#this feels unfinished somehow orz

[mikanrulz]

*sighs longingly* Y'all remember when Azazel was a right asshole that deserved approximately half of the shit he had to deal with? I miss Azazel and his assholery but holy damn this is some serious character development from Genesis when he has gleefully fucking up people's lives

Hello there :D

Sorry this took me too long to answer. On one hand, I really want to rally behind azazel protection squad, but on the other hand… as you said, he was an asshole who deserved half the things he has to deal with. Then there’s also the part of me that likes to see my fav characters suffer and pushed to the limit bcs that’s usually where they shine, where they show their true colors, where they show what they’re really capable of. SORRY.

This is really a dilemma bcs while I really want Azazel to win (and see if he gonna go back to his old smug attitude), I kinda want to see him lose more bcs if he keeps losing like that, Lucifer would have no choice but to come save him again right? :D or maybe Mugaro would go berserk for Azazel’s sake, I’m not picky :p

Speaking of character development tho.

behold that mean and smug af smirk.

I see ppl commenting how he fastly improved from S1 bcs now he’s kinda a dark hero for the demon side, and how he’s more, er, empathetic toward others now?

I actually disagree on this.

I don’t think he changes that much. If anything changed, it’s that now he’s *visibly* way more *angrier* than he was in S1.

1. His default expression in S1 is being smug. Anything unexpected happened, he made a little frown-y face for a second only to cover it up in a smug smirk the next scene (most notably: ep5, 6, and 10)

My point is, in S1, he liked to act like he was in control even when he wasn’t. In S2, he doesn’t even pretend anymore and freely makes angry face all the time no matter who might see.

2. the sad face. S2 is not the first time he shows a blank face or something that could be read as a melancholy face. In S1e05 he already showed something close to it, when Cerberus reminded him of his failure, and when the butler told him of intruders coming in.

3. About the dark hero thing. I don’t think he fights to *save* the lives of the demons; I think he fights solely to restore his own pride, and incidentally, the demons’ pride. When he says this in ep4, more than anyone realizes, he’s actually being totally true - esp to himself.

He was always big on pride thing.

In S1, it might be bcs he was a former angel or whatever, but he seemed to look down on other demons, much like the way in this season Sofiel looks down on demons and Bacchus and even more on Hamsa. In s2e01, while he freed the captured demons, he killed the summoned demons abiding the trader’s command. This means he actually still doesn’t care as much about demons’ lives in general, he just can’t let lowly humans who dared took down Cocytus also took demons as ‘unwilling’ slaves.

Still in ep4, Dante says this: “you turned down our invitation and became a slave to the humans.”

I want to say the cause is yet again his pride, that he still thinks himself too good for these lowly demons, but I think he’s just being pragmatic. No other high ranking demons are with these underground demons, there’s no meaning in him joining if he would be the only one pulling their weights bcs they’re bound to lose anyway. It’s better to move alone as the Rag Demon, bcs while he couldn’t completely bring down Charioce, he could at least be an embarrassment to Charioce’s troops as that one demon they just can’t capture and keep freeing the captured demons.

When he fought Beelzebub in ep11-12, he kept using the the word ‘debt’ instead of saying ‘betrayal.’ While Beelzebub’s betrayal indeed smarted, he seemed more pissed off that Beelz managed to pull one over *him* at all (thus debt) than the actual betrayal deed; that he’d been insecure enough to take Martinet’s words to heart and unknowingly becoming his pawn in the process.

He was Lucifer’s right hand man; even Bacchus remarked on this. So why did he even believe Martinet’s words, a demon who was so clearly below him in rank, over his own trust in Lucifer? It’s precisely bcs he took pride in being Lucifer’s right hand man that he couldn’t forgive himself for his failure; he had to restore his pride back by trying to recapture Amira. He chose to eat Martinet’s provocation instead of swallowing back his pride and insisting on meeting Lucifer.

Once again, Azazel was Lucifer’s right hand man. He, more than any demon, had the right to meet with Lucifer, and that Lucifer should be the only one able to punish him if he chose to - not Martinet. But Azazel’s insecurities over his own continuous failures seemed to make him forget that fact.

It’s kinda similar to how he’s literally unable to ask Nina ‘please help me’ bcs his pride gets in the way. He chooses to *order* her instead, which understandably alarms her. Till the end, when he offers to control her dragon transformation, he phrases it as a command, not request for help. Even tho it’s obvious he’s the one who has everything to lose while Nina has nothing at stake at all even if she refuses him.

Just, I know this is rather impossible and downright uncharacteristic even, but should he, you know, lets go of his pride and actually asks for help, it would do wonders probably. Bacchus might just be shocked enough to actually help.

4. He’s nice to kids (mugaro) and women (nina) now (?). I’m hesitant to call this a development since we never actually saw him interact with kids in S1. Rita didn’t count since Azazel knew she was not a child and he never treated or referred to her as such. For all we know, he actually always…neutral….to children and we just never get to see it before. Um.

Cerberus was a girl but then again she was a demon girl who left at the first sign of trouble. It was probably not even their first assignment together since he had ‘as expected’ air as he watched her leave during Orleans’ Knights’ ambush in ep5, meaning he was pretty used to her and her whimsical way and had no respect left for her or something. plus, that whole looking down on other demons thing.

Nina’s a girl and he does save her twice, both seemingly out of reflex - which is indeed not very demon-ish of him. But in Nina’s case, I don’t think it even registered to him until ep4 that’s Nina’s a girl who is very much a… girl. I mean, while he’s aware Nina’s obviously a girl, her gender doesn’t seem to matter to him the way it does to her.

idk, I’m still not sure on this part. May come back to this later.

Conclusion: I think Azazel’s still very much the Azazel of S1, he’s just more… intense. He used to be the perpetrator; now he’s part of the victims. It’s his change in role that’s causing us to see layers that we tend not to notice when he plays villain.

Rather than Azazel himself, I think Bacchus, Kaisar and Rita’s attitude change is more curious. Like, what exactly Azazel did that made him so endeared (to various degree) to them until they care and wouldn’t want to see him killed?

[typewriterghcst]

Title: The Willow Bud Processional

Fandom: The Cat Returns

Characters: The Cat King, Natori, brief mentions of others

Summary: The Cat King discovers that in all his time in court, Natori has never learned to dance, and heroically takes up the position of dance instructor for himself. It’s about damn time he got to feel like the smart one.

Notes: hi i’m here to regale you all with a tale of two old dumb cats interacting with each other like they think the other one will spontaneously combust at some point even tho they know each other so gd well they could probably quote each other word by word :v

i will say this one is Unfinished, but the missing parts are explained orz i’ve honestly just run out of steam on this one. me writing this was like ‘oh two characters dancing together in a casual setting? excellent my favorite’ and then the slow, sad realization that i’d have to actually write The Dancing and slowly losing that motivation until i was a dehydrated husk lying on the floor

i also listened to this song like. Way Too Much while writing this

[ insert a beginning Narration detailing that this is some nice party probably celebrating lune and yuki’s wedding or something SHHH the king is feeling weirdly down, lacks the emotional intelligence to put a word to What He’s Feeling, so wanders out onto a balcony to sulk, and is eventually followed by natori jfjfkd; ]

It doesn’t take long at all for him to be followed, of course. He hears Natori’s arrival not as a patter of careful footsteps, but as a slight, brief increase in the music volume through an opened door, one that is just as quickly diminished. And he knows his visitor must be Natori— no one else will so consistently come looking for him.

