#TRADED IT FOR A HAWKS FIGURE

[alienaiver]

Tales of Meet Cutes

Kozume Kenma x gn!reader

warnings: this is pretty fluffy! while reader is gender neutral, they are cosplaying male characters and are being described wearing makeup, so beware if thats not ur thing! :’) wordcount: 4.4k content: FLUFF, genderneutral reader, poc!friendly reader, canon compliant, post-timeskip, meet cute, kenma FALLS IN LOVE... HARD!, cosplayer!reader meeting kenma at a convention basically, kuroo’s the worst wingman but he swings it anyway!, kenmas a bit awkward but hes got the spirit, weirdly enough became an advertisement for the tales of games..., unbeta’d bcos i am sobbing about my con, reader cosplays mikleo from tales of zestiria and jack vessalius from pandora hearts! heres mikleo and heres jack (theres no switch release of zestiria this is just me dreaming btw </3)

notes: hihey!!! i was at a convention this weekend and have been ruDELY STRUCK by the post-con depression and its... its GIVING ME feelings. so i wrote this. im aware that conventions in japan are usually simply called ‘events’ and not cons like in the west but it felt sO UNSPECIFIC so ye. i actually do Not know what bouncing ball corp DOES... so im playing around. this is all based off of my own convention experiences but theyre obviously very local to my country so idk how it is in others <33333333 i hope u enjoy AWKWARD KENMA who stutters <3

It’s Friday afternoon and Kenma’s plugging the Nintendo Switch’s HDMI into the television’s port that the convention provided for their booth. Kuroo’s humming by their table as he places the flyers nice and orderly next to the game cases. Kenma turns to his friend, “you didn’t have to do this.” he says, flustered that Kuroo had to take a weekend off for him. Kuroo smiles, “’course I didn’t have to,” he looks knowingly at Kenma who bites his lip and stares pointedly at the floor, “but I wanted to. It’s a free convention, a weekend with my best friend plus, you’re paying me.”

It's true, Kenma has agreed to pay all of Kuroo’s meals this weekend no matter what he wanted – he knows Kuroo will seize the opportunity and ask for food he’s normally too cheap to buy himself, but Kenma’s happy to indulge.

Bouncing Ball Corp has for many years sponsored a big part of Tokyo Expo’s Game Room. It was one of the first places that properly introduced Kenma to streaming so it’s become like a silent thank you to them. The community is nice too and he knows a lot of his fans come here. For just as many years that he’s been a sponsor, they’ve tried to get him to have a booth or maybe even a panel but he’s been dodging them successfully every year. The attention seems like it’d be too much for him to handle for a whole weekend so he’s always declined and showed up stealth as a regular convention guest and enjoyed the Game Room. He was almost found out once because he beat a high score on the big center screen in front of an audience. He’s never ducked out so fast of anything in his life.

But this year’s dodging and parrying proved unsuccessful due to circumstances out of his power. You’d think running your own company would make situations like these impossible but alas. Kenma has been playing the Tales Of game series on his channel since the early beginning and after the third game, Bandai Namco reached out and they made a rather fruitful arrangement that’s served both of them well. Now, they’re releasing an anniversary Nintendo Switch release of Tales of Zestiria and wanted Kenma at the convention, advertising. He was put between a rock and a hard place when the game company reached out to the convention on his behalf – he knows they did it on purpose to render any of his moves ineffective.

So here he is, plugging the television into the massive outlet that runs through the room to accommodate every booth and game (is this even fire safety regulated?) with Kuroo by his side. One of the volunteers, a Gopher, has already stopped by multiple times to offer their assistance in setting up. Kenma thinks they might be a fan because the Game Room’s volunteer-leader has already been by upon their arrival and walked through whatever they might need from the convention and what they’ve brought themselves to the booth with him.

There’s usually not a lot of booths in the Game Room, traditionally focusing more on just having a lot of platforms and screens available with games ready to be played by the guests but it’s not uncommon to see a company or two advertise for something. At the far end, Kenma knows an indie-game developer is going to be. She’s also going to host a panel on how to make your own games and where to start. He’d like to stop by for that out of curiosity. There’s also a booth from a school where you can become a game designer who advertises for their education and tells people of the way you’ll have to go to reach that.

And then Kenma’s. He certainly feels out of place as he sets up the brand-new Switch with only one game inserted provided by Bandai Namco. He originally connects it to the Convention Center’s Wi-Fi but decides his own might be faster for the final download of the software. He hears Kuroo talk to someone behind him as he fiddles with his phone settings. The convention opens in just a few hours and he’d like to get lunch before anyone arrives. He dreads how he’ll have to be available here until at least after the dinner rush. He’ll have to eat a heavy lunch. He has a gnawing suspicion that Kuroo’s got food or snacks in his bag if the size of it is anything to go by. He hopes there’s the red bean Taiyaki that he likes in that bag. He really wants one now.

  __

  His stomach is gnawing, reminding him of that Taiyaki he imagined earlier. It’s past 7PM now and there’s been so many people that he really doesn’t want to come back tomorrow. Kuroo’s currently out, there was a tabletop event he wanted to check out and since there wasn’t that many people when he left an hour ago, he had said yes but they’re all coming back from their dinner and filling up the room again. The heat is unbearable; poor ventilation and so many machines turned on making it worse on top of the people crowding it. More than once he’s had to explain how the Switch controls work for curious guests and it’s getting repetitive in a way that he really doesn’t enjoy. Is he really an asset as a sales representative? He thinks not.

Maybe he should just take a peek in Kuroo’s bag. He probably wouldn’t mind, right?

Turns out that he definitely wouldn’t mind given that all there is in said bag is snacks that only Kenma likes and that he knows Kuroo doesn’t even the least bit pretend to enjoy. He stays crouched and rummages through it and lo behold, a red bean Taiyaki shines from the bottom of the bag. Out of the corner of his eye he spots two people nearing the booth, one whose color scheme is glaringly blue. He hears talk, someone jumping in excitement and thinks it might be an old fan of the game excited about the remake. He’s surprised by how few knows the game – it’s not that old, he keeps telling himself.

“It’s you!” a voice exclaims and with the Taiyaki hanging from his mouth, Kenma looks up with confusion and an accidental glare. Before his booth stands two people. One is dressed like an anime character from that fighting show he’s heard about and the other… Well, the other is none other than Mikleo, a character from the game he’s currently advertising. You’re standing with the game in your hands, sparkles flying from your eyes in excitement, your underlip worried between your teeth.

Kenma drops the Taiyaki from his mouth as his brain decides you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

(Luckily for him the snack lands on the bag and not on the floor. He doesn’t notice that at all though.)

“I shouldn’t buy it. I already have it at home for the PS3,” you start arguing resolutely, putting down the Switch case with much reluctance. Your friend laughs at you, “yeah that would be silly. But you were so sad about not finding any merchandise with Mikleo or Sorey on it in Dealer and Artist, so I’m glad we saw this!” you nod to your friend, eyes still glued on the game, “me too. I hope this remake will get it the revival it deserves. Maybe we’ll actually meet people who knows the game now,” you sigh before you start to continue on, “I don’t want to be late for the Tekken tournament though and if I stay here much longer, I’ll end up buying the game.” Your friend follows and you look back at the game one last time with mock sobs and an arm reached out towards it. Your friend laughs and drags you along.

Kenma stays crouched and frozen for a few more moments until Kuroo’s voice breaks through, “that cosplayer’s the character from the game, aren’t they?” his eyes are turned towards you before he looks down at Kenma, “you found the snacks?” he walks around the tables to get inside the booth, “we can go get dinner in an hour or so, is that fine?”

Kenma barely registers any of the questions that Kuroo asks him, still looking after your form. It’s easy to see where you’re going with your cosplay prop, Mikleo’s staff being his guiding star as you’re walking towards the big screen for the Tekken tournament.

Maybe he should join the tournament.

No, he definitely shouldn’t.

Right?

A palm suddenly touches Kenma’s forehead and Kuroo’s form is crouched next to him, looking only mildly concerned, “you okay? You need to get out a bit? Too many people?” the questions are many as Kuroo tries to locate what Kenma’s issue might be. It’s not a fever, so the redness in his face much be account of the crowd, Kuroo thinks. Kenma scrunches up his nose before he gets back to his feet, “I’m fine.”

Kuroo shakes his head before he picks up Kenma’s abandoned Taiyaki and gets back up, “let me know if that changes. I’d be more than happy to duck out for food early.”

Kenma reluctantly grabs the Taiyaki from Kuroo and continues to eat it in silence. Kuroo does what he does best and try to sell the game to whoever stops by even if they’re only stopping briefly. There’s an influx of people for the tournament and Kuroo manages to sell a few copies to old fans. Kenma fiddles with his water bottle as his eyes are glued towards the tournament area, hoping he’ll see you on your way out. He definitely doesn’t want to go for dinner before it ends.

  Sadly, he doesn’t see you in the crowd leaving the area, all morphed together into one blob of mass. The Game Room is finally breathable again and they get ready to leave the booth, putting up the “Out for dinner, be right back!” sign and notify the Gophers that they’re leaving so they can keep an eye on the unattended booth for them.

Kuroo wanted something from the food stalls, much to Kenma’s chagrin. Kenma doesn’t particular like going out to eat but a restaurant’s volume levels is miles apart from the food halls of an anime convention’s. The line luckily isn’t long as Kenma stands with his phone, playing Valkyrie Connect on it to pass the time. Kuroo talks to the people around them in line, blending in even though this normally isn’t his crowd.

“Ah, thank you for holding the line! It was such a bother going to the bathroom in this,” you laugh, sounding out of breath as you pat your friend’s shoulder.

Kenma’s afraid to look up because out of his peripheral he spots the blue of the bottom part of Mikleo’s pants. The tail ends of your cap sways as you move around too and he feels his tongue grow a few sizes in his mouth. Kuroo continues talking with your friend who introduces you to him.

The good thing about Kuroo, that Kenma’s always appreciated, is his uncanny way of knowing when to push Kenma’s social buttons and when not to. So Kuroo simply lets the conversation flow with the two people in front of him, not letting their focus shift to Kenma in an effort to relief him.

He chances a look at you without lifting his head and you’re even more beautiful up close. Your wig seems to be of high quality and well taken care of, even after a whole day at the convention. Kenma doesn’t know a whole lot about makeup, but he can see that yours is sharp and accentuating the parts that make you resemble Mikleo the most. You’re wearing purple contacts and Kenma’s brain is fuzzy with the thought of what your real eye color must be like. Is your hair long underneath the wig? Or short? Your face seems perfectly sculptured and he has to look back down at his game so he doesn’t pass out from the way you shine.

  “Whatcha want?” Kuroo suddenly asks Kenma and he realizes it’s already their turn. Kenma gulps loudly and shakes his head at Kuroo, hoping his blush isn’t too obvious. Kuroo nods at his non-verbal response before he orders two sets of bibimbap with two chicken bao buns. Kenma fumbles to get his wallet out of his pocket to pay for the food and Kuroo wordlessly takes the wallet from him so he can hand them the correct amount. “Anyways, have a great con!” Kuroo gladly tells you and your friend as they go to leave the queue and wait by the side for their order. Kenma stomps his feet mentally and looks you squarely in the face. Your smile is gentle and warm as he gets eye contact with you, “you’re a… b-beautiful.. Mikleo.” he stumbles over his words and hurries to join Kuroo by the side, feeling very childish with his breathing ragged and heart beating. He hears you making a reply behind him but he doesn’t make out the words as he focuses on Kuroo’s shoes and quieting his own heart.

