#I've never been so I found it quite fascinating indeed

[justaballoffluff]

I visited the Intrepid with my mom today, and despite the pain, I had a genuinely good time

[bruh-myguy-what]

Lovestruck

Pairing: Tech x Fem!Reader Requested by: @baddest-batchers Warnings: Massive fluff, I think I actually cried writing this?, I've not been handling the season finale well because I miss Tech a considerable amount, pining for reader from Tech's perspective, a lot of adorable emotions from our usually pragmatic boy Word Count: 2K Summary: While fixing the Marauder with you, Tech reflects on his feelings and he's completely enamored by you. A/N: I'm not handling Tech's death well. Whether it's his death or his just being CX-2, I don't really care, I miss him so desperately and this fic healed so many parts of my heart even though I actually wept while writing. I love that you requested this, friend! I hope it's exactly what you were looking for (or at least close!) and I absolutely agree, this was indeed a Tech prompt. All of these requests have been so wonderful and I cannot express how much it means that people like my writing enough to send in requests! Thanks guys!

Requests are open if you have anything you'd like to send in!

__________________________________________

It was an ordinary affair for you and Tech to work on the repairs for the Marauder simultaneously. There were consistent restorations that needed to be made and things to be updated, so having another experienced individual helped jog said matters along. Though the clone was hesitant at first, after months of rapport building, he was grateful.

Not only was he finding himself appreciative for the extra set of hands, but Tech discovered that he was quite enjoying your company. You were clever, agreeable, and understanding, along with that you seemed to always find his endless wealth of knowledge pleasant. The accurate way you managed the repairs of his ship, first by managing his hesitancy well and then demonstrating consideration for his methods before ever handling something he cared so much about, really surprised him. Your approach to his usually off-putting demeanor was a welcomed change in his life and the way you subtly encouraged him appeared to warm his heart in a way he hadn't previously encountered.

He'd found that his eyes lingered on you from afar longer than he realized, only noticing that he'd been staring when you'd look over and smile at him sweetly. The light in your eyes, whenever you'd smile at him, twinkled so effortlessly, almost as if there had been stars placed directly behind them solely to enchant him.

It was as if you were another creature entirely, one he'd never analyzed, one he knew nothing about- because everything you did fascinated him. All the ways in which you carried yourself, laughed with his brothers, tended to Omega, your wit, the charm you retained...it all was remarkable to him. He began to notice himself craving your attention. Tech dreamed of you laughing for him, smiling at him, every moment he was awake you invaded his thoughts.

So to have you crouched down beneath the hull of the Marauder, handing him parts and tools for repairs made him impossibly delighted. This was a life he could get used to, for a long time. The ability to bond with you- and only you- in this way for the rest of his short life, he would fight for it, no matter the threat. If this was what life could be for him after he and his brothers no longer needed to fight, he would be far and beyond content. He'd feel whole.

"The spanner now, please," Tech's smooth tone echoed back to him from off the metal hull.

Taking a moment to grab the tool, you placed it squarely in his hand, "Of course." Your voice was sweet as ever to his ears, the sensation of your fingers grazing his gloved palm sending tides of bliss to his heart. How he desired to remove his gloves to truly discern how your hand might feel in his. Odd thought, he knew, though nevertheless one he often had run through his mind. Other equivalent ones situated themselves among his standard reflections; such as how your cheeks might feel cradled in his palm, or how your eyes might sparkle even more at his displays of affection toward you.

These introspective ideas were not ones he had been programmed with, he understood that very well, but then again wasn't that the whole point of him and his brothers? They weren't droids. Even with protocol and planned executions, wasn't the beautiful part of having your own identity the potential for...emotion? Sentiments?

Love?

The brilliant clone pondered these notions for many hours during hyperspace travels, staring endlessly into the streaking atmosphere while everyone else lay in their bunks asleep. Upon his further analysis and pensive state, he conceded that he did, indeed, love you. Even though he expected it to never be possible, for him anyhow, it clearly was. And there it was, staring up at him with stunning eyes and an adorable smile- all wrapped up in one woman who waited for further instruction to aid his work.

"Whatcha smiling at, silly?" A giggle brought him out of his reverie and he cleared his throat, handing the spanner back to you while muttering a quick 'my apologies'. "It's no big deal, you know I don't mind," another soft chuckle at his sudden behavior change. "Just curious what has you in such a good mood lately. You never smile this much- not that I'm complaining, of course. You look happy and I like that, it suits you." The smile he watched spread across your lips brightened your eyes so preciously that Tech felt as if his heart were going to lock up. You were absolutely breathtaking in the setting sunlight, the warm glow radiating your beauty.

It wasn't too long after your comment that he acknowledged he'd been staring once again. Tech blinked a few times, regaining his composure- sure to remember the planet's rotation cycle so he could bring you out into the setting sun one more time before leaving so he could truly memorize the way you looked in such a spectacular site. "I suppose it would be an alarming circumstance to see my sudden change in attitude if you are accustomed to my rather pragmatic and steadfast manner." He spoke slowly, trying to gauge his words carefully, looking back up at the repairs he was currently working on.

To say he was usually practical was an understatement and even he knew that, but he continued nevertheless- "Screwdriver, please."

A quick hum in reply from you and the tool was now in his hand, his heart buzzing at your lingering touch, making certain he had hold of the screwdriver before pulling away. "Though," Tech found himself speaking before he realized, hesitating after the word left his mouth.

Should he continue? Would you be uneasy at any admission of his affection, or even just simple favor, toward you?

He found himself suddenly apprehensive at the possibility that he could ruin the favorable conditions he'd found for himself with you. But with your reassuring voice, you spoke his worrying thoughts away, "though, what? Got too many thoughts running around that extraordinary mind of yours to just pick one?" The pleasantness in your prodding had a warm smile of his own spreading across his lips now while he worked against a stubborn bolt.

"Only a few at this very moment, so it would appear, mesh'la." Tech's reply was soft, soft enough that he thought only he'd heard himself until you stood beside him now. He glanced to see your head tilted with ever lovely, inquisitive eyes prompting him to continue his outspoken thought. Realigning his eyes to the bolt, Tech licked his lips anxiously, "Ah, I must have spoken aloud without realizing." He clarified softly, a burning sensation rising to his cheeks.

"Well now you gotta continue," you teased with a smile, "It's not every day that your genius mind only has a few thoughts in it to speak of."

Tech knew he was skating near a precarious edge, but the more you gazed at him expectantly, the less he cared and only desired for you to continue your total obliteration of his typical sensible behaviors. Taking a deep breath, the enhanced clone steadied himself before expressing, "At present, I have found that my foremost thoughts are exclusively about you. During the maturing of our relationship these last few months, it would seem that less and less of my thoughts are as constructive as they had been prior to our closeness, as troubling as that may sound." At your silence, Tech chanced lowering his arms to stand before you unimpeded by work, attention entirely yours.

The rise of your brows and the slight part in your lips made his heart thud painfully against his chest. Though, he noticed the sparkle in your eyes hadn't dissipated, perhaps he wasn't ruining anything as he thought he had been. "I am mindful that it may come across as peculiar, or eccentric, for me to have said that," Tech began cautiously, calculating your evolving expression. "Nevertheless, it is the truth. I...find you to be the most compelling woman that I have personally had the fortune of knowing. You are quite literally the only part of my life that I find myself frequently enchanted by." As he spoke, Tech found it easier to alleviate himself of the mountain of praises he'd been repeatedly considering when in your presence. He discovered he could continue voicing your worth, just as he could gaze at your beautiful face for an indefinable amount of time if only you'd allow him.

In the face of your silence, Tech cleared his throat once again to calm himself of his growing concern. "Though I'm aware of my capacity to express thoughts without stopping, I must say that your added input on this matter would prevent the inclination of my elevating heart rate."

"Tech..." The way his name left your lips did the contrary of what he had just requested, scrambling his heart rate instead. Tenderness touched the curve of your lips as you stepped forward close to him, directly into the space he usually reserved for only himself until he saw how much more exquisite you were when he had the opportunity to look down at you. This close he could see every mark, every small scar, the way the color of your eyes shifted as they glanced back and forth around his face.

"Stars," he breathed, "you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, mesh'la..." Tech muttered to himself in wonderment. As if no barrier had ever existed between you, Tech reached out to caress your face, marveling at how you reacted by pressing your cheek further into his touch. "If you were to provide me the honor of showing you my devotion, I would be certain to surpass any expectations you may put forth." Spellbound by the intimacy he'd found himself in with you, Tech longed for more. He yearned to feel the softness of your cheek on his skin, not through his filthy gloves. The way you deserved to be admired was wholly and profoundly, without any impediments. As his eyes danced between yours and the way your smile began to fade, Tech brushed his thumb along your cheek, cursing his GAR regulation blacks. You'd hardly said a word other than the sweet whisper of his name before you approached him, and even if this instance was all he'd ever receive from you, he'd relive the memory a hundred times over. Though he worried he'd said too much again.

Or maybe you were as entranced as he was, presently. "My dear, I don't mean to ruin this moment, however, I-" and before he could finish speaking you'd surged upward toward him, pressing your lips against his.

Astonishment rushed through the normally sharp clone as he felt the weight of your body pressed against his chest plate. After only a moment, though, Tech reacted- refusing to squander his opportunity to kiss you as he had dreamt many times over.

Wrapping his arms around your smaller figure, one hand came to rest between your shoulders and the other cradled your head affectionately, holding you as close as he could possibly have you. The plush of your lips brushed so flawlessly against his as he admired the softness they possessed. Tech knew upon impact that he would never tire of this, of the ability to hold you as he was, nor his newfound gift to kiss you.

You pulled away all too soon for his liking, the sigh escaping his lips sounding as pathetic to him as he was sure it sounded to you. Your smile was even more gorgeous than he'd seen it yet, though he was sure it was due to the recent discovery of just how incredible your smile tasted against his lips. Tech debated whether he should move at all for fear of you slipping away even sooner, but relented to adjust his goggles, matching your smile. "I believe that is a sufficient response to my yet posed question."

With yet another unpredictable act, you cuddled closer into his space, folding your arms in between your chest and his, and tucked your face into his neck. "I'll be happy to answer any others you may have with the same reply, whenever you need, handsome." You replied with a soft laugh.

Encompassing you once again within his embrace, Tech felt his cheeks warming, noting how the sun had disappeared beneath the horizon and he knew couldn't blame that for his reddened face. His breathy chuckle rumbled against his chest plate, "I shall keep that at the forefront of my thoughts."

[whereforarthur]

Love at First Podcast

Request: oh one where your a recent new youtuber who’s grown really fast and you get on bach’s and arthur podcast and arthur thinks you’re pretty and is instally his types when he finds out your interests are like his, like his cute like intrested in shark facts and playing chess <33

Pairing: ArthurTv x Youtuber!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

*****

“Falling in love is very real, but I used to shake my head when people talked about soul mates, poor deluded individuals grasping at some supernatural ideal not intended for mortals but sounded pretty in a poetry book. Then, we met, and everything changed, the cynic has become the converted, the sceptic, an ardent zealot.” ― E.A. Bucchianeri

"Alright, love, you're on in three, two, one..."

The countdown echoed in my ear, and my heart skipped a beat as the podcast host's voice grew distant. I, Y/n, a London-based YouTuber with a burgeoning audience, had scored a guest spot on "The Bach and Arthur Podcast," a podcast hosted by none other than ItalianBach and ArthurTv. Known for their charismatic banter and intellectual discussions, the duo had stumbled upon my channel during a late-night scroll and had been asked by their viewers to have me on as a guest, thinking that me and Arthur would get along.

Arthur's husky voice resonated through the airwaves, "Welcome to the podcast, Y/n. We're thrilled to have you with us today."

My voice quivered slightly as I replied, "Thanks for having me, guys. I'm a bit nervous, to be honest."

"Don't worry," Isaac assured me with a chuckle, "We're just here to have a good chat."

The conversation flowed easily as we discussed various topics, from the latest YouTube drama to our favorite hobbies. It was when we touched on shark facts that Arthur's interest seemed to peak. His eyes lit up, and his enthusiasm was palpable even through the microphone.

"Oh, you're into sharks, are you?" Arthur's voice was a warm cup of tea on a rainy afternoon, comforting and inviting. "I've always been fascinated by those majestic creatures. Did you know that the average human is more likely to be killed by a falling coconut than a shark?"

My mind raced as I tried to keep up with Arthur's sudden barrage of facts. It was clear he had a deep love for these predators of the deep, and I couldn't help but be charmed by his passion. As we delved further into the topic, I found myself smiling more and more at his excitement. The way he spoke about sharks with such affection and admiration was like nothing I had ever heard before.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile playing on his lips as he listened to me share my favorite shark trivia. Inwardly, I was kicking myself for not preparing more. I hadn't expected to find someone as enamored with these creatures as I was, especially not a well-known YouTuber like him. It was like he had peeked into the secret corners of my soul and found the one thing that truly made me tick.

"So, Y/n," Arthur began, his tone smooth and curious, "What sparked your interest in sharks?"

I took a deep breath, ready to dive into my lifelong obsession. "Well, it all started when I was a kid. My granddad used to take me to the aquarium every summer. There was this massive shark tank, and I was just captivated by them. They're so misunderstood, you know? They're not mindless killers, they're just doing their thing in the ocean, keeping the ecosystem in check."

Arthur nodded eagerly, his eyes never leaving mine. "Absolutely. And what's your favorite species?"

The question caught me off guard, but I replied without hesitation, "The thresher shark. They're so elegant with their long tails. It's like watching a ballet dancer underwater."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, and a grin spread across his face. "Thresher sharks? That's a unique choice. They're quite fascinating indeed."

*****

In the midst of our shared enthusiasm, Arthur's thoughts veered inward. He couldn't believe the person he was talking to was not only beautiful but also shared his obscure interest in sharks. It was like finding a unicorn in a bustling London street. He had always appreciated a good-looking person, but to find someone as pretty as Y/n who also loved the same quirky things he did? It was almost too good to be true.

Isaac, ever the observant one, couldn't help but tease his friend. "Arthur, it seems like you've found your soulmate here," he said with a smirk, interrupting our shark-filled discussion. "The only thing that would make this better is if she was into chess too."

The room grew quiet for a moment as Arthur's cheeks flushed a faint shade of pink. "Well, as it happens," I began, a playful smile forming on my lips, "I've been playing chess since I was eight. My dad taught me, and it's been a bit of a family tradition."

Arthur's jaw practically dropped. "No way," he exclaimed, his voice filled with disbelief and excitement. "That's incredible. I've been playing since I was about the same age."

The energy in the room shifted as the three of us swapped stories about our chess triumphs and defeats. Arthur's passion was contagious, and before I knew it, I was sharing tales of late-night tournaments and the thrill of capturing a king with an unexpected move. His eyes lit up with every detail, and I felt a flutter in my stomach as his gaze held mine, as if we were the only two people in the room.

Isaac couldn't resist the urge to stir the pot further. "So, Arthur," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, "are you going to challenge our shark-loving, chess prodigy to a match?"

The tension in the room thickened as Arthur's cheeks grew a deeper shade of pink. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. "Well, I wouldn't want to impose, but if Y/n is up for it, I'd be more than happy to have a friendly game."