“Did you find yourself needing some fresh air, sire?”

“Yeh,” the king decides to agree, turning to look at his new companion. Natori almost always appears quite polished, those moments he’s comically caught off-guard aside, but there’s something implicitly different about him when he’s clad not in his usual dark linen, but what looks to be plum-colored silk. Were he feeling slightly more charitable, he’d most likely mention to his advisor that the color was appealing on him.

Instead, the indistinct melody he catches from indoors hogs all his attention.

“...eh? Is that the Willow Bud Procession they’re starting up again? They already did that one tonight.”

Natori, surreptitiously glancing back through the glass doors to the dancing pairs inside, responds, “Yes, but I’m led to believe a striking number of the courtiers are quite proud of their costumes tonight. I assume they all wished for another opportunity to show them off.”

“Oh, yeah? If that’s the case, I’m surprised you’re not out there with them— that shiny stuff you’re wearing had to set you back a pretty penny.” It comes out perhaps more sullen than he’d intended, and he can’t quite place why. 

Regardless, he makes no move to amend his tone.

Natori turns a studying look to him, one paw still on the frame of the door. The king shares his gaze for only a few seconds before he hastily looks away, back out into the sun-drenched hills of the Cat Kingdom, where his attention falls on Little Sister Lake. There’s birds there now, cranes— tall, white. Formless. Hm, he thinks then, perhaps they’re not birds, after all. They’re occasional visitors, but no cat in the kingdom has yet been stealthy enough to see them up close.

Natori has remained silent for so long, he’d almost forgotten his advisor had joined him. Nevertheless, he eventually says, “...I might say the same for you, sire. You seemed quite enthused about your crown’s replacement earlier tonight.”

The reminder brightens the king’s mood a little.

“Yeh— Natoru did a top-notch job on it, didn’t she? I’d give her a promotion if I could remember what her position actually was. An’... you know, if I wasn’t retired.” And there, remembering what the original topic was, he follows that up with a more subdued, “Eh, but everyone’s already seen it. Also, I never liked that stuffy procession, to tell you the truth. ‘Willow Bud Processional’ is a pretty whimsical name for what amounts to shuffling rhythmically around the dance floor. Drove me up a wall having to practice it all the time as a kitten.”

Were he facing Natori, he’d see the other cat visibly relax. Alas, he only turns to face his advisor after the revelation Natori sees fit to offhandedly drop on him.

“I’ve never actually learned the steps to it, myself.”

He turns back to survey Natori with some measure of disbelief. “You don’t know how to do the Willow Bud Procession? How have you survived all the parties without knowing?”

Natori hesitates here, and the king reads a definite embarrassment in it, as if the other cat is uncertain what he should admit to. It seems he does settle on honesty, however, as he soon after offers the king a rueful smile and an apologetic tilt of his head.

“I’m afraid I don’t often do much dancing during them, ha.” Too focused on keeping you out of trouble, he doesn’t say, but they both know.

The Cat King thinks on this for a long moment or two, gaze drawn back out to the distant white birds bathing in the kingdom’s cherished lake, the Not-Cranes.  In silence, casually, Natori joins him there at the balustrade, and the air is distinctly companionable until the king speaks up again, distracted.

“It’s not hard. You’d probably pick it up in no time, babe.”

“Perhaps you might teach me, then, sire? It sounds as if you’re quite the expert.”

The king pauses, trying to ignore the bloom of smug delight that comes with being referred to as an expert of anything, but, of course, not very diligently. It’s not like he’ll correct anyone who wishes to feed his ego, least of all Natori.

He looks to Natori and finds that his advisor is regarding him with an expression he can’t quite define. Concerned? Affable? Sly? It’s somehow all of them. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering if Natori has some obtuse plan he’s orchestrating in subtle ways the king himself can’t quite catch. He’s been proven wrong in this line of thinking so many times before and yet still can’t shake its occasional return in those times when his advisor seems particularly unreachable.

“Hmm. Yeah, babe, I can do that.” The idea of teaching his ostensibly better-read advisor anything is perhaps unsurprisingly enticing. He gives the empty balcony behind them a cursory inspection. “We can have a lesson here. There’s space.”

[ insert the cat king teaching the steps to the ‘willow bud processional.’ if you’re really curious what this might look like, pls feel free to look up ‘pavane’ on youtube. at some point, the king still feels Ignored (or, more accurately, like he’s not Truly Connecting and Socializing with someone), so like a sullen two-year-old he gets natori’s attention by tossing a wrench into his plan ]

“I want to hear a story,” the king says airily.

Natori, who had been gazing down at his feet with a faraway stare, looks back up to him with a raised eyebrow, and somewhere inside, the king whoops at his tiny victory. “Now..?”

“Yeh. Now.” The Cat King takes Natori’s apparent break in concentration as an opportunity to spin the two of them across the balcony, as if they were hapless passengers on a carnival ride as opposed to two old friends trying to have an impromptu dance lesson. Natori stumbles but doesn’t fall, righting himself with a deceptively practiced air, even if his grip is noticeably tighter than before. “Tell me a story, Natty.”

Natori, feeling the situation so characteristically slip from his grasp, glances down to his feet again to gather his thoughts.

“Well…” He eventually starts. “What kind of a story, sire?”

“Hmm. I dunno.” Another too-fast spin. He’s fairly certain he’d seen both Natori’s feet leave the ground for a fleeting second. The other cat definitely looks a touch aggravated now, though he’s trying bravely to hide it. “Tell me one you might have told to your sisters once upon a time.”

It isn’t often the topic of Natori’s family arises between them. The boundary between his advisor’s working family and his personal one often feels like an insurmountable wall at times, one which he doesn’t always possess the interest or fortitude to scale. The oddness of it seems to add only more tinder to Natori’s uncertainty, but in his usual way, he manages to sidle past it. In the meantime, also, the king slows their pace, this time only holding their joined paws in the air and waiting (Natori seems to twirl under their ‘canopy’ without thinking, still too engrossed in choosing a suitable story.)

After a long couple of moments waiting, the king finally speaks up again. “There were that many?”

Natori laughs, genuinely (the king can tell by the way it —). “It’s been a long time since I was the storyteller, sire. Lune always did prefer Natoru’s stories to mine.”

“Hers always involved more explosions and punching. You were outgunned.”

The king watches Natori’s eyelids flutter slightly from long-cold exasperation.  “...Indeed.”

“So tell me one of your favorites. One you never did get to tell Lune.”

Natori doesn’t say that he has the less-than-flattering suspicion the king’s attention span and his appreciation for fairy tales are about on par with his son’s as a restless, curious child, but he’s certainly thinking it quite loudly. If the Cat King has even an inkling of the same thought, he’s for once discreet enough not to mention it.

Natori blows out a breath and an uncomfortable laugh with it, and starts. “...I suppose my favorite was always the one that explained why the sun lived in the sky.”

The faint strings of the Willow Bud Processional from the open door leading onto the balcony begin to fade, and instead revive themselves as another familiar dance, a much slower, more intimate one (one Natori recognizes as the charmingly-named Lilycat Waltz). The king wonders if perhaps the bride and groom had requested a quiet moment. He and Natori move away from each other, standing across from the other in apparent uncertainty over what to do next.

“...You know how to do a waltz?” The king finally asks Natori, though he’s already guessed what the answer will be.

