#the idea of people liking my writing this much is an idea i have yet to get used to

[thoughtsonkm]

Goodbye, for now

BABY? HONEY? BOYFRIEND SHOT? Jikook you're too much!

This episode was truly the best way to end the show, maybe even the best episode of the series. (Neck in neck with episode 2 of course) The way they enjoyed it so much but were also so sad it was over. The hot tension all around, the soft boyfriends mood who can't stop flirting and name calling each other with the most low-key couple-like sweet names. They could not stop laughing, they could not stop touching and they couldn't stop being hilarious without even trying.

~

SK Spotify daily chart end of November 2023 :

Jimin Jungkook Jimin Jungkook Jimin Jimin

~

It would be such a full circle moment if Jimin posted the boyfriend photo (which won't happen). Would almost be like a soft launch of some sort.

Not the underwear too?? Gosh I love my little gay freaks!! (didn't understand why Jimin would quote their 'yet another inner joke meme' right at that moment but I've learned to not question their inner workings)

~

Sorry but i have to be pretty one last time and say that I kinda had enough of seeing so much from the crew around or even in Jikook's shots and angles. It breaks the fourth wall a little too much and ruins the whole bubble idea. Ok I'm done lol

~

Returning to the issue at hand, the "seeing the beds for the first time" scene keeps getting funnier and funnier. As if they don't already have designated sides of the bed 😏

~

Ah the never ending bickering gives me life. Peep the half korean half english talk when they playfully get on each others nerves 👀😂

I better not speak on the scuzzi jacuzzi shenanigans cause otherwise.. Let's just say the photo speaks for itself..

NO YOU KNOW WHAT IMMA SPEAK. We all know that jacuzzi time is always intimate, relaxing and personal for people that's why I wish Jikook had enjoyed it fully without cameras. Yes I'm pissed on their behalf, that they had to film the whole thing with 382929 different angles. lol

His face is literally saying "oh so you're really gonna make me do it huh? if I was in your place I would've folded immediately and would've never let you go through with it!!" 😂

~

No one ever:

Jikook every 2sec : HONEY OH HONEY

(I was actually listening to the song while writing this and idk why it's so funny to me even tho it's a sad love ballad)

~

They must've loved getting the chance to at least see one episode of the show, plus the idea of watching it together..

Jungkook being so entertained by it meanwhile Jimin being mortified about half of the things that happened. HILARIOUS

HAHAHHAHAHA all parties were concerned if they'd be able to pull it off, I can't

BEST BELIEVE they're always gonna find a way to touch. Consciously or unconsciously.

~

This show made me realize that my favourite thing ever is Jk making food for Jimin, then making him hysterically laugh and therefore getting to hear Jimin's adorable giggles.

~

"Hello it is I the one and only, the only one who can touch Jimin's head ble ble ble ble" - JK

Jk was like: How can you imagine Jimin without me in your dream? Are you crazy? What is this delusional dream world you live in Jin hyung??

~

Tbh it's so meaningful and a huge thing saying that these trips were literally the best trips of your life. I think the statement almost went over people's heads.

I can't get enough of Jimin looking pretty and cuddly and Jungkook's immediate thought being: I HAVE TO FILM YOU

Them saying they can do a reboot when they come back gave me some hope that maybe just maybe this is not the end of AYS 😭

The ending bonus clip left me fulfilled but also sad and with goosebumps all over.

Thank you Jimin & Jungkook for letting us peek into this trip and getting to witness some of your precious moments.

Signing off, J&J 🥹

Ps. So I'm guessing the 52 minute video that comes with the photobook is probably the 3 bts videos combined that they've been reviewing for 48392 months right?

[valentine-cafe]

Hi there! I normally walk just past this place, but something smelled particularly good. The croissant, maybe? Chocolate? (Dark content, smut)

Yeah so like this is a bit of a weird ask and I know that... but the aesthetics of your page just made me think of an enigma whose body was like that of taffy? Squishy, soft, sticky, and most importantly, stretchy. I was thinking reader would be a man, who was working for the Resistance but ended up in the clutches of some very nefarious people.

Maybe they can start out with just invasive physicals, but it slowly worsens and... yeah. Do as much as you feel comfortable with, please!

Yours truly, Hush~

. ˚◞♡ 𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒙 𝒃𝒕𝒕𝒎 𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ꒰ 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒏𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ 209 jingyi / bttm male reader ꒱ you caught the mad doctor's eye. he hated the idea of feeling attracted to an experiment. and no matter how much he tried to sate it, he needed to get his hands on you

𖹭. content warnings◞  dark content . experimentation on reader . implied torture . dub con . mind control . explicit content . rough sex . penetrative sex . 0.7k

𖹭. receipts◞  glad that you decided to stop by dear customer<3 one croissant coming up! this honestly was so much fun to write and quickly became my favourite request because I have been itching to write some dark stuff with the herrera husbands<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

𖹭. the mad doctor of valence has certainly seen many peculiar enigma around, but you by far were quite the special case. he is well aware of the classification of “body morphers” under the enigma hat, but you caught his eye in quite the special way.

𖹭. jìngyí had seen you around his brother a few times. he was uncertain why the depths of his soul burned with bitterness. he assumes it was the idea of an enigma type being out there that he had not quite explored. in reality it was you. the fact that a lowly enigma had sparked his interest in a way he never thought it would.

𖹭. he was disgusted, yet thrilled. like a snake eager to sink its fangs into new prey. one can imagine his excitement when his husband admitted to the same dark desires.

𖹭. lucky them. you’d found yourself caught in the last hunt and now found yourself along an examination table. jìngyí did well in exploring your limits. how far your body could go. viscosity? durability? compressibility, torsion, extensibility and temperature? oh he was salivating like a kid in the candy store.

𖹭. he especially loved the way that you would scream. how your voice would change depending on the shape and condition your elastic body was in. he found himself especially fascinated with how you’d cry when his hand would bury into your squishy side or around your sticky neck. even your tears tasted sweet.

𖹭. no matter all his experiments, he couldn’t rid himself of those dark desires that plagued his very being. so what better than to offer you a place in his circus? to perform, to live - while he induced you with a mind control mechanic?

𖹭. oh how you begged for him. how he adored the way your body would wrap around him and cling like a lovesick fool while he pounded your tight, gummy walls. one strong arm wrapped around whatever amalgamation your figure took while the other palmed at your squishy ass.

𖹭. you felt amazing. his mind would swim with pleasure every time his thick cock buried and throbbed into your warmth. he’d cream you so many times an over. it mattered how much or how long he fucked you over whatever surface he could find — he’d always end up cum drunk.

𖹭. jìngyí would be in a state when you started wrapping around him more intensely. extending your hands to provide him more pleasure as well. he’d bite down on whatever soft, messy flesh he could and buck his hips into yours like a feral animal.

“god you are so tight,”

a pant. a ragged groan. snake pupils constrict and his lips part. displaying fangs extended and blood on his tongue. soon to be more when he buried his cold face into your chest and bit again.

“h-hngh fuck -” your hand reaches to cling onto his hip. feel the way that he’s pounding your poor ass raw. filling it to the brim and fucking out his cum onto your thighs from the sheer intensity of his thrusts.

“d-don’t stop - dontstopdontstopdont -”

you choke out when strong fingers squeeze around your dick. a calloused thumb rubbing messy circles around your tip.

“you are disgusting.” the deep hiss finds your ear. followed by a hiccupping moan. his brows crease and he messily thumps his hips against yours as he tenses and squirts your walls white once more.

“d-disgusting little creature. but ah, d-damn. . . do you feel so good.”

he’d hoist you up. twisting your limps into whatever way he wishes as he presses you up against the examination table and goes for a third round. a fourth. a fifth. anything to ease this insatiable sweet tooth.

𖹭. taglist◞ wanna join the taglist? fill out this form

𖹭. remember◞ you make a writer's day every time you like, reblog and/or comment on their piece. if you enjoyed my work, please considering doing so<3

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[xdinaryvamp]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 🩷 ` teasan "never seen before"!!

where a mysterious stranger starts leaving notes in the books you read, hoping you'll write to him at the number he gave you.

genre : fluff, "secret" ( non so much ) admirer, gn reader.

pairings : bookwarm!taesan × bookwarm!reader.

if there was one thing you loved with all of your being it was reading.

you loved getting lost in the pages, traveling on ink and imagining worlds. you loved that fictional world much more than the real world, and you took refuge in it whenever you could.

books had made you know thousands of things, allowed you to experience emotions you had never felt before and created a corner that was just yours. the problem? they had also made you a hopeless romantic.

the characters in the stories were very different from the people who populated your daily reality, yet so plausible that you confused them with something possible in your everyday life. but it wasn't like that.

real people were much less predictable, more selfish, and less intelligent. not to mention the fact that you couldn't form an opinion of them at the end of the book, you had to get hurt to really get to know them, and you didn't want to suffer.

yet, even though you were aware of this rift between your two worlds, you continued to hope for that love similar to the fiction you read.

that's why that afternoon you had to do your best not to start laughing like an idiot all by yourself.

it was a day like any other, and taking advantage of the free time you took refuge in the library. not that you didn't like reading on your own at home, but there was an atmosphere in that building that made you feel at ease, so you went there as much as possible, even several times a week.

that particular day, you had to go to the bathroom, so you momentarily left the book you were reading on the table that was in front of you.

upon returning, inside the book you found a note, folded in two and hidden inside the page you were reading.

----- ☆

“i certainly have not the talent which some people possess, of conversing easily with those i have never seen before.”

i've seen you reading ‘pride and prejudice” two times this month, so i read it too, it was beautiful. you intrigue me, but i don't like starting conversations with people ( the quote should already be explanatory of this ). would you like to write to me first? i want to know more about you, besides your pretty face.

my number: ××× ××× ××××.

----- ☆

on average you wouldn't have done it, but the note in the book was too cliché that it didn't make you smile, and besides it made you curious.

you wrote to him. he had a photo of kurt cobain as his profile picture, so you had no idea what his face looked like. but you didn't care, you wanted him to remain a mystery.

you talked all day about books and music, and you were fascinated by his calm manner which was even noticeable in the messages. he would ask you what your favorite books were, and then he would read them. he would send you his playlists, and you would listen to them until you fell asleep.

he also complimented you from time to time; “you look beautiful”, “i loved the way your hair were styled today”, “i couldn't read anything, you were too distracting”.

you, on your side, never turned to see who those messages were from. you had an image of him, and you didn't want to ruin it.

teasan -that was his name- was your personal fictional boy, the crush you always wanted to have. what if meeting him ruined everything? you would have been destroyed by this.

you continued to talk to him for months, finding, those few times you left your seat, little notes and pieces of poetry in the book you were reading. they were never too romantic, but they still made your heart beat.

you always had to try your best not to react too much to these small gestures, especially when there were people around you.

like that morning, where the seat next to you was occupied by a beautiful boy busy reading a book by murakami. he looked like one of the male leads of a fantasy romance, with his soft black hair and a serious expression. in another circumstance you would have paid more attention to his appearance, but not that day, because in the moment in which you went to get a coffee from the coffee machine, another piece of poem had been inserted into your book.

----- ☆

[ . . . ] those rare strangers

who make me

catch my breath

the first time we meet.

[ . . . ] i am drawn to them

but do they see me?

or am i just part of

the wallpaper of their life?

susan ash. “first encounters”

----- ☆

you did your best to except smile as you placed the piece of paper in the pocket of your jeans. you had saved them all, and kept them in a box in your bedroom.

“i certainly have not the talent which some people possess, of conversing easily with those i have never seen before.” the boy next to you spoke, without moving his eyes away from the book he was reading.

your heartbeat lost a beat recognizing that words. “i'm sorry, what?”

he looked up from the book, and you were enchanted by the beauty of his eyes. you wanted to believe that he was the notes boy, that he was taesan, the guy you had a crush on, but you didn't want to disappoint yourself.

he smiled, and then he closed the book he was reading. “i don't want to be just the wallpaper of your life anymore, y/n.” he said, and you convinced yourself that it was really him.

“i would like to be a more tangible part of your life, if you'll let me.”

and of course you agreed. you were already in love with him, and by now the fear of the first meeting had vanished. there was nothing that could stop you from living your real fictional story with him.

[thebramblewood]

this is in a similar vein to an ask you got recently but do you have any tips for those who are interested in sims 4 (or even other games like ts3 and ts2) storytelling? I write fanfiction but I think making sims 4 stories could be a fun venture. Anyway, thank you for your time! I love your stories so very much they're literally my hyperfixation!

Well, that makes two of us because it's literally my hyperfixation. I think I've shared bits of advice before, so some of this might sound familiar, but here are some things I think are important to remember (and I tried to be concise, I swear).

Write the story you want to write. Obviously, it's a great feeling when something takes off and people get invested. But if you pursue an idea only because you think Simblr will like it, you probably won't be inspired for long and it'll probably show. I've been very lucky with my story, but it didn't blow up overnight. Early on, I was thrilled to get double digit notes or one reblog or comment and was admittedly disappointed when I put a lot of effort into something and nobody seemed to notice. But I kept going because I was obsessed and wanted to see it through, and that's more true now than ever.

Start with low stakes and allow yourself to evolve. Before I was on Simblr, I made Sims stories with no poses or visual enhancements or fancy editing. I wrote them for myself, and I loved every minute of it, but they also gave me a solid foundation for the kind of storytelling I do now. Even after starting this blog, I eased myself into it. I learned how to use poses and Reshade, then moved on to more advanced editing techniques, then moved on to teaching myself to make poses and very basic CC. If you try to learn it all at once, you're more likely to give up because you're overwhelmed. Take your time and make peace with the fact that perfection isn't possible. Everyone's always learning!