  When he reaches Kuroo, an unfortunate but very teasing smirk is on the bastard’s lips. “So it wasn’t a fever.” He teases, ruffling up Kenma’s hair. “Shut up,” he bites back and punches Kuroo’s stomach. Kuroo leans forward in mock pain and whispers close to Kenma’s ear with a teasing lilt, “they’re still looking at you. I think they’re flustered.”

Kenma just hits him again but dares not to look back to confirm whether or not Kuroo’s right, a pout evident on his face from Kuroo’s teasing.

      Saturday morning comes around without too many hiccups and Kenma’s playing Octopath Traveler on his own Switch, precariously tipping the chair to alleviate boredom. Kuroo only teased him mildly yesterday and this morning, so he thinks he might be safe with his private crush. It’s lunch time soon and the big cosplay show is currently underway, which makes the Game Room pleasant, only a few people sitting by different platforms quietly playing games.

Kuroo’s at the cosplay show too, leaving Kenma behind. He’d offered to go together, but Kenma thinks the noises will be too much. He can always watch the show online at another date and he doesn’t technically mind manning the booth when it’s this quiet. A few fans have found out he’s here and passed by for pictures, but it hasn’t been too wild. He misses his cats even if he briefly saw them this morning.

He yawns as he finishes off one of the chapter 2 bosses, checking his battery percent as the victory screen loads. He’s still good to go for at least some time yet before he has to get up and dig the charger out of Kuroo’s bag.

“Excuse me,” your voice rings as you clear your throat and Kenma’s head whips up so fast at the sound of your voice that he loses balance and with a leg raised tall in the air, he falls backwards with a yelp that he’ll deny until the day that he passes.

“Oh my God, are you okay?” he hears the worried wobble in your tone as you shuffle around towards the little entrance to his booth but stops in front of it, unsure if you’re allowed to enter, stomping your feet anxiously. “I didn’t mean to give you such a scare, I’m sorry!”

As Kenma groans and places his Switch carefully next to him on the floor, he realizes that you’re trying to hold back a laugh at the scene in front of you, but your brows are still furrowed in worry.

You’re not Mikleo today.

He’s not sure who you are, really. He doesn’t recognize the design but then again, he hasn’t watched a lot of anime. But even if you’re in a total different outfit, with a different hair and eye color than yesterday, there’s no mistake who you are. You’re the one inflicting psychic damage on Kenma’s heart and he’s not sure how to handle this properly.

Your outfit is no less detailed or well-done than yesterday, with a blonde wig styled with a ponytail and a very exquisite-looking, long green coat lined with gold. You’re wearing a ruffled shirt underneath a black vest, knee-length boots and white pants. You must be hot in all that. He feels heat flush to his cheeks at his own staring and throws his head back to the ground, staring at the ceiling to avoid your gaze, exhaling a deep breath. You crouch down, still by the entrance to his booth and look at him, careful of the length of your ponytail – he can see now that it’s a braid. “Are you sure that you’re okay?” you ask, biting your lip in worry about how he has yet to reply to you. Maybe you shouldn’t have walked up to him at all.

Kenma tries to make his eyes meet yours but he finds that he’s not really able to. He’s frozen staring up at the ceiling, feeling his blood pump faster than he’d like. His palms are lying spread but he can feel the sweat gathering there and there’s quite a bit of saliva gathering in his mouth that he seems to have forgotten how to swallow.

“Uhm. Was it Kazu?” you look up at the ceiling to see if Kenma’s found anything interesting, “ah! Kuroo! He said you’d be here when I saw him during the show break…” there’s a pause as you seem to think about what you want to say and Kenma finds the courage to move slowly to sit up, the thought that you sought him voluntarily out replenishing his HP bar.

You follow him with your eyes, a triumphant yet tense smile on your lips at making him blush so exceedingly. He’s pretty when he blushes, you think.

“I was wondering if you’d like to… Uh, get some lunch together from the food stalls?” Kenma whips his head towards you again, his expression more constipated than positive and you raise your arms in alarm with an apologetic smile, “y-you don’t have to of course! Kuroo just suggested that you might be hungry and well… I am too, but my friend didn’t want to miss the award ceremony so I thought… maybe… you’d like to? We could talk about the Tales of games, if you’d like?”

Kenma nods and looks away to regain control of his voice, “I’d like to, let me just close up here before we leave,” he says and a new excitement rises in him from being able to speak a whole sentence without stuttering to you. He chances a look at you he feels like he shouldn’t have because the smile that adorns your features is absolutely breath-taking and Kenma feels his heart stutter at brightness in front of him. You move to get up and dust off your thighs before reaching out to him, “need a hand?”

  The walk to the food stalls isn’t as awkward as Kenma feared it’d be with his newfound inability to compose proper sentences. You let the conversation flow freely and naturally, filling in when his answers are stunted. You’re so calm and patient that Kenma finds himself opening up more naturally as you reach the stalls, taking a walk through the area to figure out what you’d like. Kenma also learns that you’re dressed as a character from Pandora Hearts today, a character named Jack. “Don’t get the curry,” you warn in a whisper-voice and lean in close to continue what Kenma supposes is gossip but his heart is beating so loud in his ears he barely hears why you issued such a warning in the first place. He simply nods and trots along, hands buried deep in his hoodie’s pockets.

You settle on the food stall that sells pizza slices. It’s a small food truck with a pizza oven inside that Kenma’s frankly fascinated by. There’s not a lot of options that he likes on their menu and he feels embarrassed to order something where half of the ingredients needs to be taken off in front of you but he would also like to be able to eat said food in front of you.

When it’s your turn in the line, Kenma motions for you to go first and as he hears your order, his mind immediately relaxes – he’s not the only one with special requests to remove certain ingredients. As it turns out, you end up wanting the same exact pizza as him, so he taps your shoulder and quickly asks if you want to change it from two separate slices and just share a regular sized pizza. Your eyes shine at his question and you nod excitedly before turning towards the cook on the other side who happily takes the new order.

  You’re seated in front of each other with the pizza between you, the conversation flowing naturally and freely between games. “Have you ever played Fire Emblem?” Kenma asks through a bite of pizza and you hum through your chewing, “not yet. I only recently got my hands on my own Switch and that’s my first Nintendo console so I think it’ll take me a while to rack up my arsenal,” you laugh and Kenma nods, “you could always watch a stream of it?” he tentatively ask and you shake your head and put down your slice of pizza to take a sip of your drink, “I can’t really concentrate on streams… they’re kind of boring,” you admit with a sheepish laugh and Kenma’s back straightens as he tries not to take it personally. It’s technically not a big deal and he usually isn’t bothered by whether or not people would like him but he has a very deep-seated need for you to like him right now.

“What do you do on the daily? Outside of cons?” you ask after you’ve swallowed your last bite of pizza, “something with sales?”

Kenma raises a confused eyebrow at you and you laugh apologetically, “I just thought maybe for Bandai? Since you’re selling their game at the con.”

That’s when Kenma realizes.

You have no idea who he is.

And hey, Kenma isn’t that conceited that he thinks everyone knows him but with all the games you have the same interests in, he’d figured you at least knew his name or something of the sort. He also had a tiny drop of fear that you might just be seeking him out due to his status. He’s not sure he wouldn’t just let you, given how infatuated he is with you. What a wonderful way to get played, he absentmindedly thinks.

He's glad it seems to be in a whole other alley. You might just be interested in him for him.

“I uh, I own a company.” He tries not to sound like too much of a jerk but the sentence makes it hard to not sound high and mighty, no matter how he’d said it. Your eyes widen and you slap your palms onto the surface of the table, “that’s so cool!” you exclaim and Kenma tries to will down a blush. “What kind of company?”

He must look like a deer in the headlights to you because you shrink in on yourself and apologize for prying. He’s not sure why he didn’t expect such a follow-up question but his brain malfunctioned at the way your eyes shone. You’re wearing contacts again today, bright green and making your eyes seem bigger than they actually are. There are golden lashes lining your eyes and once again your makeup best accentuates what he believes fits the character because it’s different than it was yesterday but still just as sleek and beautiful. He hitches a breath before he can properly reply, “uh, it’s called… Bouncing Ball Corp.” he admits with a hand scratching the back of his neck.

Realization seems to dawn on your face as your eyes narrow, seemingly in deep thought. Then your mouth opens in an ‘o’ shape before you burst out laughing, a hand to your stomach. Kenma’s sitting like a duck, watching you go through all of these motions, confused as to what they might mean. Then, you wipe a stray tear from your lash line and apologize for your outburst, “it’s just. Oh my God, please apologize to your friend. When we met him at the show…” you laugh again, trying to breathe calmly, “I thought he was trying to hit on me because he started talking about knowing some kind of CEO and a streamer. My friend knew who it was but I didn’t and he seemed embarrassed that I didn’t. Oh God,” you’re still laughing, hiding your face behind your hand as Kenma puts two and two together.

That blathering idiot.

How many times does Kenma have to tell Kuroo not to be his wingman? He groans as he hides his face on the surface of the table, letting out strings of apologies on behalf of his friend. “I’m so sorry he’s just… like that,” Kenma bites out as he raises his head back up, licking his front teeth. You wave your hand with a smile, “don’t worry, don’t worry. He seems… fun. And he really seems to care about you.”

Kenma nods and plays with the woody veins on the table, unsure what to say when you grab his hand, “but you can thank him for his meddling, I think. It got the two of us talking, right?”

Kenma’s body seems to freeze at the contact as he feels the warmth of your hand in his. Your eyes look hopeful as you worry your lip between your teeth, a half-smile on your face. Kenma smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way as he squeezes your hand back with a courage he hadn’t felt in a while, “yeah, I’ll be sure to treat him to a nice dinner later. But I think I’d like to treat you to one first.”

You giggle as you look down at the table in front of you, “that’d be lovely. But I think you need to see me out of cosplay before you decide, don’t you?” you ask with nervousness teetering in your lilt. Kenma shakes his head, “I cannot imagine that you’re not beautiful underneath your costume. Besides, your personality’s what’s important and I like that a lot already.”

The smile you send his way make his heart pump again. Yeah, he definitely needs to thank Kuroo, no matter how stunted his attempt were, it ended up working.

[sonknuxadow]

i dont think im ever getting my funny bird toy guys

[chongoblog]

My First Pokemon Playthrough

So I've noticed in my time of talking about Pokemon, I've told a lot of various anecdotes that are all a part of my very first time playing Pokemon. I was feeling nostalgic, so I figured I would share what I remember about this playthrough for everyone to enjoy. There may be a tangent or two in there and people who have followed me a while may have heard these before, but hey.

For context, I believe I was about 8 years old at the time, and after collecting some Pokemon cards, watching a kid play Crystal at summer camp, watching some of the anime, and generally being a pretty big fan (I even have Pokemon Yahtzee burned into my memory for some reason...), I finally got myself a Game Boy Advance with Super Mario Advance 2: Super Mario World, some Frogger game (after looking it up, it was Temple of the Frog), Tony Hawk Pro Skater 2, and, of course, Pokemon Sapphire.

I remember that my starter was Torchic. I don't remember why I chose that one, although I remember really liking the color red at the time (which I still do), so that was probably why.