“You’ll have to show me, sire.” As expected. Yet with a bit of good humor mixed in. The king thinks to himself that the two of them are sharing an inside joke neither has yet spoken aloud, and it’s a familiar and comfortable nook they’ve settled into.

“Alright, babe, alright. So stand here— give me your paw—”

Natori complies with both directions with little hesitation, and he raises no protests when he’s pulled close or when he’s otherwise (perhaps less-than-gently at some points) guided into the right stance and position.

And when they’ve gotten situated into another habitual nook, this time closer together in the easy, thoughtless way only the oldest of friends can manage, the king speaks up again.

“You took right to it, babe. Said you’d be a fast study— didn’t I tell you so?”

“You did tell me so, sire,” Natori replies indulgently. Seemingly as a consolatory afterthought, he then adds, “Are my feet in the right position? It feels off.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re new to it.”

Their words, now, feel like a recital, a carefully-rehearsed script. The king thinks it’s about time they broke away from it.

“I have a question for you, Natori.”

“Oh? If it’s important, there’s no need to keep it to yourself, then, Your Majesty.”

“Why does the sun live in the sky?”

Natori laughs. Surprised, perhaps, self-effacing, because he’d been waiting for the question on both their minds, not a request for the continuation of a story he’d assumed had been forgotten.

“His Majesty has a long memory.”

“But you already knew that about me, babe.”

"So I did." Yet Natori continues where he left off readily enough. “The story goes that once, long before the world as we know it was formed, the sun and the water were close friends. Inseparable, one might say— and both lived on the earth, of course. The sun would make frequent visits to his friend, but the water never once returned the favor.”

“Hmph.” The king sounds somewhat discomfited by this beginning, and the intense contemplation Natori spies in his expression tugs at an unexplained apprehension within him. He doesn’t otherwise respond, however. Natori continues, perhaps more gingerly than before.

“Well, of course the sun would find himself curious, if… ah, perhaps suspicious, over this odd discrepancy. He finally saw fit to go to the water themselves for an explanation.”

“That was an awkward conversation.”

“Ha— I always thought so, too, as a child. When my—” Here Natori stumbles just slightly, and the king has little reason to wonder why. “--my mother used to tell the story to me, I always thought of it as the worst part. I always thought… well, if I ever did end up in the same situation, then nothing in all of the kingdom could get me to approach this friend of mine.”

“Were you expecting to make friends with the lake, or…”

“I was five, sire,” Natori deadpans in response to the king’s jest seamlessly.

“Oh, so you definitely were.”

Natori doesn’t answer— he’s too distracted by the faint increase in pressure where the king’s paw is holding his waist, and how the cat suddenly spins them around and then leans the both of them forward, to the degree that Natori’s balance is compromised. In the heat of the moment, he can’t decide whether crashing to the floor or clinging to his self-proclaimed teacher will prove to be the most embarrassing option, and in the end is relegated only to grasping his partner by the arms, stiffly holding one leg outwards in a weak attempt at a counterbalance. (He does not have the core strength to keep this up for long, he can tell that already.)

He’s been exceedingly patient before now, Natori thinks, in dealing with the king’s antics, but this finally proves too much.

When he speaks, it’s softly, but there’s an undercurrent of resigned exasperation, and his expression, he knows, must fail to belie his chagrin.  “...sire, I’m not certain how being tossed across the, er, balcony like a bag of rice is going to teach me any of these dances.”

The king snorts in apparent amusement as he pulls the two of them back upright, much to Natori’s relief. “What’s the matter? You don’t trust me to hold you up..?”

You don’t have the most promising track record runs through Natori’s mind, but it’s gone so quickly it might as well have stayed obscured, he thinks in light resentment. 

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” is what he says, but his grip hasn’t yet slackened.

The king doesn’t respond for a concerningly long time, staring at Natori for so long, and in such a sour manner that speaks of stewing rumination, that the other cat finds himself feeling distantly nervous. Yet, ultimately, he seems to decide against speaking entirely, gently prying Natori’s paws away and back into the air beside them (the other resting quite naturally along the king’s arm).

Without another word on the matter, he compels the two of them to start the dance all over again. And Natori lets him. After a lengthy minute of this loaded silence, the king’s gaze distant from morose thought and Natori’s eyes averted elsewhere, Claudius finally speaks up again.

“So, the sun went to bug the water about the situation. What was the water’s excuse?”

Natori appears surprised, but duly grateful, to be given this escape from the awkward energy that now smolders between them. Given time and distraction, it will die back down again, as it always does. He clears his throat.

“The water’s excuse— y-yes. The water... expressed their sincerest apologies, but explained also that the sun’s house was not big enough for them and all their people to visit, and to do so without heeding that fact would be to drive the sun from his own home. ‘If you do so truly wish for me to visit, then you must build a house large enough to hold me,’ in the water’s own words. But, they warned also, it must be quite substantial, as the water was immense and their people were many.”

“Sounds like too much work if you ask me. Might as well just keep the same old setup.” Seems the king is still feeling a touch cross.

“To travel a great distance, and to always be the one to make that trip, might prove tiring after so many times, as well, sire. Don’t you think?”

The Cat King frowns, more pensive deliberation, but this time he speaks up. “...I don’t think it would.” Then, in a lighter, more promising manner, “He’s gonna do it, though, isn’t he? The sun?”

Natori nods once with a permissive blink.

“Indeed. The sun agreed to the challenge and waved off his friend’s warnings.”

“Think I see where this is going, babe,” the king says lowly as they spin lazy circles across the balcony.

Natori laughs again. “It’s not quite a mystery epic, is it?”

“Alright, so how does the sun mess this up?”

“Well. The sun built himself an enormously vast house. There’s no telling how long it took him. But when it stood finally finished, he invited the water to tea and waited. And when the water arrived, one of their people called up to the sun— ‘We are here! Is there room for us all?’ Of course, the sun, being the passionate host he was, again told his friend not to worry and invited them in.”

The king snorts. “Here we go.”

Natori smiles. His eyes are still closed. The king thinks he looks oddly content like that. He scarcely remembers the frustrated betrayal he’d been afflicted with just moments earlier, and the abrupt, brisk spin he’d been on the verge of executing also fades before it’d even legitimately formulated.

“The water began to flow in, of course, and with them, all the creatures of the seas and the rivers and the lakes. It didn’t take long, now, for the water to fill the sun’s great house to a depth that would easily surge far over a cat’s head.”

“And the sun just let it keep happening without a word, I’m guessing.”

“He didn’t know any better,” Natori attempts to clarify, eyes opening now to fix his companion with a rueful look, one side of his muzzle quirked so that he looks vaguely hapless. “His assumptions were woefully imprecise because of it. It’s a misfortune.”

“Hmm. Up for another spin, babe? They’re my favorite part.”

Natori’s startled confusion is evident, but the sudden change in subject registers soon enough. Something else lingers, though, echoes of a rapt surprise.

“I don’t mind, sire.”

“Good, ‘cause I was gonna do it no matter what, heh.”

“Hm. I appreciate the considerate word of warning, then.” Spoken dryly, but it lacks the exasperation the Cat King had been expecting.

Natori is clearly preparing for the breakneck whirlwinds he’d endured earlier in their ‘lesson’, but it’s not what he receives— the king is sure of that this time.  The music which had begun as an overtly intimate, if not downright romantic, waltz now boasts a noticeable bounce and pep in its tempo, and to himself Natori gives some silent thanks for the shift. This soft, slow dance would be quite hard to justify were he still hearing those faint notes of sweetness from the barely-open door.