Take advantage of the fact that Sims is a game. Even though I've been a creative writer for most of my life, I don't come up with fully-fleshed, elaborate Sims stories from scratch. It started off with my legacy and not wanting every generation to feel the same. I thought about gameplay I hadn't experienced yet and centered each generation's story around that. Even with HZID, I just wanted to make and play with vampires! That's it! Initially, I used a lot of gameplay to convey Helena's college experiences, and I still try to incorporate it when I can. It can really be a great base to spark your creativity if you don't know where to start.

Don't have a life outside your story. I'm joking. Kind of. I'm not a very social person and I don't like leaving my house if I don't have to. This leaves me with a lot of time for working on story things. Honestly, I could probably stand to work on it less. But for better or worse, I'm doing story-related things most nights and weekends, and even if I'm not doing anything, I'm thinking about it. It's probably mental illness, but we'll just call it passion. At the same time, it's also important to take breaks! If you're feeling burnt out, step away for a while. If you can't make yourself step away completely (raises hand), just edit the script or spin your blorbos around in CAS or something rather than going straight for posing a scene.

Follow and interact with other storytellers. This is probably the most important thing, and as someone who struggles with social anxiety it was the hardest for me to do. But I try to make a point of keeping up with other stories, commenting, and reblogging. Not only will the amazing talent of other writers inspire you, but you're building meaningful connections that make them more likely to want to interact with your story. There's no denying it feels amazing to watch your audience grow. But no one's going to see you if you don't make an effort to be seen, as scary as it can be. So try to be active in the community and support other storytellers the way you want to be supported!

[inbabylontheywept]

I love your writing. It’s the type of writing that I love bc other than being easy to read, I admire it bc it accomplishes what I struggle with. It uses few words yet conveys across the idea efficiently, vagueness to its benefit.

Have you heard the phrase “I want to distill myself like poets do”? It comes from a tumblr post of someone trying to express the same thing as me rn.

Anyway the other part of what I wanted to say is that I’m autistic, and when I try to write, I always succumb to the urge to add as many details and overexplanations as possible to avoid being misunderstood. You’re autistic too, but your writing shines in doing the opposite, so I was wondering if you struggled with this too, and how you got better, or if your flavor of autism simply doesn’t manifest in this way and this isn’t a problem to you

Unfortunately, I do naturally tend towards condensed formats. So some part of this is just natural for me. If it makes you feel better, I tried several times to make serials while doing HFY and I never succeeded. I've also tried several times to write books, and I always just get kind of stuck. It's one of my big regrets, so if you have any experience in those, I'd love to hear it. Same from anyone else reading this, actually - if you've made the jump from short stories to long form, I'd like to know how you managed.

Still, despite it being a natural thing for me, I can give you three activities that I've done that improved my short story work very much.

First, improv classes. Attending them will help your writing in ways you will not believe, and also, as an autist, that shit's better than OT. My parents signed me up for some in the summer of my fifth grade year, and they were legit life changing. Way less social anxiety, better writing, I could sing their praises all day. If you do one thing on this list, do this.

Second, write poetry. I do not consider myself a poet, but I attend a weekly poetry writing club, and it has noticeably improved my prose. Find one and go. As you get better, try and constrain the poetry you write to things like rhyme and meter. Writing with artificial constraints is amazing for teaching people to be focused and direct.

And if you have room for a third thing, maybe try finding a way to do extemporaneous public speaking besides the improv. I grew up Mormon, which involves absolutely insane amounts of public speaking from an early age, but I also did stuff like that in middle school NAL and high school speech and debate. Those all helped. They were stressful, and not terribly fun, but they did help, and it's a good skill to have.

I love talking shop, so thanks for asking! And just to reiterate my request from before, anyone that's jumped from short stories to novel length works, please, tell me your secrets. Plz.

[wanderingblindly]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

oooooooh this is so cruel, how dare you make me consider my fics this way????? reflecting on this made me realize that a lot of my personal favs are actually my less popular ones. that makes sense, in a way; often my favorites are where i'm trying to express a really specific emotion or idea, which might not always resonate with people? anyways, ordered from oldest to newest:

Eighteenth Summer (Do You Wish We'd Fall in Love?)

ambient, pining, sort of sepia toned vignette filtered lestappen. i remember really wanting to capture the ambiguity that comes with being 18 and finishing high school -- a new future looms even when you feel like you haven't finished living what you have now. very much being on a precipice, but with a happy ending :)

You Bring Me Closer To God

i literally fucking love this universe so much. even if the fic wasn't special, writing all the dynamics between the bandmates, between the bar flies, between oscar and lando... it was such a joy. i still think about writing more within Dirty Blondes all the time.

I Know Your Name (But Not Who You Are)

lestappen in grief! the passage of time! the fear that life has somehow stopped moving on but also changed more than you can stomach! wanting things from your childhood but having to accept that you can never go back! but perhaps learning that moving forward is beautiful, too! yet another one where i entered it trying to capture a specific feeling, and i think i managed to like... use the setting in a way that achieved that.

Someone in Seattle

i like this one because i managed to write a fic i'd love to read. i love fics that explore the soft, meandering development of relationships -- the ones where falling in love is a bit of a blurry line, and it happens just by the nature of truly Seeing each other. it's a love letter to my home, and i think of her very fondly.

Impasse of Biting

THIS IS THE ONLY FIC WHERE I FEEL LIKE I GOT EVEN CLOSER TO LIKE. SOMETHING YOU COULD ANALYZE. THERE ARE CHARACTER MOTIVATIONS! THERE'S SPECIFIC WORD CHOICE! THERE'S UNRELIABLE NARRATION AND COMPLICATED EMOTIONAL TIES! idk. it's one that i feel like each reader could come away with something wildly different, and (as someone who doesn't often deal in ambiguity), that makes me proud.

[myownwholewildworld]

acta, non verba - ii. there is no treachery in the art of war

chapter 1 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 3 (coming soon) pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: you need to start moving the game along, but you cannot be too obvious. or... can you? a/n: hello there! c: here's the second chapter! there is quite a bit of character & world building in this one, as i felt it served the storyline, so i hope you guys like it! i wanted to thank you all for your nice, encouring words on the first chapter, it really motivated me to keep on writing! you guys are amazing 💖 as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. references to marital abuse (physical and sexual) and child marriage (massive age gap, not in a cutesy way), in line with the time this story is set on. mentions of death/murder. mention of infertility. sexual tension galore (👀). a smidge of angst. w/c: ~8.6k. dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Honestly, I don’t think it’s a good idea, Callie”, Torcall sombrely warned you, his eyes locking on yours over the wooden spoon he tightly gripped close to his mouth.

“And what would you have me do then?”, you sneeringly replied back.

Your brother-in-law had been pestering you the whole morning about what your plan was to win your lands back. You knew the long game was your best bet — you didn’t have the numbers to face Rome on your own. Your athair had tried and failed in his attempt. Another defeat like the one your people suffered in Raedykes would destroy your clan. It would wipe you out off the map — everything your ancestors had worked for, gone under the crushing yoke of the Romans.

“I would not have you whoring yourself out to a fucking Roman, that’s for sure. Your athair would be so disappointed in you.” He snapped back at you, anger flowing in his words.

His reply stung badly, so much you unconsciously crossed your arms at chest level — an unvoluntary gesture to protect yourself from his accusation.

“That’s beyond the point”, you barked, the green of your irises burning like hellish fire. “And my father would be just fine with my decision. Need I remind you who he married me off to?”

Torcall’s knuckles went white as his fingers pressed around the spoon harshly. You cocked a brow, unwavering.

Ten years ago, your athair had reached an agreement with Iain of Am Baile Ùr(Insh), the lord of Badenoch whose state was a few miles south of your birthplace. For as long as Caledonia had formed, there had always been internal disputes about who was the rightful heir to the Overlord title.

The clan who held the stronghold at Inbhir Nis had historically always been considered the legitimate title’s holder. Your family had been the keepers of the land for as long as anyone could remember. But it didn’t stop those who were thirsty for power, so your father had to prove himself over and over again.

After several bloody skirmishes, Murdoch of Inbhir Nis had crowned himself, yet again, lord and master of Caledonia. Iain had been a strong contestant against your father and was only appeased when your athair offered you as a consolation prize to him, as if you were a lamb up for sale at the local market. A cheap one at that.

At the tender age of six and ten, you had been shipped off to an unknown land to be wife to a man you had never seen before. The next ten years of your life would be living hell — what you had to endure, you would not wish it upon your worst enemy.

The memories that would crawl back at night would still wake you up, a cold sweat trickling down your spine every time. Abuse in your arranged marriage was your bread and butter. Every time you returned home under the prying, controlling eyes of Iain or your family came to visit, you would lie to them about the new bruise on your cheek, the limp you had for a couple of weeks or the teeth marks on your neck. Murdoch was the last to realise, unable to come to terms with the destiny he had forced upon you. And by the time he did, there was not much he could do without infuriating Iain, without risking another war.

The peace of the Caledonians outweighed your suffering, after all. You were not worth such a bloodshed.

So you pushed through it all and survived — for family, for clan, for honour. Never resented your father either; he had a duty to protect his tribe, and so did you. For a decade you dragged yourself across ember and ash, until you finally caught a break six months ago.

Iain was found dead in the marital bed, his eyes wide open and his expression struck with horror, as if a wraith had taken his life. At the mature age of six and sixty, you had been his third wife, so when his only son and heir from his first marriage ascended, you were no longer needed. With no family of your own tying you to that ghostly place, you packed your things and swiftly left, the Will' O' the Wisps guiding you home.

“I didn’t mean it that way”, his answer burst out in a pitiful whisper. One of your eyebrows raised even further into your forehead. “I’m sorry.”

You sighed, unfolding your arms and looking at the cold broth in front of you. Grabbing the spoon again, you swirled it in the bowl aimlessly. You didn’t need your most trusted ally questioning your decisions, not when the whole clan depended on your actions. At least he was doing so in the intimacy of a crannog and not in front of your folk.

“I’m just trying my best, Torcall. I know I can win our freedom back, so I need you to have some faith in me. How I get to the endgame is up to me. The means justify the end.” Your words were imbued with unfaltering determination.

“I do trust you, Callie. With my life and the lives of my children”, he mumbled solemnly with a curtsy as his eyes drifted to the other end of the room.

Your niece and nephew, whom you loved dearly, were obliviously playing with some wooden swords their father had handcrafted a while back. They were six years of age, both born during the cold winter months. The twins had filled the blackhole in your heart, one that your marriage had not been able to lade.

“Ah, ye brute!” Your nephew, Daimh, let the sword slip from his fingers to hold his hand close to his chest. “You’ve hurt me, Iona!”

His little feet dabbed towards you, raising his injured hand in the air.

“Auntaidh (auntie), Iona has broken my fingers, look!”, he wept while you cradled his hand.

“Oh, come on here, mo laochain (my little hero). Let me see”, you said while rubbing his hand between yours and kissing it where it hurt.

“What a wimpy!”, Iona complained, running to her father. “I won, daddy!” Her proud, high-pitched voice squealed in excitement, and you couldn’t hide your smile.

“I’m going to tell màthair (mother)!”, Daimh blew raspberries at his sister, and she reciprocated from the other side of the table.

Your heart sunk to your stomach at the mention of Maisie, tears welling up at the corner of your eyes. Both you and Torcall had explained to them that their mother had been reunited with Dhuosnos, God of the Dead, but they were too little to fully understand what that entailed, what it truly meant.

“When is mama coming back from Tech Duinn (House of Dhuosnos), daddy? I miss her dearly”, Iona’s innocent words ripped at your heart.

Torcall and you exchanged mournful glances.

“Aye, me too”, exclaimed Daimh as he snuggled in your arms.

“So do we, sweet pea, so do we”, you mumbled as you kissed the crown of his blonde head.

Daimh stirred in your arms, his green eyes piercing yours. He looked so much like his mother that it was painful. Maisie and you had the same emerald irises, although she had been blonde. Daimh and Iona were living images of her.

“When can we go home? This place smells funny”, your nephew questioned while he sat on your lap.

You wished you could tell him. Your whole family had been living in the castle that now Marcus Acacius occupied. Torcall and his children could not risk staying there, not when the threat of death was hanging above them. If the Romans knew your sister had offspring, they would hunt them down.

Despite the adversity, you had been lucky in a sense. The highlanders had always been wary of strangers — outsiders brought tragedy with them, in the way of disease or war. The Caledonians had learnt to keep their distance, to be extremely cautious. So, when the General and his army arrived, no one spoke of your family, not even when questioned.

Your people, despite the differences that had them at each other’s throats some years back, were loyal to you. And it was their fealty what enabled your plan, what allowed you to pretend, to just be another servant girl.

So Torcall, his children and you had sought refuge in the skirts of town. Your uncail Aengus’ wife had welcomed you into her home.

The crannog was a circular hut with a straw roof, the walls made of mud, rocks, wood. There was only one big, round room, with an open hearth which kept the inside warm. The open shelving gathered some necessary clutter, but there were many things scattered around the place. There were only three beds lined up against the wall, which meant that you shared a bed with Iona and Torcall with his son. Your cousins had moved out to the small barn just a few feet away to make room for you.

It was cramped and very modest in comparison to the thick walls of your castle, but it was a roof over your heads. You were extremely grateful to her. Your heart still wept at the memory of telling her the demise of her husband.

“Soon we will, but in the meantime, we are keeping Bonnie and her sons company. And this place smells just fine. Are you sure it’s not you, you stinky little deamhan (demon)?”, you jested, pinching his nose and then tickling his ribs.

His laughter was a soothing balm on your aching, longing heart.