Isaac couldn't contain his laughter. "Oh, come on, Arthur. You're practically drooling over the board at the thought of it."

I blushed, a little overwhelmed by Arthur's intense stare but also thrilled by the challenge. "I'd love to," I said, trying to sound casual despite the racing of my heart.

Isaac leaned back in his chair, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Well, it looks like we've got ourselves a date, folks. Arthur, you're on."

*****

The podcast went on, but the underlying tension between Arthur and I was unmistakable. Our shared passions had created a connection that neither of us had anticipated. The conversation shifted to other topics, but my mind kept wandering back to the thought of our upcoming chess match. Would it be a friendly game, or would the competition heat up?

Arthur's eyes met mine, and I felt a jolt of excitement. He was more than just a handsome face; he had a sharp intellect and a quirky charm that was hard to resist. As the podcast wound down, the nervousness I felt earlier had transformed into a thrilling anticipation of what lay ahead. His smile was disarming, and the way his hair fell over his forehead made my pulse quicken. I found myself trying to imagine what it would be like to sit across from him, each of us plotting our next move on the chessboard.

The podcast concluded with a flurry of thank yous and promises to keep in touch. After we signed off, Arthur turned to me, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "So, when do you think we should have this chess showdown?"

I laughed, feeling the same thrill he did. "How about this weekend? We could meet up at a café in the city, somewhere with a decent table and a relaxed atmosphere."

He nodded eagerly. "Perfect. I know just the place. It's a little hidden gem, great for a quiet game and a cup of tea."

The days leading up to the weekend felt like an eternity. I found myself replaying our conversation in my head, analyzing every word, every smile, every gesture. It was more than just a chess game; it was a chance to get to know Arthur better, to explore the depths of his personality as we navigated the strategic dance of pawns and rooks.

When the day finally arrived, I walked into the café with a mix of excitement and nerves. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and the soft murmur of chatter created a cozy backdrop for our battle of wits. Arthur was already there, setting up the board with meticulous care. He looked up as I approached, his smile warm and welcoming.

"You found it," he said, standing to greet me. He pulled out a chair, and as I sat down, I noticed the way his hand lingered on the back of mine for a brief moment. It sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same connection I did.

We began our game, the pieces moving with a rhythm that felt almost like a dance. Arthur's eyes never left the board, his focus unwavering as he considered each move. I watched his expressions shift, the intensity in his gaze as he tried to outthink me. His hands, strong and sure, caressed the pieces with a gentle touch that was surprisingly tender.

As the game progressed, the tension grew. We both knew we were evenly matched, and every move was a delicate balance of aggression and defense. The café around us faded away, and it was just us and the chessboard. Our conversation grew more personal as we shared stories from our childhoods, our families, and the moments that had shaped us into the people we were today.

When Arthur finally claimed victory, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment. But as he leaned back in his chair and offered his hand for a congratulatory shake, the look in his eyes told me that the real prize was the connection we had formed over the last few hours.

"Rematch?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

I smiled, placing my hand in his. "Always."

*****

The crowd in the café applauded our game, and as we packed up the chessboard, I felt a new chapter in my life unfolding. Arthur and I had found common ground in the most unexpected of places, and I knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful friendship—or perhaps something more.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of chess games and shared moments. We discovered more about each other with every pawn that was sacrificed and every king that was checkmated. Our friendship grew stronger, and our bond deepened as we learned to read each other's moves both on and off the board.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the London skyline, casting a warm glow through the café windows, Arthur reached across the table and took my hand. His eyes searched mine, and I knew what was coming.

"Y/n," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I can't believe I've found someone who understands me like you do."

My heart raced as I looked into his eyes, feeling the same vulnerability he did. "I know," I whispered. "It's like we're two lost souls who found each other in the most unlikely of places."

He leaned in, and our lips met in a soft, lingering kiss that seemed to hold all the promise of the future. The chessboard was forgotten as we realized that sometimes, the most beautiful connections are found in the most unexpected places. Our love for sharks and chess had brought us together, but it was our shared passion for life and the quiet moments between the moves that would keep us together.

As we pulled apart, Arthur took a deep breath and smiled. "Ready for the next game?"

I grinned back at him, feeling more alive than I had in years. "Always."

*****

@gvf23

@xxkatxgracexx

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hi!! I just wanted to say that I love the way you write Optimus in your AU’s❤️❤️❤️ And I specially love the concept of your \\Decepticon Optimus AU\\ PLEASE PART 2 PLEASE PART 2 PLEASE PART 2 PLEASE PART 2

I’ll start drawing fanarts :D

Congratulations. You have bought my services with the offer of fanart. Here you go mate, more Decepticon Optimus (～￣▽￣)～ I've actually been wanting to write this for a REALLY long time, but I just never thought anyone was interested. That said, take a bit of a Starscream POV in preparation for a proper continuation of this thing.

Previous part here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

Starscream served Megatron because it was what was best for his people. There was indeed a lot of personal investment in the choice as well. After all, with how high he was in the ranks, if Megatron fell, he would have a solid chance to take control of the army so long as Tarn or Overlord didn't fight him too much for it. It was simply the best decision when the alternative was following the Autobots and having to deal with their roots in the Senate. While it was a difficult decision to join up with a rebel force, after Vos burned, it was only right.

War was a torment, one that Starscream only endured because he had his trinemates and fellow citizens of Vos by his side. Despite the comfort Skywarp and Thundercracker offered, there was always something missing for Starscream as the war dragged on. All his fellows were focused on the goal to the point of everything else being drowned out. They stopped seeing the point of it all for the most part and largely fell into the haze of conflict with no regard for the place where it all began. The common soldiers just wanted to survive, the officers wanted to rise through the ranks, and the rest were loyal to Megatron more so than what they fought for.

Admittedly Starscream fell amongst them when things got stressful and his place became threatened. However aside from those moments, he was contemplative, often trying to remember WHY they fought rather than focusing himself too much on the conflict itself. That was not to say he held no grudges, no he held them close to himself with a degree of glee. But he desired companionship from someone more... neutral in a sense. He wanted someone to understand where he was coming from and preferably be in a position that Starscream would still have influence over. He couldn't have his greatest fears and insecurities being held but just anyone after all.

Then as if answered by Primus himself, Starscream stumbled upon a fascinating mech who was quick to catch his attention. Right off the bat he looked the part of a Decepticon. Black plating with red tinted windows and optics, a huge axe and blaster as his weapons of choice, and a reputation for valuing logic over emotion. Even his designation matched the embodiment of Decepticon values. Nemesis was quite the name for a mech who hardly managed to rise above the rank of a private. However those traits were not what caught Starscream's attention. Rather it was the fact that Nemesis's behavior was so out of the ordinary and yet perfectly in line with Decepticon standards as to be concerning in a sense.

There were pages upon pages of reports detailing Nemesis's presence being crucial for morale. Never did the mech win any ground for the Decepticons, but he also never lost any. He was supposed to be a mid-ranked ground officer just there to keep the troops in line. And yet he was beloved by countless soldiers, as shown in their written reports. How did such a cold mech with such an intimidating frame and name get so popular amongst the troops? Mecha on opposite ends of the planet knew his designation, at least amongst Vehicons. It was strange, so strange in fact that Starscream found himself paying the mech a visit during a routine check of the area.

Visiting out of pure curiosity yielded increadible results as Starscream observed Nemesis in action. The mech forever wore his mask and seemed almost unsure how to reply when presented with a situation that required emotions. However he somehow managed to be a comfort to those he served with while battling with ferocity that Starscream found vaguely familiar but more so striking. Nemesis was fascinating, and more than that, he was kind. It was silly and a spur of the moment decision, but he stole Nemesis away from his division and had the mech placed under his direct supervision.

Nemesis for his part took the change with grace, but Starscream quickly noticed more and more oddities surrounding him as time passed by. Often the emotionally unstable mecha Nemesis took to comforting simply vanished a short while after his conversations with them. On records they were labeled as deserters, but Starscream saw that they were being aided by the far too kind Decepticon he'd taken under his wing. Nemesis was quiet, he didn't cause any trouble and largely kept to himself. And yet so many odd things happened around him that Starscream couldn't help but keep him around and not report him. Why would he turn in this great source of potential entertainment and comradery? Was it a risk? Yes. But he had his trine and he was sure he could blast one mech into oblivion if need be. Besides, the mecha who vanished were never of importance. If Nemesis had a thing for killing a few foot soldiers every now and then, he certainly wouldn't be the first of his kind.

One by one more oddities became clear and Starscream had a grand time watching them unfold. It was like his personal reality holodrama as he observed Nemesis wandering around befriending every last Vehicon and seemingly unknowingly earning their collective loyalty. He didn't seem to be aware of the fact that half of the Decepticon army regarded him fondly due to his association with the Vehicons, but if he did, he certainly never abused it. He learned the names of every Vehicon, treated them kindly, and in his gruff way even helped them get out of trouble. It was... a welcome relief from the cruelty Starscream saw regularly. The desire that led him to search out someone more neutral for companionship only grew as he continued to keep an optic on his little pet project.

Such an interesting mech he was. Eventually Starscream couldn't help but ask.

Starscream: Why do you bother with the Vehicons? They are clones, expendable soldiers.

Nemesis: No one is expendable. Every life is sacred. Is that not why we fight for freedom? So that all might enjoy their right to life?

Starscream: But why do you not try and rise through the ranks? You have the combat and strategic skills to do so, and yet you have never once tried to rise above the rank your service under me gave you.

Nemesis: I have personal reasons for wishing to not garner the attention of Megatron and his inner circle. But aside from that, I simply do not care.

Starscream: And why is that? You fight for us, you have bled for us. How can you say it does not matter?

Nemesis: My history is long and complicated my Lord. I have seen horrors and I have no desire to be the one giving the order to inflict more upon others. I am here to protect those I care about. That is all.

Starscream: And here I thought you were known for being cold and calculating.

Nemesis: There is a time and a place for all things.

After their conversation, Starscream only became more fascinated by the mech who embodied the Decepticons in frame and reputation and yet seemed more and more like an Autobot the more time passed. Nemesis was, in his own strange way, a bit like a stray cyber-feline. Starscream had to earn his trust, and he did so by simply not ratting Nemesis out when he finally caught the mech smuggling younglings across enemy lines. Whether Nemesis knew he was there or not was up for debate, but watching the cold and gruff mech run younglings into neutral territory and pass them off to mecha preparing to go off world had Starscream confirming that Nemesis was a good individual at spark.

For vorns Nemesis served under him, trying and largely failing to be stealthy when smuggling younglings out and creating distractions for Vehicons to escape punishment. Such a kind spark hidden behind layers of a grim persona. Starscream couldn't help but assist every now and then. He made sure not to make his intervention obvious, but Nemesis started to treat him with greater familiarity the longer they worked together.

By the time Thundercracker and Skywarp fell in battle, what began as a simple attempt to be amused and to search for someone to remind him of the purpose of their war turned into a proper friendship. Nemesis covered for him and did a great deal of planning and order issuing on his behalf while he grieved. And when he was too out of sorts to do anything more than lay on his berth uselessly, Nemesis came by with an energon cube and took care of everything. The kind Decepticon warrior was there for him throughout all of it, even dealing with his rages and outbursts. Starscream would never say so aloud, but he appreciated the patience shown to him more than anything else. Nemesis never yelled at him, never so much as grabbed him harshly, and even when Starscream was breaking things in his grief and rage, Nemesis was there to calm him down with soothing words.

It was never meant to end with Nemesis becoming his dear friend, but by the time Starscream was at last able to handle the loss of his trinemates, there was no going back. Nemesis was his friend, his companion, and his stable foundation amidst the storm of war. It was almost impossible to tell how Nemesis really felt about him, but considering the mech never tried to climb the ranks or leave, Starscream assumed the feeling was at least somewhat mutual. It certainly helped that Nemesis's distractions kept Megatron's wrath from falling on Starscream's helm.

Once Starscream could confidently call Nemesis a brother, he did not care for the increasingly suspicious behavior the warrior engaged in. He trusted that if it were important, Nemesis would talk to him about it. Thus whenever his friend vanished for extended periods of time, Starscream allowed it to be. He was horribly anxious whenever Nemesis up and dropped off the map for stellar cycles at a time, but much like a stray cyber-feline, he always came back and always with something or other as a gift. Part of Starscream feared that Nemesis was a traitor who merely wanted his trust for information gathering purposes, but without his trine, he refused to think about it. Until Nemesis proved himself a traitor, Starscream would continue to treat him as a brother.

He covered for Nemesis's vanishing act, he helped the Vehicons in his absence, and whenever his brother returned, Starscream relished in the attention offered. Nemesis was never a very touchy mech, but soft shoulder touches, tender aid in wing cleaning, and gentle words were more than enough for Starscream. He cherished it all and fought to keep Nemesis with him viciously when it came time for the Exodus to begin.

But that of course was when everything fell apart.

Starscream had a plan. He already filed the paperwork, prepared appropriate documents, and convinced Megatron to allow him to keep Nemesis with him as they took to the stars. He was ready and fully willing to jump through whatever hoops were needed to ensure that Nemesis remained by his side. Then, just like that, Nemesis was gone. One sentimental conversation under the stars later, Nemesis dropped off the map leaving only a collection of files and a note at his desk. The world itself seemed to shatter around Starscream as he read the note and flew faster than he ever had before. He couldn't lose Nemesis, not after he lost everyone else.

Starscream wished it was just a horrible nightmare when he finally found what remained of his brother in arms. He screamed and begged as he tried in vain to fix the damage done to the lifeless frame before him. However when all was said and done, he could only hold Nemesis's body in his arms and weep. The note said that Nemesis was simply tired and that it was no one's fault. Starscream believed him, Nemesis was not one to outright lie. And yet he couldn't help but lament the fact that his brother never told him of his woes. Starscream would have helped, he would have made things better if Nemesis had only asked it of him.

He would have made things right.

He buried Nemesis's body under the open sky and stayed for a whole cycle just so that he could pretend that he and his brother were merely admiring the stars above in silence. When he returned to the Decepticons, his spark ached with loss, but was also hardened in certainty. The war had taken everything from him. His people, his trine, and now the kindest Decepticon he'd ever known. He wasn't exactly sure why his anger over the event came to be pinned on Megatron, but it was. Nemesis, his trine, and so many of his kind were dead because of a foolish war Megatron had yet to win. The competitive desire to take control for personal gain warped into a desperate need to have absolute authority. He needed to make things right, to ensure that the foolishness came to an end.

It hurt still, so his arrogance increased to cover for it. His spark wept, so he pulled away from others. The only one he ever really tolerated was Knockout, and that was merely because he was a neutral deep down. There was no loyalty in his spark, and Starscream appreciated that amidst the sea of diehard Megatron followers. He needed control and he needed it desperately. But of course that need led to punishment, and Starscream could only flounder to stay alive without anyone there to back him up.

Then things changed again.