I don't remember too much about my team or the general progress I made in most of the game, but I do remember Slateport City. For those who do not recall, in Slateport City in order to advance you need to get into the museum, which is blocked off by Team Aqua Grunts until you talk to someone in the shipyard. There are also Team Aqua grunts blocking the route ahead

Now, my 8 year old brain for some reason concluded that the only way to get past the Team Aqua Grunts was to intimidate them with a high enough level Pokemon or something like that. So one night, while I was supposed to be asleep on a family beach vacation, I beat down more poor level 13 Pokemon than I could count. I learned later what I was actually SUPPOSED to do, which led to me finally fighting the Team Aqua Grunts.....with a level 42 Blaziken.

And since the Name Rater was in Slateport City and my starter had evolved, I figured it was only appropriate to give him the new moniker "MAGMA MAN"

The rest of the playthrough went about as normally as tearing through the game with mostly Blaziken normally would go. There were a couple exceptions though. First off, at the Weather Institute, after I saved the day from Team Aqua, they were kind enough to gift me a Castform, but my party was full, so I couldn't get it. My 8 year old self did not read this. (Remember this, it will come back later). But I managed to make my way through the game, catching Kyogre with my Master Ball and giving it the nickname "LEGENDARY"

Then we come to the Elite Four where I hit a brick wall. I don't remember my team at the time exactly, but I do remember it was MAGMA MAN which had reached about level 80 or so, LEGENDARY which was about level 48, a level 36 Pelipper, two level ~35 Tentacruels, and some other sixth Pokemon I don't recall. And for some reason, I just couldn't beat the Elite Four with this team for some weird reason. The best I could ever get to was Drake. I felt I was utterly defeated.

That's when we bring a new character into the story. A member of my friend group at the time who we'll call "John" to protect the innocent. Now John had a very "uncle who works at nintendo" type energy to him. The group used to play Gauntlet: Dark Legacy together all the time, and when I got the GBA port of it, he convinced me to trade my recently obtained copy of the Pokemon Trading Card Game Boy game for a Gameboy-Gamecube cables, only for me to learn too late that it didn't work like that, and from there, there were no backsies (but then I got ahold of a copy of Pac-Man VS and Four Swords Adventure then I learned to emulate, so who's laughing now).

Anyway, John saw that I was struggling and he decided that he wanted to help me out. You see, he had come across an incredibly powerful and rare Pokemon that couldn't be found in the wild. He had gotten it exclusive, and I had never seen it before. It was called a "Castform". Now John had Ruby version, so he decided that as much as it ached him to part with it, he figured it would be a reasonable trade to trade this powerful Castform for the slightly less powerful LEGENDARY. I agreed.

And then he moved to Ohio.

To this day, Castform is my least favorite Pokemon because of this betrayal. I was so distraught at 8 years old that I completely restarted my game of Pokemon Sapphire. I don't remember much about that second playthrough, but there's a reason why.

This rival battle on Route 110 is somewhat infamous for being quite the sudden difficulty spike. And since I knew how to get past Team Aqua now, I didn't have an over-leveled starter to stomp my rival with ease. After losing to her about five or so times, I got frustrated and figured that whatever team I had wasn't cutting it. So I restarted again.

In my third playthrough, I made it all the way to the rival battle on Route 110. Then she stomped me repeatedly. So I restarted again.

This cycle would go on for, like, 15 resets. I didn't count, but it felt like there was hundreds. As I would keep on resetting and playing through the early-game of Pokemon Sapphire (which I had practically memorized at this point), I would start to take things a lot less seriously, sometimes picking the girl character, making my name random gibberish, etc.

Eventually, on one of these playthroughs where I started with Treecko, I actually managed to beat the Route 110 Rival Battle! And on my first try too! And thus began the epic journey of a girl named DE.

Now, I'd figured at this point that maybe only leveling up one Pokemon wasn't the best approach, so I was trying to balance my teams a bit better (I guess my rival taught me something). I was making my way through the game, and one day I'm checking out my best friend's Pokemon in Ruby, and who do I see in his box, but a Kyogre. I take a look at his name, and I can't believe it. It was LEGENDARY. John had traded it to my friend before he moved.

My friend didn't know that it was originally mine, so he offered to trade it back, which I accepted. LEGENDARY was a disobedient little bastard since I didn't have enough badges, but he got the job done. I don't remember the team I ended up using to finally beat the Elite Four, but it included my Sceptile starter, a Sableye that somehow knew only Fighting-type moves, and two Kyogres, LEGENDARY and LEGENDARY2.

And that's my first playthrough of Pokemon Sapphire. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it.

[wri0thesley]

home - hawks x reader (6.7k)

you miss him when he's not here.

cw: not sfw. reader is afab but no gendered language is used. chubby reader, insecurities mentioned. established relationship. possessive hawks. blood, injury (mild). cunnilingus, scratching, biting, multiple orgasms.

this was a commissioned work.

There are drawbacks to being a Pro Hero’s partner.

Oh, there are some positives, too - the nice things that you get sent, sometimes, in the hopes that you’ll post them on social media and the business in question will get some extra footfall from being papped on the significant other of the more popular Pro Heroes (putting aside the occasional frustration of paparazzi always tailing you, the free clothes and free tech and free gear and free meals are very nice). The fact that Keigo has a sizable fortune that he mainly uses to make sure that you and he have the best life he can provide. The swell of pride that rises in your chest when you think about him, and all of the lives he has saved, all of the people who are grateful for him. 

The sunshine in Keigo’s face, too, when a small child tells him how much they look up to him - how they want to be just like him. The money that is funneled back by Keigo into charitable institutions for children. The fact that you’re doing a small part of good in the world despite your reasonably useless quirk (making flowers bloom at a touch is only useful when the flowers are not yet in season, after all - it’s a quirk that you can use maybe three months out of the year, and you’ve noticed flowers don’t seem to last any longer just because you’ve grazed them with your fingertips) by making Keigo happy, the way he deserves to be. 

But there are plenty of negatives. 

Those same paparazzi who sell photographs of you and Keigo to gossip magazines and comment on your appearance, your hair if it’s messy, your figure that you’re already not all that confident in. The online gossip-mongers who spend their time bemoaning how much of a better fit they’d be for a man like Keigo, if he’d just stop ‘pitying’ you enough to date you. 

The nights you spend stroking Keigo’s hair as he buries his head in your neck and all of the ugliest parts of his job fall out of his mouth; the fear of being a pawn for the HPSC for the rest of his life, the things he’s asked to do that remain secret except in whispered gasps into your ear, his hands clinging to you so tightly you think about talons puncturing your skin. The long, long nights when he’s out doing hero work and you fear that he may never come back to you. The way time stretches interminably on when he says he’ll be gone for a little while and you don’t know if it will be days or weeks or months. 

You wouldn’t trade anything for him. Keigo makes you feel seen and beautiful and loved and cherished in a way no other person could ever compare to. You get butterflies when he smiles at you. You cannot imagine a life in which you did not find each other, somehow. 

But tonight, your bed in Keigo’s penthouse (big glass windows, so he can feel like he’s flying - a huge bed, with room for his wings) is empty and cold. You wear a too-big ‘Hawks’s Baby Bird’ nightshirt that falls down to your knees, a gag gift from one of your friends who is a member of your boyfriend’s fan club. The little cartoon depiction of him is not enough to make you feel as though he is there with you.

Tonight feels like one of those nights that might last forever.

You roll over in the bed uncomfortably, legs tangling in cool sheets that you wish were warmed by your partner. The space seems to stretch on for an eternity without Keigo’s wings there for you to good-naturedly grouse about as he laughs and pulls you in even closer. 

You think not hearing anything might be the worst. 

You know what he does is important, you know that he doesn’t always tell you where he’s going because he’s worried about you - you know that being shrouded in secrecy is better for both of you. But not knowing where he is or who he’s with or what he’s doing makes all kinds of worrying scenarios play out in your head as you wonder if you’ll ever see him again, or if the last time you kissed him on the cheek and told him to be careful (and he looked at you with all of the love in the world lighting his gold eyes, his gaze saying far more than his easy laugh and his promise he would come back) would be the last time. 

Ugh. You flop onto your back and stare up at the ceiling. 

Maybe you should try making yourself a hot drink; distract yourself from the thoughts swirling around your mind and the loneliness that’s eating at your edges. That sounds nice. You swing your legs over the side of the comically oversized mattress, the soft hem of your nightshirt riding high on your thighs - and then you hear a familiar sound, and your heart feels like it swells to double its size in your chest. 

You quickly walk from the bedroom into the lounge, following the sound of beating wings and displaced air and something clinking against glass. There, on the balcony outside, stands Keigo - still in his hero costume, red wings in the process of being tucked behind him, keys tinkling in his hand. 

Through the window, he catches sight of you - and his smile is so wide it could split his face in two, eyes crinkling at the edges. He fumbles even quicker with the keys, eager to get inside and back to you - and you walk across the room, your feet warm on the cold tiled floor, to meet him.

Up close, you can see that the night has not been kind to him. 

Despite the smile that lights up his eyes and transforms his face, there are grazes all over his face; a rip in his hero costume at the sleeve, where he’s bleeding a little. His wings seem fine, but high on the left wing the feathers are bent out of shape and uneven as if he narrowly avoided trapping it somewhere. Your stomach drops somewhere in the region of your feet - and then, Keigo is through the window and it’s clinking closed behind him and you are embraced by all of him, all red feathers and fur jacket and arms wrapping so tightly around you that you can barely breathe. 

“Keigo,” your voice comes out in a choked squeak. “Keigo, you’re hurt--!”

“I’m so glad to see you,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck, his normally light tone heavy with emotion. “I missed you so so much. I . . . I thought I might not see you ever again--”

His gloved hands cling to your generous hips, squishing into the soft flesh there, dragging you against him. He noses against your neck, breathing in your scent, as if he’s trying to reassure himself that you’re real and true and there. 

“Let me look at your injuries--” You try to say, but Keigo instead pulls you into a searing kiss that makes your knees feel weak. Despite his relatively small stature - compared to most other Pros, anyway - he trains long and hard, and he pulls you into him as if you weigh nothing at all, the softness of your curves and pudge not presenting the smallest of problems. His mouth is hot and beseeching against yours; this is a kiss that says ‘I am alive, and I thought I wouldn’t be’. Fear is still rolling hot through your stomach, but it’s hard not to melt into him when he knows every spot of your mouth and every nerve of your lips as well as he knows his own. His teeth nip needily at your lower lip and you open your mouth for him - let his tongue mark you out as his, sliding across that spot behind your front teeth that makes you full-body shiver in his arms. 

It doesn’t seem to matter to him that the two of you are in full view of the windows (not that any paparazzi would be fool enough to try and photograph from here, after the last time) - all that matters is that the two of you are entwined, that Keigo is there and you are there. His hands slide down your hips to knead at the soft globes of your ass, a motion that’s meant to be teasing but instead simply feels desperate.

You break apart from him with a gasp, your heart beating frantically against your ribcage.

“Keigo,” you say, hoping you sound more sure of yourself than you feel. “I need to clean your w-wounds.”

He looks at you all half-lidded and wanting, his mouth swollen from the kiss - actually, you don’t think his gaze has strayed from you once since he first laid eyes on you. 

“I needed to kiss you,” he says to you, and he cracks a small smile that doesn’t quite mask the wildness in his eyes. “I needed to remember exactly what you were like. Remind myself you were mine, birdie.” 