“Was everything as expected, Dominus?” His Roman servant asked, his head bowed to him.

Marcus patted the corners of his mouth with the rag on his lap and then nodded to Atticus. The food was somewhat decent, a venison stew with some root vegetables he could not identify. The bread, unsurprisingly, was a bit stale, so he had left it untouched.

The great hall was lugubrious, silence filling up the atmosphere. There were two other maids in the room, cowering in a corner with averted eyes. They only spoke a barbarian language he had no wish to learn. Communication with the natives was extremely difficult, as they seemed to be uneducated.

But there was one lass who knew how to speak Latin — you, Callie.

He wondered where you had gone. Marcus had not seen you since your encounter in his new-found bedchamber. It had been three days since then and with each passing one, he found himself searching the room for you. There was something about you that had reeled him in but was unsure of what it was. Maybe it was the eerie, magical aura that surrounded your fiery hair — or maybe it was the way you carried yourself, the way you had briefly but decisively held his gaze. The way you quickly retreated — unwillingly.

Marcus imperceptibly shook his head and waved his hand at Atticus, motioning for him to pour another cup of the bitter wine.

“Yes”, he simply replied, bringing the wooden chalice to his lips.

Atticus signalled the young women to come forward and they quickly cleared the table of dishes and cutlery. When he was alone with his servant, away from enemies’ ears, he signalled at Atticus, who quickly stepped forward.

“Fetch my commanders and bring them here. There are matters I need to discuss with them”, Marcus demanded of him.

His attendant curtsied and vanished from the great hall, leaving him alone.

Marcus was taking in every detail of the room, of the tapestries and their stories, when a scattering sound distracted him. He thought to hear a commotion, then a blasphemy. Curious, he stood up, stepped off the dais and sauntered towards the double doors. The door was slightly ajar, so he only had to push it for it to swing open.

There was nothing in the corridor except for a distinct scent. Rosemary and thyme with a hint of something unrecognisable, he identified. A smell that had loitered in his bedchamber once you left. Wrinkling his aquiline nose, he caught something in the corner of his eye. He turned to see how a shadow dissipated at the end of the corridor.

Furrowing his brows and in long strides, Marcus covered the distance, tracking the distinct aroma — like a lost man after the beckoning of a nymph, he followed. As he was about to turn the corner, he almost collided with Maximus, Valerius and Cassius.

“My lord,” Cassius was the first to talk, “we were on our way to you. You wished to see us?”

Marcus tried to conceal his confusion at the sight of the three men. With his head slightly tilted, he asked, “Did you encounter anyone on your way to me, Commander?”

Cassius slowly shook his head no, baffled by the question. “No, Dominus, no one. Were you expecting someone else?”

The General hmphed, taciturn. He needed to be cautious — if the tapestries were right, ungodly, mythical creatures lingered between the walls of the castle. Evil ones at that.

“Worry not”, Marcus rapidly dismissed. “Follow me, gentlemen.”

The four men sat at the rectangular table on the dais, Marcus’ fingers drumming on the wood as Maximus flattened a piece of parchment before him.

“These are some names that have been thrown around in the last few days, people who may act on their rebellious comments. Our spies have been trying their best to mix in with the townies, but they are tough nuts to crack. They are wary even of the people who speak their own language”, Maximus’ index finger slid down the list as he talked.

Marcus’ hand darted forward and pinched one corner of the parchment, pulling it towards him. His eyes scanned the unfamiliar names.

The barbarians did not use surnames, which spoke to their lack of sophistication. Instead, they used patronyms and the land where they were born, so the list made it difficult to identify individuals who might belong to the same family. Knowing what families were a menace would be a great advantage, one they did not have.

“There seems to be a recurrent name here”, Marcus paused, his fingertip pointing to the words scribbled in lead ink. “Seumas and Anndra of Dail an Eich (Dalneigh), sons of Aengus. Who is this Aengus?”, he questioned, looking up to the frowning faces.

“We are not sure, Dominus. As I said, the villagers are not talking much”, Cassius replied, his fingers intertwined, resting atop of the wooden table.

“Well, find out then. I don’t care how you get the information. Just get it”, Marcus’ back reclined against the chair he was sat on. He felt like they were wasting his time with trivial details. He needed more than that.

“You didn’t get Murdoch’s wife to talk, even when she was hanged half dead in a cage off the main tower, after being brutally tortured and whatever else you inflicted upon her, and you expect us to get names just like that?”, Valerius’ insolence spoke for him.

Marcus’ eyes lazily locked on his commander’s. He should have his ill-mannered tongue cut out for such disdainful arrogance. Valerius’ Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he forcefully swallowed, his eyes slightly widened, realising his impertinence.

Whispers flew around the town; his name being cursed from mouth to mouth. Marcus was not too worried about whatever rumours they could spread about him. They probably would be true — he was no saint.

But Marcus had not been the one who had ordered such distasteful death upon Mòrag, wife of Murdoch. Agricola did, with no respect for his name when he dropped it mid-sentence. Marcus did not even lay an eye on her, even less a hand.

Let them all think what they might. Marcus was used to being the scapegoat of the governor — when something went wrong, Agricola would blame him. And when something went right, he would just take credit for himself, the evil, power-thirsty rat.

He looked at Valerius dead in his eyes, one cocked brow showing his mild incredulity.

“Do you have something to say, Valerius? I hear a certain condemning tone in your words?”, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but the reality was there was a raging fire within him he could not make manifest.

“Absolutely not, my lord”, the man bowed his head to him, his knuckles white.

“Then be gone. All of you. Find those two men or I will have you hanged too.”

The resolution in his tone scared the seasoned warriors, who quickly said their goodbyes and hurriedly left the premises.

Marcus’ elbows sunk in the wooden table, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. He was angry, but amongst all, he was tired — tired of masking, of cleaning up after Agricola’s hideous actions, of power plays, of trickery, betrayal and deception. He was surrounded by it all.

At eight and forty, he was tired of war and conquest. He had seen it all, lived it all. If retirement would be an option, he would gladly take it. But he knew — he would wield a sword till the day he died in a godforsaken battlefield, till Pluto welcomed him with open arms. Rome would not have him any other way.

Marcus Acacius was truly exhausted.

So it was him who had your beautiful màthair tortured and hanged in a cage until she greeted death. Your blood boiled as your breath quickened. The rage flickered inside you like wild flames burning down an entire civilisation.

When the rangers announced your arrival to a few selected loyal men who had stayed behind, they got out at night to cut the ropes holding the cage your mother had been thrown in. They did not want you to see such act of savagery.

Your kinsmen had really tried to conceal how badly damaged your mother’s body was. Despite the heartache, you had been grateful that they had gone to the effort of making her somewhat presentable. But one look at her mangled body had been enough to understand what type of wickedness you were up against.

In the dead of night, you had buried Mòrag, the woman who so selflessly gave you life, in the outskirts of town. Just like her other children and husband, she would not rest under the family’s chambered cairns. Your family had been wiped out of history as if they were mere droplets in a vast ocean of human tragedy.

With one ear flat against the wooden door to the great hall, you unknowingly squinted your eyes, trying to listen to the rest of the conversation. If someone caught you eavesdropping, you would have a lot of explaining to do. But so far your spying was being productive — you would need to warn your cousins when you got home that night.

The faint sound of approaching footsteps made your heart jolt in your chest.

“Cac (shite)!”, you swore, frantically looking for a place to stow yourself away.

Picking up your skirt so you would not trip, you hid in a nearby garderobe. The cupboard smelt sweet and musty — barrels of wine decorated the whole height of the stone walls. The scent was so intense, you felt it soaking through your skin, appeasing the craze that had a tight grip on your mind. The darkness that surrounded you only accentuated your sense of smell. Could you get inebriated just with the sugary aroma of grape juice?

When the booted treads slowly faded away, you quietly pushed the door open, emerging back into the cold corridor — the contrasting temperature between the garderobe and the hallway gave you goosebumps. Palm flat against the wood and the other hand tightly gripping the iron pull handle, you gently shoved the door back into its frame, hoping to make no noise.

“What are you doing?”, a deep, masculine voice startled you, making you jump on the spot.

A set of warm, firm arms wrapped around you as you stumbled with your feet. They enveloped you so steadfastly, your body involuntarily relaxed against the person behind you. Leaning back, your back met the cold touch of metal.

Swallowing a profanity that would bring a repenting clergyman down to his knees, you turned around, in the arms that held you tight, to face the embodiment of hate. Your hate.

Marcus Acacius was standing, all righteous and proud, intimately close to you. He was wearing an impeccable white armour with golden details. Two flaxen griffins adorned the center of the plackart, their claws wrapping around a floral design. Linen straps, snug around his hips, fell from his waist, covering the fauld and the tasset underneath.

Marcus’ body was a fountain of warmth, even with all the layers enfolding his frame. His arms, although tense around you, did not feel suffocating — in fact, they were almost coddling you into a state of ataraxia as your brain quietened. His hug exuded a sense of security you had not felt in years — as if nothing nor no one could ever harm you as long as you stayed in Marcus’ embrace.

You traced the topography of his plackart with your fingers, your palms resting against the alloy, as your eyes peeked up —he was considerably taller than you— and were met with the fervour of two brown irises. Their gravity pulled you in for an eternal second. With your face near his, you picked up on the tired bearing on his face, the wrinkles around his eyes, the hard press of his lips. A kempt but patchy beard coated his jawline, and salt and peppered hair curled at the nape of his thick, muscular neck — a stray silver lock caressing his forehead, asking to be tucked away.

Your fingertips suddenly itched with longing, your eyes slightly widened, and your mouth partially parted. And then you came back to reality with the full force of your conscience yapping at you. What the hell? You had to control the contortion of your face so your disappointment would not be evident. It’s because I want to slap him so bad, was your afterthought.

Something changed in his expression — Marcus suddenly let you go, leaving you cold again. As if it was a rehearsed move, you both took a step back, breaking the electric contact that snapped between your bodies.

You now realised his clean image was a shocking contrast to how you first met him. Covered in mud, blood and sweat, his untamed expression as he dispatched your father still haunted you at night. And that was how you had to remember him. Sinking his gladius in your father’s belly. And nothing else.

“Well?”, the General insisted after clearing his throat, his eyebrows knitting together as he folded his arms.

You rapidly lowered your gaze when you realised you had been looking at him too intently, too directly. A maid would have fainted at the audacity you had just shown him. But you were no maid — albeit he was not privy of such detail for obvious reasons.

You hoped he didn’t notice, although you could feel his eyes studying you eagerly.

“I— I was looking for wine, Dominus.” You faked the stammering in an attempt to convey innocence. “Cormag, the cook, wants a very specific wine to accompany your supper, Dux Meus (My General/Leader). I was making sure we had it.”

“And what wine is that, if I dare ask?”, he pressed with a steely voice.

Thalla gu taigh na galla (go to hell), you thought, browsing your brain for a quick reply.

“It’s a fine wine imported from Carmo, my lord.” Your father had been a wine enthusiast, so you knew some places he had his wine shipped from. Not that it really meant anything to you, anyway.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his arms falling to his sides, his threatening posture softening.

“Carmo? In the Baetic region of Hispania?”, Marcus’ incredulous voice made you glance up at him through your long eyelashes.

You nodded, your fingers laced at your front as you bowed your head again, showing a deference you didn’t really feel towards him. And you prayed there was at least a few drops left of said wine in one of the barrels, or you would be in trouble come dinner.

“That’s one of my favourites”, he let slip and you instantly knew he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Feigning bravery, you fanned your eyelashes back at him, a half-smile softening your lips. The General almost looked mortified at the fact of letting a stranger know about his likes. You could see it in his eyes — the brief moment of asking himself, “What have I just said?” Although he seemed all stoic and unattainable, he was just a man. Just like any other.

“Is that so?” You did not wait for a reply you knew would never come. “I’ll try and remember that, Dominus, to make sure we never run out.”

He was a hard man to read, you would give him that. His expression didn’t flinch, as if your words had gone over his head. The only sign he had actually listened was a subtle tic on his jaw.

You just needed to drop some hints here and there, let him brew. If you were too obvious with your intentions, Marcus would become suspicious. You knew nothing about the man except he was a cold-blooded murderer, but perceived he was observant. Probably too observant.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I wish to retire now so I can attend to my tasks.” Asking for permission was not something that came naturally to you, but it was a trained response you had learnt from your late husband.

“Take your leave then”, he granted, his hands hiding on his back.

You curtsied. “Thank you, Dux Meus.”

Marcus turned on his heels in a swift whoosh, the sword swaying in front of him, his fingers gripping the handle tight. He intuited his opponent’s next move before it happened, so he bent his knees and ducked his head right under the swing of Maximus’ gladius. With a wild, toothy smile, Marcus pulled back, weighing the blade on his left hand.

“So predictable”, he teased the commander, who was an old friend of his.

If one could have friends in the midst of war, that was. Their friendship easily transformed depending on the circumstances — in war matters, Maximus knew to respect Marcus above everything else. Outside of that, they just were two friends with a long history behind them.

“I’m being gentle, lord General. We have spectators, I don’t want to embarrass you. I know your ego is as fragile as a rose’s petal”, Maximus chaffed, a grin taking over his mouth as they circled each other like two lions on the gladiator’s pit.

Marcus’ tunnel vision had him so tuned in on his friend’s advances, he had not realised that a small group of people had gathered around the makeshift arena. Feeling a sudden heaviness weighing him down, Marcus combed the gathered faces in one sweep.

Until his eyes locked in on yours. He saw a glimpse of wonder metamorphosing into surprise in your emerald greens — then you quickly withdrew your eyes from his at the realisation of getting caught staring.