Vorns spent grieving those he lost came back to haunt him one the battlefield when Optimus Prime of all mecha stood in front of him and stopped a hit from Megatron from reaching him. The Prime looked livid. Why though? Why did the other big player in the ridiculous war they were embroiled in care for one lone seeker, one who had the energon of thousands on his servos? It did not make sense, but pieces began to fall into place as time wore on and Optimus kept defending him. Aggression and anger never before seen in the Prime always showcased itself whenever Megatron tried to touch Starscream or the Vehicons. Optimus would even wield an AXE when he fell into the strange cold rages that always ended with the Prime changing his fighting style completely.

Starscream did not wish to believe it. He couldn't believe it. And yet as he observed more and more, he couldn't help but see the similarities. A bulky frame that had the indicators of magnetic attachments to allow for more armor to be installed. A thick battlemask and heavy set pedes that offered protection from any and all hazards. Large black servos covered in scars carrying a familiar red axe that Starscream knew like his very own wings. It shouldn't have been possible, and yet every time the Prime stopped a hit from landing on him, Starscream couldn't help but see it.

Optimus Prime and Nemesis were related. Somehow they were tied together, and with every uttered word the Prime threw out on the battlefield when rushing to his defense, Starscream only became more certain. How? He did not know. But through whatever means, Optimus Prime had either acquired the attention of his brother while he still lived, or more likely WAS Nemesis in some form. It seemed so obvious looking back, but as Starscream fled the battlefield, he made a decision. In the quiet of his quarters, he opened a commlink to the one mech he thought he would have preferred to see eliminated in fire and smoke.

Starscream: I don't know how you did it or if it is even you... but if you knew Nemesis, or if he is in there somewhere... please let me hear him again.

Optimus: ...

Starscream: I stopped caring about this fragging war long ago. Just let me hear my brother's voice again. Let me know he's still there, if only as a memory.

Optimus: ...

Starscream: Please, just this once, let me hear him.

Optimus: ...

Optimus: I am here, and I am sorry I had to leave you for so long.

[m0rbidmacabre]

Read on AO3

Summary:

Dracopia becomes obsessed with a women he meets in the street

THE LIST:

Stalking,

Enemies to lovers,

Curvy FMC

Blood Play (coming soon)

Breath Play (coming soon)

Kink (coming soon)

Please take care of your mental health

"Many a sin I have witnessed And in many indeed I have been Many a rat I've befriended And so many a thorn stood between

But of all of the demons I've known None could compare to you" 

See The Light

COPIA

I have been living in a run-down Victorian mansion, the Vines grew high, curling around every part of the exterior, making the place look like the image of death. The bricks are stained grey, with paint chipped and flaking. It seemed like the ghosts of its old inhabitants haunted its walls, but ghosts were the last thing on my mind.

 Her name was unknown to me, all I had was images of the first time I saw her. She had thick black hair that enhanced her curves, and I couldn’t escape thoughts of her. Our first meeting replayed in my head daily, overturning like some blossoming fascination that I couldn’t quite get a grip onto. We wouldn't have noticed each other if we hadn't accidentally bumped into each other. Her books flew out of her hands as she turned around and spat venom at me, making sure I knew just how clumsy and ridiculous I was. Little did she know the fire she had just ignited a burning passion. Of course I apologized profusely. My mismatched eyes finding her brown eyes for the first time and her scent filled the air with notes of vanilla and leather that sent my heart into a frenzy. I gave her my best flashy smile, making sure to hide my fangs from sight, taking a moment to adjust as my heart pounded and my breath ran away with itself. She didn't return the smile; in fact, she just looked at me, snarled, and walked away. Her hips swinging behind her as if she didn’t give a fuck about anything. “Damn…” I whispered under my breath as my eyes followed her trailing her outline of her curvy body. She was short even with her combat boots, curvy and had those type of hips that screamed to be gripped onto...

I had never been spoken to like that before. Typically, my dates complied with my every request and whim. Being a vampire meant my looks were not lacking in any way. My eternal youth has at least given me one favour. My sharp, strong jawline accentuated my chiselled face, giving me an air of authority and mystery. And my mismatched eyes? The ladies absolutely loved those. One eye was a deep, hypnotic green, while the other was a piercing white, making my gaze more captivating. My usual experience was that my charm and physical allure were more than enough to ensure my dates' compliance and admiration. I spent my evening draining them of the life force they so delicately hold, willingly they give me a piece of them, just for me to throw them aside. I have no interest in the women that so kindly offer themselves up to me.

Ever since the moment we met, I had been sneaking around, hoping to catch a glimpse of her shadow. She passed me almost like clockwork every day, her hips and cloak always swinging in a captivating allure. She seemed to have found the madness inside me that I hadn’t felt in almost centuries. A secret love, that was only mine to share... but first I needed her to notice me, to take interest... I had no idea of how I could grab her attention, she seemed so head strong, so Intune with who she was. Yet, the more I thought of her, the more I needed her.

Days turned into weeks, and my obsession with her only grew stronger. I noticed the little details about her: the way she tilted her head when she was deep in thought, the slight twitch of her lips when she was annoyed, and the way her eyes seemed to pierce through me with a mix of curiosity and disdain. I found myself oddly wandering the streets, hoping for any chance encounter, any fleeting moment where our paths might cross again.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and shadows began to creep through the streets, I spotted her entering a small, dimly lit café. My heart raced as I plucked up the courage to follow her inside. She sat alone at a corner table, her eyes fixed on a book, seemingly oblivious to the world around her. I watched her for a moment, wondering what she was reading. Her book was black, leather bound and looked rather serious. I took in that enticing scent of hers; it was one that would make lucifer fall to his knees and have him offering himself up to his new queen, it was one that I had become all too familiar with in the passing weeks that I had been following her.

I grabbed a coffee and sat alone in the corner of the room, watching, waiting... when the waitress came over to see if I needed a refill. She bounced over, standing at the foot of the table bouncing on her heels. “Great…” I whispered to myself as she made eye contact with me annoyed that someone would dare disturb me from watching her.

“Do you need anything sir, a refill? Something to eat?”  the waitress asked.

I looked at her with a blank bored expression. “No, I’m fine, erm…” I whisper out as I notice her in corner uncross her legs and place them back into a comfortable position.  The site of her pink thighs that held such life, almost bringing me into a frenzy in front of the waitress. My eyes gazing over with lust for her.

“Sir, are you okay?” the waitress giggled her head tilted with concern after a moment of silence.

I shake my head bringing myself back to the moment and meet the gaze of the waitress “Si, si, I’m fine… Coffee please...” I utter, being short with her. Hoping that would get the waitress to leave me alone a little longer. The waitress finally takes the hint, huffing under her breath as she walks away. I could tell the waitress was interested in me, the way she bounded over, hoping for a lifeline… someone to flirt with in the quiet hours of her shift. To keep her entertained. I could just imagine her standing across me giggling and hanging on to my every word. Maybe she wanted someone to take home, keep her warm tonight…  Sure, she was pretty, but I only have eyes for the girl sat in the corner.

The Girl

He's here, he's watching me. It’s the same guy I bumped into a few weeks ago on the street. I remember the day clearly; he wasn’t just any random passer-by. He was the guy that bumped into me, seemingly by accident, but now it feels like there was something more to that encounter. Ever since that day, I’ve had this uneasy feeling, like I’m being followed. And now, seeing him again, standing there and looking directly at me, confirms my worst fears. I make sure to keep my head buried in my book, trying my best to focus on the words in front of me. I do this to ensure that he can't see how uneasy and uncomfortable he's making me feel. As I shift in my seat, I take a deep breath, determined to maintain my composure and hold onto my confidence. Yet, I can feel his gaze lingering on me, scrutinizing my every move. I nervously smooth out the fabric of my dress on my thighs, hoping to distract myself from the intensity of his stare.

If he thinks I'm going to play his game, he must be insane. I have no interest in a guy who thinks it’s OK to just follow someone around like a dog in heat.  I was born with a fire in my belly unlike most... I hold a high standard, and even though I don’t have many friends because of my introvert nature. I much prefer the company of books to a touch of another human.

I sit quietly, reading, his eyes ever present on me when the waitress comes over, shes a pretty girl, young with an ever-present smile.

 “Need anything love?” she asks

“Only for that guy to go away” I mutter under my breath

“Sorry?” she asks, miss hearing my plea.

“Erm… coffee please” I smile at her.

I place my book down and head outside for a cigarette in the cool night air, hoping for a moment’s peace. The sun had fully set and only the cool glow of the streetlights remained, a slight shudder envelope me, giving me goosebumps that rise from my skin as the door opens. I can feel him before I see him, feel his eyes burning into me like they want to set my world on fire.

I turn around and see him standing in the doorway.

“Sure, way to kill yourself that is….” He mutters to me.

“And why should you care?” I reply.

He flashes that grin at me again, the smooth one that sends a fire right to the pit of my core.  He maybe pretty, but he sure needs to fuck off.  He steps closer, moving into my personal space and suddenly, I see red, unable to hold myself back and be patient with him any longer.

“Where do you get off…”  I shout.

“Excuse me?” he replies.

“Following me… I see you; I’ve seen you following me”

He lets out a soft sigh as if he’s been caught… and then suddenly, his eyes turn dark, deep like pools of the underworld.

“I don’t think I have; you must have been imagining it… I don’t believe we have met before, have we?”   Blissfully fucking ignorant... I think to myself, my core tightening as he flashes another smile my way. If he wants to play this game, then so be it, I’ll play his little game. I scrunch my face up trying to find an answer, but it falls dead on my tongue.

“Are you feeling, okay? You look pale, maybe you need to sit down… eat something si? Maybe you’ve had too much coffee” he chuckles to himself. I give him my best death stare, one that could kill even the most hardened of people and he just returns it with a smile as I flick my hair at him, giving him my best ‘fuck off’ vibe I can muster.

“Fucking creep” I mutter under my breath as I stub out my cigarette on the wall with frustration.

Copia

I can’t believe her, shes such a bitch... a feisty bitch made from hell fire. Maybe I have finally met my match. I watch her frustration as she stubs out the cigarette and flicks it out into the road. Rolling my eyes at her littering but I don’t say a word until she turns to leave. One hand on the door and my body takes over. I grip her by her throat, one hand tightly applying pressure pushing her back into the brick wall... “Where do you think you’re going Sorella?”

Her eyes meet mine, her fury evident in the fire glowing behind them. “What do you think you’re doing, get off me…” she whimpers out while her legs kick in the air between us.

“I don’t think so, see... you need to learn something Sorella …”

“What’s that?” she spits back at me…

“Your mine now, and you don’t leave unless I say you can” she wriggles under my grip and before I know it shes biting into my arm. I instantly let go of her throat gripping onto my hand

“Urgh….” I let out a frustrated growl, and grab her by the neck of her shirt before she could escape...

“If you think I’m going to be anything to you but the person who makes your life hell, then your clearly mistaken, stalker creep” she spits at me as her hair falls over her face, her face reddening by the minute.

I push her hard against the wall, making sure she doesn’t have any more wiggle room, while I try and catch my breath… I lean in, taking in that rich smell of vanilla. “Fuck it” I grumble and grip her in a passionate kiss. Slipping my tongue past her tight-lipped mouth, finally getting a taste of her. She reminds me of the sweetest cherries, laced with her own fear. She tries everything she can to get out of the kiss by pulling at my hair, but that only spurs me on, I slide my tongue into hers, slowly massaging hers and in that moment the heat takes over and her passion becomes evident by the smell of her arousal. We stay locked together in a passionate heating moment until my lungs cry out for air. I pull away and gaze deeply at her. She meets my gaze in a shocked haze, her hair plastered to her face in a sense of sweat and heat. Letting her go, she slides down the wall in a frustrated heap.

“Sorella…. Remember who owns you. I’ll see you soon”

[huntsphury]

Kaladin x Reader

Advices:

This is my first time writing in English, which is not my first language, so sorry about gramatic mistakes.

This fanfic happens in the middle of The Way of Kings.

It's mostly me fangirling over Kaladin.

. . . . . . . . . .

You were working at your father's store on the Shattered Plans when he appeared. Kaladin. The slave that had changed everything at that horrible Bridge Four. Suddenly, the bridge that lost more men was the only one who wasn't losing anyone on the runs. Soldiers and random Lighteyes from all of the High Prince's camps would come to the store, asking you to fix their clothes, and you'd hear them chatting about that man.

Apparently, he had been a soldier, fighting on the other side of the country, many time ago. A good one. Some said he fought like a demon. Others, that he was one, the only explanation for a Darkeyes success. He had survived a Highstorm on the outside, after all. One elder deserter slave once told you that he thought Kaladin was that one soldiers used to call Stormblessed. But no one knew how he'd ended up in that situation.

So you got curious. But you never thought he would step on the store. Your dad was traveling to Ja Keved and wasn't expected to come back for a whole more week, so there was only you there when that man came. He wore old bridgemen shorts and open waistcoats. His hair was dark, shoulder length, and the slave marks on his forehead could have called more attention... If it wasn't for his eyes.

Extremely dark and serious. Obsidian broams on that beautiful, scared face. The face of a general, you thought. Of one of those old Night Radiants, a Darkeyed one, like you.

"Good afternoon", he said, getting closer. His voice was also strong and deep, besides the obvious starvation the bridgemen went through. Your mouth went dry, and you said nothing. He hesitated for a moment, then walked until there was only a balcon separating you two. "I would like to buy some coats, please."

You needed a moment to remember how to speak. His presence was too... Strong. So you stepped back, finally smiling politely.

"Of course. How many?"

"Fifteen."

"Oh." You didn't expect it would be so many.

"They're for your bridgemen, right?" He nodded, but seemed quite... More serious. Like he wasn't expecting you to help him like you did with the free men from the warcamps. So you tried to get his confidence. You forced yourself to smile again, like he was a random costumer, not a man you were randomly fascinated with. At all. "There's only fifteen man on your bridge?"

"Sixteen, actually. But the bridge masters hate me, so they're not sending more", he answered calmly. Then he raised his chin, examining the fabrics on the walls, all in vibrant colors. "I've never seen Alethi women wearing those kinds of colors."

"They don't. I just... I like them. They seem more alive. Everyone wants to feel alive, even in this war, in this rainy hole, right?"

His eyes finally found your owns, and they seemed to soften. With curiosity.

"In the end, they do, indeed."

Suddenly, you didn't know what to do with your hands. So you hold them on your back, gloved one over the naked.

"You want to come see the clothes? I don't know the sizes, and bringing all of the boxes would take too long. They're heavy."

He nodded again. So you leaded him to the backwards of the store, where there were rooms with fabrics and sewing material and donated clothes. You showed Kaladin all the boxes with masculine products, and he helped you separate the coats with sizes he thought would fit the men of his bridge.

"What about you?" You asked, in the end.

"I'll get one when I can gather more money." That would take too long, you thought. How could he stand the Alethi weather barely naked? Well. You felt your cheeks getting hot. Tried to avoid looking at his exposed muscles. You had never seen such a handsome man. But Kaladin seemed to not realize how beautiful he was. Which only made him more fascinating. And the fact that he didn't care about feeling cold, as long as his mates were warm, made your heart hurt a little.

So you reached for the hottest coat on the pile, the one with the highest cost, and gave it to him.

"Pay fifteen, take one for free."

