear his throat, he murmured into Jaime’s soft hair. “Your mummy is a very, very wise woman.” He wrapped his arms tightly around Jaime’s small form, holding the boy to him in a vain attempt to return some of the simple comfort offered.

“Mummy said daddy was good at hugs too.”

Tom fought to control his breathing. “Did she now?” Jaime nodded against his chest and Tom let himself given into the impulse to place a soft kiss to the top of his son’s head. It was such a simple thing, something he had done so many times with his nieces and nephews…but never with a child of his own. His pulse stuttered violently at the thought before quickly kicking into overtime. His child.

“Did the hug help?” Jaime asked, pulling his head back enough to look up at Tom. “Mummy said my hugs are like Daddy’s and they always help the sad go away.” 

“It did,” Tom managed to choke out, fighting to keep his voice light and even. “It helped so very much.” He swallowed before lifting the boy from his lap and setting him back onto his feet. “Why don’t we go see if your Nan needs any help with the dishes?” 

Jaime nodded and, taking Tom’s large hand into his own tiny one, led the way into the kitchen. They found Keira standing before the sink, sleeves rolled up and hands sunk into warm, soapy water. She smiled warmly at Jaime before shooting Tom a knowing (and questioning look). He gave her a subtle shake of the head. He’d had the perfect opening and hadn’t been able to say the words. Her eyes narrowed slightly but said nothing. 

“We were wondering if you’d like some help with the washing up.”

Her nod was all the encouragement needed. The three worked in tandem; Keira washing, Jaime drying, and Tom putting the dishes away. It was early yet when they’d finished and Jaime pulled Tom back into the living room to resume their Lego building. The room he’d tidied earlier that evening was once more thrown into chaos. Lego pieces were strewn across the wooden floor and soon several half-built buildings and a fairly decent robot surrounded the man and child.

Laughter filled the room as Tom intoned the commanding voice of the invading robot set to destroy the half built city. Jaime manning the city with several action figures from the box nearest the window fought valiantly and soon the evil invading robot was driven back, much to the joy of the scared city-folk.

Time seemed to fly and it came as quite the shock when Keira poked her head back into the room to pry Jaime off for his bath and bedtime routine. Jaime’s face fell the same way it had hours before when Keira had called him for tea but this time, despite Tom’s gentle coaxing the boy refused to budge. 

“No!” Jaime hollered, throwing the Lego in his hands across the room. Tears streamed down his reddened face as he continued to scream the word over and over.   

“James William,” Keira reprimanded, ignoring the tears and the screaming. 

Tom was taken aback. Jaime had been such a congenial child in the nearly six months that Tom had known him; stubborn yes but usually easy going. He had been agitated and upset the first time Tom had left, but considering how close it had been to the loss of his mother Tom had taken it as a reaction to that more than loss of his newest companion. Seeing Jaime’s tantrum now, over what seemed to be such a mundane thing, set off quiet alarm bells. 

He looked helplessly at Keira, wondering if his presence was helping or simply making the situation worse. He pushed himself to his feet, thinking maybe a tactical retreat would be the better part of valor in this moment. Clearly, he was less than useless in this scenario and he has no desire to give Keira reason to consider putting a stop to his visits.

It came as a shock then to feel Jaime’s arms wrapped tightly around his left shin. “No! Uncle Tom I don’t want you to go!”

Tom’s eyes darted between the boy clinging to his leg and the woman standing in the doorway, arms crossed in front of her chest. “Jaime, darling boy…” Jaime’s red-rimmed eyes stared pleadingly back at him and Tom felt his heart crack at the sight. God, Mum was right. You can’t resist those bloody eyes.

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before commending his soul to whatever deity happened to be listening. “Jaime lad. You need to get yourself into that tub. If you listen to your Nan, and she says it’s alright, I will stay and read you your bedtime story. Would that be alright?”

Jaime sniffled, his eyes shining with hope and delight. “You promise?”

He let his eyes dart to Keira who, while clearly not wholly happy with the idea knew a losing battle when she saw one, nodded. He mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ and turned his attention back to the boy clinging to him. “I promise.” Tom reached down and ran his hand through Jaime’s sandy hair. “Now get yourself up and cleaned young man.” 

While nightly routines were completed overhead, Tom found himself puttering around the ground floor of the house. He still wasn’t used to being in this house, regardless of the circumstance. He’d been there only a handful of times with Eliza, each of those times were not exactly uncomfortable but awkward nonetheless. He’d been there more so now because of their son, because this was Jaime’s home, but still it felt strange. He was an interloper here, encroaching on someone else’s territory. He didn’t belong…but Jaime did and for his son he would do whatever was necessary.