There was something about you that drew him in — something mysterious, uncanny, but also strangely enticing. Exciting. Your eyes spoke of mischief, of adventure, of the unknown. Of something eerie, almost witchy. The flickering, iridescent fire within them had him under a spell for a brief moment.

Marcus vividly remembered holding you against his chest, your soft curves perfectly moulding to his hard edges. Even through the armour, he had felt the heat your body irradiated, the way it seeped through to envelop him, soothe him. For a moment, having you between his arms felt just right. And that thought had unsettled him gravely, letting go of you as such wild, unnerving concept sank in — his mind point-blank rejecting the notion.

Despite his inner refusal, how you looked back at him would plague him. For days and nights on end.

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus watched as Maximus inched forward, the sword aiming at his open flank. Just in the nick of time, the General’s steel deflected the attack.

“Getting distracted? That’s unusual of you, Marcus”, the commander jeered at him, closing in.

Marcus scoffed at his words, bluffing. But the reality was that Maximus had hit the nail in the head. Not that he was going to acknowledge it in public anyway. If he was to successfully bring Maximus down, he needed to focus on the task at hand and not think about a green-eyed nymph.

Studying his adversary’s body language, his feet dragged on the sand. Maximus was on edge, tense, too focused on his sword, so Marcus wagered a distraction would tip the scales in his favour. Maintaining eye contact, he slowly knelt, the fingers of his non-occupied right hand extended, palm down. Maximus’ brows wrinkled when he saw Marcus getting a fistful of sand and the General knew he had the diversion he was looking for.

With Maximus focused on his right hand, too worried with a cloud of sand that would get in his eyes, Marcus took the chance, quickly stood up and swung his heavy sword against his rival’s left loin. Maximus did not have time to prepare for the impact and so dropped to the ground.

Marcus smiled with sufficiency, straightening out his aching back, and offered a hand to his old friend.

With a grunt, Maximus accepted his gesture and got up, palming Marcus’ back soundly.

“You treacherous man, making me believe you were going to blind me”, he quipped as they both started to walk out of the circle people had formed around them.

“There is no treachery in the art of war”, Marcus replied, patting his friend’s back in playful jest.

A loud snort made Marcus look around him. He had no time to fully study your face, but he could swear you had made that disapproving noise before turning on your heels and trotting off.

Confusion and a smidge of curiosity settled in him — what had he done to gain your dissent when a minute ago awe darkened your eyes? The sudden change in your attitude left a lingering question in the back of his head as he and Maximus ushered towards the barracks in the northwest corner of the bailey.

“But you shouldn’t be serving, mo bhean-uasal (my lady)”, whispered the young lass, her hands twisting in her lap with nervousness.

“Shush, Brighid, lower your tone.” Anxiously you checked out your surroundings, ensuring you were alone. You were relieved to know you were. “You cannae refer to me like that. I’m just Callie now, remember?”

Upon your arrival to Inbhir Nis, Torcall and your father’s retinue —now yours, you guessed— had made everyone aware that the Romans thought you dead and hence, concealing your identity was of utmost importance. A slip of a tongue and you would be hanging in a cage too. Every passing day you feared someone might forget and show you deference publicly — but you had to trust that no one would run off at the mouth and rat you out.

“Duilich (sorry), mo bh— Callie. I—I promise I didn’t mean to”, she profusely apologised, her big wide eyes begging for your pardon. The wee lass could not stop fidgeting.

“I know, I know”, you tried to calm her down, placing your hand on her forearm. “But please, I need to take your place tonight.”

“Cormag will fire me for not turning up. I cannae afford that, my family depends on me.” Her pleading plucked some fast beats out of your heart.

“Don’t fret about it, lass. I’ll speak to that old crank of a man, he owes me. You’ll get paid, awright? He’ll be fine with it, I promise.” You gently squeezed her forearm, so your words would sink in.

Her eyes broadened in understanding. Before the girl could think about her actions, she jolted forward, her arms wrapping around your shoulders. You could only smile at her relief and let out a soft cackle when Brighid lumbered back, mortified.

“I’m so sorry, do Ghras (Your Grace).” Her excitement was so palpable the poor girl didn’t notice the second blunder.

“BRIGHID!”, a raspy threat left your tongue as you jerked her closer to you by the elbow. “For the love of Morrìgan, do watch your mouth!”

The young servant covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes speaking of self-reproach as it dawned on her. “I’ll have it sewn”, she muttered with great remorse.

The guilt splayed across her heart-shaped face brought a smirk to your lips. “Off you go now, before your runny tongue gets me into trouble.”

Brighid scurried away towards the barbican, and you hurried along to the kitchens. You followed the tangled web of corridors and passages thoughtlessly — you had played hide and seek countless times with your siblings between the stone walls, there was no nook nor cranny you were not familiar with.

The air got denser as you approached, the thick smoke of the open hearth filling your lungs. Repressing a cough, you entered the galley as good ol’ Cormag was shouting orders at the helping lads. The head cook had an aging face, creases around his grey eyes and bulbous nose, and a thick bush of white hair — hair strands shooting in every direction, almost comically. He was short and round around the belly, living proof of his good, delicious cooking.

“Keep fanning the fire, ye lazy ass! Don’t you see it’s going to die out? Faster, stronger! Aren’t you supposed to be young and full of life?!”, Cormag had wrapped his thick fingers around the brittle wrists of the lad, forcing his feeble arms up and down, fingers tight around a thin plank of wood. “Tiugainn (come on), with more enthusiasm, ye numpty!”

“Do you really think that’s how you motivate the young lads to do a good job, Cormag?” You questioned his teaching approach, with folded arms and a cocked brow.

An oath escaped his mouth as the cook turned around, his face downcast at your reprimand. “Callie!”

Thank the gods someone remembered how to approach you now. It came easier to Cormag though, considering that he was almost like family to you. The old man had seen you grow, having served your father since before you were even born. He was there, on the background, to wave you goodbye every time you had to return to Am Baile Ùr. And each time you came back, he had a full plate of haggis with a side of neeps and tatties waiting for you.

“No wonder your apprentices quit so fast if you treat them like that, Cormag. Have you no manners?” You kidded — the man had the filthiest mouth of the shire.

“I was raised by an ogre, young lady, of course I don’t”, he jokingly replied, cleaning his dirty hands on the apron tied around his round belly.

“Aye, and Nessie was your pet. I’ve heard that story before awright. I am still to see proof of such claims though.” Unfolding your arms you approached him, immediately going in for a bear hug.

Cormag palmed your back enthusiastically and you circled his stout frame, sinking in the comfort of his presence. In the blink of an eye, you were a five-year-old crybaby being consoled by a younger Cormag because there were no more mutton pies left that you could shove down your tiny mouth.

“I heard you were back, fear beag (little one). Wondered when you’d come visit this old git.” With a last squeeze, he took a step back, his hands placed on your shoulders. “Know you’ve probably heard this a thousand times now, but I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

His whisper was loaded with a heavy affection that shot your heart down to your stomach. Pressing your lips to stop your face from contorting at the memory of being alone in this world, you nodded, almost frantically, and sniffed. His eyes were a reflection of yours — the friendship between your athair and Cormag had been a staple in your life for as long as you could remember.

“But let’s not get all teary now!”, his demeanour changed as he rubbed your shoulders before taking a step back. “Got something for you.”

He turned around to rummage through a rattan basket on one of the counters. Cormag exclaimed an enthusiastic “Ha!” when he got his hands on what he was looking for. Then he presented his discovery to you with a flourish that made you crow.

When you saw the peachy plum on the palm of his hand, you almost squealed. “Plums!” You quickly snatched it, afraid he would take it away.

“I arranged for these to be brought from Fachabair (Fochabers). The cook who serves the clan chief there is an old friend of mine.”

“But Cormag, plums are not in season yet!” You marvelled at the sight, munching on the delicious fruit eagerly. Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head.

“I know.” He winked at you mysteriously, but you didn’t press the matter if it meant you could get your hands on some more plums.

“I did come to you with a favour to ask”, you batted your eyelashes at him, anticipating his disapproval.

He looked at you, inquisitorial — it was his turn to fold arms at the chest. Cormag snapped his tongue as if to say, “do go on”.

“I already convinced Brighid so you cannae be mad at her. In fact, I promised her you wouldn’t.” You grinned at him, his face already puckering with exasperation. “I’m taking her place tonight as a serving maid.”

“Have you lost your damn mind, lass? Nay, I’m not having it”, he quickly dismissed you, grunting.

“I’m not asking for permission. I need to be there, I—” Just in time, you remembered that the two lads were still running around the fireplace, trying to keep the flames alive. “I’ll fill you in later, but I have to be there, there’s no discussion about it.”

“What? Serving that Roman scoundrel? There’s more royal blood in you than there is in him.” He was more offended than you were.

You laughed, patting his forearm. The old man already hated the Romans more than you did, and that was difficult to accomplish.

“Aye, and that’s not the worst bit, Cormag”, you teased him, because you knew he would lose his mind with rage.

“Enlighten me”, he said between gritted teeth.

“We are serving the Corma wine tonight with supper”, you pursed your lips, watching his reaction.

His round face turned all shades of red, and his nostrils flared. If it was physically possible, his ears would be steaming too, like a ceramic pot with boiling water over the open fire.

“NAY, OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!”, he exploded, shaking his arms over his head in disbelief, and you burst into laughter. Cormag was too expressive. “Ah, no, NO. We are not wasting such finery on that murderous cunt!”

You blinked rapidly at him to appease his fury, but his rage just gleamed brighter.

“Well… I kinda told him we would. You winnae make me look like a liar, right, Cormag?”, you muttered, as if you were a child who had committed the grave felony of stealing a sweet off the counter.

“You did WHAT?!”, he snorted angrily.

“Tìoraidh (bye)!”, you effusively waved him goodbye as you bit into the plum, sprinting off and ducking when you heard the wooden spoon flying by your ear.

“Trobhad (come here)!”, but you had already turned the corner into the hallway.

Why he was so taut, he did not fully understand. Marcus’ body was in high alert, and he had his suspicions about the cause.

You were just a woman like any other. Sure, your green eyes flickered like hellfire, your red hair was so bright it looked like you were up in flames, your upturned nose covered in freckles twitched adorably, and the skin on your hands was unusually soft — but that was it, really.

So you were nothing out of the ordinary, he kept telling himself. But it was hard to keep to that line of thought when your breast would brush against his shoulder every time you approached to clear the table from empty plates, when your velvety fingers would briefly caress the back of his hand while reaching for his cutlery, or when you would talk too close to his ear, a tingling sensation on the back of his neck almost making him shiver uncomfortably.

Marcus did not know if you were doing it on purpose or not — your face had an innocent look to it that was hard to read for him. The most prudent thing would be to ignore it all — ignore you. Surely you were only being suggestive in his imagination. And he still had the feeling something had upset you that afternoon when you stormed off after his training session.

“How’s the wine, Dux Meus?”, your sweet voice trickled from your plush lips like honey.

The way you kept referring to him as Dux Meus unsettled him. The first time you had said it during your encounter in the corridor, it caused certain havoc in his mind — and body.

Although it was appropriate for his title, no one really referred to him like that. My leader, my general, my god. It was the last connotation what made him feel… uneasy, for lack of a better word. It just sounded too intimate, the way it would pour from your oval-shaped mouth.

Marcus blamed it on Latin not being your first language. If you knew how seductively it rolled from your lips, he was sure you would stop addressing him like that straight away. Which meant he should correct you, tell you to just stick to Dominus.

But for whatever inexplicable reason, he did not.

“It’s as tasty and earthy as I remember it.” He replied, his fingers wrapping around the chalice with more strength than what was necessary.

You smiled at him, one of your hands gently placed on his right shoulder giving him a subtle squeeze.

“I’m glad to hear it, my lord”, you mumbled, Marcus’ eyes following the movement of your hand when you broke contact.

You inched forward over his shoulder to grab the glass jug and refill his cup, gifting him with the sight of your generous cleavage — your breasts almost spilling over the neckline of the dark blue, linen dress that so tightly wrapped around your hourglass figure.

Marcus had to swallow hard, tension suddenly building up on his groin. Was he getting hard just by the mere touch of a woman? He sucked in his breath while forcing himself to look forward, not down.

He just nodded in reply, unable to find his voice. If he had talked, he would have just groaned in frustration. Marcus had to readjust his posture as he saw you walking away, your waist evocatively swaying sideways with every step you took.

“I’m sure the wine is not the only tasty thing around here.”

Maximus’ whispered jest forced Marcus to look in his direction, turning to his left. They, along with the other commanders and a few other people of importance, were sat on the table on the dais, facing the crowd. Other tables were scattered around the great hall, where some legionnaires were enjoying a meal and a drink, sharing a joke and bursting in laughter.

“I don’t follow”, he grunted, feigning ignorance, before taking a sip.

“Oh, you do follow. At least your eyes do.” Maximus mocked him while Marcus just sneered at him, eyes squinting. “No one would blame you though. We are far away in an unknown land, and we all have needs to satisfy. I myself am considering getting laid tonight.”

 “I did not doubt you would.” Men like Maximus had no consideration for their wives.

Neither does Livia, the intrusive thought wiggled its way through his mind. Despite the lack of passion in bed with his spouse, Marcus had been a faithful husband. While others looked for warmth in the folds of a pleasure woman after a battle, the General would tend to his wounds and rest, focusing on what next skirmish lied ahead.

And while he had been loyal although there was never love between them, Livia had been fucking the “love of her life”, as she had referred to the man stuffing her cunt full during his long absences. Marcus was yet to know his name. What he would do with that information, he did not know.