He looked uncertain. Too prideful, you could see he was, but also well aware of his needs. "I—What is your name?"

"(Y/N). You don't need to tell me yours, I know."

He got still for some time. But then finally came to a decision with himself, and nodded firmly.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

"I'm the one who should say thanks. And, by the way, I'm just securing a faithful client."

"You shouldn't bother. I could die at any day", Kaladin replied, but the corners of his mouth rose sutily, assuring you that he just had a sharp humor. You were both standing closely now, and his eyes vagued through your face. You felt like getting closer, crazy as it was, but...

Thunder. And rain. And wind. You ran to the front of the store, closing the doors and the windows quickly. Oh, Almighty. A Highstorm, right now.

"Storms", Kaladin cursed, helping you until the room was almost totally dark, but safe. "I should go now."

"No, you shouldn't! Just because you survived one Highstorm outside before, doesn't mean you should try again. It would be insane to let someone walk through the camps right now, and I'd never force a costumer to die in the storm."

"So, if I hadn't bought anything, you would expulse me?" He asked, but seemed... Good humored. He crossed his arms, spying the sky through a crack on the window. "Stormfather, this one came fast."

Before thinking too much about it, you got closer to him, trying to see what he saw. The sky was dark, and the winds... Could cut someone. But Kaladin wasn't afraid of them. He passed his fingers through the hole and... It was like he owned the revolted air. He closed his eyes for an instant, feeling everything, and you watched him, just watched, unblinking. Beautiful. Then he opened his eyes, and they were almost bright.

Who is this man?

You wanted to kiss him. So bad, it physically hurt. He looked at your mouth, and...

"Are you hungry?" You blorted out, nervous. Before he could answer, you left the room to get food, breathing heavily.

And that was how you two ended up sitting on the balcony minutes later, blue and green espheres illuminating the room, and tea, bread and jam between your bodies. The sounds of the Highstorms had always been scary for you, but now, seeing the way that strange man seemed at peace with them, you felt better.

"Thank you", he said quietly, one more time. You smiled. "You're welcome", a pause. "You really like the storms, don't you, Kaladin Stormblessed?"

He growled. "This storming nickname. I thought I'd never hear it again." Kaladin expired air. "I've always felt like... They renew the air. Push the bad thoughts away. Don't you?"

"I've always felt like hiding under my bed when they came."

He let out a laught. Then seemed surprised about it. He closed his eyes again, just for a moment, and faced you, all intensity.

"You seem to know a lot about me. It would be fair to know more about you too, (Y/N). Especially since I'm not getting out of your establishment for one more hour, at least."

You got a little shy, but agreed. So you started to talk about your childhood and the things you liked, and he made questions, about the stories you told and about your feelings on them. He was a kind of general, no doubt. Fast to think and straight to the point, always. After some minutes, you started to retribute the questions. He answered some of them, but quietly avoided the most personal ones. You didn't want to push.

After all, you barely knew Kaladin. Even though it felt like it.

And he looked genuinely curious about you, like no boy from your previous city never did. You didn't want him to leave. You wanted to keep him at your side, even if he didn't talk, even if just to diminute the loneliness on his eyes.

"Eat more", you said, when the storm noises lowered a little.

"Thank you. I'm full." You wondered if he ever thought he would say that again after being sent to Bridge Four. Kaladin paused, thinking, before jumping off the balcony and standing on his feet. He turned to face you, and your knees were almost touching his legs. Your stomach also jumped, anxious.

"You asked me if I was hungry, earlier", he said, voice deep. "I was, for more than food. Thank you."

"You're too polite", you saw yourself bubbling. "Don't need to thank me all the time."

Again, a corner of his mouth rose. Just a little bit.

"My mother taught me well."

Your toes curved.

"I see."

Darkeyes met Darkeyes. You were both closer and closer.  You wondered what would it feel like to touch his skin. Before thinking more about it, you did it. It was harsh, with what felt like two days of unshaved beard. Perfect...

"Just how I imagined it", you mumbled. His eyebrows were almost touching each other. He looked... Still curious, but also something else. Something very male, that lighted a fire inside your body you didn't know existed. "Do you still feel hungry? For anything?"

"Storms", Kaladin breathed, before kissing you with passion. One of his hands hold your head like he wanted, and the other carassed your belly. You opened your legs for him instantly, like you had wanted since he entered the store, and then you two were only one thing, all arms and legs and kisses. You were out of control, moaning loudly, and he had his mouth on your neck. You passed your hand through his dark hair, and he trembled.

"Keep touching me", he whispered on your ear, voice raspy and low, needy as nothing you had ever heard.

He hasn't been touched for a long time, you realized, as his erection pressed the middle of your tights and you let out a louder moan. Hasn't been cared for. That's what he was hungry for. Human contact.

"You're beautiful", you whispered back, and traced kisses on his ear and his neck, making him let out a deep, masculine moan that almost sent you to an orgasm.

"You're the only beautiful thing I've seen in this shithole", was his answer. He lifted your chin with one big, calloused hand and went for your mouth again, hard and passionately. You opened up to him, in everyway possible.

You wanted him. So much that you could almost feel how it would be like to have him inside of you. The kisses were harder and harder, deeper and deeper...

But soon the Highstorm was over, and sooner he had to go. Because he was not a free man, in the end, and you cried when you two got separated.

"Come back", you asked, not caring at all about how pathetic it sounded.

He kissed you again, and smiled against your mouth. A real smile, this time, and you simply knew that smiling wasn't something he did easily. "You were right", Kaladin said low, touching your forehead with his scared one. "It's good to feel alive."

[writingsofwesteros]

The article that Helly did- Helaena Targaryen; The Emergence of a Dragon

Helaena Targaryen is arguably one of the most reclusive of the Targaryen-Hightower siblings. Where her sister Daenora or brother Aegon revel in the spotlight, Helaena is far more content with being out of it- anonymous, as she says- "Oh, believe me, I'm always grateful to Aeg and Nora for being the ones who thrive in the spotlight. I'm also grateful that when I do go to high-profile events, I have my siblings there to calm my nerves." Helaena tells me as we sit in one of the many, many rooms of the Targaryen family's massive estate.

Indeed, it's been a time of great change for the soft-spoken heiress, as she not only worked to launch a foundation for the preservation of insect species found in the Old Valyrian ruins, but for the past four years, she's become a mother to a pair of the sweetest twins. "It wasn't exactly planned," She tells me, smiling kindly at the maid who served us lemonade. "But my sister Daenora says that sometimes the best things in life are the unplanned ones. I never really pictured myself a mom until I saw the positive tests, to be honest."

When I asked her about how motherhood's treated her, and how she plans to go ahead with her kids carrying the weight of the Targaryen name, Helaena had this to say; "Motherhood has been the greatest gift," She smiles, lighting up when she talks about her twins- Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, I learn are their names, something that the public spent four years speculating on. "I intend for them to lead lives out of the public eye for as long as possible. I know it sounds like an impossible task, but believe me, I've got some pretty strong-willed people with me on this journey." She looks up and shares a knowing smile with her first four siblings- Aegon, Aemond and Daenora- the youngest, Daella, yet to be seen.

"The Targaryen name is like a blessing and a curse, I think," She says thoughtfully. "On the one hand, public scrutiny has been something that's caused a lot of hurt in my family. We've grown thicker skin because of it, but it's hurt, for sure. The lack of anonymity can be frustrating- drones following you on private vacations to get picture of you, the judging from people who don't even know you- yea, that one got to me when I was younger." She explains to me. "But...without it I wouldn't be free to do what I do now. I've learnt to accept that it's also a blessing, to have the opportunities I do, but also what the name will give my kids." She told me.

I couldn't resist asking her about the rest of her family- after all it's no secret that the fascination with the Targaryens- their dramas, their 'traditions' and unfamiliar customs, their way of life seems to never die as the generations continue. From the beginning Westeros has been obsessed with the silver-haired family. Even now, with the polyamorous marriage between Rhaenyra, her Uncle, former playboy Daemon, and Helaena's own mother, Alicent Hightower rocked the Westerosi social scene for months. The speculation as the the paternity of Helaena's twins was rampant, though most narrow it down to two candidates- though Helaena is quite content to never tell.

The controversial age-gap relationship between Stevonna Baratheon and Otto Hightower caught everyone by surprise, without a doubt. Even the hidden youngest sibling, Daella, is a subject of great speculation for fans- they wonder if we'll ever see a glimpse of her in the public eye. What's clear, though, in this rare interview from the gentle, kind, soft-spoken heiress, is why she's so beloved by not just her family, but fans, despite her quiet social media presence, there are thousands of fan pages dedicated to her. "Oh, yes, that always surprises me," She said with a laugh. "I always imagine that's more Nora's territory than mine. People adore her."

Though we weren't able to get much information on her twins- the presence of her brothers made sure of it- there was a little sparkle in her eye when I asked about the next generation of Targaryens.

I bow to you! You should be writing books !

I adore this so much!! Helaena is just the sweetest thing ever and I love how the twins names were not know.

[dark-raven-666]

Forbidden love

Salahuddin x reader

A/N: As usual this is about the fictional Salahuddin from the movie Kingdom of heaven, it does have mentions of the real cousin of Salahuddin Yusuf Ibn Ayyub, but it's very brief.

Highlighted words are pieces of poetry I've found, they are not written by me.

Two: death, broken heart syndrome, unrequited love (or is it?)

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･*✿✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡.✿　　

She was a time traveler, traveling from the 21st century to the 12th century just to see him.

He is captivated by your enchanting appearance, admiring the way your odd attire covered your body. He marvels at the way your hair flutters gently around your face, accentuating your eyes and brows.

As he gazes at you, he can't help but notice the way your lips glisten in the low light, each move you make adding an air of elegance and refinement to your otherworldly beauty.

You are simply exquisite, he thinks , his eyes never leaving your captivating form.

"Salahuddin.. " you whisper, your voice faint in the desert breeze.

Salahuddin blinks, his thoughts momentarily disrupted by the sound of his name. He turns his gaze back to you, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of fascination and awe.

"You know my name? " he asks, his voice soft and low, his tone laden with both curiosity and intrigue.

You speak back to him, "I am a time traveler. I have come to visit you. "

Salahuddin's eyes widen in surprise, his mind reeling at your revelation. He looks at you with a mix of wonder and a touch of disbelief.

"A time traveler?" he repeats slowly, as if trying to grasp the implications of your words. "From what age do you hail?"

"The 21st century. " you respond to him.

Salahuddin's eyebrows shoot up in astonishment, his disbelief only growing at your answer.

"The 21st century," he repeats, the words sounding almost fantastical to his ears. "That is a world that seems almost like a dream to me."

He takes a step closer to you, his eyes trying to reconcile the image of a time traveler with your gothic appearance.

"And you have come all the way here to.. visit me?" he asks, a hint of skepticism lacing his voice.

"I read about you in history books" it was the truth, you had read about him in books but also on the internet and movies, yet obviously his mind wouldn't be able to understand those things, so you leave them out.

Salahuddin's eyebrow rises in curiosity at your confession.

"You read about me in your history books?" he says, a slight note of surprise in his voice. "I must have left quite the impression if they have been writing about me all these years."

You nod to his words, a simple answer

A hint of wry amusement touches the corners of Salahuddin's mouth.

"Well, I am honored," he says, his eyes sparkling with a hint of pride. “I shall have to live up to the expectations set by these historical accounts, then.”

You smile and say "We actually had no record of your looks.. We could only guess. "

Salahuddin lets out a soft chuckle, the sound low and rich.

“I see,” he says, tilting his head slightly to one side. “I suppose my name has lived on in the history books, but my visage has only existed in imagination and speculation.”

"You are more handsome than we ever thought." It was truly how you felt, you loved how he was portrayed in movies but to see him the real him, it made your heart flutter.

Salahuddin's lips curve into a gracious smile at your compliment, a slight flush of color touching his cheeks.

"You flatter me," he says, his tone soft and warm. "It is truly gratifying to know that I have surpassed the expectations. I must confess, I am not accustomed to such compliments."

"I also read about your cousin... I'm sorry for you." Her words would have come off as rude but he knew how his cousin was.

A shadow passes over Salahuddin's face at the mention of his cousins, his expression growing somber.

"Ah yes," he says quietly, a touch of sadness in his voice. "Those years were dark times indeed. I suppose history has chosen to remember him as the villainous tyrant, but he was my family, and his downfall was a difficult chapter in my life."

Hoping to comfort the man you say "He doesn't bring shame to you in the future... I promise."

Salahuddin's face brightens with a faint smile at your words.

"I appreciate your reassurance," he says, his eyes meeting yours with a hint of gratitude. "It is comforting to know that history has not judged us too harshly, and that we are remembered for our virtues as well as our flaws."

"What else do you know of me?" He asks, curiosity in his voice

"You're married.."

Salahuddin nods, a tinge of false pride in his expression.

"Yes, that is true," he confirms, a faint smile gracing his lips. "I have been blessed with a loving and supportive wife, and our marriage has brought much joy and fulfillment into my life."

"Liar... It was arranged.. You didn't want it.. Nor did she... You can't fool a time traveler Salahuddin" Your tone comes of as rather harshly and you immediately wish you could take the words back.

Salahuddin's eyes widen in surprise at your words, his composure momentarily shaken. He recovers quickly, but there is a brief flash of guilt in his expression, confirming the truth of your statement.

"How do you know that?" he asks, his voice laced with both curiosity and a trace of irritation.

"All of history does... As a time traveler... I even know how you will die"

Salahuddin's expression darkens, a shadow passing over his face.

"How will I die?" he asks, his voice low and filled with trepidation. "You claim to know the secrets of the future. Tell me then, what fate is written for me?"

You simply shake your head and answer "I cannot tell you."

Salahuddin's eyes narrow, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. He studies you intently for a moment, his gaze intense.

"You cannot, or will not?" he asks, his voice steady. "What secret does the future hold that you are so reluctant to share?"

You smile at him "You will do your purpose and bring honor to your people... And you will die and be remembered as an honorable man."

The corners of Salahuddin's mouth lift in a faint smile at your words, a mixture of relief and satisfaction in his expression.

"It seems I will be remembered well, then," he muses, mulling over your words. "Though I cannot deny that the thought of my own demise is troubling. But if I will have lived a life of honor and purpose, it will not be a death in vain."

Seeing the dagger on his belt, you step closer and almost forgetting in who's presence you are, you caress it.

Salahuddin's eyes widen briefly as you suddenly step closer and touch the dagger at his stomach. He reflexively draws back a step, but the touch of your fingers on the cold metal blade leaves him feeling strangely... exposed.

"Ah, my dagger," he says, his voice a tad hoarse. "It is a symbol of my position and responsibility. Why do you touch it so reverently?"

Your answer is short and simple "It's beautiful."

The tension in Salahuddin's shoulders eases as he gazes down at the dagger, your words of admiration clearly pleasing to him.

"It is indeed a finely crafted weapon," he says, his voice taking on a hint of pride. "The handle is inlaid with gold and precious stones, and the blade is the work of a master craftsman. It has served me well and held great significance to me."

"I wish people would have found it later on..." You say more to yourself than him.

