greatnessordeath

[greatnessordeath]

[greatnessordeath]

It’s been a hard day bro can you pet me

[greatnessordeath]

Art by Leksø Tiger

[greatnessordeath]

Fiora x reader

wordcount 1.4k, hurt/comfort, genderneutral reader, inspired by an artwork of my dearest friend see here Every one of your steps echoed loudly in the corridor with pat pat pat noises that made you think of a waddling duck family. Hesitantly you walk toward a heavy wooden door with a pretty worn out handle. It’s dull since you’re in the oldest part of the castle and many hands grabbed it during the past decades. The interior here is by far anything but fancy, but it paled in comparison to the opulent decadence of the main palace. However, you liked it this far with the past written all over the well trodden marble steps, curving slightly under your feet or the few spiderwebs decorating the corners of outdated royal red curtains. Yet another evidence that the cleaning squad couldn't keep up with the countless floor-to-ceiling windows adorning this wing of the old building. Now, the setting sun poured orange gold over the white marble and the flickering shadows of a nearby tree danced across the wall while the air smelled like summer.

Hands buried deep in your pockets, you fidget with the small piece of paper that brought you here. It just reads five words, hastily scribbled: ‘meet me in the studio. -F’ As you finally open the heavy oak door, it creaks familiar as you carefully push it open to not cause too much noise. You hurry inside just as the note demands you to and find yourself surrounded by canvas stands, wet brushes, paper, ink and countless other art supplies. The smell of fresh paint and graphite made you feel at home instantly.

“Fiora? … Are you here?” you ask softly into the spacious room and look around. “Hello?” In the blink of an eye, a blurred figure emerges from behind the curtains.

“Oh My God! There you are!” She throws herself into your arms without a warning.

“Whoa, what happened? Are you okay?” you ask suspiciously and return the hug a little more reserved. If anyone saw you hugging the daughter of Sebastien Laurent you might be in serious trouble. “No! No, I’m seriously not okay. I think I might die.” Your stomach drops immediately. You know her and you also know her tendency to exaggerate things, but an uneasy feeling crept up your throat nonetheless. It caused you to grab her shoulders a bit harder than necessary, forcing her to look into your eyes. “What is it? You can tell me anything!” She bit her lip and averted her gaze, redness flushing her cheeks. “I think it’s best when I show you.” Your brows knot sceptically, but you let go of her. “Do you remember what I told you about us having huge trouble finding enough recruits for the army?” You nodded quickly. It was like two weeks ago? She came to you during your lunch break and spilled the tea. It hasn’t been long since House Laurent had fallen from favor, with Fiora’s father ruining their reputation. What she did was controversial to say the least, but apart from killing her own father for his own good, it was a huge weight she had to carry. The tables turned and many good people left without a word. It was also evident in the declining numbers of new recruits. Things changed. The people averted their gaze, scrunched up their noses and turned to other families in regards to their military education. “The First Commander talked me into agreeing into a campaign. He argued that I was our best embodiment, since the people either loved or hated what I did. There’s no in between and we should use it to attract whoever's left.” “So far, that sounds pretty reasonable to me,” you shrugged, still clueless. “Yes, but I didn’t know he wanted to plaster the whole city with THESE!” She stepped aside and revealed a large canvas behind her. You blink multiple times, taking in the information, eyes flickering from the painting to Fiora and back. It showed Fiora in shiny golden armor, looking far in the distance, one hand shadowing her eyes from the sun. The big letters above her read “We scout ahead”. At the bottom were more information and a call to join the Demacian Corps. When you remained silent, she sighed deeply. “What is it?” you asked calmly, watching her face keenly.

“I…. I just hate it,” Fiora admitted, “I don’t understand how people look at it and not get sick? Tell me I don’t look like a fucking idiot!” She mimics the gesture from the portrait with ironic enthusiasm, before her expression gets sour again. “I should’ve never agreed to that. I mean… what even is this pose and the weird perspective and the huge shoulder armor?! I look like a busty version of Garen, please kill me!” You try to suppress a grin, but the way her lip shakes makes your heart heavy with concern. “Be honest, I know it’s bad. But what do you think?” she asks more reasonably, arms hugged around herself as if she shivered. “I don’t know. I think you actually look good.” A quick punch with her fist hurts your shoulder and her whole face scrunches in disbelief. “Shut up! I told you to be honest!” You shrug indifferently, “but I mean it.”