Thinking of his perfidious wife had an extinguishing effect on him. The strain against his subligaculum (underwear) had softened.

“You’re too tense, Marcus. You need to relax, have some fun. I bet you two denarii that she will fuck the stress out of you expertly, I can tell.” Maximus pressed maliciously, conscious of how uncomfortable the conversation would make Marcus feel.

“Just shut up, will you?”, Marcus snapped back, tired of his friend’s quips, and downing the drink in his cup.

Maximus laughed it off and turned to talk to Cassius when you sauntered towards the table again, stopping right behind him.

“More wine, Dux Meus?”, you asked, infusing your honeyed voice with a sweet touch of flirtation.

You bent over his shoulder again, hand lazily looking for the wine jug in front of him. His hazel eyes fell on your bosom again and your nipples involuntarily hardened at the desire you saw in him — you were sure he noticed them peeking through the thin fabric.

In your attempts to arouse him, your body was betraying you, getting warm in all the wrong places. As much as you wanted to be immune to your own provocative games, you were not. But it wasn’t him who made you wet with lust, you told yourself. It was your own actions, nothing else. The long game.

But Marcus quickly tamed his expression, grinding his jaw and looking away.

“No, I’m okay”, he rejected your offer, hovering his hand over the chalice so you would not pour more.

You forced your lips into a flat line. You needed the man to let go of his defences. Having him drunk would help with that. But not tonight, apparently.

You nodded.

“Of course, Dominus.” You placed the jug back down on the table, your left breast brushing his right shoulder again.

You bit down your bottom lip, your free fingers curling on the back of his chair. It’s just the game, you thought to yourself again, your core slick and hot.

Slowly you retreated to the kitchens, fully aware of Marcus’ eyes feasting on your body. You smiled to yourself — he might be a taut General, but he was just a man.

A deceitful man at that, who thought there was no treachery in the art of war. Was that how he defeated your father? With deception? You had been too far to see and hear how the fight between your father and Marcus had unfolded, but having been witness to how the General distracted his opponent that afternoon, you wondered if he had followed similar tactics with Murdoch. If your father’s demise was just a byproduct of Marcus’ boldness.

The memory of Marcus being your father’s executioner put out the liquid fire in your crotch. And rightly so.

It wasn’t long before the Romans started to vanish from the great hall, retreating to the barracks or to town, maybe looking for the comfort only a woman could offer.

When you walked back out to clear the last plates, you saw the General leaving the room. Alone. Where he intended to go you did not know, but you had to make sure he was not considering joining the men in town — if he was to choose a woman to enliven his bed, he should pick you.

“Isla, I’ll be back in a minute.” The lass gave you a puzzled look as the bits you had gathered previously clattered against the wooden table when you let go of them.

You hurried forward to meet him as he swung the double doors open, the cold breeze of the corridor filtering into the great hall.

“Dux Meus, wait please”, you interjected in the hopes he would stop walking.

Indeed, he did. His whole body stiffened, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. You were not sure what to make of that reaction — exasperation or frustration. You hoped for the second, especially the good kind of frustration.

As soon as you reached him, you placed a daring hand on his forearm — an unusual surge of energy sparked at the contact between your skins, giving you goosebumps. You quickly retrieved your hand with certain surprise, the tingling sensation evaporating right after.

“I trust everything was good?”, you queried, tilting your head to one side.

“Yes. Now I’ll retire to my bedchambers. Bonum noctis (good night)”, his words dragged for a second, “Callie.”

There it was again, your name falling from his lips as if it belonged to him. It angered and pleased you equally. If he pronounced it like that on purpose you did not know, but it surely felt like it.

Before you could come up with an answer, he trudged to his right and you took a step forward.

“That is not the way to the main bedchamber, my lord. You should follow this other corridor instead”, you pointed to the left.

He paused and turned around to face you. A lingering question danced in his pupils, but whatever it was, he did not say out loud. Instead, he nodded.

“I am aware. However, I have taken a different bedroom.” He did not give you an explanation, but you could have a good guess. Your father always complained his bed was like a blanket of spikey rocks. “I am now lodged in the second tower, the room in the top floor.”

You tamed your face into nothingness, but internally you flinched at his reply. He was sleeping in your room, in your bed. The thought of him naked with your bedlinen draped around his waist and thick legs made you gush. Fuck.

This was unknown territory to you — although you had been married for ten years, you had not known pleasure in the bedchamber. Iain just chased his own release, using you in disgusting ways, proving you that you were the problem, not him — that your womb was barren. You had been told by your friends that fucking was enjoyable for both parties, but you were yet to discover that. Maybe the dampness your legs harboured was a start?

“I see”, you curtsied, fingers laced on your back, looking up at him through your long eyelashes.

“How come you speak Latin?” His question blurted out, catching you completely off guard.

Marcus had a nick for inconvenience, forcing you to come up with lies on the spot. Luckily you were astute and creative.

“My late father was a scrivener to Murdoch. He taught me how to speak Latin, as it was his favourite language.”

“He passed?” You simply nodded. “I trust you still have family around though?”

You shook your head no. You killed them all, ye cunt. But you could not express your hatred out loud. Although when the time came, you would. Aye, you definitely would.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” For a second you believed him, his tone almost sorrowful.

“It was a long time ago.” You lied through your teeth, shrugging. “I’ll leave you to your rest now. Oidhche mhath (good night), Marcus.”

You heard a loud sigh being drawn into his lungs, possibly because of your cheekiness — calling him by his first name was a very bold move on your part. Maybe too bold.

Before he could reprimand you for your audacity, you scuttled back into the great hall, a sufficient grin tugging at your lips.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[alpaca-clouds]

Why I loathe CoD Hector

Something I really wanted to write a proper blog on, is Hector. I answered on another blog on this before, and wrote a shorter thing about this before. But I really wanted to write something on its own. Because I will once again iterate: While Hector in the animated series definitely gets to finish out his character arc, he works a lot better as a character than his game counterpart. And that even though the game came out at the time, where Castlevania tried to go more for storytelling.

Yet, there is this thing, and that mostly comes from it still being an old action-centric game... How the need of making the main characters of action games until sometime in the 2010s into the stoic kind kinda made them worse characters.

I said it before: The Castlevania games for the longest part never really were that interested in telling characterdriven stories and focused more on the gameplay. Which is very much fine. But even when they tried to include more story, for the most part they still keep the brutish, stoic protagonist. Even Alucard, despite looking like a beautiful princess, is very much the stoic male protagonist. This is just a thing with action media that was going on for way too long. Sure, even stoic characters could make for good fan interpretation in stuff like fanfics, it often is an issue that the media itself does not want to actually explore the characters emotions.

Or, to make it fairly clear: This has very much to do with this idea of toxic masculinity. A lot of old action media (not only games, but also movies and such) will not allow male action heroes to show emotional vulnerability, because that would be unmasculine in the eyes of the writers. Which then boils the characters down onto the supposedly "masculine" emotions, like anger and the urge for revenge.

And this is kinda where we get to Curse of Darkness.

We have this whole backstory through the manga, that goes into Hector's background and all that. While I will say that here I prefer the animated version, too, I will fully admit that this is just a subjective thing (I like that the animated version draws some clearer cultural aspects into it, while also giving Hector the agency of killing his abusers, rather than having it happen as an accident), because I definitely can see why people would prefer the manga version.

Where this ends, however, is already at the moment when Hector joins Dracula. Yes, I will fully admit that I am not a big fan of game!Dracula in general, though I will not go into the why here. He works as a game villain, I will admit that, though.

No, what I dislike about Hector's story with Dracula is more the: "And he becomes like the best forgemaster. Like he is so amazing and so strong, and did we tell you how amazing he is?" It goes too much into the power fantasy to me. While I get that the game canon heavily drew on this idea of the main conflict between Hector and Isaac being one of jealousy... I will just say, that a conflict of jealousy is actually so much more boring than a conflict of ideals. And the backstory by far had enough going on there to make it a conflict of ideals, as Hector did still - like in the animated version - not like the idea of killing thousands. Which could have been used for a lot of conflict, but... yeah.

I will still say, that for the most part, the backstory works. While I roll my eyes already at everything with Rosaly, because Rosaly is very much the incanation of the trope where this pure hearted girl saves the soul of the corrupted man (I don't know how this trope is called, but it is for sure a trope), it does work so far.

No, where Hector as a game character stops working is... at the game. Or rather in the moment that Rosaly does do the thing that she as the sole female character in this entire fucking story has to do: She dies so that her death can motivate Hector. And that is to me where game Hector as a character does stop working.

They could have given Hector any motivation to face off against Isaac. They had put up more than enough story fragments in the manga that they could have build from. They could have made it that Isaac wanted to go for revenge and before he could do it, Hector tried to go in there to protect the people he had now learned to love. They could have made it that Isaac tried to ressurect Dracula. They could have made it that Isaac tried to continue Dracula's work until Hector decided that he could not let his former friend do this, because Hector now knows better. There could have been several interesting and good motivations.

But no. Instead they went with: "Girl dead. Boy sad. Boy angry. Boy wants revenge." The fuck?! This is just so bad in terms of storytelling. It is just the refrigerated woman trope, in its most lazy iteration.

They could have given Hector an interesting motivation and conflict. But no, instead they went for revenge. Ugh.

But that was not enough for the writers of this game. Ooooooh no. If it was just that, I would still hate it, but I would be fine with it. Because let's face it, a lot of games use the "revenge for loved ones" trope. Sure, this game is not using it in the most creative way, and it could have done a lot better from the backstory that was set up in other media, but... It is fine. This is fine.

What is not fine however is Julia. I hate Julia. I hate everything about her as a concept.

And again, mind you. I absolutely would not have a problem with Julia if she was just "some girl" or just "Isaac's sister". Then Julia would be fine. It would even be fine if Hector caught feelings for her, even though I would once again roll my eyes at this.

No, what makes Julia so offensive is the fact that she looks and sounds like Rosaly. Meaning, that she explicitly, not just implicitly exists to be a replacement for Rosaly. And that just makes it all so, so badly written.

Worst of all: This gets never explained. Julia just is Rosaly's doppelganger. Just because... Well, because the writers of this game wanted to have their cake and eat it too. They wanted to motivate Hector by revenge for a dead girl, but also wanted to have him end with the girl. And it is just... misogynic writing. I am sorry.

It portrays women as "things" that can be easily replaced. And I hate this so, so much. It is the reason why, even though CoD might not be the worst game in the series, it is by far the one I loathe the most.

And they could have so easily done it differently. Either by not motivating Hector through Revenge in the first place, or by just making Julia a different person from Rosaly. Make her strikingly different and then have Hector fall for Julia. That would have been fine. Just this: "I broke one doll, but I will just get a replacement" thing that game has going is... horrible.

And yes, additionally I will say that another reason why I do prefer the animated version of Hector is, that he is not the stoic kind of character, but he is actually fairly vulnerable. He is a bit of an idiot who easily fall for people. He definitely does not get to have his power fantasy. But it is exactly this that I like. Because it is a story we usually do not get with male characters.

The story of Hector in the animated series is very much a story that would have usually been given to a female character. And I adore this fact. I adore how they switched the gender stereotypes around for this.

Yes, I am well aware that some fans of the games hated this, too. But I honestly have to say: Look, the game characters might have some minor differences, but all in all they all fall under the stereotype of the stoic action protagonist. Yeah, the series needed to switch this around a bit, because it would have gotten boring otherwise.

And frankly. I am sooooo sick of protagonists being all stoic all the time. Give us some variety. It won't kill these characters to smile from time to time... Or, you know, be vunerable.

[thesharktanksdriver]

Dicentra D. Boa

Content warning going in: implied rape, human trafficking, slavery, implied sexual assault, implied Sa of children, and massacres. It’s not talked in length or in detail but it is alluded to due to the Boa sisters backstory and Dicentra’s conception. I wanted to be sure to give a warning just in case because of the nature of these topics. If any of these themes are triggering please skip past the section labeled “Josephine” and go to “childhood” instead

Also sorry if she’s cringe or Mary sue but she’s my little blorbo and I love her. Writing her is also my excuse to write (and rewrite) about Boa Hancock because I think she’s underrated and I think her character could’ve been handled better by oda (this is in regards to her liking Luffy which is really weird since she’s a grown adult who fell in love with a 17 year old after being victimized through a decent portion of her life by adults)

General information

Name: Dicentra D. Boa.

Following after the flower naming convention of the Amazon lily, Dicentra is the scientific name of the bleeding heart flower. Her name was chosen by Hancock since dicentra’s birth mother didn’t know what to choose

The D. Is gained to her by her birth mother Josephine D. Etheus. Though Dicentra is apart of “the will of D” she has no idea about it due to the fact Boa swore to Josephine that no traces from her would connect back to Dicentra.

Age: 13

Dicentra was born a few hours before the mass breakout of Mary geoise when Hancock was 16.

Race: half-lunarian

Dicentra’s motherJosephine was a full lunarian captured in the massacre of her people. Despite Saturns extermination efforts a few celestial dragons wanted a lunarian as apart of their collection and were able to accomplish this secretly

Being only half lunarain attributes to her white hair and darker toned skin. But along with this it also acts as a reason as to why her wings are so small and why she doesn’t have an eternal spark.

She can’t create fire because of this, but she could control already lit flames if she needed to. But she has not found this out yet

(Fun fact is that whenever in a room with some type of fire, she subconsciously pulls that flame slightly towards herself. Kinda like how sunflowers face the sun, flames direct themselves towards her)

Personality: curious, sometimes oblivious, good hearted, optimistic, overly eager and a bit chaotic

As a young sheltered girl Dicentra is naturally curious of the world and just about anything she can get her hands on. She enjoys soaking in all of the knowledge of the great world beyond the Amazon lily, whilst also secretly yearning to see it for herself.