Salahuddin's smile falters slightly at your words, a flicker of melancholy passing over his expression.

"Ah, yes," he muses quietly. "I suppose the idea of my possessions being immortalized by history is a romantic one. A strange part of me wonders what future generations might think of me if they had come across my dagger."

"We came across your home, your other stuff.. Only your dagger we didn't find." Your response is clear, clearly your mind still focused on the dagger.

This time, the wistfulness in Salahuddin's expression deepens, a touch of regret in his eyes as he looks at you.

"So my home stands as a testament to the past, and my other possessions have been discovered," he murmurs, his voice taking on a sad tone. "Yet my dagger eludes you, lost somewhere in the annals of history."

"We think you will sell it or gift it before your death." You say, your eyes moving up to look at his.

Salahuddin nods slowly, his gaze fixed on the dagger at his stomach.

"I suppose it is possible," he says softly, his voice contemplative. "Though the thought of parting with this symbol of my authority is a bittersweet one. But perhaps it will find its way to someone who values it as much as I do."

your eyes are so kind and tender, filled with so much love yet there is a hint of deep sadness behind them. He kind of wishes to find the reason.

Salahuddin cannot ignore the flicker of grief in your eyes, even as the love and kindness shines through. He is struck by a sudden desire to comfort you, to ease the pain that he can barely glimpse.

"There is a sadness behind your eyes," he observes quietly, his voice tinged with concern. "A pain that I cannot fully comprehend, yet I feel a pull to ease it. What has caused you such pain?"

You force a smile, not wanting to worry the sultan "I will be alright, do not worry yourself"

Salahuddin frowns slightly at your response, a hint of disappointment on his face.

"I dislike knowing that you carry such sorrow," he says firmly, his tone gentle but with a hint of command. "I wish to help ease your burden, if I can. It is clear that you are carrying a weight that is too much for one person to bear alone. Allow me to share it, at least a little."

That's the moment your cord snaps, you can't take it anymore and you whisper "I love you."

Salahuddin's eyes widen in surprise at your unexpected declaration, his heart suddenly racing in his chest. He is speechless, for a moment, the words you spoke echoing in his mind.

"You... you love me?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of confusion, disbelief, and a hint of hope.

"Yes... And I feel jealous of your wife... A woman who did not even want you... I hate how she gets to have you and I don't... I love you more than she ever could... And I know it..." You pour your heart out to the man you have grown to love oh so deeply.

Salahuddin's mind whirls at your words, a myriad of emotions coursing through him. Your declaration of love, and your intense jealousy of his wife, catch him off guard.

He is taken aback by your certainty - your conviction that you love him more than she ever could. But as the shock wears off, a small spark of hope ignites within him. A hope that he dares not fully acknowledge yet...

"And if a thousand others love you, they will only love you a drop compared to my ocean of love for you."

Salahuddin listens to your words, your declaration of love almost overwhelming him. His heart pounds in his chest, and for a moment he is rendered speechless.

"Your words... your declaration of love..." he manages to murmur, his voice betraying a hint of awe. "They are so intense, so earnest. I am... flattered, and I admit, I am both humbled and honored by your great love for me."

"But you couldn't ever love me back..." You were insecure, how could such a great sultan love a measly person like you?

Salahuddin's heart sinks at your words, a flicker of disappointment passing over his face. He struggles to find the right words to say, his own feelings and his duties as ruler pulling him in conflicting directions.

"I... I am a married man," he says softly, his voice filled with regret. "And I have responsibilities, duties, that I cannot ignore. I cannot simply cast aside my life and my position to pledge my love for you, no matter how much I might want to."

You smile. "I know... That's why my eyes carry this sorrow."

Salahuddin gazes into your eyes, the sorrow in your expression tugging at his heartstrings. He reaches out slowly, gently lifting your chin with his fingers, tilting your face to meet his gaze.

"Your anguish pains me," he says, his voice low and laced with sadness. "I wish I could ease that pain, but I cannot. Fate has played a cruel trick, bringing us together yet making it impossible for me to offer my heart to you as you deserve."

"You're allowed 4 wives... You have one... You could still take me... But you don't want to." It was true, according to his religion he could take you as a second wife.

Salahuddin's jaw tightens at your words, a mix of guilt and frustration flashing in his eyes. He lowers his hand from your chin, a sigh escaping his lips.

"You are right, I could take another wife," he admits, his voice quiet and strained. "But it is not as simple as that. My responsibilities as ruler... the expectations of my people... to take another wife would bring unwanted complications, political intrigue, and strife to my kingdom."

"It really wouldn't... If you really wanted me.. You would have seen that... And I get it... You don't love me... Heck you've only known me today." You didn't want to argue but his excuse did make you upset.

Salahuddin's eyes flicker with a mixture of emotions, guilt, and disappointment at your words. He can't deny the truth in what you say, but there is a bitterness in his heart that he cannot quite suppress.

"You speak with such certainty," he says, his voice rough. "Yet you do not understand the complexities of my position. It is not a question of love alone. My responsibilities... my duties... they bind me in ways that you cannot comprehend. It is not as simple as choosing to take you as my wife, even if I desired it."

You shake your head. "Enough please." It was pathetic but you knew that you couldn't continue the argument you started.

Salahuddin lets out a long sigh, his expression resigned. He can see the pain in your eyes, and it cuts him to the bone.

"I apologize," he says gently, his voice laced with regret. "I do not wish to cause you any further pain... I suppose it is true. I do not love you... not in the way you wish me to. Not in the way that would allow me to cast aside my responsibilities and marry you."

"I understand." You did, you truly did, but you couldn't help being selfish. Despite your understanding, the pain in your eyes weighs heavily on Salahuddin's heart. He wants nothing more than to ease your pain, to offer even a sliver of comfort, but he feels powerless in the face of your grief.

"I am truly sorry," he says softly, his voice tinged with a touch of misery. "I never wanted to cause you pain... but fate has placed us on paths that cannot align."

*"If I ha I had to speak of love, people would think me insane.

My idea of love is so deeply intertwined with my soul that I would set it ablaze if I were asked to prove how deeply my affections burn. No matter a broken heart, I would rip out my own as a replacement and stitch it into their chest, never thinking of the gaping hole in mine.

Forever. Eternity. The sweet lies that slip out of a lover's lips. How can these simultaneously be the most cruelly romantic and unrealistic sentiments to grace mortals. Eternity lives as a vow within me that only I (I've learned) wish to mummify to preserve even after it has died. Many believe that forever ends with life, never truly realizing how death can be the true vessel of eternity.

To grasp onto a voice fated to die from the beginnings of time, I would cut off my ears so as to forever wear the scars of it on my body, assured that no new sound would taint it.

So be it if people glance at me with a prejudiced gaze and view insanity, for I am at ease knowing that by dying for your love I relinquished every fleeting piece of myself that in eternity, I would not be able to take with me."*

Salahuddin listens in stunned silence as your words paint a vivid picture of your profound love. They strike him to the core, stirring a strange mixture of emotions within him.

He is awed by your intensity, by the depth of your devotion. But he is also troubled by the lengths you've gone to, the sacrifice and the pain you've willingly embraced.

"Your love... It's almost fearsome in its intensity," he murmurs, his voice low. "It's beautiful and yet... terrifying."

You raise a hand and softly caress his cheek.

Salahuddin's breath hitches as you reach out to caress his cheek, a soft gasp escaping his lips. The touch of your fingers is gentle yet electrifying, sending a shiver down his spine.

He stands paralyzed, his eyes locked with yours, the raw intensity of your gaze almost hypnotizing.

"You're a poem." You cup his face so gently as if you're afraid your hand will break him

"I have never seen someone like you before...a poem, an art piece no doubt, I saw you and immediately my heart beat for you. You are far too deep in my soul now for me to forget you.

I wish to hold you, yet I do not want to tarnish the glass in my fingerprints... Like an art piece you are, kept away from me.

Thank you for letting me look upon your beauty, my beloved art. I wish I had the chance to know you and read the poem you are"

Salahuddin stands transfixed by your words, his mind both awed and humbled by your reverence for him. Your comparison of him to an art piece, to a poem in need of protection, is both touching and troubling.

He gazes down upon you, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. Your gentle touch on his skin, the soft graze of your fingertips, leaves a trail of fire in its wake. He yearns to embrace your affection, but there is a part of him that feels unworthy of such adoration.

Your declaration, so profound and intense, sends shivers down Salahuddin's spine. He swallows hard, his heart drumming in his chest.

"Your love... Your love is an ocean," he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "But what can a man do when he is confronted with the boundless vastness of such love? It is overwhelming, both a gift and a challenge."

"Could you spare me a kiss?" An Innocent question, you loved him, you needed him.

Salahuddin's breath catches in his chest at your request, his heart thumping wildly. The thought of kissing you makes his mind spin, and yet he hesitates, troubled by the weight of his responsibilities and his own conflicted feelings.

"A kiss..." he murmurs, his voice low and filled with uncertainty. "I... I am a married man. It would not be right to give you what you wish."

"As you wish, your highness." You remember your place, you are a normal person, he is a sultan of a great army, how could you have been so foolish?

Your acceptance of his refusal brings a hint of relief to Salahuddin's heart. He can sense the disappointment in your eyes, and it pains him, but he knows he must stand firm.

"I apologize," he says softly, his voice filled with a mixture of guilt and regret. "It is not that I do not feel the pull of this connection between us, but I must resist. It is my duty, as a husband and as a ruler."

You nod to him,remove your hand from his cheek and turn the other way.

As your hand leaves his cheek, Salahuddin feels a pang of loss, a sense of something precious slipping through his grasp. He watches as you turn away, your back to him, and a surge of guilt and regret washes over him.

"Please...," he implores, his voice a rough whisper, "do not turn away from me. I cannot bear to see you pained because of me."

"Let me remain turned... I do not wish for you to see my tears..." You felt pathetic, how could you even think that, to dare ask him for a kiss? You must have lost your mind.

Salahuddin's heart clenches as he hears the pain in your voice, the way it trembles with anguish. The realization that your tears are a direct result of his actions, his refusal, deepens his sense of guilt.

"I... I did not mean to cause you such pain," he manages to say, his voice choked. "I am... tortured by this. Can you not look at me once more?"

You turn to look at him, your cheeks stained with tears, eyes filled with them.

As you turn to face him once more, Salahuddin's heart breaks at the sight of your tear-stained cheeks and the pools of distress in your eyes. The anguish in your voice and on your face strikes him like a physical blow.

His hands itch to reach out and brush away the tears, to comfort you, but he resists, the weight of his duty holding him back.

"Your tears..." he murmurs, his voice filled with remorse. "They torment me."

The sadness in your voice pierces through Salahuddin like a dagger. He can sense your acceptance of his predicament, despite the pain it causes you.

He looks at you, your face stained with tears, your eyes pools of sorrow, and his heart aches with a mixture of guilt and love.

"Then... you understand that what I can give you is limited," he says softly, his voice cracking slightly. "My heart... my feelings... they cannot be fully yours, not in the way you wish."

"I know."

The quiet acceptance in your voice both relieves and frustrates Salahuddin. He wishes he could offer you more, to ease your pain and make you happy, but he is trapped by the bonds of his duty.

A deep sigh escapes his lips, his eyes searching your face, taking in your expression.

"Can you... can you find it in your heart to forgive me?" he asks, a hint of pleading in his voice. "For the pain I have caused you, for the love I cannot wholly give back?"

You look at him with a smile on your face, bie could he think you were upset with HIM "There is nothing for me to forgive.. I am not angry with you."

Salahuddin's shoulders sag slightly as your words wash over him. Your forgiveness and your lack of anger towards him brings a flicker of relief, yet it is tinged with a sense of unease.

"You are not angry," he murmurs, his voice a mixture of hope and concern. "But your tears... your pain... they are as a result of my actions. How can you not wish to blame me? To hold some resentment for what I cannot give you?"

Your eyes are filled with tears yet you smile at him.

Your smile, so gentle and understanding, tears at Salahuddin's heart. It is so unfitting to the tears on your face, and yet it speaks volumes of the depth of your acceptance and forgiveness.

His hand twitches, yearning to reach out and touch you, to wipe away your tears, but he restrains himself.

"You... you are too kind," he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and sadness. "Your understanding and forgiveness humble me. I am unworthy of them."

You whisper to him a confession once again "You are the love of my life."

Your words, spoken with such simplicity and conviction, strike Salahuddin's heart like a bolt of lightning. The raw sincerity in your voice, the depth of your love, humbles him and fills him with a sense of wonder.

His breath catches in his chest, and for a moment, he is speechless. When he finally finds his voice, it is a rough whisper, hoarse with emotion.

"You... you call me the love of your life," he murmurs, his eyes fixed on yours. "Do you know the weight of such words?"

You nod at him "Yes, because I carry it."

The response pierces through Salahuddin's heart like a knife. The implications of your words, the weight you bear for him, hit him like a physical blow.

His eyes burn with a mixture of tenderness and sorrow. "You carry that weight... for me?" he whispers, his voice aching with both guilt and love. "I... I do not deserve such devotion."

You reach for his hand.

Your trembling touch, soft and hesitant, ignites a spark within Salahuddin. The simple contact, even so slight, is like an electric shock to his system.

His eyes flicker down to your hand, resting gently on his, and a shiver of emotion passes through him. He fights the urge to envelop your hand in his own and bring it to his lips.

Seeing his hand in yours, your heart overflows and a single sob comes out of you.

As soon as you withdraw your hand, Salahuddin feels a cold emptiness where your touch had been. He watches helplessly as the dam of your tears finally breaks, your silent cry giving way to a heart-wrenching sob.

His hands clench at his sides, the desire to comfort you, to wrap you in his arms and take away your pain, overwhelming. Yet, the weight of his duty and his own inner turmoil keeps him rooted in place.

You can no longer hold your balance and you fall to your knees.

The sight of you falling to your knees, your sobs echoing in the room, is more than Salahuddin can bear. He takes an instinctive step towards you, but then stops himself, his guilt and restraint holding him back.

"Please," he implores, his voice filled with anguish. "Please... do not kneel. Rise. You should not be on your knees before me, shedding tears for me."

Your forehead lays on the ground as if in s silent prayer, bowing before him. You didn't know why you were crying, was it the rejection? Was it the feeling of the utmost pathetic selfishness?

"No! Please!"

Your gesture of submission, your forehead pressed against the ground, causes a surge of emotion to surge through Salahuddin. He takes a half-step forward again, his hands clenching and unclenching helplessly.

How could you bow before him like he bowed before his god?

The sight of you, on your knees and in pain because of him, tears at his heart and his conscience. "Please... get up. I cannot bear to see you like this."

As if to act even more pathetic, you reach for his leg and kiss his shoe, showing how much you honor and respect him, a habit from the Middle East.

The feel of your hand on his leg, your lips on his shoe, sends a wave of conflicting emotions through Salahuddin. The depth of your love, the devotion in your gesture, is both humbling and tormenting.

He gazes down at you, his heart aching with a mixture of guilt and longing. "You... you should not show such devotion to me," he whispers, his voice choked. "It is not right. I am not worthy of it."