He smiled, looking at the traces Jaime had left all over the house. The toys that were scattered around the living room, the artwork stuck to the refrigerator door and the cork notice board in the kitchen, the small jumper and jacket on the hall tree by the front door. Small signs that Jaime was part of this household. Small things he only dared imagine could be part of his own home one day.

Tom let that thought carry him up the stairs after Jaime was clean, dressed, and ready for bed. He’d smiled softly at Keira as the little boy, his little boy, took him by the hand and pulled him into his untidy bedroom. Jaime ran towards the bookshelf, pulling out a tattered copy of illustrated Disney stories, much loved by the look of wear it bore. He handed it expectantly to Tom before scrambling into the bed and pulling his blue duvet up to his chin.

Smiling, Tom settled himself on the floor beside the bed and opened the book to the main story list. He wordlessly scanned over the titles until one jumped out at him and he flipped to its start. Tom’s heart felt full to bursting as he watched Jaime’s eyes widen as he told him the tale Mowgli, the boy raised in the jungle, complete with voices. He didn’t know how often Jaime had heard the story or if it were brand new (though he doubted it was), but it felt as if it were the first time and it meant the world to Tom to see it.

Halfway through, he noticed Jaime’s eyes growing heavy though the boy fought his exhaustion valiantly. Tom continued on, half his attention trained on his son as the boy slowly succumbed to sleep. When his eyes were closed and his breathing even, Tom shut the book quietly. He sat for several minutes simply watching Jaime sleep before pushing himself up to his feet and carrying the book back to the shelf. As he reached to flip off the room’s overhead light, he heard Jaime’s small voice. “Uncle Tom?”

He froze, slowly turning back around. “Yes, Jaime lad?” 

“I wish you were my daddy.”

Tom fought to hold back the choked gasp threatening to break from his chest. He could feel his heart stutter then crash to a halt as Jaime’s words slowly sank in. He couldn’t speak for several moments, his mouth hanging uselessly open until finally he could, though the words came out in barely a whisper. “I am,” he breathed. “I am your daddy.”

But Jaime’s soft snores were the only answer he received. Biting his lip, Tom blindly reached for the switch and shut off the overhead light. He pulled the door closed as softly as he could and bolted down the stairs and out of the door, ignoring Keira’s confused calls.

He was half way down the motorway and even closer to his home when the magnitude of just what happened hit him. He had told Jaime, said the words aloud to his son. Claimed him. And it was something he couldn’t take back…Didn’t want to take back, not ever. But had the boy heard him? Had he understood?

“Fuck,” Tom breathed, merging lanes and trying desperately to keep his focus on the road before him. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” A small part of him was desperate to turn the bloody car around and drive straight back the way he’d come but he more rational part of his brain (which he was surprised had such a tight grip on him given the circumstances) prevailed.

It was late when he pulled his car into the street leading to his home. He entered the gate code with numb fingers and drove through. He hadn’t left the front lights on, he hadn’t expected to be gone this late, but the lights from the street lamps bled through enough light to ease his passage up the walk and to his door. He only dropped his keys once before managing to get them in the lock and open the door.

Tom spent the next several hours pacing first his living room, then the hall, and finally his bedroom. He’d tried to sleep and may even have caught small snatches here and there, but his mind refused to stop whirling. By near six in the morning, Tom gave up the ghost. He padded quietly down the stairs and into kitchen which caught the pale, red-pink light of the rising sun. He paced anxiously as he waited for the coffee to brew and drank two steaming mugs before jogging back up the stairs once more.

He’d thrown himself in the shower, hoping to clear his mind. When he emerged fifteen minutes later, he was clean but still burdened. Dressing silently he was down the stairs once more, sliding his feet into his boots and grabbing his mobile, keys, and wallet from the hallway table and was out the door. Tom wasn’t consciously aware of his destination until he’d found himself in Keira’s driveway. He killed the engine and sat, staring through the windscreen at the door knowing this was probably not the way he should be doing things. But when had that ever stopped him before.

Taking a deep breath, he slid from the car and made his way slowly up the walk towards the door. He knocked twice, cursing when he caught sight of the watch on his wrist and at the early hour. Christ, he was determined to make this woman hate him, wasn’t he?

Small, heavy footfalls echoed from inside the house and moments later the door was pulled open revealing a wide-eyed pajama clad Jaime. “James William!” Keira’s voice boomed from further down the hall, “What have I told you about answering the door?” 

Jaime looked back, a sheepish grin on his face. Christ, Tom thought, is that how I look when I do that? It’s a wonder I made it to adulthood.

“But it’s my daddy!” 

Tom stared in wonder at the boy standing before him, flashes of joy and disbelief flooding over him.

NEXT