He’s struggling already to justify the warmth of his companion’s paw, again settled loosely at his waist, and the perfect fit of the king’s other paw which folds mildly, tenderly, over his own— all have been present for some time now, since they began their so-called waltz, yet Natori is only just now noticing them.

Staring up at the sun-streaked sky of their kingdom, swaying idly side to side under the king’s lead, he continues then, unprompted. “...To the water’s credit, they did ask for reassurance that the situation was still acceptable time and time again. But even by the time the house was crowded with so much of the water and their people that he was forced to sit on the roof of his own home, the sun refused to withdraw his invitation.”

“Why would he do that?” The king sounds baffled.

“I don’t know,” Natori admits. Then, gently, thoughtfully, “...I suppose if one truly wants something, and has their heart set on it, they might be quite amenable to bearing more hardship for it than others might feel is strictly necessary or appropriate…”

The king doesn’t respond to that, and Natori feels perhaps rather oddly like he’s crossed too far over an invisible line, and nervously, resolutely, says no more.  What had been a companionable air now lies stretched too thin over the pair, teeming with uneasiness. Eventually, the king does speak up again, and his voice is too low for Natori to discern his mood with any measure of accuracy.

“Gonna take a stab at guessing the ending to this one, babe.”

“...please do, sire.” It’s a near whisper.

“The sun never told his friend ‘no, that’s enough’, so the water never stopped, and the house flooded so much the sun had nowhere left to sit. So he went up into the sky and never came back down. And I guess never did speak up, either.”

Natori smiles, weakly. “You guessed it.”

“The water, too, never put two and two together, huh..? I’m not the most sensitive of the bunch, but I think even I’d know something was up by the time a friend of mine had to hang around in the sky because I was taking up too much space.” The king snorts.

“Do you?” Natori’s voice remains faint, timid, even; he feels still like he stands at the edge of a great crevice, and he’s not yet sure what lies at the bottom. The king seems also surprisingly fazed or rattled by the further, simple question.

Gently, so much so Natori almost doesn’t notice, he rests his chin on his companion’s shoulder.

“...well. Maybe not,” he eventually says, nonplussed.

They lapse into another silence, then, one that doesn’t quite recapture their earlier easy comfort, but neither does it feel intrinsically charged, either. Natori finally turns his gaze from the unchanging sky to their other surroundings.  They’ve been out here together, away from the other guests, for some time now. He’s surprised no one else has come searching for the two of them yet.

He’s just about to echo the king’s movement and lay his head down when the other cat suddenly speaks up again.

“I’ll tell you one thing I do notice, babe.”

“Mm? What’s that?”

“When someone who obviously knows how to dance says they can’t.”

[ and here we see that i ran out of steam before writing the ending rip natori admits he already knew the steps to the dances, the cat king has long since come to the conclusion that natori lied in order to have this long dance together (also briefly joking that natori clearly just wanted a romantic moment, which natori will vehemently deny) and that it speaks to a kind of comforting Idea that natori knows him Very Well, being aware that the easiest way to cheer him up would have been to Make Him Feel Smart ]

[aerosolspraaay]

FINALLY I CAN POST THIS. Happy belated valentines to @juulookzousketchy​!! I’ve never considered this ship before but now you’ve indirectly dragged me to juusei hell, thanks :) also I intended this to be a fic, but it turned out to be too long to be finished soon (the unfinished outline itself was already 3k words… the end product might be 15-20k words, orz). SO I decided to draw it just a couple of days before Valentine’s.

    The title would be waves of old tension & new life, inspired by IAMX’s song The Void. Mostly hurt/comfort with a dash of fluff and smut, and lots of tactless Juuzou, angry Seidou, and two frustrated peeps in general.

    But I’m not giving up on that fic yet. Until it is finished, have a written & drawn excerpt of it!

    Also thanks a lot for the mods of @tgvalentine2018​, bless you for organising this!! ;w;

“You can have a bite, you know.”

    “The fuck?”

    He felt Juuzou shrug. When Seidou turned to look at him (and would’ve ruined the braid had Juuzou not tied it quick enough) the younger male replied with a quizzical look. As if his words made the absolute perfect sense, not Seidou’s.

    “It’s not like I feel pain.”

    As if Seidou was questioning the obvious.

    “Shut up. That’s not the case.”

    “A lot of ghouls said I’m pretty delicious.”

    What the hell? Seidou clicked his tongue. “Stop messing around! Don’t say it like it’s something trivial! You think it’s like a game, huh? Well, let me tell you: it’s not.” Juuzou didn’t (need to) know how much the prospect excited Seidou and his ghoulish palate. So much that he’ll hate himself forever if he let himself loose and chew a chunk of Juuzou’s flesh. Hell, he’d starve himself to death if he did.

    Seidou bit his bottom lip at the thought. “Whatever,” he muttered. He turned away and propped himself up from the floor, trying to stand up.     Except he couldn’t because Juuzou pulled him back down. By the braid. Dammit!

    The ghoul landed back on the floor with a faint thud. He could’ve sworn Juuzou snickered as he fell. Seidou spun around. “You know I have meat supplies, right? Oi, bastard, let go—” His words died when Juuzou’s hands were on his shoulders. Those wiry hands, as well as those cerise irises’ gaze, somehow held him in place. Juuzou’s eyes resembled murky pools of blood, but Seidou could make out a few emotions swirling underneath, swimming under their surface.

    There’s a hint of annoyance – frustration. Hesitation.

    Determination.

    And want.

    “Do you think I didn’t see you eyeing me all the time?”

    Seidou froze. He could feel heat rising to his ears and cheeks. Juuzou started to blush too – he could sense it – but his hands remain planted on his shoulders. Doesn’t mean I’ll take a bite! It’s not just because of that. I have other reasons. It’s because – i-it’s – fuck it, you idiot, you— but Juuzou lowered his head, closing their distance despite Seidou’s internal monologue. Their noses were only a couple centimetres apart. The perfect proximity for a head-butt, if Seidou willed so.

    Instead he chose to let their breaths mingle as he murmured, “… I can eat your whole face for all I care.” It was a desperate last attempt to ditch the scene – which was completely half-assed, and Juuzou thought so too, because he let Seidou know by flashing him a coy smile.

    “Nope, you won’t.” With that Juuzou closed his eyes and puckered his lips.         And then Seidou kissed him.

[sawamura-daichis-thighs]

for the fanfic ask - all multiples of 5 if you want?

alkdfj;agh that’s a lot, thank you anon!! :D

ask away plz! (◕‿◕)

Fanfiction Questions:

5. Which fandoms have your written fanfiction for?   • Beyblade, Naruto, Fairy Tail, Free!, & Haikyuu!!   • I probably have some unfinished stuff for FMA:B & InuYasha but they’re unlikely to see the light of day lol

10. Is there a fandom you read fic from but don’t write in?   • Oh, lots! Avatar: TLA, Akatsuki no Yona, Ao no Exorcist, Beyond the Boundary, Miraculous Ladybug, Owari no Seraph, & Tales of Zestiria the X mainly.   • I’d like to write for Akatsuki no Yona, Miraculous Ladybug, & Tales of Zestiria eventually but I’m hella deep in Haikyuu!! hell rn.