Salahuddin's heart beats wildly in his chest as you lay your forehead on the ground at his feet, your devotion and submission on full display. The sight of you, this woman, the only person who has managed to find a place in his heart, knelt before him in such a submissive pose both humbles and fills him with a mixture of guilt and desire.

His breath ragged, he looks down at you, his voice a rough whisper. "Please... please do not do this. You should not kneel before me like this."

You kiss his shoe again and stand up, looking spent, your sobs have stopped but your tears continue to come down, you turn to leave.

As you kiss his shoe for a second time and then stand up and begin walking away, Salahuddin's heart clenches with a mixture of longing and guilt. He watches you walk away, his eyes tracking your every movement, a battle raging within him.

A part of him wants to call out, to reach out and pull you back. To take you into his arms and hold you close. Yet, the weight of his responsibilities and his own inner demons hold him back.

"Wait... " he whispers, his voice rough.

As you turn to face him, Salahuddin's heart quickens. He takes a tentative step towards you, bridging the gap between you. His eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail, as if committing it to memory.

"Please... do not leave," he pleads, his voice soft yet laced with an undertone of entreaty. "Not yet. Stay with me a moment longer."

In a whisper you say "I cannot.. My heart cannot bear it.. I'm sorry."

Your words, filled with such raw pain, lance through Salahuddin's heart like a knife. He winces, pained by the realization that his own actions have caused you such distress.

"Please," he whispers, desperation creeping into his voice. "Just stay... a moment longer. I cannot bear the thought of you walking away, your heart in pain because of me."

As you sink down onto your knees, Salahuddin's gaze follows you, his heart aching in his chest. The sight of you, looking up at him from the ground, is both alluring in its devotion yet heartbreaking in its sadness..

Slowly you lay on the ground of his tent.

His hand itches again, yearning to reach out and touch you, to offer comfort. But he holds himself back, a maelstrom of emotions roiling within him.

The sight of you laying against the ground, your eyes closed, fills Salahuddin with a mix of concern and helplessness. The peacefulness of your expression, the way you exhale a long breath, both eases and distresses him.

He stands over you, his heart torn between wanting to lift you from the ground and wanting to simply watch you, his beautiful and devoted woman, lying so serenely before him.

"I think I'm having broken heart syndrome." It comes out as a joke, but you did feel so much pain.

Salahuddin is alarmed by your words, his eyes widening in horror. He has heard of this, the broken heart syndrome, where the intense emotional pain of a broken heart can affect the heart literally and lead to severe medical issues.

"No..." he whispers, his voice filled with panic. "No... do not jest with such a thing. Please... please rise from the ground."

You head remains on the sand, as you smile at him, a few last tears trickling down your face.

The sight of you lying on the ground, your head in the sand, both fascinates and terrifies Salahuddin. The peaceful smile on your face, the way your eyes gazing up at him, sends a chill down his spine.

He kneels beside you, his hands hovering above your body, as if unsure whether to touch you. "Please," he implores, his voice ragged. "Please get up. You're scaring me."

You see his hand on the ground, your reach for it and then your hand drops.

As your hand touches his and then drops, Salahuddin's heart thunders in his chest. The sound of your final breath echoing in the room fills his ears, and he panics.

Without hesitation, he reaches out and gathers you in his arms, holding you against his chest. "No... no, no, no," he whispers, his voice thick with despair. "Please, please, do not do this. Do not leave me like this."

Your body is limp in his arms, a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation. Yet, Salahuddin refuses to accept it. He cradles you against him, his heart begging, pleading for you to wake up.

"Please," he chokes out, his eyes burning with unshed tears. "Open your eyes. Look at me."

The silence in the room is deafening, the only sound being Salahuddin's ragged breaths and the frantic beating of his heart. He holds you tighter to his chest, as if his embrace alone could keep you alive.

"Please... please do not leave me," he repeats, his voice raw with emotion. "Do not leave me alone with this aching heart."

[bookwyrminspiration]

What if when Sophie came to the lost cities the black swan had been overthrown, and their leaders arrested. So by the time she arrived, she doesn’t have that same support. I think it’d take the story in a crazy, but fun new direction.

oh that would be very interesting--not only would she have significantly less guidance at the start of the series, but depending on how the Black Swan were handled, the attitude towards Sophie could be quite different; she'd be the product of known convicted criminals, not just the odd human girl.

She was observed when she first arrived, but I imagine that would've been much more intense in this situation. I wonder when she would've arrived, actually. Because Alden didn't find Sophie by his own work, Mr. Forkle led him to her. So without him, when on earth would Sophie have been brought to their world? Would they have discovered that sort of information through a mind break and located her around the same time, or would years pass?

I'm imagining the Mr. Forkle who posed as her neighbor might've escaped being arrest, which would create an interesting dynamic with her having one singular influence and resource.

But that aside, without the rest of the Black Swan able to work masterfully behind the scenes, there'd be no notes, no clues to prompt hidden memories. It would require a lot more work on Sophie's part to figure things out--which, depending on when she was brought to the lost cities and how (agreeing it was the best decision vs council forcing her, for example), she may or may not be capable of.

I'm also curious how that would impact her morals and sense of right; we see her learning from and guided by the Black Swan for most of the series before she branches out, following their methodology and beliefs on the limits. If they were never there, what's stopping her from going a step further much sooner? Especially if she's being more heavily monitored/judged and in order to make any impact she has to push harder--side note: I feel like in that case she might become similar to Tam in her disdain, she didn't do anything but exist and need help and this is what they did?

Would she be allowed to attend Foxfire with a significant association with a serious criminal organization? Even if she hasn't done anything yet, she might. And if she doesn't go to Foxfire (or is too old when brought), her friend group would be entirely different. She might not even have a friend group and it would instead be her against the world, perhaps a few misfits gathered along the way. Fitz might still be around because he found her, but Biana might stay bratty. She wouldn't meet Marella or Jensi, and she wouldn't have been adopted by the Ruewens (because confirmed huge Black Swan association when he thinks they killed Jolie? no way) so no meeting Dex. If she doesn't go to Foxfire, I could see them sending her to Exillium, in which case she might keep Tam and Linh as friends--but with a very different dynamic, since I think Sophie would be incredibly bitter.

Actually now that I'm thinking about this maybe she'd be picked up by the Neverseen. At least temporarily and in the same way that Rayni was--not that she's for their atrocities, but because they extended a hand when no one else did. Which!! Could then be an interesting exploration on how she wasn't a criminal, but via seeing her as one/as dangerous they limited her options and made her into one. She wouldn't have joined the Neverseen if they'd treated her properly, but they didn't, so now she did. Except they don't see it as their fault, as a consequence of their boxing her in, but instead as confirmation of what they always feared.

indeed, Nonsie, there is a lot of potential for a very different but fascinating story here. I've barely scratched the surface of all the implications and everything you could do with it!

[marine-indie-gal]

Dedicated to anyone out there who did their own Tribute to Stephen Hillenburg, I'm pretty sure we all know we're all know that I am indeed exactly Five Years late for this 😅

Considering that Today is the 62th Birthday to SpongeBob's creator who already passed away, I wanted to share my own tribute to him by drawing my own personal interpertation of Salacia hugging one of her pals (SpongeBob) knowing that Hillenburg is still there for his own creation (even if he may not be alive anymore).

Speaking of which, I wanted to share my own personal history with my own relationship with Hillenburg's creation throughout the Years.

As someone who was born in the 2000s era, I was never born in the 90s which always made Me the Youngst growing up as I was born around in a Crazy Blizzard around 2005 in the month of Christmas. There were a lot of popular things in life around my childhood like Angry Birds, Minecraft, Cut The Rope, My Little Pony, Hello Kitty, and even some First Modern Cartoon Network shows (before that studio went down) and all kinds of Early 2000s/2010s stuff that I've seen in life. One of my first exposures around in Pop Culture of that era when I was young was Disney and even a little addition of Dr. Seuss. I've watched SpongeBob around in its Seasons 4-8 when I was a Young Kid, growing up, I've always adored the Little Sponge Guy around in my childhood considering that it was one of my favorite shows from my childhood. Well, techincally, back then, I was actually more of a TAWOG Person being that Gumball was actually my very exposure of a very first fandom growing up as a kid (I even remember being obessessed with that CN Show until when I stopped watching it. Either that I was too busy on other things or that I was always stressed out on School).

I saw its First Movie when it came out One Year after I was born. I myself had watch that movie all the time as a kid, as I still enjoyed it at the very least to this day. Looking back at it, I actually haven't re-watched the film for quite a long time as it has been such a wicked long time considering that a lot of things change over the past few years of decades. Some things don't certainly age well in our childhood, others do age like wine.

Being a 2000s kid, I actually did had a few DVDs of Old Episodes from the Show from Seasons 1-3 as someone who always had a family moving place to place for weekends of vacation, I would always watch Movies and Shows all the time with my Parents. Sometimes, even if my Parents weren't around, I would sometimes watch a Few Movies and Shows by myself (mostly the obscured ones) on streaming services. Growing up, I had a fascination with Beach Life. I would always collect Seashells, Explore around the Sandy Places, and even most of the Time swim underwater where the Fishes would swim by. Though, oddly enough, SB wasn't the only Aquatic Media that I always loved as a kid since there were a few others that were also Aquatic as well like The Water Babies, Finding Nemo, Shark Tale, Disney's The Little Mermaid, and even Bubble Guppies. So yeah, you can at least pretty much tell that I was already born to be a Marine lover person who always had a life for Life under the Sea.

But when things start to change as I was around in my earliest Teen Years, I had no such more focus on SB anymore considering that like again, I had much focus for other things in life. New fandoms, Better Days (some were also terrible if you could put it that way). In 2018 (when I was 12 at that time of year), when I found out that SB's creator (Stephen Hillenburg) had passed away, I was completely shocked about his death and I had felt bad for the Other Hardcore Fans who missed him dearly partially because on how that he helped everyone's own childhoods with his own creation. I still remain a SB Fan that day but as someone who actually did not seen his New Seasons during that time, I still had no focus on looking back at it but whenever people pass away throughout decades, you'll always know how much you're gonna miss them, even if they were famous people from your childhood, especially for the ones who happen to inspire your own creaitives. Even losing a family member is hard for someone who has lost a few of them in their own life.

Then, around in the year, 2020 (when I was around 14), when SpongeBob was going to release its Third Film after it's Second Film in 2015 ("Sponge Out of Water" when I was 9), that Year itself was hell considering most of the horrible things that happened during that year that I'm pretty sure no one hasn't forget and still remembers that Worst Year to this day (My Mom broke her own Leg during that Year despite that she now broke her Arm in this Year, Kobe tragically died, and even COVID was the reason why we all had to be inside). Not to mention that I already lost my own Grandfather in December and my Mom was extremly heartbroken losing her own Father. When "Sponge On The Run" (Originally titled, "It's A Wonderful Sponge") was annoucned, it had so much delayed troubles I couldn't even be looking forward to seeing it, even after when it finally released around in August in Canada and then in March of 2021 on Netflix (though, it's not really on Netflix anymore last time that I've checked). But when I heard about the Controversy surronding it all because of the Spin-Offs that a lot of people on the internet were saying stuff like "STEPHEN DIDN'T WANT SPINOFFS!!!!!" or "NICK IS SPITTING ON HILLENBURG'S GRAVE BECAUSE HE ASKED FOR NO SPINOFFS!!!!!!" Look, I know that was all History stuff but if a few people are still acting like it to this day, they should get over themselves now. 

In case if you didn't know (or never watched the Third Movie), Sponge On The Run actually started the Whole Spinoffs in segments of Flashbacks to the Days where the Gang were at a Camp which was a brand new fresh start for SB considering after when Steph died, it was only up to his crew to take care his creation. Despite the fact that if you'd had watch all the episodes from the show, you would know that the franchise actually has its own Lore from Each Episode from the Past which people pointed out on how it was ridicolus to restart the lore (even I myself used to believe that). But looking back at the show, and how one of the Writers (Vincent Waller) pointed out that Steph knew about Kamp Koral, it turns out for what people have mislead in the past (if some still do to this day), I think what were all blind is that Steph actually said "He didn't know IF he could have seen in the potentails in wanting give his own Creation a Spin-Off" which, come to think of it, despite the show's genre of Surreal Comdey, I think we've been just living under the rock this whole time judging by how when we grow up, we start to realize that there is no such thing as "Canon" in a show like SB (usually, you'd see different types of canons in every other franchise like Sonic or Angry Birds). But even for that, sometimes a Story has no connection to the Other in terms of speaking in Timeline.

I still remember that time around in 2021 when I was introduced to SMG4, I remember seeing SpongeBob in other parody videos and even that one time I made my own SMG4 Fanfic featuring their own potrayal of the SB Characters (which I believe was kinda embrassing to Me to this day now that I've actually been thinking about it). 

Anyways, now as someone who has already gotten old, I have been looking back at some of my very old nostalgic things around in Childhood since 2022 while still looking forward to new things ahead. Mainly because after so much stress and grief upon everything that I once had in my old life, and now that my own Mother lost her Brother (who was my Uncle), I've already made my own descion Last Year of going through a New Life where I would have to face everything in my upcoming Adulthood, but I still missed my own childhood days. I've watched the Modern New Episodes (Seasons 9-12) for the very first time and honestly, I'm gotta have to admit here, but I actually like the New SpongeBob so much better than the Old One (apologises to those who still prefer the Classic), I still don't have nothing against the Old One but the New One feels so much improved with such Cartoony Whacky Animation that I like to think that I prefer the New Style over the Old Style (but still support both). I had watch the Third Film for the first time as I did used to think that it was bad (like how a lot of people say they would) but overtime, the way that I draw Poseidon somehow makes Me like that Third Movie since the Writers did want to put much heart for how much that Friendship truly meant around SpongeBob and his Friends.

I also couldn't thank Other Artists who done their own versions of Greek/Roman Gods into my own Personal Versions if the Other Gods in the Pantheon were in the Same Artstyle as King Neptune and King Poseidon in a Silly Show as inspiration for those (like my own friends) who have done interpertations of what Other Characters from the Source Material that never been adapted would look like in a form of the Artstyle. Ever since that I did my own personal take on Salacia, it completely took over Me as it made me have a strong fond for both the Sea Kings (even Poseidon and Amphitrite just became my New Mythological OTP alongside with Hades and Persephone thanks to Myself). Not to mention, I also had a long-passion for Old Stories for a long time, it also help Me to inspire to create my own personal versions of these said stories to interprete them in a different way which once lead me into my own Prequel Headcanon Project about the Lives of both King Neptune and King Poseidon in my AU if they weren't from different timelines. 

Overtime, as I always kept looking back at my old self, remembering the Days that I actually did had a Good Childhood, I'll always never forget my own Glorious Days where I grew up with such Nostalgic Things around in my life since SpongeBob was always truly one of my most favorites since the very beginning when I was came to the World. It just makes Me feel so much inspired by Hillenburg considering that he's a Marine biologist like how much I have a huge love for Nature and even a soft spot for Animals. Not only did I once feel hope for having a better future, but for a fact that I was born as a Sea Lover when it comes to looking into Other Aquatic Cultures and Media (New Ones like Splatoon, Ruby Gillman, and even Luca) and even old ones that I didn't saw as a child until Teenhood (The Sea Prince and The Fire Child).