“The kiss could have waited,” you say, exhaling in a way that’s part laugh and part exhaustion. “You’re hurt.”

One gloved hand raises to your face; his thumb strokes over your cheek. The smile on his face is so sad and so wanting that it makes you ache. 

“I could never wait to kiss you,” he says. “Not a second longer than I have to.”

You tug gently on his sleeve; there’s dirt all over the tan fabric. You wonder what happened to him on this mission, but you don’t ask - Keigo never wants you to have to worry about things. He keeps you as safe as he can - makes sure you can work from home, insists that if he can’t go shopping with you groceries are delivered . . . on another person, it might be suffocating. But on Keigo . . . 

He hasn’t told you much about his life pre-Wing Hero: Hawks. Still, he has told you more than almost anybody else in the whole world knows, and you understand why he clings to the vestiges of a home he’s managed to build around himself. It’s hard not to be flattered that he considers you home - and you, in return, feel exactly the same way about him. 

“Come on,” you say to him, a little more forcefully this time, and you give him a gentle smile so he doesn’t feel like he’s worrying you too much. “Let me clean these scratches and get your uniform off, and I promise you can kiss me as much as you like for as long as you like.”

He lets out a soft laugh but lets himself be tugged across the room anyway. 

“My uniform off?” He asks, lightly teasing, the edge of desperation slowly ebbing away now that he is with you and knows you are safe. “Why, birdie, you’ve only gotta ask! Little forward, but I’m not gonna complain--”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh all the same, as the two of you enter the kitchen and you bully him lovingly into taking a seat on one of the stools by the long breakfast bar. You reach up onto your toes to reach the first-aid kit kept in one of the high kitchen cupboards, feeling the hem of your shirt rise up to reveal the thin red satin underwear you wore to bed--

“Are those Hawks brand, too?” Keigo asks. You can’t see him, but you can just imagine the shit-eating grin that’s painted itself over his face. “Look, I know you want me to stay still whilst you tend lovingly to me, but you’re making this really difficult--”

“Shh,” you tell him, turning around with the little metal tin tucked beneath your arm. “You’re just trying to get out of the antiseptic swabbing, aren’t you?”

It takes you by surprise how quickly he’s shed his garments. You suppose that speed is his greatest asset, but still - you’d heard only a little rustling, and yet Keigo is suddenly sat behind you totally shirtless with his uniform discarded on the stool beside him. You can see almost all of him; the lean muscles of his pectorals, dotted with old scars - the corded forearms, the surprisingly strong hands . . .

You’re grateful to see that the wounds and scratches are only surface-level. They’ll need cleaning and bandaging up a little, but that’s all - he’s not at risk of any infections, doesn’t need to go see any healers or hospital workers. You’re glad - you don’t want him to be out of your sight for any longer than he has to be now that you finally have him back for a while. 

You cough as you rifle through the medical kit for anti-bacterial wipes, feeling your face heat up at his proximity and his nakedness. Keigo laughs softly, angling his body closer to you.

“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he says to you, his voice low and soft. “C’mon. See something you like?”

“Could you stop flirting for one second?” You ask him, as you wipe over one of the nasty grazes on his arm - you don’t think you could look into those golden eyes right now without falling into them like molten pools. “I need to get this cleaned up.”

“You’d be flirting if the prettiest thing in the whole world was touching your naked body,” Keigo says to you, reasonably; and he laughs again when you fumble with the bandage you’re trying to affix to the spot in question. “C’mon. You’re even wearing my merch! How’m I supposed to just sit here and let you look after me when I’m thinking about pinning you to the breakfast bar and having my wicked way with you, huh?”

“Have your wicked way with me when I’m done,” you tell him, and now you have no choice but to turn your hand to the grazes on his cheek - and looking at Keigo’s pretty face takes your breath away in the same way it always does. His eyes are liquid gold, burning you as you gently wipe the blood from his sharp cheekbones. At the touch of your fingers on his face, he takes a sharp intake of breath - and one strong hand lands on the outside of your thigh, thumb pressing softly into the skin there. Your own breath stutters in your chest. 

There’s a bloom of heat low in your core, to be looked at like that. Possession and adoration and hunger all mixed up in his gaze, your own body screaming at you that Keigo wants you and you want him and everything else should be thrown to the wayside in pursuit of the pleasure the two of you are clearly longing for. 

He breathes out after a moment that feels like it lasts a week, and his voice has dropped a semitone into something rich and low and starving hungry. 

“You’re nearly done now, right?” He asks, swallowing, the bob in his throat visible. “I’m not sure how much longer I can stop myself.”

You do not break eye contact as you drop the gauze, as you close the lid of the first-aid kit. 

“I’d think a Pro Hero would have more control,” you say to him breathily. “Stop yourself from doing what, exactly?”

He smiles up at you with a wickedness that makes you weak at the knees, and you feel all of your concern about his grazes and bruises and the feathers that have been bent and ruffled in his wings melt away in favour of the persistent pounding in your core.

He moves lightning-fast; utterly deserving of all of his accolades, and before you know it you’re pressed against the breakfast bar, your ass pressed flush against the rim of the surface, and Keigo has dropped down onto his knees. 

“Stop myself from eating you all up, birdie,” he says, with a grin bright and hungry, as he presses his nose softly against the plumpness of your thighs. “You’re looking delicious, and I’m starving after being away for so long. Won’t you let a guy have a taste?”

You gasp as he moves his face; as his nose nudges at your mound through the Hawks branded underwear. He breathes in deeply, savouring the scent of you on the air.

“I can tell you want it too,” he teases you. “I can smell you from here. That’s how I know how delicious you’re going to be.”

“Keigo,” you breathe out lightly, but there is no complaint in your tone. Your boyfriend takes this the way it is; your consent for him to do whatever he wants to you, and his smile is knife-sharp in the darkness as his fingers hook into the elastic of the underwear and slowly begin to edge them down your legs. 

“Spread for me, angel,” Keigo murmurs, dropping a kiss just above your knee, peppering the skin he can currently get to with more feather soft touches of his lips. “Show me how much you want it. Let me see you; I’ve missed you. Feels like a century when I don’t see you for a day.” 

You fall over yourself to please him. You’ve missed him just as much; too deeply for you to care if you seem desperate, when you spread your legs further and let him see the wet mess between your legs. Keigo’s eyes go half-lidded and wanting as he trails the pad of one of his fingers up your thigh to dip between the lips of your sex and into your slick. 

“Look at you, pretty birdie,” he says, low and awestruck. “This is all for me? Aren’t I the lucky one? Aren’t you just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen?”

Your face heats up at the compliments; Keigo is never shy about giving them, of course, but when the position is so intimate and he looks so fascinated it’s hard not to feel woozy with the want that drips off every syllable. Keigo moves his face closer; kisses at the plump spill of your very inner thighs, where they’re damp with your own arousal. Teeth bite into the flesh gently, nipping at you until you gasp. 

“Y-you were being serious about eating me up, then?” You ask, a huff of laughter on your lips, as Keigo shifts his attentions to the other thigh, sucking love bites into the soft flesh. 

“Just making sure you know you’re mine,” he says, breathless. “Marking you up so you know who you belong to. After I’ve eaten you up, I’ll get on to eatin’ you out--”

He kisses over your sex this time; his breath fanning hot against your most sensitive parts. Your knees almost buckle, and you have to cling to the rim of the breakfast bar to stop yourself from just falling onto him completely. You feel a couple of well-placed breaths away from collapsing onto the floor.

“Is that a . . . a promise?” You ask him, and Keigo chuckles and the vibrations seem to travel from between your legs and right up your spine. 

“For you?” He murmurs, and his tongue darts out - laps up your cunt from perineum to clit, and you swear you see stars. “Of course it is.” 

Once Keigo has had a taste of you, there’s nothing you can do. You know it from past experience sprawled out on the bed beneath him as he works you over until you’re putty in his hands - when he wants someone, when he wants something, when something is his and it’s his responsibility . . . he will not rest until he’s wrung several orgasms out of you and you can barely move. The kitchen is a brand new development for this kind of thing, but Keigo is more than a little possessive and when you’ve murmured in the heat of the moment about christening every surface in his apartment it’s always gotten him going--

So it’s all you can do, really, to let him eat you out like he’s a man starved and he’s having his final meal before his untimely end. 

To let your fingers curl around the rim and to give yourself into Keigo’s mouth as it hotly works you over; his tongue dragging through your folds as if he’s trying to drink you in. Your own mouth falls open as your breath escapes you in little surprised gasps; it seems that for every slow lap of his tongue, he manages to do some kind of swirling trick of athletics that makes you feel like you’re melting into a pleasured mess. 

In between the licks and the sucks, he turns his attention back to the soft fullness of your thighs; drops little growling interludes of;

‘Mine’. ‘So beautiful’. ‘So good’. ‘You’re mine’. ‘Mine, mine, mine’. 

Kisses and bites and licks and mumbles, the soft abrasive scratch of his scruff making you dizzy and light-headed as you feel all of the pleasure that he brings you work itself into tight knots in your stomach. Sometimes he bites just a little too hard, as if he wants to ensure that the mark takes - and though on another partner, you might push him away, with Keigo it’s hard to not just let your lashes flutter and a soft moan escape at the thought of just how much he wants you to be his. 

There’s something to be said about having the mark of ownership of a man like Keigo upon your skin. 

He rubs his cheeks against your thighs, uncaring of how your slick is fair dripping from your sex; covering himself in your scent the same way he tries to cover you in his own. You’ve heard him complain when you switch shower gels or perfumes or shampoos; you know he can’t get enough of the natural scent of you. He never cares about cuddling up to you when you feel sweaty or gross - in fact, a couple of times, you’ve thought that it really gets him going--

It’s getting much harder to think the longer Keigo uses his mouth on you. 

It’s hard to think of anything other than the sensation of his tongue, the prickling pleasant heat that’s running through your veins, the groans of pleasure that he keeps putting forth with every new lap and suck and kiss of your clit. Your fingers twitch, your thighs shaking wildly, as you hover on the precipice of your orgasm.

“That’s right, beautiful,” he murmurs softly. “Come on. Come for me.” 

There’s no question of doing anything but. 

Your entire body goes taut all over, like a string waiting to be plucked - and then snaps, as your orgasm washes over you in fierce waves, making your body tingle like fireworks are being set off beneath your skin. You don’t try to muffle your noises - Keigo had coached that out of you with kisses and begging and telling you how much he loves hearing you - so soft whimpers and moans come issuing forth from your mouth, bouncing against the kitchen walls. Keigo makes his own noise in response; a coaxing kind of reassurance that you can let yourself go with him, you’re safe. His mouth is still pressed against your sex, though, his tongue still drinking in the slick you’re pumping out with every clench and pulse of your release. 

He stays there even as the orgasm slowly subsides and feeling returns to your extremities. You’re sensitive, your thighs shaking - and Keigo chuckles, pulling back and looking up at you with his eyes all blown with adoration. 

“I’ve missed the way you taste,” he tells you, tone teasing. “I’ve missed the way you sound, too. I’ve missed . . . all of that.”

“I’ve missed you more,” you say to him breathlessly. “A-are you going to let me repay the favour?” 

Keigo laughs again, and the sound makes happiness bloom in your chest. 