15. Is there an obscure ship which you love?   • Haru & Elie from Rave Master!

20. Any ships which you surprised yourself by liking?   • Ooh, SasuHina from Naruto for sure! It’s a crackship but like…they’d be so good together?? the possibilities I actually started writing a multi-chapter fic for them before Naruto ended that never made it out of my files.

25. What’s your most popular fanfic?   • *nervous laughter* Uhh it’s the only smut I ever posted; a NaruSaku fic called “Hot Spring Escapades” with 284 favorites. ^////^

30. What inspires you to write?   • Answered here!

35. Do you write drabbles? If so, what do you normally write them about?   • Idk if this means drabbles as strictly 1,000 words (in which case, no, bc I either can’t get to 1,000 or I go over lol) or like drabbles/one-shots (in which case, yes, bc multi-chaptered fics are hella difficult).   • Usually they’re slice-of-life/hurt & comfort/fluffy drabbles; something to kinda peek into the character’s lives & invoke some feels.

40. What do you struggle the most with in your writing?   • Answered here!

45. What is your all time favourite fanfic?   • Aaahh I can’t choose just one!!! Literally any that are in my bookmarks on AO3 tbh. really need to work on a fic rec post…orz  • I answered an ask a while back where I recommended some others if you wanna check those out too! ^^

50. How did you get into reading and/or writing fanfiction?   • Tbh I can’t remember?? I think it was thanks to Quizilla & then I managed to find my way to FF.net somehow.

[zoegmiller]

Fire Emblem Fates: The Princess, On Her Night

Fire Emblem: Fates Fan-fiction || Hinoka/Orochi/Reina

💖💫 Woah, it’s a non-smut thing from me! :o It's been a while!! 💖💫

...it's also just been a while, yeah? o_o;;; Sorry!

So this is a cute thing that's kind of a continuing timeline from an unfinished Orochi/Mikoto story I wrote allllllll the way back. Years after crushing hard on her queen (and many pints of whatever the Hoshido equivalent of sadness ice cream is) Orochi discovers she may've fallen for the next generation instead! XD

It's the most lore-y thing I've done, probably, and I have another chapter in the bank--and then after that, maybe some smut can sneak its way in--so please enjoy and look forward to it! orz orz orz

You can read this on Archive of Our own, if you want!

Hinoka’s legs ached.

Ladies and men of Hoshido…

She was accustomed, now, to extended exercise and strain. She had begun training with pegasi at the age of seven, and had hardly spent a single free moment outside of the stables since the awful day...

Best not to think on that.

My beloved servants of Hoshido—drat, no.

Her legs shook, when she wasn’t careful. Despite powerful thighs built for hard effort, everyone has limits, and she had been standing in front of the huge, ornate mirror since sunup as retainers fussed over her.

Though this was to be expected: the robes and jewelry of the Rite of Ascendance were intricate—every hairpin and every tie had not just a ritual method, but a ritual meaning. The fact that HER retainers insisted upon being part of the preparation, however, made the process no swifter. Azuma, once granted entry, had knelt in the corner, offered only "what is adulthood? Death, but through the eyes of others" and had hardly moved before being summarily ejected. Setsuna had somehow suspended herself from the ceiling in her first attempt to tie an obi.

And Hinoka had, for the most part, fussed and fidgeted throughout the entire, day-long ordeal, thankful for the moments of distraction, when eyes were on suspended Setsuna and she could breathe without looking in the polished brass mirror that seemed to calculate and track her ongoing descent into ritual femininity. She was only too happy to let the inevitable be delayed.

But it was inevitable, wasn’t it?

Thus, midday came ‘round with precious little progress to show for it, and there was only one thing to do: call in professionals.

When Orochi and Reina arrived, Hinoka felt some strange relief despite herself—ah, adults! They'd handle everything. With precision and grace, her mother’s retainers went to work. Orochi flitted about her like a butterfly, pulling robes close, adjusting and creating form as a stoic Reina deftly closed these shapes around Hinoka's body with traditional water-blessed rope and silken ties in ornate knots.

That relief soon congealed into a new form of disappointment, as the robes draped and tied around Hinoka's lithe, toned frame failed to transmute her into the emblem of beatific womanhood her mother represented. Never had she felt more childish than on this, the eve of her twentieth birthday, and her official coming out as the eldest princess of Hoshido. It was a dual, yet paradoxical disappointment: Hinoka resented these robes for what the mythical image of femininity they represented, and yet she also resented that they failed to bestow her that same image, when forced upon her.

She tried to focus on her speech.

Loyal servants of our b-beloved Hoshido…

Then there was the matter of the hair. She flinched this way and that as the pins and clips went in, her relative lack of experience with them amplifying a fear of being poked and prodded at the scalp. Orochi's dexterous hands had to redouble their efforts just to ensure that Hinoka's rabbit-like quavering did not become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“O-our bold and… noble… charges; gathered here today we… we… we…” Hinoka swallowed, suppressing a groan of frustration as her head was urged forward and her short bangs fell into her face. Frustrated bloomed red on her cheeks, and her hands balled into fists. “W-what is it now, Orochi?”

"Your hair." Orochi filled the space of her pause with a mild sigh. The sun was slinking behind the distant, snow-capped mountains already; it was hardly an hour before the ceremonial banquet. "I've been working on you all day, Hinoka-poo, and there is not a Single. Thing. I. Can. Do.” Noting the consternation that claimed the Princess’s visage, Orochi braced her with a smile, and a squeeze on the shoulder. “Never you fear! What style we lose in hair, we’ll gain in makeup." The flighty woman, herself complicated and ornate, who moved with fluid grace despite the heavy bangles and rosary beads that adorned her slim arms and the majestic array of decorative combs and pins of her intricate hairstyle, reached for jars of pigment and brushes small enough that gods of grass could dance upon their single bristles. "Relax. Sit. You'll be just fine."

Sit? Relax? Hinoka’s thighs and rump ached from standing all day, it was true, but it wasn’t a seat they craved. Her haunches yearned to spring into motion, to dash away and find her beloved mount, to take to the skies and soar—or to even pick up her training lance and whack away at a straw dummy in an empty courtyard. Anything but this!

And, especially, anything but what might come after...

And makeup?

"No," Hinoka said firmly, though her reddening cheeks (she hardly needed rouge!) and wilting gaze transmuted that denial almost into a petulant whine as it broke the air, the sound trailing into the echo of a childish do I haaaave to?

Reina lifted Hinoka's arm to tie off a thick tress in her gown, and Hinoka cleaved to her—a powerful knight of the sky, like Hinoka aspired to be—for support in this engagement. Though she did not know her mother's retainer especially well, the blue-haired warrior hardly seemed the type to give into parlor games and court antics. If Hinoka had an ally in this plight against caked-on beauty and the encumbrance of jewelry and gowns, it was surely stoic Reina!

In response to Hinoka’s plaintive look, Reina cleared her throat, furrowed her brow, and, after a moment, broke her silence.

"My parents were magistrates when I became a pegasus knight,” she said. “I was required to attend many a court banquet in my day, before I joined the kinshi, and your mother’s service. And yours..." the faintest hints of a smile surfaced on her face. "Are not the first ceremonial silks I've arranged, or knots I've closed.”