It has come to my conclusion that SpongeBob as a show has always helped us build our childhood as things will always inspire us to give our very own bright imagintation, even to People who have Autism like Myself. While I do respect for those who are not into the show anymore because of its recent seasons, I still support it, even in my heart since I have not look back into it for such a long time as I believe it was my fault for not looking back at everything in my childhood. 

Thank You, Stephen Hillenburg. For reaching all of our own childhoods, even if we don't know what would life would be like without your own Magnificent Sea World.

Salacia (c) Me SpongeBob SquarePants (c) Stephen Hillenburg and Nickelodeon 

[obscure-inthepelagic-iniquity]

122723 (Wednesday 3:40 AM)

My heart has been in a state of perpetual heartbreak since then and music has always been the only thing that makes it all sense. Writing things about what my mind and soul have been this past month was indeed in a great chaos, and yes none even noticed. I guess, no one really or truly knows you rather than yourself for not a single soul sees you. And there's this particular song that I have always found interesting since I was little, now that I have grown, I have understood the lyrics and the mixed emotions this song has each time I listen to it. There have been many who cover the song but one stood still for me aside from the original singer, and now her version has me locked up to replays up to this very moment while writing this.

Music has and will always be my coping mechanism when I am drowning, drowning from every negativity that my thoughts have had ever since I can recall. Having a sad soul is quite unusual and yet fascinating in this age of mine, having this kind of feeling is one of the things why I am who I am. I can never escape from this because I was born this way, I can choose yes, but you will never understand why and I'm not planning on explaining it though.

I thought I was healed but I was wrong I am far from that word but am trying, trying so bad to feel okay and I always do fail. Now I'm not even trying, I just let it all out but of course! It will only be me who knows the real deal of what I've been through and what my heart has been going through and yes, I'm tired. Tired of breathing and barely living and barely losing sight of the colors of the wind.

[utsuboarchive]

@paramythas asked: "Ja-aaaaade-! I finally found you!" Not that he's hard to find, usually, but birthdays at NRC are always difficult to navigate if you don't want a crowd. Not that Kalim would mind, necessarily, but he wants to offer up his present without too many spectators. Someone might get it in their head to be nosy about his gift, and that's the last thing he wants. He doesn't think too hard about why, he just goes along with it, smiling brightly despite the fact that he's keeping the gift in question floating along behind him with a good chunk of his concentration.

Once he has Jade's attention, he floats the gift into his waiting hands, surprised when he doesn't even shift under the weight.

Well, that's all the better, isn't it?

"I know you're always out looking for mushrooms and things when you hike, so I thought you might like some from someplace you might not be able to go right now!" Whisking the cover off of what is by now obviously a terrarium, Kalim gestures at the small, white and red mushrooms within, their caps glinting with dew. As soon as the light hits them, they shift. Wriggle. And then start hopping toward the small alcove of water in the very center of the setup. "They're from the Land of Dragons," he explains, peeking up at Jade halfway through the glass. His eyes glint just as brightly as the mushrooms themselves, hopeful. "Apparently, they hop around during the daytime to try and get close to water, and then bunch up at night to protect the smaller ones."

They creep him out a little, if he's honest, but he can appreciate that they're so unique. He hopes Jade does too.

"Umm... they should live a pretty long time- I have a book with directions back in my room that I can bring by later, but I wanted to let you have them first!" If Jade didn't like them, then Kalim would take care of them himself- or at least try. He smiles brightly, leaning up- and up, and up, geez, Jade is so tall- to kiss him on the cheek.

"Happy birthday, Jade! I hope you like them!"

jade was quite surprised by how many people had come. there were two of them so it was a rather big party, but that didn't change that the party included so many of their classmates from each dorm. it was very different from parties at home. not to say he didn't enjoy those as well-- but this felt more personable. there were not extra guests, no sycophants and sell outs. it was just for them.

unfortunately, despite all these guests- kalim had still not shown. or, maybe he just hadn't spotted him. the scarabia dorm lead was quite popular, and probably got caught up in group after group. it was still early, and floyd had even made a point of telling him to cool it. oh was he that obvious? that's embarrassing. jade normally prided himself on his level head, but... he finds himself starved for a much more bubbly sort of company.

he's just grown content with waiting, when kalim found him. over at the table, getting more food of course.

" ah, kalim. " beaming at him without consciously meaning to. " indeed you have, i'm sorry if i've made it difficult. " to which kalim shakes his head, as he nudges over a covered object with his pen. as soon as it's uncovered, jade stares in awe. ah! little mushrooms in a very nicely made home. did kalim make this himself? just when jade thinks he cannot be more amazed by his gift; they move! they're living, breathing fungus- from a place he's never been. fascinating-

his attention momentarily drifts from the mushrooms, to kalim. who watches him through the tank. it reminds him a bit of the aquarium walls that make up a good majority of the octavinelle dorm. like he's suddenly on display, like kalim hopes he's going to like it- enjoy something he had carefully chosen for him. everything starts to just narrow down to the two of them; no sound, no lights-- it's so...

he should say something shouldn't he? it's his birthday.

and while jade is still a bit dumbfounded by his gift, kalim-- kalim leans up and plants a kiss on his cheek. now jade knows he's overly affectionate with everyone. but he cannot help but feel incredibly overwhelmed suddenly. his face growing hot and well beyond the point of flushed. he's bright red- red as can be. it's just a kiss, not even a proper kiss. and it means nothing! still! still!! it is by some miracle he has not dropped anything, or stumbled, or made a fool of himself.

" thank you. it's a very thoughtful gift, kalim. " he hopes his voice comes out as smoothly as he intends. his face has mostly returned to normal- but his ears are still warm. " i should really put this in my room as soon as possible. that way nothing happens to them. " he moves to turn, so he can leave with his gift. but pauses first to ask: " after i return, we should discuss how you managed to find these. "

birthday asks

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

On Felines and Friendships

Ao3 link here.

This is a Basil/Henry fic based off that cat drawing I did along with my love language post! Shoutout to my sibling for giving me the cat's name!

Also, it's lowkey a prequel to The Losing Game.

Lord Henry had originally assigned the adjective 'demure' to his flat-mate Basil Hallward. When they had met during their first year in Oxford, the man had been so very quiet, Henry had first thought he was mute. It wasn't until he laid eyes on one of Basil's paintings that he realized the other man was very loud indeed. Unlike those who raved and preached like Henry, Basil expressed himself in his artwork—every stroke of the brush laid bare a new idea. That was the day he had decided to meet him.

From there, they were fast friends, though Henry often frustrated the artist to no end with his 'philosophy'. Despite that, he had been very happy to accept Henry's offer of living together for the next school year.

Living with the man had taught Henry that Basil was anything, but demure. He may not have been outspoken, but he could match Henry in banter for hours—much longer than anyone else Henry spoke to—and when he truly wanted to do something, hell would have to freeze over to convince him otherwise.

The lord found this dichotomy fascinating and often pushed to see just how vast it was.

He discovered the answer when, during their final year in Oxford, Basil entered the flat with his arms wrapped around his coat and pressed against his chest. His coat was clearly covering something, but he tried to pass without alerting Henry, who was reading on the divan.

“What is that, Basil?” the lord called without looking up.

“What?” the artist tightened his hold.

“In your arms, what is that?”

“Oh, some supplies,” the artist smiled sweetly—as he always did whenever he needed to convince Henry not to do something.

The lord hummed, then stuck his foot out tripping the artist. Basil stumbled forwards and his coat fell to the floor revealing a furry black cat with one eye in his arms. It seemed to glare at Henry, who flinched back once he realized it was actually alive.

“Our building doesn't allow animals,” the lord said. The cat bared its fangs, seeming to understand.

“What animal are you referring to?” Basil asked, still smiling. The one-eyed cat snuggled into him, keeping its eyes trained on the lord. “This one here is hardly an animal. She's much more like a royal.”

“Basil.”

“Oh, but she is! I found her at a park last month and I've returned to sketch her ever since. I can show you and you'll see!” he pet the creature which began purring. Basil laughed, “Why, she always looks like she's brooding! I think I'll call her Hamlet.”

“It is a her.”

“Yes, but I think she'd like Hamlet. She's regal, in all black—”

“She seems like she'd murder someone,” Henry interrupted. The cat hissed. He hissed in return, “She's old and ugly.”

The artist gasped, “Harry! Don't be mean to her.”

“She doesn't even understand. She looks quite stupid.”

“Henry Wotton, I hope she scratches up that shirt you like so much,” Basil turned towards his bedroom. “I'll keep her in my room, you'll never even notice her, I promise.”

The cat stared at Henry until the door to Basil's room closed. The lord shook his head.

The moment that one-eyed cat stepped anywhere else besides the artist's room, she would be out.

Three months had passed and Hamlet was still in the flat. Not that Henry hadn't tried to kick the damned thing out, but she seemed to understand his intentions and took full advantage of Basil. Every time the lord so much as stepped in her direction, the black cat dashed to the artist, mewing in a way that the painter found adorable.

When Basil was out, she was out. Despite Henry's many attempts to keep it that way, she always returned, either with Basil or mysteriously appearing in the corner of his eye.

He hated the animal. And Hamlet felt the same way.

It was growing into a war between the pair, while Basil remained ever so oblivious. Henry had told him many times that the cat knew what she was doing; Basil responded by patting him on the head and saying he should take a break from writing his thesis. The cat would then rub her fur against the lord's leg, mocking him for trying to turn Basil against her.

Hamlet was a demon that Henry wanted nothing to do with, especially not when he had to work on his thesis. However, the one-eyed cat would come and sit right outside of the door of his room, making a very clear threat. He'd close the door on her and she'd sit outside of his window, watching him intently.

Henry hated that cat.

Basil however adored her. He let her sit on his lap as he read and pet her whenever she wanted.

“That thing is playing you for a fool, my dear Basil,” Henry told him.

“Hamlet is a cat, Harry, she doesn't know how to do that,” the painter cooed at the creature. “Aren't you the most perfect creature in the world? Indeed, you are.”

The cat mewled and settled in the artist's lap.

Henry shook his head, returning to his work.

“Have you nearly completed your thesis?” Basil asked.

“I will soon,” the lord sighed. “But I am missing a very important source.”

“Oh?”

“An old account from a philosopher. It was supposed to be in the library, but apparently it's gone missing. Most likely a fool didn't return it.”

“Perhaps another library has it?”

“Perhaps, I may not find it in time,” the lord sighed but smiled. “It will be a shame, I'm quite sure I could have elevated the original work.”

He moved to sit next to Basil, but Hamlet threw herself onto the open seat.

“Hamlet,” Basil laughed. “Come back here, you were so comfortable before!”

The cat did not move, instead staring intently at Henry.

“Hamlet, let Harry sit down,” Basil gently picked up the cat and petted her. She continued to watch the lord.

Henry sat down.

Hamlet threw herself onto him, hissing. Henry jolted, but the one-eyed cat had decided that she would stay. Basil tried coaxing her back, but she did not move, instead glaring at Henry.

“Perhaps, she's warming up to you?” the painter suggested.

“I doubt that greatly.”

She had left scratches on his pants.

The real trouble began when Basil had to leave for a three day trip to the countryside as part of an art study. Hamlet got more and more attached, seeming to understand that her favorite person was leaving. She followed him almost everywhere and waited until he returned whenever he left. She never let Henry so much as approach the artist.

Basil made a list of everything about the cat, from her moods to what she liked to eat and what Henry should do in certain situations.

“What I should do?” Henry shook his head. “If she's royalty, she'll take care of herself.”

“Harry, do this for me,” Basil pleaded, “Hamlet likes—well, she tolerates you.”

“I don't tolerate her,” the lord glared at the feline as she strolled inside. “One of these days, I will throw you out, you wretched thing.”

Hamlet growled at him.

“She'd like you if you didn't antagonize her,” Basil said, picking up the cat. Henry swore he treated the thing more like a child than a feline. Hamlet glared at him as if daring him to argue with her owner.

On the day of Basil's departure, the artist was a panicked mess, dashing around the flat and calling for Hamlet. She had gone missing in the night. He stopped and looked at Henry.

“No, Basil,” the lord said without looking at him, “I did not throw her out, I promise.”

“You never keep your promises,” the artist said. He sighed and placed his head in his hands, “Oh, where could she have gone?”

“Perhaps she returned to the park,” Henry said, searching for something in the bookshelf. “Regardless, you must not mourn her—she was an animal, she certainly didn't feel anything for you.”

“You are terrible at comfort,” the artist spat.

The lord shrugged in response, “You should hurry, you don't want to miss your train.”

“Harry,” the artist said. “Your word is worthless, but it'll comfort me to hear you say it—if Hamlet returns, take care of her, please?”

Henry laughed, “'Take care of her?' She'd murder me in my sleep if I looked at her for too long! Basil, you hardly took care of her yourself—all you did was spoil her. Your cat is better off dead. In fact, her corpse is probably in the street as we speak.”

He heard Basil sigh and turned to look at him. Henry's smile faltered when he saw the artist's hurt expression. He hadn't seen him this upset before.

“Basil—”

“No, no,” the painter wiped at his face and grabbed his bag. “You're probably right. I'll see you in three days. Make sure you don't die while writing your thesis.”

“Wait, Basil,” the lord tried. “Basil, I'm—”

The door slammed and he heard hurried footsteps going down the stairs.

The lord sighed, “Sorry.”

The next day, there was still no sign of the feline's return. Henry sat by the window, smoking and looking at the gray sky. While he smoked, he made a thousand different arguments as to why he should not feel guilty for what he had said to Basil. Every single one was quickly counter argued until he didn't have any left.

A distant mew caught his attention. On the sill, off to the side, was Hamlet. The lord startled. Regaining his composure, he put out the cigarette and reached for the animal.

“You wretched little thing,” he hissed. “Get in here—Basil was worried sick for you.”

The cat did not move.

“Hamlet. Inside,” the lord extended his arm out. “If you don't get in now, I won't let you in later.”

The cat hissed and jumped down, landing some ways away. Then she looked at Henry, seeming to challenge him.

“I'm not going to chase you,” the lord said. “I don't care enough about you to do so.”

The cat tilted her head as if asking, 'What about Basil?'

Henry glared at the feline. Hamlet sat waiting. He groaned and grabbed his coat and a cloth bag. Begrudgingly he went outside to where the cat was. As he laid eyes on her, he threw his arms out.

“Well, here I am,” he scowled. “Get over here.”

Hamlet dashed down a nearby alleyway. The lord turned to return to the flat, but the memory of Basil's saddened expression stopped him. He groaned, then tore after the cat.

“Hamlet!” he called. “Hamlet!”

The black cat ran through the streets, leading the lord further and further into the city. The entire time he ran after her, Henry cursed Basil for being too attached to the rambunctious feline.

The things I do for him, Henry thought as Hamlet ran into a woodsy park. In a clearing she stopped, seeming to wait for Henry.

The lord panted, “Alright, you little shit. Here's what's going to happen," He opened the bag, “You go in here, I bring you back to the flat, and then in two days time, you make Basil happy again.”