Another side effect of her sheltered upbringing is the fact she’s very oblivious to things. Whether that be wandering into a bad situation due to curiosity of something that caught her eye or just being unaware of concepts like men not being hideous monsters that’ll kill her (Hancock taught her this lol). Despite her being oblivious to these environmental concerns she’s actually very observant of others emotions when needed.

Unlike her mother’s cold and dominating facade Dicentra is very openly warm to those around her. She often times is found conversing with others around her, joyfully asking about things and recounting new stuff she discovered.

Along with this she can be very eager about whatever catches her eye. Leading her to blindly and stubbornly pursue it even at her own detriment (much to her mother’s and Nightshade concern). This has lead to her acting without foresight and acting on the first thing that entered her mind which can have varied results…like biting someone’s hand

Interests and hobbies: journaling, exploration, drawing, dance and song

Once more due to her interest in the world beyond the Amazon lily Dicentra has taken to journaling all she’s learned. When her mother brings her gifts from far off places she enjoys documenting everything she can about it. Of all subjects she loves writing about the most she enjoys exotic Fish, birds and gemstones the most.

Due to her journaling she ends up exploring places quite a bit. From the city of her home to the jungles and mountains she’ll explore. Some of it from blind interest and from plain eager stubbornness

Something gained from her journaling is her hobby of drawing. Though years of practice she’s gotten decent at drawing, though it’s less out of passion and moreso just for proper documentation.

Her real hobbies are that of song and dance. As a princess Dicentra had taken up many hobbies but the two that stuck with her are dancing and song. She enjoys dancing since it’s an active activity and picking up new instruments to learn and play.

She’s particularly fond of the Erhu (I’m taking in some Chinese inspiration due to the Chinese influence of the Amazon lily)

Habits and quirks: Manners, stiff posture, back issues, lack of shoes, playing with her hands, love of berries/fruits and tendency to put others before her

Dicentra as princess (though that title is moreso just a title since the Amazon lily leadership is based on strength rather than bloodline) she was educated to have proper manners. While she’s a tough and tumble kind of girl she still implores these manners in most social situations until she finds something interesting and throws manners to the wind.

Due to these manners she can sometimes also have a stiff posture in mix with her back pains. Hiding her wings is a hassle for her so binding them along with keeping a certain posture as to be sure their hidden is important. When around those she trusts she lets up a bit and is more relaxed but that’s if they know of her wings. If not she keeps up the posture to be sure they won’t be found

As stated above she gets quite a lot of back pain and jolts of discomfort due to her hiding her wings. It’s an unfortunate thing she has to deal with, something all the boa sisters feels guilty about but know it’s for Dicentra’s best interest in the end.

Despite being taught manners Dicentra can’t stand wearing closed toe shoes. She doesn’t mind sandals but she loves being barefoot much to her mother’s ire. Dicentra loves the feeling of grass and sand beneath her feet.

A nervous quirk she has is that she plays with her hands quite a bit.

Also is a giant sweet tooth for things but especially loves Berries, Fruits and her favourite food of peach buns with a custard filling. It’s definitely due to the D trait.

Another tendency she has is for her to value others above herself. As princess though it’s more of a title she believes that her mom and the Amazon lily comes first. She’ll put down or put away her own feelings and ambitions if it means she can’t help others. It’s the reason as to why she stayed in the Amazon instead of exploring like she wanted, why she asks questions about the outside world and sees glimpses of it through stories and objects instead of pursing it herself.

Relationships: Hancock, Marigold, Sandersonia, Nightshade, Rayleigh and Shakuyaku, Gloriosa, Salome and Ouroboros

Hancock: Dicentra has a very strong relationship with her mom and looks up to her as her hero (for various reasons). She loves her mom deeply for both her kindness and dedication to protecting the Amazon lily. She knows deep down her mom is a lot more tender than she lets on but puts up a front to protect everyone else (and herself). Even though dicentra wishes to explore the world she follows her mom’s rules of staying in the Amazon Lily knowing there has to be some reason as to why her mom is so insistent on it. Along with this she follows her mom’s rules of hiding her back and binding her wings even if it’s uncomfortable (something Boa wishes she didn’t have to make Dicentra do but does it out of necessity). Her favourite activity with her mom is having her mom brush her hair

Marigold: Dicentra loves her aunt Marigold but is sometimes a little bit intimidated by her. Granted she knows her aunt would never do anything bad but Marigold is sometimes too stoic for Dicentra to read which makes her nervous she’s doing something wrong. Unbeknownst to her Marigold very much loves her but gets worried of messing up and internally panics because she overestimated herself. Dicentra’s favourite memory with Marigold is when she taught her how to make flower crowns

Sandersonia: Dicentra loves hanging out with her Aunt Sandersonia. Unlike with Marigold Sandersonia is more in tune with her emotions so Dicentra is able to read her better and therefore know if she’s bothering her. If Sandersonia isn’t busy with something she’ll often tag along with Dicentra’s exploring of the Amazon lily and play games together. Dicentra’s favorite thing to do with Sandersonia is petting her aunts zoan tail

Nightshade (another oc): Nightshade is Dicentra’s sworn guard and protector assigned by Hancock herself. Dicentra sees Nighshade as her closest companion and as a big sister to her. Though Nightshade sometimes gets frustrated at Dicentra throwing caution to the wind and running off she knows that Nightshade doesn’t typically get legitimately mad unless something really bad happened. Nightshade beside the Boa sisters is the only one who knows of Dicentra’s wings and origins, something the bodyguard takes in the upmost seriousness. Dicentra knows Nightshade isn’t her original name but hasn’t pushed about the subject. Her favourite thing to do with Nightshade is playing hide and seek.

Rayleigh and Shakuyaku: dicentra knows very little about these two but does hold them in high regard hearing they helped her mom and aunts. The most funny thing about this though is that she has no idea Rayleigh is a male (boa taught her men were ugly evil creatures lol) . She’s never met them but she hopes to one day do so.

Gloriosa: dicentra sometimes sneaks out to see the former empress of the Amazon despite being a “traitor” to learn more about the outside world. Though she doesn’t like how her mom and Gloriosa don’t get along well Dicentra holds respect for Gloriosa.

Salome and Ouroboros: Dicentra adores Salome and all the snakes of the Amazon. Her fight or flight instinct of bite first ask questions later was somewhat developed due to watching Salome when she was younger. Dicentra has a snake of the same species as Salome named Ouroboros, aptly named for its penchant for…eating its tail all the time. No one has any idea why boros does this but Dicentra loves her beloved snake even if all it does is act as a necklace for her half the time. Half the time people don’t notice they’re alive if not for their occasional blinking. She loves petting the scales of Salome and Ouroboros, absolutely loves the texture

(Meme break before getting to serious stuff. Nightshade is also included here)

Backstory

Prologue: Josephine

Dicentra’s birth mother Josephine was a lunarian born on the red line and raised with her people. She lived atop the red line in peace for many years, she was particularly gifted in being a graceful flyer amongst others her age but lacked control of her flames. Despite the peace at a young age she could tell something was coming somehow, she had a sixth sense for that thing (observation Haki). Eventually when her people were massacred to build Mary Geoise atop her ancestral home she was taken by a celestial dragon who wanted one of her kind as “apart of his collection” even though that wasn’t technically allowed. This all happened when she was 15.

For Years Josephine was kept in a cell, wings broken and unable to conjure flames even if she tried due to being underfed and weak. She’d spent so long being toyed with and abused with no relief but an empty cell to return to when she was finished being “useful”. Eventually though she got cellmate in the form of the young Boa sisters. For the first time in years Josephine felt something as she stared at the young girls, mirror showing her how much of a shell of her former self she was. She used to be young and free, used to be afraid and now she had felt nothing in years. And staring into the fearful tear stained eyes of these girls she swore to herself they wouldn’t end up like her. Broken and empty.

In that cell in the span of months turned to years Josephine would do her best to protect the sisters. Though she could not always protect them she was able to lessen their suffering. She cared for them, began to see them as her own just as they began to see her as a mother in this hell. Through her wings were broken she’d use them as blankets for them in the damp cold of the cell. Josephine would share the little food she had with them. She’d also tell them stories of her people who once proudly flew the skies, sang in hushed tones the songs passed on from generation to generation. Hell had at least become bareable

Eventually much to her own fear and horror Josephine became pregnant. It at some point was bound to happen but all the same it horrified her for the fact she knew her child would be killed. A bastard to celestial dragon was purged for the fact of “tainting” their holy blood, and that was just for normal cases. She was a lunarian, the people they purged and were still actively being hunting down from how that devil gloated about “owning such a rare species”. She had to hid this and hope for the best, and that’s what she did with the help of the Boa sisters.

Somehow hiding her pregnancy was a task in of itself but it had been somehow done, but with that came the actual delivery. Weak and Malnourished as she already was without proper medical care in a dark cell wasn’t a good mix. She’s left at deaths doorstep clinging barely to life after the deed was said and done. The only upside to it all was she felt that sixth sense again, things were changing and her daughters would be free. Before letting herself rest she makes the girls promise to never tell her daughter of her heritage, to protect her and love her as she loved them. Tearfully the girls agree, Hancock vowing she’d raise Dicentra as her own. With how Josephine falls asleep the girls believe her to be dead, and in a way she is…but not fully yet

The mass escape of slaves happens and her daughters flee, through this all Josephine laid on deaths door in her cell. She was ok with dying, had for so long dreamt of such a thing, but anger had let her from not dying quite yet. Half dead and powered only by the knowledge she’d die Josephine gets up. Broken wings crack and move, the pain so blinding it became numb. She had to protect her daughters, had to erase all trace of them here lest a trail is somehow left. And despite never knowing to master her flames she ignites because she herself is the kindling. The already aflame Mary geoise is lit with newer more intense fire that burned to the fire. Josephine burns with mother’s rage and a single wish. Cleanse her homeland with flame just as it was meant to be oh so long ago.

Josephine kills her tormentor and bastard of a man who’s father to her daughter, watches the flames bath him in agony as she holds his face in burning hands. Scarlet eyes glaring down at him as everything burned, her once small flickering flame behind her neck so intense and big it hurt to look at and consumed the background. Flesh melts and blood sizzles in her palms. Josephine dies kneeling on the red earth of her home, staring up to the smouldering sky with broken wings and an outstretched hand to the heavens she so loved. Her scream echoes out among flickering flames and chaos, echoes and reverberates into the sky before turning to nothingness. She burns so intensely that nothing of herself and twenty feet surrounding her body is left besides ash, soot and a trail of bloody feathers littering the ground just outside the crater as her scream of agony faded.

Chapter 1: Childhood from the eyes of a mother

Dicentra grows up on a lie just as everyone else of the Amazon lily does. From the time she could walk and speak she’s told of how her mother and aunts slayed a fierce-some gorgon that had killed her birth mother which led to her being adopted. That gorgon cursed her mom, aunts and herself with a curse bared on their backs. For her mom and her aunts it’s an odd symbol and for Dicentra it’s her wings. But all the same Dicentra knows that her mom is her hero (and though that story is a lie it’s still true she’s her hero) and the young princess stared at her mother in awe and such innocence. It’s something that eats Hancock up inside, that she’s lying to her daughter about everything. Of her wings, her lineage and birth mother and yet she made that vow and she won’t go back in it.

All this leads to though is Hancock being fiercely protective of her daughter, not just for the fact of her blood but because she wants better for Dicentra. She wants her daughter to live happy not plagued by the burden and shame that she and her sisters suffers daily. The memories, the pain, the loss of it all. She wants Dicentra to live the life Hancock wished she had, of never being ripped away from a safe and loving home to be hurt over and over again. It’s why she keeps a close eye on her, especially in the early years where everything is still fresh in her mind of the escape. Perhaps she’s a tad overbearing at times but knowing her daughter is happy and safe within the walls of her nation is all that matters. But as time progresses she does become more lenient towards letting Dicentra do things on her own with the only condition being a bodyguard accompanying her.

At 6 Dicentra has Nightshade assigned as her personal bodyguard and protector. Before then it was randomly assigned guards or Salome who took over watching over the already curious and slightly mischievous young girl. Much to Hancock’s displeasure her daughter takes to running off into the jungles of the Amazon but at the same time she can’t help but be happy her daughter takes her freedom in such strive and not forgranted. Dicentra talks of all range of things she came across once she comes home, from rocks she found to bird feathers pressed in pages. Nightshade with now wild tangled hair standing beside Dicentra posed and proper even with a few leaves and sticks lodged in once straight black hair.

By 7 Hancock decides to have Dicentra be taught proper manners and help her find some hobbies that aren’t just running off into the brush. It’s there that Dicentra finds her talent in Dance and playing instruments, she specifically likes playing the Erhu traditionally played in the Amazon lily. It’s a hobby especially Hancock enjoys because it quickly becomes a source of calm when old memories plague her mind. Perhaps a lifetime ago she would’ve picked up the instrument as well, but now she resides herself to listening to old tunes that would play before that fateful day on a ship leaving home. Whilst she listens she holds her daughter, time seems to slip away and for once all is well for those minutes playing song.

At 9 Dicentra begins to do more things around the Amazon lily. Knowing the jungles area and documenting the plants she finds ends up being useful to apothecaries and doctors on the island. Along with this she starts to also help in delivering things and having a hand in public events. It’s here that she begins to realize what being a princess means even if it’s more a title than anything. To the Amazon lily her mom is cold and respected, the citizens of the island fear and love her and Hancock knows this. They don’t see her compassion behind closed doors but Dicentra does. If her mom is the cold and cool leader that in secret cared, then Dicentra would be a sliver in that door for others to see that kindness. She tells the truth, that her mom asked her to try and find ways to help the other kuja women. As princess the women of the island love her and she notices she means something to everyone there. For the women of the island Dicentra is their kind princess in contrast to their lovely but cruel empress, to Hancock Dicentra is what little hope is left in the world.