When she lunges her fist again, you hold up your hand to catch it midair. Her watery eyes bore into yours, furious but questioning.

“Fiora, come on. Are you serious?” You needed a moment to wrap your head around it, but you guess she really needed to hear it. Unlucky that it was you of all people who needed to tell her. “Fine. You are gorgeous, okay? Your eyes are the most beautiful shade of blue, your smile shines brighter than the morning sun and your body is in fantastic shape. You’ve proven more than once that you owe a mind as sharp as your blade. Also, I think the armor, it just screams authority. Sure it's gold-gold, but we're in Demacia and subtlety was never our thing, so why not do it properly?” The hand you weren’t aware you were still holding slips through your fingers and her expression softens a bit, as she stares at the painting, visibly thinking. After a moment of silence, you catch her gaze. The setting sun kissed her ocean blue eyes into a turquoise shade and it made your knees weak.  Her voice cut through the calm as a mere whisper “You think I’m gorgeous?” “I do.” You step a bit closer so you can put a hand on her back to softly pat her. “They will come, because of you and what you did. I'm sure.” You try to sound convincing without your voice breaking, but you’re not sure how she will take it. A part of you expects to get hit once more. But she doesn’t. “Thank you, it’s really sweet of you,” she gives you a halfhearted smile, but her dimples drop very fast. “But there’s more to it.” Hesitantly, she runs her fingers through her hair and sits down on the next best stool. It’s weird seeing her on a simple wooden stool. But it’s also exemplary for her, you think to yourself. She never made a fuss about ancestry or etiquette. “It’s just… I hear them talk behind my back. All the time. The court ladies, the soldiers, the nobles… they call me heartless and arrogant or that I just need the right man to teach me manners.“ She sighs and fidgets with her hands in her lap. “You know… most of the time I don’t care. I know it's hard for them to adjust and accept the changes. But I saw this and it dawned on me.“ Her voice grew thinner and she averted her gaze from the painting as if she couldn’t bear to watch herself any longer. “As long as I’m of use for the greater good they tolerate me, because I can help them get what they want. But anything apart from that?” You can see how the corner of her eyes fill with tears “I’m afraid they’ll respect neither me nor my decisions for who I am.” “They will,” you answer instantly. She shyly looks up to you, chewing her lip. “They will?” You squat down to be eye level with her. “Yes. Maybe not today and maybe not till the end of summer, but the day will come. And you know why?” She shakes her head slowly, a single tear running down her cheek. “Because you’re not giving up so easily.” Slowly and carefully you wipe away the salty drop before it reaches her jawline. Her skin feels hot under your palm and she watches you through her lashes with doe eyes. Another wave of sympathy washes over you, pinches at your heart and makes speaking the next words much harder. 

“You are the Grand Duelist. You are Fiora Laurent, the proud leader of the finest bladecraft within the kingdom. You deserve respect and loyalty and empathy.” “Thank you,” she breathes and pulls you into a tight hug. 

This time you delightly return it regardless of who might see you, because it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that you two were holding each other, feeling the prickling warmth of mutual affection.

You breathe in the light floral scent of her hair and just hold her, whispering “As long as we’re together, I promise we’ll find a way.”

♡

[greatnessordeath]

2024

DO IT SCARED

FUCK IT WE BALL

REMEMBER THAT PEOPLE CARE ABOUT YOU

MAKE THE CHOICE TO END HARMFUL PATTERNS

LOVE WITH YOUR WHOLE HEART

[greatnessordeath]

"Self insert characters are cringe"

Bro I'm trying to survive capitalism with maladaptive daydreaming. Leave me alone.

[greatnessordeath]

friends will be friends

In the beginning there was a time when I desperately wanted us to be friends. The moment you walked through that door, I knew there was a connection. I remember how my cheeks turned red whenever you catched me peeking in your direction. I couldn’t help myself, but I never felt the desire so bad, to get to know somebody this deeply from the first impression. I dare to say, it was meant to be.