“No,” he says, sounding very sure of himself. “I’m not done with you yet, birdie. I need to make sure that every perfect inch of you remembers me; I need to make sure that you’re always with me, that you’re imprinted onto every part of me, that you know just how much I love you and I need you and that I can remember every part of you with my eyes closed--”

Your cheeks are hot at this profession of adoration. It’s not that Keigo is shy about these things - he said ‘I love you’ before you did - but . . . he’s not always prone to these big, grand gestures. He holds your hands and pulls you close and keeps you next to him, plays with your hair and remembers your favourites and checks in on you to make sure everything is alright as often as he can. Love story confessions are not his style--

And that’s how you know that he means every single syllable. 

“Th-that’s not fair,” you say weakly, as Keigo takes your hand and tugs you through the apartment instead, a mirror of you taking him into the kitchen to clean his wounds. “I want to do all that for you too--!”

“Ah, but you didn’t get to saying it before me, did you?” He shoots you a broad grin, pulling you into the bedroom. The sheets on your huge bed are still rumpled; he raises one eyebrow. “Not sleep well without me, birdie?”

“You know I never do,” you whisper, and his face goes impossibly soft. He pulls you closer to him, pressing his nose against your own so that the two of you are staring directly into one another’s eyes. 

“I love you,” he says, plain and simple. His hands go to touch your hips, to slide up to your waist and to your chest, his touch reverent like a sculptor and his masterpiece. “I love everything about you. If it were up to me, I’d spend every waking minute with you - I’d never let you leave our bed. We’d have everything we need. I . . .” He swallows. “I want to be with you forever.”

“I want to be with you forever, too,” you breathe out - you bring your hand up to stroke over his shoulders, to delicately curve over the musculature in his back to where his wings stand proudly out. He lets out a soft noise of pleasure at the soft touch of your fingers on the downy feathers at the base, his cheeks going pink. 

“Then let me take care of you,” Keigo murmurs, softly. “Let me come inside of you so many times you don’t remember what it feels like to have anything inside of you but me.” He takes a shuddering breath - and despite your earlier orgasm, your breath catches and your pulse beats between your thighs as if it’s agreeing that he can do whatever he wants with you. “Please.”

“Keigo--”

“Say I can, birdie.”

His touch gets desperate. His thumbs dig into the soft meat of your waist, the plump pudge there. You make the mistake of flickering your eyes away from his gaze, to between you and below your eye line, to see the way that his cock is tenting the front of his pants in need. You think about Keigo’s cock - about how it feels inside of you, about how perfectly it fills you up, about the sensation of having him come inside and keep going, keep pumping himself into you--

“Keigo,” you breathe, eyes flicking back up to him. “Of course you can.”

As much as you want to get on your knees for him and bring him the same pleasure he’s already brought you today, you can tell that this means a lot to Keigo - and so you’re not surprised when he groans out loud and pulls you back into a fierce kiss. Your lips are nibbled on, your tongue danced with, your entire body dragged into a kiss that Keigo puts every muscle into - until he pulls back, breathless. 

“Can we get this off you now?” He asks, tugging at your nightshirt. “Kind of weird to be looking at myself right now, even if I do look very cute as a cartoon--”

You laugh as you pull the dark red cotton over your head. You have a brief moment of doubt - that same flash that comes across you every time you fully disrobe in front of Keigo, a voice in your head saying that you’re not good enough or pretty enough for him - but it’s a doubt that Keigo quickly dispels as he pushes you back onto the bed and begins to pepper every inch of your newly exposed skin with bites and kisses. 

“I love these,” he murmurs, palming at your chest with rough calloused hands, plucking your nipples between thumb and forefinger until they stand to stiff attention. “They’re so pretty.” A pinch, and you whine, back arching. “And so sensitive--!” 

His tongue follows the path of his fingers, swirling around the nipple and sucking on it with a soft pop until you’re whining even louder, spreading your thighs apart for him in a silent plea to get on with it.

“You’re being needy,” he tells you, with a bite to the swell of your breast that you can tell will leave a bruise. “And I love it. Ask me nicely, pretty birdie--”

“Please fuck me, Keigo,” you say, breathless with need and want and the dizzying desire to have him inside of you. “Please, I want you inside of me--”

He kisses you fiercely again; fabric is displaced lower down his body as he works his trousers off without for a moment breaking the contact of your two lips. His cock slaps against the roundness of your tummy, leaving wet precome in a smear over your navel - hard and long, stiff and aching to find anchor in your port. 

“You have no idea what hearing you say that does to me,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear. “Spread wider, angel, alright?” 

You obey him, spreading your thighs so wide that it’s almost painful. 

The two of you have had to experiment with positions many times - Keigo’s wings provide an interesting challenge for ensuring that both of you are comfortable. Even now, in this simplest of positions, his wings make a canopy over you and give a soft red-warm glow to everything beneath them. Keigo smiles at you so softly that it feels like melting, and then his cock is nudging the lips of your sex apart and slowly slowly slowly sinking inside of you. 

It’s gratifying, to finally be full. His tongue felt good, but there’s a kind of intimacy in this that it can’t replicate - a feeling that the two of you are melding together, hearts beating as one. Keigo’s eyes flutter closed, a soft sigh escaping his pretty mouth.

“You have no idea how you feel,” he chokes out. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you--”

“You feel like home,” you say to Keigo, and he whines and sheathes himself fully inside of you. 

His arms wrap around you, pulling you up so you’re not just laid directly on the bed. His nails - fingers a little sharp, like talons - rake down your back, scratching into you, as he gets used to feel of you hot and tight and wet around him. The two of you are both panting, your own arms wrapping around his neck so you’re as close to him as you can possibly be. 

He crashes his lips against yours at the same time as he begins to move his hips in hungry little circles. He isn’t yet fucking in and out of you in wild abandon, but this is still overwhelming after being without him for a few nights and forgetting all of the places inside of you that are stoked like a brand new fire by his cock, stretching you out. You move your hips against him in tiny increments, his abdomen rubbing against your swollen clit in a way that sends pleasant little frissons of electricity up and down your spine. 

The electric mixes with the scratches of Keigo’s hands, an overwhelming symphony of sensation that is at once too much and not enough. You lose track of time - you lose track of anything but the feel of Keigo inside of you, the pleasure of being stretched and fucked and taken and knowing you are loved. 

His lips against yours, his words against your ear with whispers of how much he loves you and how beautiful you are and how good you are for him. Your own words, coming out slurred and breathless as you both chase your orgasms, wanting to crest that hill together. 

“Keigo,” you’re whimpering. “Keigo, Keigo, Keigo.” Chants of his name spilling out of your lips like prayer beads, prayers that he drinks up with his kisses and his own soft entreaties of your name. 

“I’m going to--”

“I want you to--”

“Fill me up, please--”

“Fuck--”

You both lose track of who is actually the one speaking; the words come out in a spill that’s mirrored by the twitch of your thighs and the coil of heat in your stomach. Your orgasm hits you like a train, and your fingers curl into Keigo’s short hair at the same time as he digs his teeth into the soft place where your neck meets your shoulders and his cock pulses inside of you, spilling his seed into your sex, marking you out as his. Your own release gushes over his cock, your cunt clenching around him as you pant and whimper. You’re light-headed and dizzy as you chase your aftershocks, gyrating your hips on his softening cock to eke out every last drop of pleasure you can. Keigo’s hands stay on you, sliding to the small of your back, encouraging you as he sucks and kisses on the bitemarks and lets his own pants fill the air. 

The comfortable silence that follows your releases lasts only a moment. 

He’s come inside of you once, and your body feels full and satiated with your own orgasm, but that’s not enough for Keigo. Even as he pulls out, his cock is already hardening again, a soft groan falling from his mouth as it slaps against the soft flesh of your inner thighs.

“Tell me I can fuck you again,” he murmurs. “I want you to be full of me, birdie. I want you to be dripping with my come for weeks. I need t’fill you up so bad--”

You manage to screw up all of your left-over energy - not that there was much of it - to roll over, gathering yourself up on your hands and knees, spreading your legs further apart and balancing yourself on your elbows. It’s a position the two of you have used often, made all the more comfortable by Keigo’s expensive bed. It means that you don’t have to do much more work than stay there and thrust your hips back into him - and, crucially, it means that Keigo gets so deep inside of you that you swear you feel him in your stomach. 

“Yes,” Keigo breathes, already gathering himself up onto his knees. He drops kisses onto the places on your shoulder blades and spine he scratched earlier, soft feather-light whispers of how much he adores you. “Fuck, angel--”

He fits inside of you like a glove; your earlier exertions making him slide inside of you so easily you barely feel the stretch. Your fingers clench into the sheets as you moan out a prayer that sounds like his name, as Keigo continues to drop wet messy kisses all over you. He’s rambling now, about how beautiful you look like this and how good you feel.

“I should fuck you on every surface in the house,” he whispers, as he begins to work his hips back and forth, sliding easily into a rhythm. “I should christen every single one of them, so it feels like home--”

“Okay,” you breathe in return, moving your hips as much as you can. You’re going to come again, you realise, embarrassingly quickly. He just feels so deep inside of you - like there is no end to where he starts or you begin, like there’s nothing in the universe but the two of you and the places you’re joined. One of his hands slaps over yours, holding it as best he can in the position you’re in. 

“I need to fill you up,” he’s panting. “I need you . . . need you to be mine, need you to know how much I love you, need you need you need you--”

“I need you,” you reply, in a whimper that feels like a sob as he adjusts his hips just so and oh, the spots he hits inside of you with every thrust . . . You feel born anew again; like this is the first time Keigo has fucked you and you’re as sensitive as a virgin. You squeeze your eyes closed. “I need you more-- please fill me up, I want to be yours, please please please--”

“Say my name,” Keigo begs into your ear, the words broken up with pants. “Say you love me.”

“K-Keigo--!” Your voice pitches as your orgasm clenches all up inside of you. You feel yourself tighten around him. The feeling of him inside of you, the wet glide of his cock, the sting of the bites and scratches from your earlier extremely enthusiastic love-making, all converging together until you can do nothing but let the white hot feeling take you over completely. “I l-love you--”

A moaning whimpering groan of your name, and the two of you are coming together. Keigo’s cock is twitching inside of you, spilling more thick ropes of his come as deep into you as he can to join his earlier load. You moan as you feel it trickle down your thighs, as he fucks it in deeper chasing the aftershocks of his orgasm and your body collapses into a jelly-like mass of nothing but feeling. Keigo lets you collapse and follows you down, breathless laughs turning into moans as you lie there for a few moments sweating and panting in the afterglow of your lovemaking. 

It takes a little while for the two of you to disentangle yourself fully; for Keigo’s cock to pop out of you (followed by a little rush of your mixed fluids), for him to drag your sweat-soaked body against him without caring for how you must be messing up the sheets. 

“I love you too,” he says, a belated reply to your call as you’d come. Your face goes hot at the reminder.

You curl up against his chest shyly, cheek pressed to his beating heart. Your fingers come up to trace patterns over his skin, and he makes a noise low in his throat almost like a chirp, pleasure at your touch melding with the pleasure of what has transpired between you both. He’s always a little more bird-like in this state; relaxed and sated and happy. 

A phone rings somewhere in the distance, and he groans. Eyes fluttering shut. 

“It’s in my pocket,” he mumbles in annoyance. “It’ll be the Commission.”

You make a soft noise of displeasure at the Hero Commission already wanting to monopolise his time when it feels like he’s been home for an hour or two at most. 