Was that the hint of a blush on Orochi's cheeks? Her own cosmetics were artful and careful, and did well to conceal this new, natural pinkness. Conspicuously silent through the exchange, she rallied. "Besides, I've done your divination! It's extremely important that you look your best tonight!" She nodded, firmly, the many brass bracelets on her left arm clinking. "Now, sit!"

Hinoka settled down into her chair and straightened her back, attempting to assume the role of a proud and indefatigable ruler that she'd present on stage—the confident, self-assured, eldest daughter of Hoshido on the long-awaited night of her debut as an adult. The first coming out of a royal princess since long before her birth. It was fair to say the nation was in a dizzied fervor of anticipation. And still, Hinoka had only one thing on her mind... and it was hardly the make-up.

My dutiful subjects of Hoshido…

But the make-up was certainly the most present. And so she clarified her position, and her timidity. "I mean... really, must we, Orochi?"

Orochi's fingers pressed softly against Hinoka's cheek—delicate and beautiful, for someone so fierce. "We must. It is tradition, and I promise it will make you look so very ravishing!" Her grin was easy and wide, and with a soft ivory she began applying a foundation. "Don't think on the makeup. Tell us a bit about the words you've planned, show us the Princess of Hoshido you plan to reveal to the nation!"

The word 'ravishing' triggered some uncategorized and unpleasant thought in Hinoka’s mind, and the pit of her stomach sunk a little. For some reason she found herself painfully aware of her breasts, and how the tight ties of her robe seemed to emphasize the shape of her curves despite her modest bosom and the thickness of the cloth. She sighed, biting her lip and trying to relax into the ticklish feeling of Orochi's tender brush strokes along her cheeks.

Reina emphasized Orochi's statement by braiding a silk through and around one of Hinoka's shoulders and pulling it taut, a tight sensation at her shoulder even as Orochi practically caressed with the gentle ivory. "It'll be important. They love you, and they take strength from you. This is everything you are." The warrior—with a casual comfort and confidence, which Hinoka envied almost as much as the soft leathers of Reina’s military uniform—grunted, and the corner of her mouth quirked up, patterning against the crossed scars on her face as she gently tied the brocade loops at Hinoka’s chest. Her tone softened. “Take heart. The ladies in this room have suffered similar trials, and both lived to tell the tale"

Hinoka's face made a show of shifting, both as she struggled to accept Reina's advice and she struggled to avoid bursting into laughter at the thought of strong and scarred Reina in these ridiculously ornate robes—the latter bringing a mirthful wrinkle to her nose. She glanced between her attendants. It was a trial to keep her coltish body still, and thus, she sublimated that energy with her eyes, darting them back and forth as Reina and Orochi manipulated her like some precious doll.

“The speech?” she asked. “It’s all but written for me… I’m to be proud, yet magnanimous; bold, yet gentle; fierce yet…” Forgetting herself in daydream, the young princess all but smiled, for a moment.

“Head up!” Orochi chastised, playful yet stern, pushing a finger beneath Hinoka’s daydream-drooped chin, so that the light caught the eldest daughter’s cheekbones and Orochi could continue her work.

Hinoka flinched to attention—to reality—at Orochi's order. Her posture became rigid and her broad shoulders set, and she was obedient... for a time, her expression turning rueful, even as Orochi's paints drew out those deep lines of beauty from her youthful face. "But if you've divined it, then surely you must know what happens, isn't that so, Orochi? If you told me what you saw," she began, solicitously, and oddly shy, and her hands gripping gently at empty air as Reina lifted and manipulated her arms to tie off her sleeve. "It might put my mind at ease, isn't that right?"

A tremor took Orochi’s heart. It was just last night she had laid out the cards, and frowned, and collected them, and laid them out once more before summoning Kagero. The kunoichi had, with heavy heart, refused to interfere, for reasons of her own, so there had been only one other choice…

Here, Reina decided to interject, glancing over the top of Hinoka's head and leveling a conspiratorial gaze at the young fortune teller, and interrupting her reminiscence. "Even better, you might tell Hinoka the tragedy of your own royal debut."

"Oh, I know that," said Hinoka, eyes bright with innocence, a quick smile creasing the corners of lips. "It's one of mother's favorite stories. You predicted she'd fall into the fountain, isn't that right? How mortifying!"

With Orochi uncharacteristically silent for a moment, Reina softly said, "Oh, that's only half the story. It was the talk of the court all evening, the things Orochi said before our queen, your mother." Deft, calloused fingered expertly adjusted the crease of Hinoka's tall collar, and a bit of mirth softened Reina’s stern features, in the face of Hinoka's trenchant naivety. "But to my memory, the truly mortifying part came after."

"That's quite enough.” Orochi sternly said, as red as her rouge-pot. “It's a night to weave new tales of the princess’s debut, not rehash those stale stories of ours."

"Indeed," said Reina, with a couched smile.

Orochi favored Reina with a narrowing of her eyes. "That lack of subtlety is why I am responsible for her hair and makeup while you tie knots." The look that filtered across her face was arch, almost inscrutable. She turned her attention to Hinoka once more, highlighting her cheeks, lining her eyes, painstakingly. "We began calling her the Butcher because of how she treats hair." Orochi's own hair was as elaborate as ever, lifted high and pinned under to create an ornate crest, but for some reason a simple, white leather strap was laced through the locks of hair secured by the pins. “Close your eyes.” Gently, she swept a bit of powder along Hinoka’s eyelids, and Hinoka felt a ticklish wriggle run through her blunt nose. "And pay no mind to your divination; if I said it was good you would not believe me, and if I said you fell in a fountain you'd not go. But you MUST go. It was certain on that point."

Reina scoffed, glancing down at Hinoka's hair—it'd been shimmered, smoothed, pinned out of her eyes, her cropped locks given an almost feminine cast beneath the sun-emblem crown pinned precariously into the back.

Feeling unsated, but slightly more at ease, Hinoka obeyed, for a time. The room fell silent but for the gentle susurration of brushes against skin and the whisper of cloth as the women committed themselves to the final flourishes of their duty. Orochi's fingers roamed down Hinoka’s neck, gently turning her head this way and that to apply detail and contour, layer upon layer paper thin, until one could suspect that Orochi's brushes were empty, that she was simply tormenting the girl for the delight of it.

At some of these touches, chaste though they may’ve been, Hinoka would tremble a little—caught as if between conflicting desires to shy away from this strange intimacy and to throw herself bodily into it, into the skilled, yet somewhat cold, hands of the beautiful women gilding her. Her lips parted, and her breath quickened just a pace in her chest, at the thought of their proximity, and all that might entail. Through the make-up, she could feel her skin ready to bead into sweat. It was nerves, she told herself.

And then, after a time, it was over.

"Perfect,” said Orochi, placing the last of her brushes on the table beside her. She stepped out of the way of the mirror, and the face staring back at Hinoka was oddly intense. It was unmistakably her own, but... moreso. An afternoon of sitting, finished… and a strange woman looking back at her in the mirror. Her snub nose was adorable, demure, her lips plush enough to pout, but set firm. The liner on her eyes seemed to focus the gaze on that part of her face, as though she were sizing up an opponent. In one moment, a delicate princess; in the next, a ferocious warrior. But undeniably feminine throughout—indeed, it was a cocksure, headstrong femininity that Orochi had drawn out, uniquely Hinoka in every way.

Proud people of the sun, my noble Hoshidan brothers and sisters…

Hinoka raised her hands to touch her face, as if to confirm it still belonged to her.