There were times when I wanted us to be more than friends. Times, when you were the only person in the world, knowing how I felt, where I could cry about every little thing, no matter how insignificant it was. You were there. Listening and comforting. Your attention was like a cozy blanket on a stormy autumn day, where unyielding winds lash freezing cold rain into your face. But I made it home, because I knew you were there, waiting for me. Then, there was one time when I confessed how I maybe developed feelings for you. I was so nervous and the only reason I could talk to you about it without the fear of ruining our friendship is your astronomic high level of empathy and care. You didn’t reciprocate and it was okay. I’ve been giga cringe, but you just smiled it away and in the end we laughed together. You are the only person in the world to break my heart and fix it at the same time. The truth is, you will always remain my what if, because I love you in a way that’s not made for me to put into words.

[greatnessordeath]

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

[greatnessordeath]

sending love to those who struggle with the holidays. to those who have lost their family. to those who are from abusive homes. those who are struggling mentally. in a rough spot financially. those who are neurodivergent & easily overwhelmed. and to those who just plain don't enjoy them.

i hope you can smile genuinely, and feel some love. i hope they pass uneventfully, and your transition to the next year is smooth and full of warmth <3

[greatnessordeath]

can i get a hell yea if you’re still gonna be wasting your time on this website in 2014

[greatnessordeath]

Support me on PATREON 🐔💤

[greatnessordeath]

"Oh my god. Bakugo. Get back in bed."

Angry red eyes glare--no glower as if his wrath his held back by the most fragile of personal restraint but you don't care.

You gesture at the bed behind him, the bed he's still clearly leaning against because he can't stand up without support. "What the fuck is wrong with you. Get back in bed."

His lip curls as he venomously responds "the fuck is wrong with you. You're not my goddamned nurse."

You open your mouth, a response locked-and-loaded but one of the nurses rushes in around you, bowing at the waist.

"I'm so sorry, Doctor. I didn't see you come in."

"It's alright," you readily forgive. "The hand-off hasn't happened yet but there was a rumor the Great" --you saturate your voice with the most derisive sarcasm you can muster-- "Explosion Murder God Dynamight was here and I had a feeling he'd try to use the shift change to sneak out."

Your gaze cuts back to him and his unchanged position; he still hasn't gotten back in bed. "See to it that this patient actually stays in bed, please. I'll arrange for the hand-off to happen right outside his door so he can't slip out."

"Yes, Doctor." The nurse nods and you leave knowing he's stuck now.

As you assumed the pro-hero who'd been transferred to the rehabilitation hospital the previous day is an absolute nightmare.

You spoke with the doctors at the emergency hospital he was transferred from, planned the best route of therapy for him, and did your best to work with the hot-headed pro but he was...irritable at best.

Short-tempered and impatient.

You're used to dealing with these emotions as they're common in your extended-rehabilitation patients but Bakugo's been the worst.

There's one reason you don't throw him out.

"Thanks. You're all the real reason I'm getting better at all." Bakugo's voice is low but the growl still makes it out to the hall where you've stopped short of his doorway. "You all should be paid what that fuckin' flake of a doc is being paid."

"Try to patient with the doctor, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight--"

"I told you to just call me Bakugo," he grumbles.

You can hear the smile in the nurse's voice. "Sorry. Bakugo. It's not easy trying to get patients to see the big picture. We all know you're anxious to get out of here and get back to work...it's just..."

"Just what?" he asks in a huff.

The nurse sighs. "There's a lot you don't see that the doctor's doing for you, too. There's a lot of planning and research that goes into your care that we don't consider...And while yes, we should be paid more...there's a lot your doctor's been doing for you. A lot you don't see...When you rescue someone they're putting their trust in you right?" He must nod because the nurse continues "well...now it's your turn. Put some trust in our doctor, yeah?"

After a long, heavy moment Bakugo begrudgingly says "yeah."

His treatment improves after that.

He doesn't fight or complain and you catch him watching you with a calculating gaze as you're helping other patients.

He starts following your instructions with all the precision of someone who's spent their life honing their skills, their body. He performs all the exercises the exact number you prescribe and no more, strictly adhering to your schedule of rest and exercise.

On his last day the nurses present him with tokens of appreciation and well-wishes as he prepares to return to the field but it's just another day for you.

Other patients have come in taking priority and a different doctor processes his discharge so you aren't around when he's released but he doesn't give you a chance to miss him.

He stops by the therapy room, perfectly timing a small gap of time between patients.

"Oi. You."

You turn, an eyebrow cocked at his discourteous greeting.

His scowl has simmered to a pout as he says "what? I'm not gonna call you doc anymore." He flails the stack of papers. "I just got released."