“I’d hoped we’d have a bit longer this time,” you say, and you hope that you don’t sound petulant. You don’t want to resent Keigo’s job! You know he’s one of the top heroes for a reason! But curled up in bed, it’s hard to reconcile Wing Hero: Hawks and Keigo, your boyfriend, your lover, your home. You want longer with him. You want to keep him for yourself. 

His mouth twists. Resolutely, he wraps his arms back around you. 

“We will,” he says, as he continues to ignore the ringing. “We’ll have more time. They can wait a day. I still have more things I want to do to you.”

“Unfair,” you say, hiding your smile in his chest. “It’s my turn to do things to you.”

He laughs and presses a kiss on the top of your head. The scratches and bruises and bites from your earlier exertions sting pleasantly; a reminder of home, a reminder of Keigo, a reminder of belonging. 

“Okay,” he says, with a faux sigh. “It’ll be a challenge, but I’ll take one for the team. I guess you can do things to me next time.” 

Both of you laugh and snuggle in closer to one another. 

The bed feels so much more right with Keigo in it beside you. 

[racefortheironthrone]

Hello, I’ve a part asoiaf part medieval history question. So despite the strict gender roles, we know that women (at least noble women) can enjoy some “male” activities like horse riding and some kinds of hunting (Cat says Arya can have a hunting hawk). Are there any other “male” activities women can partake too without being judged about it, or even encouraged to do so (both in Westeros and real world)?

So as medievalists and historians of gender have pointed out, ASOIAF is far more restrictive for women than actual medieval Europe. I'm actually going to leave aside the situation of noblewoman for a second, because the vast majority of women were not nobles and their experience of gender would be radically different.

What counted as "male activities" for example would vary enormously by location (rural vs. urban) and thus occupation (farmer vs. artisan). Among the peasantry, while men tended to work in the fields and concentrated on cereal-crop production and women tended to do the manifold work of maintaining the home, the reality is that the irregular nature of agricultural labor meant that in times of high demand (especially spring sowing and autumn harvest) it was a matter of survival for every single member of the household to work in the fields. So women absolutely knew how to work a plow, and swing a scythe.

As for the urban worker, while there was also a high degree of gender segregation by occupation and guilds could often be quite misogynistic when it came to trying to masculinize trades (especially those involving higher rates of capital investment), it was also true that the entire household was expected to contribute their labor, so that wives, daughters, collateral female relatives, and female servants picked up the trade alongside their male counterpart. Moreover, as biased towards men as guilds could be, they were even more committed to the principle that guild businesses were family businesses, and so in situations where a master artisan had only daughters or died childless or died with underage heirs, it was absolutely routine for guilds to admit daughters and widows as guild members, indeed usually at the rank of master, all so that the business could remain in the same family. This is why medievalists can point to so many examples of women who worked in skilled trades, often at a high level.

That's what I think GRRM's portrait of medieval society is missing: an entire world of women in business, working elbow-to-elbow with men to make a living.

As for noblewomen, part of the difficulty is that a big part of being a noble was not doing stuff - not working for a living, chiefly - and instead engaging in leisure activities as much as possible. And women were very much a part of those activities (indeed, for many of them the point was to mingle with eligible people of the opposite gender), whether that's feasting, dancing, hunting, hawking, theater and other entertainments, fireworks, tourneys and jousts, etc.

However, women were also engaged in the main "occupations" of the nobility - estate management and politics - way more than GRRM really takes note of. To begin with, as even GRRM acknowledges to some extent, the lady of the house was expected to take an active role in running the house, which meant managing servants, keeping track of accounts payable and receivable, making sure the supplies arrive on time and in the right quality and quantity, keeping an eye on maintenance and repairs (with the help of servants, natch), etc.

Given that even the manor houses of the nobility were units of economic production, the lady of the house would also be responsible for oversight of how the house was doing with its pigs, goats, chickens and pigeons and geese, bees (because beeswax and honey were really important commodities), sheep, and so on, and what kind of figures they were pulling down at the mill and the weir, and so forth.

As medievalists have known for a long time, this list of duties got even longer whenever the lord of the house was away at war or on business, when the lady would be expected to pick up all his work too - which means making sure the rents and taxes get paid, deciding which fields to distribute manpower to and when, dealing with legal disputes in the manorial court, and so on. And if the war came home, the lady of the house was expected to lead the defense of the castle and there are many, many examples of noblewomen who had to organize sieges that lasted months and even years.

However, we also have to consider the impact of inheritance by birth and the inherent randomness of sex at birth - as much as they tried to avoid it, plenty of noble houses ended up with female heirs or in the hands of widows. Most of the time in most countries, women could and did inherit (or at the very least their male children and relatives could inherit through them) titles and fiefdoms, and while their husbands would often take on overlordship de jure uxoris, unmarried women and widows very much exercised their authority as the Lady or Baroness or Countess or whatever, and history is also full of women who were extremely influential in medieval politics and backed up their influence by any means necessary.

[tomtenadia]

My new fic

Hi all,

So, I am trying to gather all the possible courage and post the Prologue of my Hockey fic. I still don't have many chapters, but I am hoping that posting it for the public will give me the push I need to write more.

So, Rowan is a Pro Hockey player in the THL (Terrasen Hockey League) and Aelin in an ex pro figure skater now working as instructor. Rowan has suffered a serious head injury in a game and has been off for a few months and is now dealing with his healing. Aelin plays tough girl but she is still dealing with the accident that destroyed her career.

A very small part of Rowan's injury and recovery is inspired by "Unsteady" by Peyton Corinne (which I recommend to everyone if you love hockey romance) and also just a smidge of Icebreaker.

Also, Rowan is a single dad to a lovely 5 years old tornado called Maya (yes, I know always the same but I love it.)

The title.... Check my heart.... a play on the concept of cross check. Not the greatest but I am bad at titles.

Anyway, I will leave you to it.

CW: mention of injuries, panic attacks

PROLOGUE

The ice rink was empty and quiet on a Saturday afternoon.

Rowan slowly walked the familiar path that took him from the changing rooms to the ice, the feeling of walking in skates still strange after two months off.

As he finally exited the tunnel, the coolness of the stadium hit his face as he sat down on the home team bench. His team’s bench. Hockey had been a huge part of his life. He had started playing as soon as he had learned to walk. His dad had been a great champion in the Wendlyn Hockey League, leading his team to many championships and countless other major victories. His dad, Alasdair Whitethorn, had been the hero for many kids. Under his guidance, Rowan had learned to skate, and to get better. He trained, he played, he breathed hockey. In high school people had started to call him his father’s heir. He signed up for uni and graduated in aeronautical engineering. Aircrafts being another passion of his. At uni he played in the team and made captain and in his final year the offers from pro teams started to rain.

His first year as a pro in Doranelle he showed the world his skills and lead the team to a cup victory. Rowan thought he was at the top of the world, until the THL, the Terrasen Hockey League, found him and got his first offer. After three years in Doranelle, Rowan was called by Perranth with an offer that was impossible to turn down. Rowan’s career exploded, brought him across different teams in Terrasen until he landed in Orynth as captain for the Hawks. Together they won a cup and other teams kept begging for trades but Rowan always refused saying that he had finally found his team.

His career had been on a trajectory for more success until the last season. 

Until the final game in the championship when they battled the Skull’s bay Pirates for the cup.

Until…

A deep breath and he stopped as the usual wave of nausea hit him and the fuzzy memory of that night threatened to surface and break him.

If he closed his eyes he could still hear the sound of his body colliding with violence against the boards. The pain. The terror and then the darkness.

Still on the bench, Rowan shook his head, trying to chase away the memory. His team had won, after Lorcan had led the Hawks to the triumph while seeking revenge for his captain.

Even with his team mates chasing minor penalties to avenge him. Even with Lorcan getting a five minutes major for roughing after he thumped Rolfe, they still had won.

Rowan had been in a hospital bed when they told him. He should have been elated, but all he had felt was emptiness.

He blamed it on the bad concussion. His team had explained him that Rolfe had checked him from the back, pushing violently against the boards. His head had taken a bad hit as he collapsed on the ice.

All Rowan remembered was the sound of Lorcan’s voice calling for a major penalty on Rolfe, the feeling of ice under him and the taste of blood.

Another shake of his head to clear his mind and finally Rowan stood, gripping the edge of the gate. That was progress. He had made it a bit farther than last time. This time, the gate was actually open and his right foot was on the ice. He took a deep breath and the left foot joined his companion on the ice. Gently, he pushed himself away from the boards and stood there. He stared at the Hawk logo painted under the ice and then took a tentative skate towards the middle. But when he paused and took a look at the empty stadium, memories betrayed him and the screams and the noise of a game hit him. His head started pounding and a moment later he found himself sitting at the centre of the rink, his chest tight and his breathing laboured. A panic attack.

“Are you okay?” A voice called behind him.

He heard the distinctive sound of blades scraping the ice but did not turn until he saw a woman kneeling in front of him. Even in his confused state he could not fail to notice that she was the most stunning creature he ever saw. Her hair was blonde and tied in a tight high bun and her eyes. The woman in front of him had deep blue eyes with a ring of gold in them.

Was he dead? Had he actually died on that hockey game and this was finally heaven? Was she an angel?

“Hey, you okay?”

She touched his shoulder and felt real. No. He was still alive.

“You fell?”

He nodded lightly.

“Come on big guy, get up, I need the ice.”

“Oh.”

“I have a class coming and I have the rink booked up.”

Rowan stared at the woman, she had black leggings and a jumper. Her body was definitely the one of an athlete but at the same time he could see elegance in the way she stood on the skates in front of him.

“Come on, off the ice.”

“Hey, I can use the rink too. How much space are you going to need?”

“The whole of it?”

He scoffed “I just need a small part.”

Aelin snorted “The ‘learn to skate’ class is tomorrow morning.”

Rowan stared at her aghast. Did she have no idea who he was?”

“I can skate.”

“You fell and look unsteady. I doubt it, big boy.”

“What, you never fell in your life?”

Something strange passed in her eyes and Rowan had a feeling it was hurt.

“You really have no idea who am I?”

The woman folded her arms at het chest “Should I?”

“Captain Whitethorn of the Hawks.”

She snorted loudly “a hockey barbarian, I should have suspected.” Her tone dripped disgust.

“I assume you don’t follow it.”

“What, watch a game where ten men skate on the ice like brutes and pound each others just for the sake of it?” She protested, not moving from her stance “the only thing I know is that you oafs destroy my ice and it takes the Zamboni a lifetime to repair the mess you make.”

He was about to reply when he heard voices and saw a group of kids entering the ice “Well, princess, your class is here,” he touched his head in salute and in a powerful move he skated to the opposite side of the rink, well far away from the woman.

*

It was later on when he finally left the venue with a sliver of hope. It had been his first day out on the ice since the accident and he had gone through some basics exercises that coach Gavriel had recommended. It had not been easy and being back on the ice had felt alien all of a sudden. A few times he had stopped to watch the strange woman teach young kids figure skating. He had watched her demonstrate some basic moves and he had been totally enthralled by her.

Now he was finally home and a smile appeared on his face when a little tornado crashed against his legs “dad, you are back.”

Rowan kneeled and kissed the girl who was his clone “I am, muffin, did you have a great time with grampa and nana?”

“Yes, we baked.” She grabbed his hand and dragged her father in the kitchen where on the table lay numerous trays of chocolate biscuits.

“Did you bake for an army?” He asked his mother.

“We are taking some of them for her friends at skating classes.”