Reina favored the younger woman with a smile. "Don't touch it or worry at it, it'll smudge."

The warning halted the princess full stop, and Hinoka hastily bused her hands cupping each other in her lap.

...but it was strange, to look at herself in the mirror this way. Though the thought of having make-up applied had risen a nausea in her gut whose cause she hadn't fully understood, the face that looked at her now, even made up as it was, had nothing to do with the reflection of her mother's feminine grace that she expected; for some reason she couldn't explain, that comforted her. “It’s—”

“Perfect, as I said.” A prideful grin bloomed across Orochi’s face. “An image befitting Hoshido's proudest warrior and Princess."

“If you're quite finished praising your own work,” Reina interjected, “Hoshido’s proudest warrior and Princess still has a banquet to attend.”

With grin unfaltering, the fortune-teller folded her hands, faux-demure, between her breasts, providing room for Hinoka, in her robes and crown, to stand and lead her new procession.Hinoka stood with uneasy, affected grace. The wooden sandals were uncomfortable to walk on, and she yearned from the constrictive comfort of her riding boots. The sun sigil crown pinned to her short hair and the yards of cloth wrapped around her were heavier than any armor or helmet upon her shoulders and head. Though the robes draped wide around her form, they pulled dramatically tight around her legs, so she could only shift forward in meager steps, when her body craved its usual loping stride. To one so accustomed to soaring freedom, such demure shuffling barely seemed like movement at all.

Hinoka had managed to avoid robes like this for many years—since the sakura festivals of her youth. Since those days of blooming flowers, she had bloomed too, followed a path she might never have expected, and grown into a woman—and these robes had only grown more constrictive in their absence.

But Reina and Orochi were waiting, as were all those beyond the dressing chamber’s doors. She took the first few steps, tearing herself away from the trance-inducing mirror, and stepped thoughtfully, practicing her movements...

...and only as she reached her chamber’s sliding door, and the murmurs of the waiting crowd of retainers, servants, maids, and attendants reached her ears, did she begin to shake.

"I can't," she said, with quiet urgency, turning to appeal the inchoate procession of two behind her (indeed, their presence could only remind her of how many more were waiting to join in the hall outside, and had been for hours).

Reina and Orochi looked to her, then to each other.

"I can't," Hinoka said, simply. She wasn’t ready. There had to be someone else who could do this. Anyone would do. “Sakura,” she spoke to herself, in a pained whisper. There had to be another princess of Hoshido who could do this—anyone but her.

Another odd, shared glance passed between Orochi and Reina.

Reina nodded, eliding past Hinoka with a watery grace, and stepping into the hall as befitted Hoshidan Guard—that is to say: protectively. The door opened, the small crowd came alive at even the brief glimpse of the princess in her formal garb, some of the younger servants—many of them young enough to have never seen a princess at her debut—going as far to crowd the door in the excitement.

"Step back. Princess Hinoka requires room to breathe." Reina turned to a minor functionary, with considerably more expensive clothing, and considerably worse makeup, than the Princess herself. "Princess Hinoka has ordered that you summon Princess Sakura. Just as each citizen of Hoshido relies upon the next for safety and prosperity, the royal family shall present itself united in support of its citizenry."

It was no secret, of course, what was missing from Hinoka's heart, and as Reina addressed the mass, so Orochi took the Princess by the shoulders, kept her upright, her robes and makeup and spirits in order.

"I was not to tell anyone, Princess. But a year ago, on the anniversary of your mother’s ascendancy, I read that the family would one day be rejoined. She ordered that I not speak of what I foresaw in that fortune, but…" Orochi looked away for a moment, fretting at her lip with her teeth. "Even if your family cannot all be present for this occasion, it will not much longer be apart.”

“All my family?” Hinoka asked, as if in a daze. The murmurs of the crowd were like war drums in her ears, and her eyes with glossy with confusion. “You mean to say…”

My loyal Hoshidans. Long have we suffered the loss of…

With a firm grip upon Hinoka’s shoulder, Orochi stripped the tall Princess from the clouds of her thoughts and back to ground. “You will be the one who leads us to that future, the free spirit and ferocity that sustains us until that day." She took Hinoka’s rough hands in her soft ones, clasping them in quiet entreaty. "We all need you, and your bravery."

But even as she spoke these confident words, Orochi internally faltered. She’d never been so close to the Princess, and never noticed the litheness of her, the muscle. With her eyes, perhaps, as she tied and measured; but never pressed against her like this, with such immediacy.

Hinoka, too, found herself swept away by Orochi’s close embrace. Gone were the cool touches of her attendant who dressed her hair. Orochi’s hands were warm around hers, and her face was so close that Hinoka could smell the sweet, summertime scent of cherries that lingered on her breath. It reminded Hinoka of a different time, and, eddied by sensation and memory and Orochi’s generous, bodily warmth, she parted her lips to—

Like the sun from behind a cloud, Princess Sakura emerged, her robes emblazoned, characteristically, in white, red, pink—those of a priestess in training—and the corridor fairly sparked with resplendent cherry blossoms as she hurried to her sister’s side. With that smile, with a hug and a hopeful tug of the hand, Sakura beckoned the older princess forward, and Orochi released her, with some regret, under Reina's watchful gaze.

Sakura’s face was flushed and, though she tried to hide it, her breath came in short pants. Unlike her older siblings, Sakura had no aptitude for physical exertion. She must nevertheless have practically run—in her ceremonial robes and sandals!— to her sister’s side upon hearing her need. Brave young Sakura selflessly lifted her head and smiled, despite the shortness of her breath, and clasped Hinoka by the hands, just as Orochi had done moments ago. “They said you had need of me?”

Family. All my family.

Her thoughts cleared, and she felt the vacuum within her fill.

“Need?” The sight of this selflessness sparked something in Hinoka. She screwed her bravery deep within herself, and put on a face unwavering—Sakura was still a child, barely a teenager, it was hardly her duty to muster the confidence her eldest sister lacked. Standing tall and taking her sister firmly by the wrists, Hinoka offered a smile almost cocky in the face of Sakura’s generous, unblinking concern. “Only that I wanted you to be the first to see me like this.”

“Oh, Hinoka.” Sakura’s evident worry for her sister’s well-being washed away with a girlish titter. She took her taller sister by the arms and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “I should only hope to be half as beautiful as you, on my own day of my Ascendancy.”

As Hinoka faltered before Sakura’s fearsome wave of compliments, looking away and descending into stammers and blushes, beneath her breath Reina spoke to the fortune teller.

"Must I tell you everything, again?” She set eyes upon the conspicuously simple leather strap woven in amid Orochi’s many ornate hair ornaments. “I've no more hair ties to give."

An undaunted smile answered the knight’s chagrin; Orochi had become deft and daring in such escapades, and likely it was only Reina who could remember a time when she was not. "We serve, with our lives and hearts,” Orochi said, with a rakish wrinkle of her nose and a knowing wink. “And a heart as strong as hers deserves everything ours can give."

With that, Orochi closed the sliding door behind them, and the two attendants followed the procession to the great courtyard and the banquet.