Hamlet watched as he got closer, then dashed off right as he was about to touch her. This resulted in the lord falling onto the muddy ground.

“You absolute demon,” Henry hissed.

Hamlet then pounced on his face, screeching and scratching. The lord managed to grab her furry body and lift her claws away from his face.

Swearing, he hissed, “You horrid little monster! If you really have intelligence like Basil claims, then listen. I do not like you and you do not like me, but both of us like Basil! I doubt you want him upset because then you won't be treated like a princess, and I certainly don't want my best friend upset, so you have to come back with me!

“Can you understand that much?!”

Henry then realized that he was talking to a cat, “Oh my God, I am losing my mind. Basil's cat from hell has made me insane.”

He released the animal and sat up, feeling blood seeping from the scratches on his face. He sighed and looked up at the gray sky. Why did he feel such a need to right this particular wrong? He had done worse wrongs to other people without so much as guilt. Why was Basil any different?

Beside him, Hamlet rubbed against his muddy arm. The creature's once resplendent black fur was covered in mud. She hopped onto Henry's lap, dirtying his trousers. The lord absently pet her with his mostly clean hand.

“I suppose this is a truce, then?”

Hamlet did not answer. The lord stood up, holding her in his arms. Delicately, he covered the one-eyed cat with the bag. Once the task was finished he turned towards the exit of the park.

Rain began to pour and the cat hissed when she began to get wet. Henry removed his coat and wrapped the damned thing so he could properly move forwards.

As he was drenched in the rain, he muttered, “Even God hates this cat, Basil.”

He entered their building twenty minutes later, completely soaked and covered in mud and blood stains. People gawked as he entered, but he paid them no mind, carrying the bundle of hatred up to his and Basil's flat.

Once the door closed, he threw his coat off to the side and let the one-eyed cat out. He glared as she sat and stared at him. Hamlet pawed the mud on its leg.

“What, you don't like being dirty?” the lord sneered. “Well, then you should have listened to me and come inside earlier.”

He walked to the lavatory and the cat followed. He hissed, “I am not going to wash you.”

She tilted her head.

After they were both washed, Henry sat on the divan with a blanket and a book. He had bandaged his wounds and was in clean clothes, but his wet hair dripped on his shirt. Hamlet watched him with her one eye. He ignored her, but then the cat hopped beside him.

“No,” the lord tried to push the black feline away, “I already gave you attention—too much, in fact. Go do something else.”

The cat dug her claw into his hand. He yelped and she jumped onto his lap burrowing into the blanket. Henry scowled, but placed his hand onto Hamlet's head, petting her as he read.

On the day of Basil's return, Henry was ill. Not badly, but enough to where it was bothersome. He couldn't focus on his thesis—which still wasn't complete without its missing reference—and he had no interest in doing anything else, including cooking. Hamlet seemed to realize this and brought him a dead rat.

“Are you mocking me, you spiteful beast?” the lord threw the corpse away.

When he returned to sit on the divan, Hamlet jumped into his lap. He obliged her silent demand and petted her head.

The door opened and Henry watched as Basil entered. The artist's face was slightly flushed and was framed by his messily tied back hair and his eyes lit as they landed on Henry. Though he'd never admit it, Henry had never seen anything so breathtaking as Basil's excited look. The painter's lips began to form the beginning of his name and he realized that in that moment, that his name in Basil's voice was all he wanted to hear.

“Hamlet!” Basil cried. He rushed up and plucked the cat from Henry's lap, spinning with it in his arms. “Oh, I thought you were gone forever!”

Henry blinked, still catching up with what happened.

“Oh, Harry—!” Basil paused, “What happened to you? You look like death!”

The lord cleared his throat, putting up his usual composure, “Your cat, Basil.”

“Be serious, Harry, what happened?”

The lord pointed to the cat, “I brought her back here and she fought me. Brutally.”

“Really?” the painter laughed. “Oh, but aren't you an angel, Hamlet? You'd never be so cruel to him without good reason.”

“She is a demon, Basil. I am proof of that.”

Basil smiled, placing the cat on the floor, “I suppose you're right.”

He sat down beside Henry, “I suppose you can be my angel, then. You brought her back, after all. Thank you for doing so, though I am sorry it came at quite a painful price.”

Henry did not consider himself an angel—no man could be one—but if Basil dubbed him so with his beautifully kind smile—then, what the hell—Henry didn't mind playing the part.

“Oh, I got this for you,” Basil reached into his back and pulled out the book Henry had been searching for. “Funnily enough, the library I went to had two copies. I told them about the missing one here, and they let me have it so I could donate it here.”

The painter smiled, “I figured you'd like to have it first.”

Henry took the book, quietly marveling at the artist in front of him. He stared long enough that Basil became self conscious, tucking a stray strand. Then the artist's eyes fell upon something behind the lord.

He gasped, “Hamlet, what did you do?!”

Henry turned to see the cat with his thesis between her fangs. He looked at the thing in horror and frustration.

“Oh, Harry,” Basil cried. “I'm so sorry! But on the bright side, you did say that you thought your work would be much better with that book in your hands. So perhaps this is an opportunity?”

Henry blinked, then tightened his jaw, glaring at the cat, “Basil, I am so glad you named her Hamlet.”

“What?” the painter looked at him as if he'd gone mad. “Why?”

“Because, like Laertes, I’m going to murder that damn thing!”

In the end, Henry did not murder Hamlet, who lived for another four years in pure happiness, often harassing the lord and still being greatly favored by Basil. Henry hated the one-eyed cat until she died, when he helped Basil bury it in his garden.

The artist was greatly saddened by her death, but having Henry around certainly made the grief easier. Standing in front of the small grave and watching Basil gently place down some wildflowers, Henry silently thanked the cat for making his best friend happy.

She'd probably have scratched him in return.

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

fate ft au (bc I'm replaying fate/extra)

(also note that fate/extra is like. the only fate content I've consumed in general. and I didn't quite understand everything? I just know it's addicting ok?!)

also also if y'all are ok with game emulators:

https://www.emulatorgames.net/roms/playstation-portable/fate-extra/

> the Heartfilias are the Harweys (so Lucy plays the role of Leonardo)

> Layla died not due to sickness but in the last Holy Grail War (she obviously lost lmao)

> Layla's servant was Aquarius

> Loke is Lucy's half-brother from her mother's side (so he plays the role of Julius)

> Rin Tohsaka is Erza (and her servant is Gerard)

> Rani the Eighth is Levy (her servant is Gajeel)

> Lucy's servant is Natsu

> she only calls him Dragneel so everyone assumes he is Zeref instead of his younger brother

> technically Zeref would indeed have been more powerful than Natsu, but Lucy had always been more fascinated by the overlooked younger brother whenever learning about them in history class (definitely not projecting or anything lol)

> she convinced her dad to summon natsu instead by pointing out that the less known the servant the bigger the advantage

> and her plan actually works pretty well? they always enter the arena with misinformation and since Lucy and Natsu are the only ones who get out again. well. it's not like *they* are gonna go and spread the truth

> Jude sent Loke to the military since this is a respectable position away from the estate

> he was low-key hoping something would happen to him there? he had already arranged a beneficial marriage for Lucy and was hoping they would be his official heirs. (also bc loke technically isn't his)

> Karen can be his direct superior who abuses both her underlings and her power? idk

> so. and here is where things get interesting

> technically the goals for the Heartfilias (aka Harweys) stay the same

> that is also the reason Loke volunteered to participate in the holy grail war. he doesn't care if it is through him or Lucy he just wants peace.

> if he and Lucy are the last ones he actually plans on throwing the fight. with no real support system (he and Lucy didn't really have a chance to grow close due to Jude) his mental state is in a really bad place

> and. here is the awkward part

> Layla actually started disagreeing with the Heartfilia way of seeing things

> she wanted to win the holy grail not for everything to stand still (aka Heartfilia wish), but to wish everything to change and keep going (aka Rin Tohsaka wish)

> Jude never found out (since she never got to actually wish for it considering she lost), but Layla's last words to her daughter was a confession explaining her actual true intentions in the tournament

> and thus Lucy's actual reason to enter the tournament is to fulfill her *mother's* last wish, not the Heartfilia one

> as you can imagine this doesn't exactly help with Lucy and Loke's estranged siblings situation lol

> I hope this makes sense? that's it for now but I'll add to it as I get to the actual fights in the game lmao

[campto]

Piggification Stage 3: Bargaining

"Hello there, Mister... Jones, is it? That's original. No matter. You've signed your confidentiality agreements and everything? 

"Sure Doc! I've been vetted and cleared... filled out my tax forms... health insurance... 401K... all that. I'm ready to start work right away!"

"Splendid. Splendid! I always like to give every new employee a personalized tour to show them just what we do here. Although I'm sure you have a pretty good idea and are OK with it, or you never would have found out about us. We only put our job postings on... ahem... UNIQUE websites."

"You got me pegged, Doc. I've been a fan of your work ever since I stumbled on it online. Then they shut down the auto plant in Mahwah late last month, and that was my chance to follow my dream and join your organization."

"And don't feel bad that you're not in veterinary medicine or research. I respect every employee in my organization. Your might be putting out the food and water and cleaning the stalls, but you spend more time with our... charges than anyone in the compound. I'm sure you'll find the time you spend with them... quite rewarding!"

"I'm looking forward to it Doc. I really am!"

"Splendid! Let's get started!"

"Hey Doc, what's the story with that sowgirl over here? She's got a collection of junk laid out like I've never seen!"

"This is very interesting, Jones. You've got a good eye. Now this... young lady has reached what we call the "Bargaining" stage in her transformation. She realizes what has happened to her, she has found that fighting us does her no good, so now she is trying to BRIBE us into changing her back. 

"But what does she have to bargain with? We've already seized all her worldly assets. And even if she had title to them, it's not like she can go to the bank and make A withdrawal looking like THAT, can she? So she just collects stuff that tickles her piggy fancy. Interesting rocks, a bone from last night's slop, a pumpkin that's JUST starting to rot, a shiny, sweet-smelling Mr. Pibb can..."

"Looks like she has a dollar bill there too, Doc."

"She does indeed. Somehow she retains some distant memory that those pieces of green paper hold some kind of value, though I'd bet this farm that she doesn't remember why or how much. I'll bet the smell fascinates her as much as anything else."

"The SMELL?"

"Remember, pigs have hundreds of times more sensitive noses than we do. She could probably tell you a story about every one of the thousands of people who have handled that bill since it was printed. Too bad her grunts and oinks can't express those kinds of thoughts very well these days. Every day she's here she's more focused on the moment: mealtime, wallowing in the mud, pooping, how her poop smells..."

"HAW! HAW! And how it TASTES! I've SEEN your videos, Doc."

"You know, Jones... she still is human... in a way. She can still understand everything we're saying. We ought to show a LITTLE more respect and not talk right in front of her. Especially since she's in a bargaining mood. We should say hello.

"HELLO Daisy! Those are VERY PRETTY THINGS you've got there! Where did you get a Mr. PIBB can in this day and age? That might be worth some money to a collector. Not enough to finance a reverse piggification procedure, though. SORR-EEEEE!"

"HI THERE DAISY! MY NAME'S JOHN! I'LL BE FEEDING AND CLEANING UP AFTER YOU! NICE TO MEET YOU!"    

 "Now that was nice, Jones. One thing. It doesn't help to YELL at them. Their EARS are a lot more sensitive than ours, too. They can understand a whisper as well as a shout."

"Sorry Daisy. Do you mind if I scratch you behind the ear? Haven't met a critter yet don't like a scratch behind the ear!"

"GRUNT! GRUNT! GRUNT!"

"There you go, Jones! Looks like she LIKES you! A week ago, if you'd tried that she would've bit your hand off. But they're much more agreeable when they get to this stage."

"The BARGAINING stage, Doc?"

"Ironic, isn't it? The only thing she's really got to BARGAIN with that any of us might want? She's sitting on it. Of course, anybody who wants THAT would want to keep her just the way she is. I trust I'm not SHOCKING you, Jones? That sort of business does go on here, I'm afraid."

"HELL, Doc! Why did you think I wanted to WORK here?"

"I'm glad we understand each other, Mr. Jones. The... err... FRINGE BENEFITS are what keep most of us working here. Speaking of which. If my nose isn't fooling me, I believe Daisy here will be coming into HEAT in a day or so. It will be the first time for her since her... procedure. That first time is always amusing to watch.

"So... word to the wise! She already LIKES you. You might find out she wants to be... more than just FRIENDS. Just be ready."

"HELL... I'm ready right NOW Doc!"

"Splendid. Just a couple of things. Be discreet. No humping the sows right out in the middle of the field in broad daylight."

"Okay, Doc. Anything else?"

"Be NICE! No hurting or humiliating them. I'm SERIOUS. I might be a madman, but I'm not a MONSTER! These gals have been through enough. I don't need PETA on my ass."

"Okay..."

"I'm SERIOUS. It might sound crazy, but I actually LOVE every one of these ladies. It's like having a whole farm full of cloven-hoofed daughters! I find out you're mistreating them, you're FIRED. It's in the contract you signed."

"Okay Doc. I guess you're right."

"Splendid, Jones. Remember... keep your nose clean and you'll have the most rewarding, unique career ever. What's that they say? 'Find a job you love and you'll never work a day in your life!'"

[ninjakk]

Can I ask about Lan Wangji for the character opinion bingo?

Hi Anon,

Thanks for this! Prepare for an essay! 🤣😅

I absolutely LOVE him. He is such a complex, beautifully crafted character. As others have said, I actually feel like I fell in love with LWJ as WWX did also. I found him absolutely fascinating from the start.

He is just a total sweetheart. On the outside he is seemingly cold and emotionless, but underneath he is just so loving and passionate. Just my type! I can actually see why WWX was attracted to him from the start, we must have the same type! Although he comes from a prominent clan and has a title - he never makes anyone feel different, he never looks down on anyone. He treats everyone as his equal, no matter their status. He really is deserving of his title as Hanguang-Jun.

LWJ is also a true hero, brave and noble. I adore how he has a reputation of being 'wherever the chaos is'. He's not bothered about fame or glory, he just wants to help whoever he can.

LWJ is such an attentive person when it comes to WWX. He picks up on every little detail about WWX, storing it in his memory and using it when he needs to. It's just utterly adorable.

I also love his skill of being able to be concise with his words. Just a few simple words convey so much, so effectively! He's also incredibly resilient, he's been through so much - but he's continued on no matter what. As I've written in previous posts, he has been through so much, but he always carries on.

Who wouldn't melt at the sheer hot, endless passion he has for WWX. He just gives his love completely, offering his entire self to his soulmate. His love is so deep, it transcends all. I honestly think he'd love WWX no matter how he looked, or indeed what he was 'reborn' as (mind out of the gutter people!). LWJ would have loved and protected him no matter what. One of my favourite things about WWXs second life, is how much LWJ relishes protecting him. WWX doesn't really need to be protected, but LWJ does it anyway - and they both absolutely love it. He's already lost WWX once, he will simply not let it happen again.

I think it's quite evident from the above, I'm a sucker for a seemingly cold man, with a passionate heart. Not to mention that sexy icy glaze of his 😍❤️