At 10 the young princess starts asking Hancock more about the outside world and it leaves the empress silently terrified. They aren’t bad questions, moreso just innocent ones of if places she’d been to were like home. But to Hancock they signify the end. She knew from the moment her bright eyed daughter began to run before learning to walk, began looking out to the sea on the horizon and climbed to the tops of the snake statues overlooking the entire tribe she’d one day be curious enough to leave. That this island would become too small to satisfy her need to see and experience the world. A selfish part of her wished that the luxuries she spoiled her with and the nights in which she’d hug her close whilst promising she’d always be safe here would disway her, but Hancock always knew because of the spark in her eyes that she’d one day leave. It terrifies her and yet she knows one day she’ll have to because she can’t take away Dicentra’s freedom just as hers had been taken. But for now she was safe, leaving was in the future but now she was safe in her arms.

By 11 Dicentra waits by the docks as Hancock sets off to yet another warlord meeting that would go nowhere. Hancock when her daughter was younger would leave her with Sandersonia as she and Marigold would set off into the ocean. But Hancock decides that this time her daughter was old enough to last a few days on her own (despite how terror still grips her heart). Nightshade swears she’ll look after the young girl and none of the Boa’s doubt that. Not when the ex-assassin turned bodyguard has the same look Hancock does when the young girl does something as simple as gifting a flower. It’s a look of wanting to protect something so desperately because it was one of the last pieces of kindness in their world. None of the Boa sisters trust easily, especially not Hancock, and especially if it came to her daughter. But Hancock trusted Nightshade, and that was a feat in of itself. And so Hancock sets off on her ship, trusting her beloved daughter to her bodyguard and ex-empress of the Amazon. Though it’s only for a few days Dicentra helps keep things afloat alongside Gloriosa.

Chapter 2: where the story begins

By 13 Dicentra knows the Amazon lily like the back of her hand. She knows every trail, bend of the river and cove there’s to find in the lush landscape populated by snaking vines and flowers. Pollen coats the air in sweet smells as the distinct smell of rain coming sets in for the young princess and her shadow. But the Rowling black clouds did little to dismay the young girl, if anything it only made her more excited as she quickened her pace and hopped over twisting roots. Having a storm in the calm belt was a rare occurrence, the lack of wind and still waters kept for a stagnant environment but once in awhile a storm would drift from the grand line and breeze briefly through the still water and die off. It made for decent rainfall and any occasional change in weather from the hot climate was always something welcome to the young girl. Nightshade would agree in that retrospect, from the few moments she talked of times past was she talked of a place described as an eternal flowering spring, not cold but not yet summer (though apparently a northern area had snow). So Dicentra raced to the many hidden beaches and coves of the Amazon lily.

its towering cliffs her beloved home had many secret coves beside the main waterway into the heart of the city. Many laid forgotten to time, old boats used generations ago laying still in soft sand that crunched beneath her feet. Typically there was no tide at these hidden beaches and coves, just stagnant water lifting at a certain level against the sand. No white foam decorating its edges like lace if not for the storm stirring the waves. She can’t help but giggle at the sensation, even if her stockings got wet in the ordeal. A few feet away nightshade stood as the wind blew past, still and silent yet eased by now dropping of rain on warm skin.

The rain is cool and refreshing, trailing down and leaving hair damp.

But calm only lasts a moment.

Typically when a storm blew through the calm belt it was mild at worst and calm rain at its least. It was almost always that way with nothing to keep feeding its trajectory as it fizzled out and died.

But sometimes depending on how large the storm was prior it could survive long enough to be just as powerful as it was in the grand line.

One second Dicentra is standing at the waters edge basking in the cool rain, the other second she’s dragged in by once cerulean blue waves that became crashing cold darkness. The void encompasses the entirety of her as she’s choked from air and the cold grasping at her bones. Instinct sets in immediately but the shock of near icey waves and pulling current tossing her like a rag doll make it impossible to do so. Helplessly she floats in near darkness as storm clouds blocked out sun and made the waters a chilling void. The image of complete utter darkness as she reaches blindly engraved itself in her mind. Never once has she felt such a fear of the dark. When she was younger she hadn’t feared it, rather was intrigued to explore it instead. But now it grips and drags her down down, down into is abyss.

But then a hand appears from the dark, Nightshade.

Twitchy and icey fingers grasp the stronger hand that then pulls.

She lands on the old rickety boat with a thud and immediately sea water streams out in pained coughs. Wind blows wildly tussling hair as waves crash against the edges of the boat. She can barely see over wet hair clinging to her face but she feels Nightshade hold her for dear life and above the yelling waves her protector screams to hold onto her with all she can.

Dicentra does as says and feels a colossal pain hit her before a once friendly darkness consumes her vision.

Chapter 3: turning point

Waking up is typically a calming routine for Dicentra. If mom wasn’t on a warlord meeting she’d brush sit down with her and her mom would brush her hair. It was a daily tradition, on in which her mother would hum quietly and gently comb through her hair. Sometimes she’d check to see if the pink dye of her hair was loosing its pigment, if so she’d ask if she wanted to leave it natural or dye it once more. Dicentra always opted to dye it again. Crushed up flowers mixed with imported hair products then used to stain once lily White hair again. That was their tradition together alongside at night having mom look at her wings and care for them. Apologizing as she helped her wings molt or placing a soothing cream on the sore hurting appendages. So waking up one morning with sunlight streaming on her face on linen instead of the familiar feeling of silk is odd. Not bad but it doesn’t make sense for a few moments as her sleep plagued brain thought through what had happened.

She remembered a storm, darkness gripping her, coughing up slat water that burned her lungs and then clutching Nightshade for dear life.

Nightshade!

Despite her body feeling like wet bricks Dicentra finds herself dragging herself from the small bed she was laid on. Blindly she reaches out expecting to find her closest companion besides her family. Instead though she meets something else instead.

Nightshade was a lithe person. beautifully strong despite her lack of visible muscles. She used to ask her shadow of a bodyguard how she was able to be so strong without being as muscular as aunty Marigold. The quiet woman would simply hum, saying something about she isn’t strong but has good instincts and reflexes. Point being in all of this the arm she grabbed wasn’t that of Nightshade, it was muscular

“Oh yoi? You’re awake finally.” The voice is weirdly deep and as her eyes adjust Dicentra is faced with someone crouching down to her level. Blue eyes stare at her from behind glasses….this was a weird looking woman.

This is where things would come into motion

I’ll leave it at this for now. But rest assured she has more story

[ljaylmaoo]

What Are Friends For?

Platonic! Hook x fem!reader

UNEDITED

Request: Can you do a platonic hook x a fem vk reader where she’s apart of Uliana’s crew and she isn’t really close to James as much as the rest and he goes to the reader for help about his relationship or crush he has on someone? (like el and max from stranger things when el goes to max for help about Mike!) and they end up becoming better friends? Thank you!

It doesn’t have to be long I just like the idea of reader and hook being at a sort of awkward stage with each other because they aren’t as close but they don’t exactly hate each other and it ends with them being closer after she helps him with his love life type thing

summary: you and James aren’t as close as you make it seem when it comes to picking on people in school, but what happens when James surprisingly asks for your help with a personal problem for the first time?

genre: fluff, platonic friendship

warnings: bullying, reader insert and steals a line (just to incorporate the reader more) if you don’t like it just simply ignore lol, first bit is the scene when Uliana turns into a flamingo after eating the flamingo feathers, insecure hook, he's kinda uptight in this too lol, that’s it really

a/n: this was really fun to write I love writing platonic friendships, send in requests :)

word count: 2.95k

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“I mean flamingo feathers are like, super rare. Right..?”

Uliana questioned Bridget with an obviously fake expression of interest. You and Morgie were on opposite sides of her, you on her left with Morgie on her right while she held a plate of ‘flamingo feather cupcakes’ above with her tentacles which were out of reach. Hook strutted closer and stood on the other side of you also with a face of mocked interest, turning theatrically slow towards the annoyingly sweet girl and her friends in front of you as you all waited for a reply.

“Hey! Give that back to her!” Ella snapped at Uli, “i’m sorry!” Uliana cut her off as you all glared at the group with a scoff while Hades circled them with an intimidating expression, “I don’t speak peasant girl.” She finished while handing the cupcake in her hand off to someone to the side of Morgie. You and Hook giggled, “I love your outfit by the way it is just so…” she continued before ripping the shoulder of her poorly sewn dress at the seams, “put together.” You all cackled hysterically at the act, Hook and Morgie circling as they did so, “you said “put together” cause it’s not.” Morgie pointed out as you all continued to laugh. “my names Bridget, and I have to bribe people with treats to be my friend because I’m such a loner..” you mocked with a high pitched tone making the rest cackle harder than they were before at your cruel joke, Uliana throwing her head back as Hook and Morgie rested their elbows on each side of your shoulders, her tentacles wrapping around the four of you. One of the new transfer girls wearing all blue, who looked strangely similar to Ella grabbed a tourney stick from a jock behind her and pointed it in you and Uliana’s direction, “hey! The Code of Conduct prohibits theft and bullying!” You and Uliana sighed while resting your hands against your own foreheads leaning on each other in faux ‘woe was me’ manners. Hook instantly tore the stick away from your face with his hook, “easy lass” he began with a playful yet threatening voice before stepping closer to her getting in her face, “I don’t know where you come from but here we don’t fight until after school. Meet me then.” He teased while sizing her up causing the girl to scoff and she pushed him away, “you wouldn’t stand a chance.” He only giggled at her response.

“Listen squid face.” The other new girl who was dressed in red started, pushing the other to the side, Uliana tilted her head, “give the cupcakes back, or I’ll rip that magic tongue out of your throat.” She threatened. “Oh girl” Uliana laughed before plucking the feathers off the cupcakes, “I only wanted the feathers. You can have the rest.” She snarled then dropped the plate of cupcakes on the ground in front of her causing the plate to break and the girl to jump back as you all laughed again. Uliana dangled the feathers above her head ready to pop them into her mouth, “wait!” Bridget interrupted gaining all of your attention, “that’s too many.” You all glanced back at Uli who only rolled her eyes and proceeded to swallow them all whole, you Morgie and Hook snickered as she did so. “You shouldn’t have done that.” Bridget warned. Uliana scoffed, dismissing her warning taking out her hand mirror from her pocket, “I’m sorry, you are just jealous of my fabulosity. Okay?” She stated while looking herself in the mirror. “You can’t handle my-” Uliana suddenly let out a terrified gasp as she coughed up pink feathers from her mouth with a honk. You turned to her in confusion as you let out a concerned giggle. You watched as all the cocky confidence drained from Uli’s face in an instant as she glanced around to the other students that were watching also, letting out another honk, “what was that?” She frantically asked, the only response she got was from herself as she shrieked in horror at her transformation.

“You alright, Uli? You’re looking a little, pink.” Hook let out a nervous laugh, you snickered at his little insensitive comment. “Shut up!” She snapped before continuing to let out more bird like noises while her features turned a bright pink, “what’s happening to me?!” She yelled, everyone watching in silence, some attempting to stiffen laughs from coming out while others watched with concern. She fell to the ground with a squawk causing you to back away from her with your hand over your mouth, the rest of the VKs frozen in shock besides Hades and Mali who stood with an unfazed look. “Will someone help her!” Fay yelled and ran up from behind the group of girls, “yeah, someone should help her..” Hades agreed in a half assed tone earning a warning backhand to the chest from Maleficent who stood beside him. You and Hook spun to look at them and then to each other with panicked eyes, you then looked over to Morgie and waved your hand, motioning him to help her. He quickly obliged and ran up to Uliana, struggling a bit to pull her jacket off as she fought the transformation from forming covering her face as he fell to the ground with her jacket. She slowly uncovered her face, revealing the flamingo beak and feathers that replaced her normal features. You jumped back bewildered with an audible gasp at the sight as she made eye contact with you before she quickly turned to Bridget and Ella with a glare and charged at them, running past you and your friends as she chased them out of the courtyard while letting out screeches.

You along with the rest of the students all followed behind them. Uliana chased them all the way out to the fountain. You, Hook and Maleficent quickly ran to one entrance while Hades and Morgie ran to the other, trapping them. Bridget and Ella ran into you, you and Hook blocking them with your chests, “hey there, darling!” Hook taunted causing Bridget to run off with Uli still chasing her, leaving Ella in front of you two, “I just want to have a little chat with your friend.” He explained and pointed to Bridget smirking, you laughing while blocking her way out. Ella quickly ran and pulled Bridget off the edge of the fountain causing Uliana to fall backwards into the water. You all gasped, watching her struggle and cough up water letting the two girls get away, scurrying off. Uliana looked around feeling humiliated as everyone began to laugh at the scene that had just happened. Uliana got up and you helped her out of the water, “where’s Bridget?” She barked and continued to cough, you shook the water off your hand in disgust, “I will destroy her!” She cried while she began towards the doors, leaving you beside the fountain. “Tell Bridget this isn’t over!” She threatened as she stormed out, you rolled your eyes and turned to leave, the VKs glaring as Maleficent hissed before she and Hook followed you out the same doors you came in through. That was one of the only times you and James would actually have any sort of interaction that would make people think the two of you were close and even then, it wasn’t much. You two in fact were not that close. Sure you shared the same friend group but you two had never had a one on one conversation or really talked to each other much, even when you were with your friend group, so you didn’t even know much about the guy. Besides the fact that you both enjoyed tormenting the students of Merlin Academy. There wasn’t really a reason why you didn’t talk as he nor you had nothing against each other so it was weird. You weren’t even sure if you guys were on a first name basis yet. Your friends had also pointed it out a few times and told you how much the two of you actually had in common and questioned why you hadn’t spoken to him, and your only response was that you “didn’t have a reason to.” At least you didn’t until today.