"Congratulations." You offer a guarded smile. "The city will celebrate your return."

"That all you have to say to me?"

"Is there something more you wanted to hear?"

He stares you down from the doorway for a long moment before slowly approaching you like a lion stalking prey until he's standing in front of you. "No." His eyes narrow. "There's just information missing from my discharge paperwork."

You turn away slightly. "Take it up with the doctor who gave it to you, then."

"Don't wanna. It's about my treatment."

"Tch," you scoff still avoiding his gaze, "you completed your treatment."

"So? What if I start having pain again? You expect me to go to the ER for that?"

Your breath shallows.

In your silence he presses on. "You expect me to take up a bed and precious time and resources from somebody who might really need it when...When you could just give me your phone number."

Heat blossoms in your chest rising up your neck through your face, under your scalp.

"Well?" he demands.

You look back at him from the corner of your eye. "The office number's already listed there."

"I don't want your office number."

"What number do you want, then?" you ask.

"Your personal number."

"For?"

Bakugo smirks, enjoying the chase. He leans in and admits in a low, heated whisper

"personal reasons."

[greatnessordeath]

[greatnessordeath]

Chapter 7-34

Tori Spring 💖

Read on Tapas / Read on Webtoon

More info/buy the books: https://aliceoseman.com/

Heartstopper updates three times a month, on the 1st, 11th, and 21st at 11am UK time.

[greatnessordeath]

reblog if: you like fantasy, or fiction, or just reading or writing. you like escaping to new realities that you create or find, that you incorporate elements of yourself and your culture in those words. reblog if you're lonely and need a friend. rb if you want someone to talk to, or someone to just spam-tag you in posts that make you think of them. reblog if you like the smell of old books or burning candles, if you're part of this world that we shift to mimic the one we want so badly to dream of.

now go through the reblog and find a blog to follow. rb if maybe we can be friends.

[greatnessordeath]

#yes please, more miya twin shenanigans like this :)

#its perfect and I can see it happening like... canon. Just canon miya behaviour

#also I dunno if I should be mad or grateful for making me such an osamu simp *nervous laughter*

#jk of course I'm grateful. Your drabbles are the best <333

"Hello there."

The voice, the face, that slides into view across the table from you is one you didn't expect to see. Grimacing you ask "...Miya Atsumu?"

"In the flesh," he says with a grin and a hooded gaze.

You look around for an explanation you don't find. "...Can I help you?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Nope. Just wanted ta say hi. Introduce myself, though that hardly seems necessary since ya already know who I am."

You stare back at him in disgust as he runs a hand through his blonde hair; you think you hear a stifled laugh but can't see anyone laughing. Everyone in this area of the library is unfalteringly focused on their work.

When you don't say anything and just stare at him with something akin to disgust he drops his voice in what you assume is an attempt to be seductive. "And...you are?"

"Uninterested." Your attention returns to the textbook in front of you but he doesn't leave. Doesn't move. He just says your name.

That gets you to look at him again.

"So it is you..." he smiles wryly and your intuition swells ominously. "I thought I recognized ya...We used ta live near each other."

"I'm aware," you reply unamused.

He puts a hand on his chest in mock horror. "An' here I thought ya'd be happy ta find out an old friend goes ta college with ya."

"Oh Atsumu..." you smile venomously with narrowed eyes, "there's only one Miya I'd be happy to go to college with and it's not you." You gesture at him dismissively. "So if you don't mind..." but your words trail off as he chuckles lowly.

Victoriously.

Irritation curdles your guts. Atsumu was a menace throughout your childhood; you used to say his twin was the only good thing about him but you're not sure how either of them matured and you're not sure you want to find out.

You're about to tell him off as he turns his head and, with surprising consideration for the people working, softly calls out "ya hear that?"

You feel your soul leave your body as Atsumu's almost-carbon-copy appears at the end of the nearest aisle and rests an arm on the shelves, flexing an unfortunately-muscular bicep.

The wry smile that looked haughty on Atsumu lifts Osamu's lips in a humble way that makes you feel like you're going to need resuscitation.

"Hi there."

[greatnessordeath]

why are there so many posts about asexuals being immune to sirens. people. sirens don’t lure you in with sex (necessarily). they sing about whatever it is that you want most. they could sing about mothman or cinnamon toast crunch and guess what then your asexual pirate is fucking dead