Aside from hockey, Rowan had another big love in his life. His daughter Maya. His life. His everything. Maya had been born five years earlier from his first marriage. He had met Lyria still back in Wendlyn. Lyria was a rising star in the world of figure skating. He had fallen hard for her and a year after dating he had asked her to marry him. Not long after they got married he got drafted in the THL and Lyria refused to move due to her busy competition schedule. One of the biggest championship was happening in Wendlyn that year and Lyria wanted the win. 

Lyria’s dream got destroyed when she discovered she was pregnant. Rowan had gone back to Wendlyn to watch one of her competitions but Lyria never turned up. She gave birth to a baby girl a month before the world championship.

The day after she had been discharged she had served him the divorce papers and a letter in which she renounced to all her rights as mother. Lyria had left the house the following day. No goodbyes, no last words. Just a a note on the bed reading You ruined my dreams.

Two days later he was back in Terrasen with a newborn baby and a career as pro hockey player. He had tried to find some information on Lyria after he was back. She had moved to a land very far across the ocean and had tried to restart her career but eventually gave up and became a trainer.

“Were you on the ice?” Asked his father sitting at his side on the sofa.

Rowan closed his eyes and nodded.

“How did it feel?”

“Alien,” the answer barely a whisper “I hated being on the ice, dad.”

“It takes time.”

“The team will be back from summer training camp in two weeks and then we need start preparing for the season. We have the first friendly game at the beginning of September against Perranth. I don’t have much time.”

Alasdair placed a gentle hand on his son shoulder “I know, but recovery takes time. Especially after such trauma.”

“I am the captain and I am letting my team down.”

Alasdair was about to reply but Maya came running and screaming for her father’s attention. “Dad, nana says that dinner is ready. Wash your hands.”

The girl was about to run away but Rowan stood in a powerful motion and lifted his daughter upside down on his shoulder. Maya laughed freely and patted his back screaming to be let free.

Rowan deposited his daughter on her chair and inhaled the scent on his mother’s cooking.

Being a famous THL player came with perks. He had signed a very good contract with the Hawks that allowed him to live a very comfortable life. He had bought a beautiful house in the outskirts of Orynth near nature. While all of his team mates had modern luxury mansions in the centre, he had gone for a cottage that he had slowly expanded and fixed up. It was cozy and, most of all, Maya loved it. They had a lake at the back that in summer was used for swimming and in winter they would use to skate together. Most of his money went to make sure his daughter had a good life. When he came back from Wendlyn with an infant, his parents had flown to Terrasen to help him and Rowan would be forever grateful to his parents for the help they had given him especially when he was away for his games. 

His mother’s voice woke him from his thoughts “Are you taking Maya to the rink tomorrow morning? It’s her learn to skate class.”

“Yes. I need to go and train anyway.”

“Rowan, you should not push yourself too much.” 

He sighed. His mum was a sports doctor and she saw his situation from the point of view of a physician. His hand curled in a fist and took a deep breath, he knew his parents were just looking after him “Mum, I am just getting again familiar with the ice.”

“Nana, can you skate?”

Rowan mentally thanked his daughter for the interruption.

“Yes, my love. Your grampa taught me to skate a long time ago.”

Maya smiled happily.

“Once the lake is once again frozen we can go you and I so you can show me all you have learned.”

The girl’s grin spread and her green eyes brightened in happiness “my teacher said I am good.”

Eiddwen lifted the girl on her legs and stamped a kiss on her cheek “of course baby, you are a Whitethorn.”

The dinner eventually finished and after his parents left, he took his daughter upstairs and helped her get ready for bed. 

She climbed in bed and grabbed her soft toy “dad, can you tell me a story of when you won a cup?”

Rowan smiled and sat at her side. Maya had grown surrounded by hockey. Her grampa, although retired, was still an important personality in the hockey federation. He would take Maya to the games if possible and would explain what was happening. She loved listening to some of the stories of his victories from both her dad and her grampa. 

“You don’t want a story from the last book we bought?”

Maya shook her head “not tonight.”

Rowan sat properly with his back against the board of the bed and pulled Maya against him “It was the third period of the cup final and we were down by one and down one man….”

taglist

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[bonefall]

After doing a tad bit of research (so this might not be completely accurate) surprisingly the first shopping mall introduced into the UK was actually made in 1571 called the Royal Exhchange. It wasn’t like a mall you’d get today obviously, it was open and seemed more akin to a trading hub. The first closed mall , more in line of that we see today, was opened in 1964 called the Bull Ring.

Also, if you decide to keep Rivers kits from RH, you could rename Dawn Smoke to Fluttering Dawn, so their named after Flutter.

OH I should mention the new name scheme for Park cats here because I finally figured it out and have a system I like

So Park cats, which is the cultural group that makes the River Kingdom and Wind Coalition, are born nameless. They're referred to by a physical characteristic. The white-spot, the small-of-ear. Once assigned to a mentor, they earn their first name.

This name is ALWAYS nickname of mentor + possessive + paw (bean).

Arc's Paw, River's Paw.

(In Parkmew it also referred to the mentor's dominant paw. In real cats, their dominant paw is based on sex, but for BB I'm choosing to go with human-handedness because I think lefties are cool and I want to make an ancient phrase for "maverick" that comes from "trained by a left-pawed mentor")

Once they become adults, they would take a new name from an achievement. This was three words at most. River's Ripple, Arc of Park, Drizzle, Public Universal Friend. Accumulating titles was a sign of progression in life.

So one cat's apprentice name could be Hawk's Paw, but a few years later, the same mentor trains Glory's Paw because they have a new title.

This of course becomes the apprentice system we know today, codified into law when the cats all gather to amend the code after the Succession Crisis. In CLAN culture, raising apprentices is said to be very important to preventing nepotism, it solidifies bonds to the chosen Clan instead of just your family.

Historically, the King trains their successor. The prince's first name is the King's Paw.

Riverstar chuckles fondly in his memory of how happy he was to finally have earned his own name through his connection to the river of their new home, and intentionally made it sound like he was an eternal apprentice of the river. The River's Ripple. It was the water that gave him freedom away from his responsibilities, for just a little while.

[sealz888]

Marcus headcanons? ❤️

Hell yeah! Some of these headcanons go over fo1, fo2 and fnv. I've also added some little tidbits of Jacobstown headcanons as a little bonus. I love mutants in fallout so this was really fun. Thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy them.

Marcus (+ Jacobstown) Headcanons

He was slightly higher up, not like lieutenant or really important, certainly not just a random foot soldier, probably a platoon commander, maybe slightly higher. It’s also why a lot of mutants from the masters army and even nightkin will listen to him.

Used to be in charge of a platoon Tabitha was in before she was chosen to become a nightkin. It’s why she trusted him quite a lot before Rhonda died, but her mind convinced her he broke her, so she left.

Always been interested in politics. His vault experiment was what someone's life would be if everything about it was steeped in politics and preparing them for leading outside the vault. He was trained to be a leader.

This actually helped him quite a lot with his skills in the Master’s army, his time as mayor of Broken Hills and later on, Jacobstown.

Still is a bit bitter about the Vault Dweller destroying the vats, however, doesn’t take it out on the Chosen One. 

Absolutely *hated* travelling in the Highway man because of how cramped it was. Also hated the desert because of how fucking hot it was because there was no A/C or Radio. I mean seriously, I’m Australian and I hate the heat so much, and I’m tiny. Can you imagine being fucken gargantuan and living in the MOJAVE/CALIFORNIAN DESERT, HOLY SHIT.

For the first few months of his time as super mutant, he didn’t really remember a lot of his life as a human. However, he was drawn to politics, so whenever he was out, he would try to sneak in books about political theories, historical figures and how to successfully lead things. 

He remembers a lot more of his human life than he lets on, as later on his memories came back to him. He really didn’t like life in his vault due to cutthroat nature of politics. 

Tabitha also came from the same vault and they knew each other. They didn’t really interact or speak a lot, but Tabitha doesn’t exactly remember anything from when she was a human. Marcus thinks she hasn’t really changed at all, in both personality and appearance.

Neil was one of the first people he met after he awoke as a super mutant.

Doesn’t seem like the guy who likes to fight, however. He was a lot nicer to humans than other mutants, so he often dealt with the unity folks. 

When he was younger, he was more inclined to fight mostly because he felt like he had a lot more vitality then, despite not liking it. However, now, he’ll absolutely use diplomacy and only fights as an absolute last resort.

He also does help out with the psykers. He’ll hang out with them occasionally and talk. Trying to make sense of their blind rambling or comfort them when they’re freaking out. 

Due to the nightkin’s proneness to addiction, mental illness and psychotic breakdowns, chems and alcohol are strictly forbidden. However, if found of residential mutants, he has a strict belief in rehabilitation and not punishment. Outsiders who trade it or bring it in with them with the intent to sell have it taken away and destroyed, along with being fined if they do it again.

Before he reached out to Dr Henry, he considered reaching out to the Followers for help, but he decided not to because of how far it is.

Marcus watched Dr Henry like a hawk due to his relations on the Enclave for the first year he was in Jacobstown. 

[strangelittlestories]

CRIVENS!!

The word was written in huge and shaky letters across the digi-glass face of the Justice Exchange building.

It cast large shadows across the trading floor. The morning sun had just risen above the billboard forest and at this time would usually be diffusing through the ads played on the windows like gently hypnotic stained glass.

The brokers who hawked civil responsibility and criminal liability were fond of the light show; they found it soothing and would often debate the merits of the kaleidoscopic effects of adverts for Hyperboat: the ‘Self-Driving Cruise Ship’ versus ‘Procrast-e-Nation: Literal Timeshares’.

Thus, the shadows distracted and grumpified the brokers - making the pursuit of justice on the bustling commercial arena an even riskier proposition than usual.

The Judicial Agents of Restitution (JARs) were proactive in their pursuit of the graffiti artist, suspecting subliminal subversiveness hidden within the message.

It turned out, the culprit was simply a junior equity administrator who had developed a psionic mutation, likely due to high levels of exposure to the Poe’s particles (expelled when the Justice Exchange hit an especially tangled conflux of Poe’s Law leylines). It was either that or stress.

They interrogated him in one of the soundproof teleconferencing pods. They taped up a blanket for privacy, but this didn’t stop the brokers from rubbernecking in (or hacking the web cameras), keen to see a small slice of justice in action.

After a series of scans, a quick personality test, and a light round of ‘legal and proportional force’, they more or less had it figured out. The admin had, just that morning, developed the peculiar power to make his thoughts external. The word ‘CRIVENS’ on the outside of the building had, in fact, been the result of his initial surprise at having developed that power.

He assured the agents that no harm had been intended. He was, after all, a dutiful worker without a subversive bone (or rebellious organ or even vaguely mutinous membrane) in his body.

The agents thought about this. They consulted their superiors. They did a quick straw poll amongst the Ethical Consultants resident at the Exchange (who were happy to volunteer their expertise in exchange for a discount at the smoothie bar).

It was unanimously agreed that, no matter how good at 3D spreadsheets they were, someone who might express their genuine thoughts at any time - outside of easily-monitored and approved rebel outlets - was actually extremely subversive indeed.

The admin protested that this was out of his control. He would never intentionally do or say anything untoward - sincerity might just occasionally … slip out.

He was swiftly informed that this was, of course, *worse*.

As they dragged him away, he thought to himself about how rotten and fractured this whole experience had been.

And that is when the Justice Exchange cracked open like an egg, a fissure opening from its foundations to its roof and then spreading inexorably out through the rest of the city.