You were at your locker when you heard someone quickly approaching you from your left, “y/n?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as you heard the deep british voice of your pirate familiar call out your name awkwardly. You were almost positive that was the first time you even heard your name come out of his mouth. You peeked around your locker and was greeted with the young pirate leaned up against the lockers facing you with his arms crossed, an upset look plastered over his face as he let out slow heavy breaths, “oh, hey james..?” You replied in a confused yet polite voice, giving him a small smile. “Could you maybe… help me with something?” He asked in a low panicky tone, glancing around in a suspicious manner. You furrowed your eyebrows once more and closed your locker, “uh, yeah sure. What’s up?” He swallowed, “I don’t think I can talk about it here…” he trailed off, you tilted your head. For this to be your first time having an actual conversation with him you found it strange and you were quite skeptical, but the more you thought about it, he was a friend after all. At least you thought so, especially if he was coming to you for help rather than the other VKs. You shrugged, “okay, well then maybe we could talk about it in my dorm or something?” He nodded, “okay, come and meet me here after class.” You explained giving him a smile which he returned before you both went your separate ways.

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After the dismissal bell you were putting your stuff away in your locker when you heard him approach you again silently, you turned and smiled, “hey” “hello..” you shut your locker, “no homework?” You teased as you saw that he was empty handed. “Oh darling, I don’t do homework. And neither do you apparently.” He crossed his arms while he eyed your figure, the only thing in your hand was your personal spell book, “touché” you said simply and began to walk with him down the corridor. “So what did you need my help with exactly?” You asked curiously, finally breaking the silence as you turned down the hallway towards the dormitory, “I mean, it seemed kinda urgent.” He looked up at you from the ground, “what makes you think that?” You scoffed, “well for one you practically ran up to me all panicked and you looked pretty upset.” He tilted his head, “Did I?” You shook your head, “James, I may not know you on a personal level all that well. But it’s quite known that you have trouble with hiding your feelings..” he thought about it and silently shrugged in agreement, “and that leads me to my second point, you never ask for my help, or talk to me for that matter..” you lightly trailed off in realization, “what? That’s not true, we’ve talked before?” He tried, chuckling nervously, you gave him a stern look, slightly raising your eyebrows. He sighed, “okay, you have a point. But I do still consider you a friend.” He stated. You looked up at him, “really?” He nodded, “of course I do, love.” You smiled, “well I consider you one too.”

You made it to your dorm and opened the door letting yourself in as James followed behind, he hummed, “no roommate?” He questioned as he looked around the room. You looked back at him as you threw your book on your desk, “nope” you shrugged, “well I did at one point, but she just eventually stopped coming back, I think I scared her off.” James only laughed and continued looking around. “So, what’s up?” You asked while sitting on your bed facing him as you crossed your legs and rested your head on your hands. He looked over at you and slowly walked up to you, “well there’s this girl-” you cut him off with a loud gasp, “ou, fun! Who is it?” You asked with excitement. He rolled his eyes, “I wasn’t finished.” You giggled and covered your mouth, “sorry.” You whispered, “continue.” He swallowed before continuing, “I just don’t know, I don’t know what girls like or how to ask her out…” he admitted, shame evident in his voice. You shot your head up, straightening your back in surprise, “wait you mean you, James Hook, who is probably the biggest flirt in the school, doesn’t know how to simply ask out a girl?” You asked shocked, he rolled his eyes, “yes I know. But I really do need your help because I really like this girl and I would really like to ask her out to castle coming but it’s like she’s scared of me and I would’ve asked Mali or Uliana but you know how they are, they’ll just poke fun at me for liking a goody good.” He rambled on as he opened up. You shrugged, “wanna spell her?” He shook his head, “no, I don’t want to go the easy route. I want to learn how to ask her out.” You nodded, “okay, well, you’re already an extremely flirtatious person, even without trying and very good looking and charming I’d say, so that’s a start” you began, “obviously” he scoffed causing you to roll your eyes, “yeah..but see, that, would be something I’d work on.” He looked down at you with a puzzled look, “girls don’t like guys who are full of arrogance. Sure we like confidence but not guys who are full of themselves. Girls like guys who will compliment them more than they compliment themselves. Guys who do thoughtful selfless things for them without asking.” You explained, he listened to you intently, “and guys who are, nic..er?” You said falteringly. “Nicer?” You let out a small laugh, “well, you do realize that we have a bit of a reputation of being “mean” right?” You made air quotations with your hands, He scoffed once more, “well yes, of course.” You nodded slowly, “and we, well you especially, have something that people would call a “rbf”?” He sat down on your desk chair in front of you, crossing his arms and slouched back, “yeah? What about it?” You sighed, think of how you should word your thoughts, “I’m just saying that maybe if you were a bit more amicable, she wouldn’t be as timid to talk to you.” He thought about it, your words simmering in his mind. “So, what should I do?” You scooted closer to the edge of the bed towards him, “well if you ask me, I’d say to start with-” “I am asking you.” The smile on your face dropped and you crossed your arms, “okay, start with losing the attitude. And second, and I know it’s easier said than done but just be yourself but you know, without the arrogance and attitude.”

He stared at you with a wary look before standing up, “that’s the problem Y/n. I just don’t know how, when it comes to this girl specifically, my mind goes completely blank.” you stood up and followed him to the middle of the room. “Hm, okay. Have you talked to this girl before?” He nodded, “a few times, yeah.” You nodded slowly, “mkay and what does she know about you already? Have you hinted that you’re interested?” You shook your head and cut him off as he was about to answer, “wait never mind, everyone thinks you have a thing for them..” you mumbled, he gave you a look, “but anyways, what does she know about you? What have you talked about?” He thought about it, “well she doesn’t know that much about me if I’m being honest, but I do know that she enjoys walks, she likes the beach, her favourite colour is purple, and she loves baking.” You nodded, “well she sounds, sweet.” Your voice going up an octave, trying your best to not sound judgmental. You cleared your throat as you saw the warning look he gave you while crossing his arms, “what I mean is that it doesn’t seem like it would be that hard to get her to say yes. You’ve already let her talk about herself so you know what she likes, she seems to be comfortable enough to talk to you about herself despite you know, you being a VK. And you’ve already gotten past the hardest part of becoming sort of friends with her. To be honest you didn’t even really need my help in the first place so I’d say just keep being you, and whenever the time feels right just go for it.” You shrugged, he bit the tip of his hook as he thought hard about it, “okay. I’ll try.” You smiled, “oh, and whenever that time comes, get her flowers. Girls like that.” He scoffed, “well yeah, I’m not an idiot. Sorry.” He quickly apologized. You walked closer to him and rested your hands on his shoulders, “hey, you’ve got this. Don’t stress about it and don’t overthink.” You walked over to your desk and picked up your spell book, “and if it doesn’t work out, we could always spell her.” You suggested, voice mixed with a hint of sarcasm that he picked up on causing him to let out a laugh.

“Thank you, y/n. I appreciate your help.”

You smiled, “of course, I mean that’s what friends are for right?”

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[claitea]

i've had these scenarios written down since volo's debut in pokemon masters and i just really wanted to scribble them down and finally release them

[fiepige]

Okay guys, hear me out:

Sea Serpent Hobie!!!

Sea Serpent Hobie who sinks any superyachts he comes across!

Sea Serpent Hobie who uses harpoon spears meant to kill him as piercings! And old anchor chains as jewelry!

Sea Serpent Hobie who attacks big commercial fishing boats that are destroying the ecosystem by overfishing

But also benign Sea Serpent Hobie, who aids those lost at sea!

Who helps smaller local fishing buisnesses with sustainable fishing

Who looks out for this small fishing community and in return they warn him whenever hunters show up in the area!

Sea Serpent Hobie who is huge but still manages to hide perfectly in the kelp forests!

Who has bioluminescence and uses it both to terrify enemies and as a way to calm down people in distress, as a way for him to signal goodwill - and to show off when he feels like it!

Who can change his pigmentation similarly to octopi to communicate his mood and feelings! Or just to blend in with his surroundings (also as a nod to the way he changes filters in the movie!)

Sea Serpent Hobie who's frequently seen swimming with whale pods- Orcas being his favourites to hang out with (they sometimes go on yacht sinking trips together)

Sea Serpent Hobie who likes to give people a show and will show off by breaching right next to unsuspecting boats

DO YOU SEE MY VISION?!??

SEA SERPENT HOBIE!!!!!!💙💙💙

[lupins-hehim-pussy]

I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

More:

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

[squarebracketsmileyface]

taps on ur shoulder any mh thoughts or hcs spinning around in your head rn

Honestly, I love thinking about trans Alex Kralie so much, usually transfemme Alex because, like, look at that guy, especially in that one video where he was with Amy, "he" was She in that video I believe it with my whole soul.

But like, just thinking about Alex being closeted transfemme and in a big ol' polycule where she's the hinge partner between Amy and Jay, Tim and Brian (so Amy is Tim, Brian and Jay's metamour) like, just thinking about Alex coming out to Amy first, not because she thinks the boys wouldn't be accepting, or even that she thinks Amy would be more accepting than they would, just because to come out to any of the boys she'd then feel obligated to come out to all of them at the same time, she wouldn't want to tell one of them before the others, so she'd have to tell them all at once and that feels too big. So she just comes out to Amy first.

And that goes super well, and it's so much less scary than she thought it'd be. So she comes out to Amy and Amy starts offering to take her clothes shopping, or buy stuff for her if she doesn't feel comfy enough to buy her own stuff. She teaches Alex how to do her make up (and they definitely do that think like that one photo, with Amy sitting in Alex's lap to do her lipgloss for her and Alex has a huge sapphic crisis over it and gay panics for half an hour because holy shit her girlfriend is so fucking gorgeous and she's sitting on her and her face is so close to Alex's, and she's doing her lipgloss for her and oh my god Alex needs to kiss her and mess up that lipgloss immediately)

So it goes like that for a few months, with only Amy knowing, and Alex is slowly getting more and more comfy in herself. She knows how to do her own eyeliner and mascara, she knows how to use foundation and contour now, and she pretty much never leaves the house without nail polish any more because it just makes her feel so pretty, and if anyone asks she can say she's "just a guy who's not scared to wear nail polish, fuck off alright?"

But obviously, eventually she feels kinda ready to tell her other partners. Amy offers to go with her, and Alex agrees immediately because god she's so nervous, even though she knows it'll all go absolutely fine. Like, Tim is trans himself, of course it'll go fine, literally how could it not, Alex already knows all her boyfriends are totally fine with dating someone who's trans. But that obviously doesn't stop the nerves. So Amy picks her up a bit early and takes her out for a little cafe date to try and help her calm her nerves: "A coffee date without the coffee because it'll just make you even more nervous and jittery. You're getting hot chocolate and that's final."

So they have their little no coffee coffee date and head on to go meet up with the others, and Alex is so nervous, like, knee bouncing, fingers tapping, picking at the skin around her nails so that she doesn't pick off the nail polish that she put on the night before. And Amy just leans over and kisses her once they're parked up outside Brian and Tim's apartment, which is where they all agreed to meet because it's the biggest of everyone's places.

Amy and Alex knock on the door and Alex is panicking over the outfit she chose to wear, even though it's her favourite outfit and Amy constantly reminds her how utterly gorgeous and pretty and so hot she is in it (and out of it). Jay's the one who answers the door and he just kinda stares at Alex for a moment like, cartoon heart eyes floating off the ground drooling at the sight of a beautiful woman, because he's a total fucking loser and gorgeous women are his weakness (gorgeous men too, but right now all he can think is "holy fuck Alex is wearing a skirt and lipstick. I MUST KISS.")

So like, they get into the apartment and the whole conversations goes absolutely fine, just like Alex knew it would, and Amy had promised it would. And the day just ends with the whole polycule (missing Sarah, because I fully believe she's in this polycule too, except she's only dating Amy and Jessica, and not Alex or any of the boys so she wasn't massively needed for this conversation) the whole polycule all cuddled up on and in front of the couch, with Alex in the middle getting just absolutely doted on because they all saw how much she was shaking and how anxious she was and just NEED to show her how loved she is. Like, everyone seems to need to have at least some part of themself touching her at all times, whether it's fingers laced between hers, their head on her shoulder, a hand on her thigh fiddling with the hem of her skirt, whatever.

And she just feels so happy. Like, she's pretty sure she's never been more in love and she can't WAIT to start wearing make up and more feminine clothes in front of her boyfriend's because she KNOWS that they'll all just trip over themselves to do what she wants. Because they already did that anyway, and she knows from their initial reactions to seeing her all dolled up that that'll just get worse as time goes on :]

As in, if she wants kisses, she will have all three of her boyfriend's waiting in line because she's wearing lipstick and they're obsessed with getting lipstick marks on their cheeks and necks and stuff. Bonus points if it's black lipstick she's wearing, Jay goes nuts over it. Amy says she looks prettiest in dark red lipstick, and absolutely takes any excuse to climb on top of her to apply it herself before they make out just so she can see it all smeared and messed up afterwards. Amy is very gay for her girlfriend who could 100% flip them over at any second but just Doesn't because she likes looking up at Amy and seeing her smile :]

[longagoitwastuesday]

Every day I am haunted by the fact JJK could be amazing but it will be just idk Bleach or something