[clairelutra]

a year in review ♥

meme stolen from @isadorator!!! (also she stored all of her fic there and i stg as soon as i can rest i’m diving in ITADAKIMASU ♥)

January

puppeteer chapter 6 (aka that threesome one)

river flows in you

ladrien --- marichat-style

secret valentine --- the introduction

of all the things to start the year with //faceinhands

i think this was the ‘this is really fun but oh my god so exhausting and I HAVE STANDARDS TO LIVE UP TO NOW HE L P’ stage right here, feat. me losing my computer to hardware failure and continuing to attempt writing anyway :’D

(my biggest memory of this time is that i was writing an akumized!marinette fic in a private mobile browser window with gmail, of all places, and accidentally x’d out of the tab and lost like 5 hours of work :’D //never recovered from that whoops ;;;)

February

secret valentine!!!!

aka the month of proving that:

green smoothies really work for brainfuel

i am actually capable of (at least short-term) consistency

ladrien is Some Good Shit

spite really is the best motivator :’D

basically, i started following the ladrien tag and at least once a week someone would come up with a new meta about why Marichat Is Better Than Ladrien (often featuring, Ladrien Is Unhealthy and/or Ladrien Would Crash And Burn Fast, And Here Is Why), and do you know

as a ladrien shipper

how infuriating that was

the last straw was someone insisting that you really just couldn’t slowburn ladrien

and like

bitch?

p l e a s e.

(i fooled you all by acting sweet; this is who i really am :’D)

(i am absolutely the kind of person who would write the longest fic i’ve ever completed simply to slowburn it because someone said that it couldn’t be done :’DDDDDDD)

(fuck you, person whom i can no longer remember. i showed you.

...with this fic that you will never care to read, because i wrote it about your notp long after you’d voiced your thoughts about said notp :’D)

(#hallielogic)

March

no room for jesus

fun with friends and.... that’s about it

(o hai there, impending existential crisis >.>;;;;

it was a month of panic attacks and essays that were probably a lot less shit than my english professor wanted to tell me and do you know how hard that was for someone as anxiety-ridden and a-type as i am

do you)

April

ladrien --- wrong number

ladrien --- swim

ladrien --- hug

fake married au

boku no hero acadamia au

aka, the month where i found out how spiritbreaking it is to:

start to consistently fail to please not one, but two people you admire greatly

one of whom is your teacher and in charge of your grades

whose job it is to judge your writing

which is your Thing

who doesn’t like you, but is too pleasant to let it on to your face

while you’re dealing with abruptly losing the sympathy and patience of the one person you go to for emotional support (explanation: my mom went on hormone treatment and it fucked with her mood b a d)

while dealing with watching both of your parents’ heath deteriorate fast

april was h e l l  o n  e a r t h

fake married au was an emotional crutch that sort of kept me back from the brink, honestly :’D (look! see! i’m not a waste of existence! people like this thing i made!! see!!!)

(orz)

major, major s/o to @peridipshit and giselle (no tumblr that i know of ;;; ) for counseling me through more than one lunch-table breakdown :’D;;;

(now excuse me while i go find a paper bag ;;; )

May

aka the month of ‘i am too mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted to do jack shit, someone please put me out of my misery’

also the month bang bang on tumblr hit 1k notes!

June

no room for the devil

hope we don’t get caught kiss

pillow fight!

pillow fight! the second

a time travel snippet

July

get lucky

a bunch of 3 sentence/short fic aus that i’m not gonna link bc #lazy

aka the ‘well i’m not in that hellish situation anymore so i should be able to just bounce right back, right?’ stage followed by the ‘okay okay that didn’t work; let’s start smaller‘ stage

i still plan to finish get lucky someday --- maybe we’ll see how alive i am after spring semester :’D

August

more short au fics

scary sabine au

unnamed ladynoir flirting

abo au

sidekick au piece

genderbent au

pictured: me, pumping my fists and going ‘okay, okay, okayokayokay i can do this’

September

somebody loves you

mlnsfweek (unfinished, dang it)

ladynoir --- reunion

everybody talks

getting better, getting better

everything’s still pretty disconnected and i still couldn’t bring myself to commit to anything that’d take longer than a day, but... improvement (9′-’)9

October

beauxbatons au

enemies phineas and ferb au

stop desire

more break-taking /o/

getting used to writing on my phone to fill the long hours of boredom that had taken my schedule by storm \o\

(also, unseen, i joined the remix challenge and loved and hated it :’D

also also started being almost kindasorta able to take concrit again (after the hell of march/april), and so started working with mirth again for the first time in months ;; ♥ \o/!!)

November

yuri on ice fics~~

soulmate au

make ‘em blush

exorcist au

self-indulgent marichat/ladynoir

yet another enemies au

mari-the-oblivious-lesbian genderbent au

genderbent crack smut

d a n . Adrien ur bobbie s

two important things happened at once in this month:

1) f i n a l l y got a medication that seemed to agree with me??? after literal years of testing???? everything is brighter now holy shit???????

2) rp!!! with!!!!!! mirth!!!!!!!! :DDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

which of the above is to thank for my astonishingly good mood??? i have literally no idea

aaaalso i got to remix bully’s fic in the remix challenge and that was great and fun as heck????? holy shit :D

lowkey dipped into another fandom there for a lil bit, but got too frustrated with the source material and dropped it ;;;

tl;dr: all in all, november was pretty great

December

marichat kissing lessons

do it 2 me

high-class callgirl au

cap-inspired crack

cru-inspired adrinette fluff-crack

moooore enemies au

shake up christmas

gods and godesses au

not pictured: like, almost 20k of rp goodness :D

medication and rp continue to do the trick, i start back in on things i haven’t touched in ages (’i want the k’ memes and get lucky, specifically), and the aus keep coming

signed up for waaaay too much towards the end there and spent like a week on too much stress and f a r too much caffeine, but actually feel well enough these days to start seeking help when i need it?? amazing

idk, mild caffeine od aside, the year ended on a high note

Total Year’s Output: ao3 tells me that it’s 93,383 words, but that not including a bunch of stuff i never bothered to upload there, and/or are still in wip form

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted?

mmmmh, a little less? i was pulling a steady 10k a month towards the end of 2k15, which is when i started writing for real, but understandable, considering the whole mid-year mental breakdown and subsequent recovery :’D

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January 2016?

aus of any sort! like actual legit ‘let’s fuck shit up’ aus :D i’ve always wanted to, but always thought my tastes ran just too weird to pull any off in any readable, enjoyable format? the exorcist au and the gods and goddesses au are pretty good examples of the aus i come up with when left to my own devices, except that those are on the tame end of ‘weird’ for me :’D

also i’ve relaxed my rigid stance on ‘love square o n l y’ and dipped my toes into poly ships and things like adrialya, which i probably never would’ve done before :’D

What’s your favourite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest.

HOT MESS

HOT MESS IS MY MOST-ADORED CHILD

i’m still not 100% sure why, except that it’s got all my favorite lines and all my happy excitement and, looking back at it, it’s not phenomenal, b u t

it’s just??? got so much that i l o v e tied up in it

most of my favorite lines and really good memories and a dynamic i love and just.

it makes me so happy to have written it >/////< ♥

in things that i still love upon rereading, secret valentine is pretty up there tbh. somehow in all my stress to get it out and get it out good i... actually managed to hit a pretty sweet dynamic? idk i reread scenes from it sometimes and i still like it ♥

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the New Year?

i wanna see where i can go, if anywhere, with get lucky. i wanna see if i can finish it. i wanna know where it goes, goddamnit.

i also want to beat this year’s wordcount, if i can.

and, if i’m well enough in november, maybe take a shot at nanowrimo? //fingers crossed ♥

i’m looking forward to it ♥