This is how the entirety of FairTrade City was broken by a single exclamation of surprise.

To put it another way - it put the *riven* into ‘crivens’.

---

The word ‘crivens’ was submitted as a pun-seed by a Word of the Month member. To become a member and suggest words for puns of your own, please check out https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

[littleliterarylesbian]

The Bones that Break

The rise of one power and the fall of another, a prophecy of the dead and forgotten. The Gods have never been kind and never truly lifted a finger, why would such things change now?

- a marauders era camp half blood au

(tysm @eleiasblack for helping me out with the French translations ^^)

Sirius is nothing like his family. Not like his father who always has the smell of liquor and smoke on his breath and who has different lipstick stains on his collar every week's end. Not like his mother who has nails just as sharp as her words, who will use anything she can get her hands on to discipline either of her children. Not like his twin sister, who's cold in both touch and feeling, who follows what is told to her like a blind duckling mistaking a hawk for its parent. He can't be like any of them, for he doesn't believe in the Holy God Above, for he believes that every man is equal, for the sight of both men and women make him think that he might be the devil himself. He relishes in the thought. Devils and demons are handsome, made from sin, and who is he if not a believer that the years of cousins marrying cousins have brought him both his looks and the torment in his mind. He would like to say it's a fair trade off, even when his face is always covered in scratch marks and his back is littered with burn scars, bruises, and stabs. It doesn't matter to him, he's convinced he'll die before he even hits marriageable age, the cousin he's betrothed to might just have to suffer and marry outside of the family tree as he was the only born male of the generation. Oh the horror of such a thing. The thought makes him smile. He has no reason to live, not here, in this dark desolate house, who's walls can hear almost everything that's said inside, a home in which not even the one you came out of the womb with can be your true confidant. The floorboards creak even when no one walks along them, the walls groan from just how long the home has been standing, the dark walls never painted a color above deep green or medium gray, chairs in sitting rooms used more for decoration then use with how uncomfortable they are. He wants the house to come crumbling around him one day. He thinks it will be a mercy with all the sins he's already committed in his fifteen years of living.

He wishes he could leave. His body hurts and the blood on his face caused by the talons- not nails, they're too sharp to be called nails- belonging to Mère. Sometimes he wonders if she sharpens them just for him. Sirius wouldn't be surprised. He's just glad she only used her hands this time around. When she reaches for the umbrella, or worse, he can hardly sit down for the next few days, never mind lay on his back and stare at the ceiling as he is now. He wonders about the future while he stares at his ceiling, not his own, but the world’s. If one day he could act on his desires on men just like he can on the pretty church girls that twirl their hair and ask him how he got the scar that sits on his eyebrow with fake sincerity. He wonders if one day people would care more about the pain that wracks his body as his own mother kicks him when he's down. He wonders if anyone can be truly happy. He sometimes wonders if the world is dying instead of changing for the better, if the amount of bones he finds during his outings are trying to tell him something that he can't figure out quite yet.

- Read More on Ao3 -

[zukkaart]

Prompt where zuko had to go abroad for a year for diplomatic reasons. Sokka gets insecure about the fact Zuko might find someone there that's better looking but Zuko proves to him he loves him the same(maybe even more. Distance makes the heart fonder or whatever the saying is

If you're looking for angst then bb you have come to the right place I despise the miscommunication trope so you're lucky I love you.

~~~~~~~~~~

One thing about Sokka is he has abandonment issues.

After his mother died and father left before he was even ten, there was little anyone could do to quell his anxiety. Especially when Aang almost died, he felt like that eight year old boy all over again as he cried into his father's chest.

He knew it wasn't their own faults, not really, and he didn't hold any resentment. It still didn't change the way he reacted whenever one of the people he cared about had to leave. He always felt like something would happen and they'd never return.

Over the last five years with everyone having to return to their respective nations as well as travelling around the world as diplomats Sokka had no choice but learn to adapt.

He wasn't expecting his anxiety to jump back through the roof when Zuko finally asked him to be his boyfriend on a visit to the South Pole. It was one of the happiest days of his life, until it wasn't.

Sokka didn't anticipate the way panic would grip his chest when the fire lord had to return to his people. They wrote letters back and forth almost every day, and they visited each other whenever possible. It had been three years since they began their long distance relationship and he still had no idea how Katara and Aang did it.

It had been okay between them for a while, Zuko was very good at reassurance and Sokka was content to drive himself in to his work and travels to distract himself. However, with everything so peaceful he hadn't had a reason to travel to the other nations, which meant he hadn't seen Zuko in almost 8 months now.

"Sokka? Are you alright?" Katara placed a hand on his shoulder, starling him awake from where he had fallen asleep across his diplomacy plans and maps.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, "I was just trying to figure out the best trade routes between us and the NP before going through the Earth Kingdom,"

The truth was, he wasn't okay. He had barely been eating or sleeping. Zuko had been in the North pole for the last three months, so on top of still not being able to see him he was now an entire world away, and they were corresponding much less frequently due to the distance and Zuko's endless work to improve relations.

Sokka couldn't help but feel like the longer he went without seeing his boyfriend, the less likely he was to come back at all. The added factor of being in a relationship made him feel like not only was something terrible likely to happen, but he also constantly worried that Zuko would find someone better... especially in the North Pole.

The North Pole had a large army full of brave warriors, and Sokka felt that any one of them was worth two of him- even after everything that he'd done. Zuko deserve someone better, but he still wanted the person he chose to be him. He had never spent more than two months in another nation at a time. Sokka couldn't help but feel like maybe he found someone.

"Come on, some messenger hawks just came in," Katara sighed, not failing to note the dark circles under his eyes that seemed to get deeper by the day. Sokka mumbled his agreement and pulled on his parka to follow her.

They finally reached the hawk perches and Sokka's mood was unimproved when he found no letters for him except updates from Toph and Aang on the construction of Republic City. Katara placed a hand on his shoulder, and he knew she was about to suggest she use some healing on him to help him sleep, but she never got the chance,

"Ship in port! All hands!" The dockmaster called, but it was the middle of the night. So Sokka and Katara took off running to help, practically falling through the snow as they went.

It was in fact a ship, a fire nation ship. Sokka felt his heart leap in his chest. That would explain the lack of correspondence. Zuko never write while he was sailing, he always insisted on focusing on helping his crew.

Sokka and Katara took the ropes that the crew tossed down and began working with the few dockhands working the night shift to drag it in to port. It took them a while. The moment the anchor was dropped Sokka sprinted up the gang plank and on to the ship, practically knocked the captain flat on his ass.

He righted him with a quick apology. "Where is Zuko?" He asked slightly frantically.

"The Fire Lord? Why would he be here?" The captain asked,

"Well because he- I...." Sokka dropped his head, not letting go of the captains shoulders, "He's really not here?"

The captain offered him a sympathetic look, "No, but that's actually why I'm here, to bring you back to the Fire Nation," Sokka's disappointment was instantly replaced by icy fear running up his spine. "What? What's wrong? Is he okay?"

That time the captain laughed lightly and gently removed Sokka's hands from his armor. "Nothing is wrong, your presence as an emissary is simply requested on behalf of the fire lord." He handed over an official correspondence with a royal seal.

He spoke the truth, so Sokka said his goodbyes to Katara and made sure she was alright. She assured him she was since Aang would be arriving in a few hours and their father would be sailing back from the EK in a week. So he packed a bag, hugged her goodbye, and set on his way. It would take them a month to reach Caldera City.

~Z~

"Your highness, embassador Sokka has arrived," The court announcer found him in his room, where he was frantically trying to figure out how to string leather. He had barely just returned from the North Pole where he had spent the last three months trying to learn every Water Tribe tradition possible surrounding marriage and betrothal. Most of them were simple, but carving a necklace? Proved to be nearly impossible.

He spent an entire extra month than anticipated there, just working with their best carvers and creating a design all his own. He broke a frankly absurd amount of bone circles in the process, but eventually made one that was perfect. Only one thing left to do.

~S~

He couldn't help his hands from shaking as he walked up the steps of the palace, he was about to open the large main doors when a servant ran up to him, practically out of breath.

"Embassador, the Fire Lord requests that you meet him by the turtle duck pond, shall I escort you?" He gasped for air

"No," Sokka couldn't help but crack a smile and place a comforting hand on the frazzled young man's shoulder. "I know where it is,"

He made his way around the palace and through the outdoor pathways that he could have walked in his sleep. Zuko always met him there if he was feeling stressed or had something important to talk about. His enthusiasm slipped back in to anxiety the closer he got. What if he did find someone else? What if he only brought him all the way here to break up with him in person?

I should just get back on that ship and go home

But it was too late. His feet had taken control all the way in to the garden, where Zuko was just sitting peacefully in the late afternoon light watching the turtle ducks swim around.

If this moment was to end, Sokka convinced himself to stand in it a moment longer. If he could just keep sitting there... so beautiful.

Zuko must have felt his eyes because he turned his head then, and beckoned him over. Sokka obeyed and sat down next to him. He reached a hand out but Zuko pulled away.

Tui and La spare me if this is how it ends

"What?" Zuko asked, and Sokka realized he must have that that out loud. He couldn't bring himself to say anything else, only to meet his eyes, tears welling in them.

Zuko immediately dropped whatever he was holding on to the grass in favor of taking Sokka's face with both hands.

"My love what's wrong?" Sokka couldn't stop the tears then from freely rolling down his face as he began to sob,

"I"m so sorry, I should have visited you more. If you found someone else it's okay but I don't want to know and I don't want to meet them," He gasped in between sobs, "Please, please spare me that,"

"Sokka? Lover, what are you talking about?" "You spent so long in the North, longer than usual right?"

A indecipherable look crossed Zukos face

"Yes," He confirmed, and his eyes flickered down, "A month longer, but it-" "I knew it," Another sob wracked his body as he yanked his face from Zuko's grasp and immediately began storming off. He heard shuffling behind him and silently prayed that Zuko would let him go with his dignity. He said as much,

"Sokka please! It's not like that, just wait!" "Leave me alone! I don't want to hear it!" He snapped back

"Sokka you absolutely wonderful idiot," Zuko grabbed his arm and yanked him around so they were face to face,

"Don't call me a-"

"Sokka I'm trying to propose!"

"You...what?"

(This one is literally so long my badddd but I hope you like it)

[thephooka]

Disregard the fragment of an ask before this, hit the send button by accident. Anyway, did Liya ever find out/confirm that it really was Hawk in that newspaper she kept?

Yeah, I imagine that was part of their catching up. She also would've shown/read him the incident report that Numair gave her, and he would've told her pretty much everything that happened up until he got taken into the trade. Everything that happened between then and him arriving in Enodia are the bits that he hasn't told her about. (He probably also left the timeline kind of fuzzy, so she might not realize how long he was held captive.)

A funny thing about that paper though: it's a setup I dropped. I didn't decide who would be the one to make the connection between Liya and Hawk until pretty late in the game, so I basically did a bunch of setup to make it so it could be almost anyone in the cast. I put the paper in to set up the original scenario that I had written, which is that Teige would recognize Liya when he did, but would tell her that he knew Hawk instead of keeping it quiet, and then the paper would be a way for him to prove it. That would've been sufficiently upsetting for both of them that things would get back to Helly, Yoshi, and/or Vlad--yadda yadda, I didn't finish writing the scenario through. It ended up meaning more imo for Numair to figure it out and have to make the right choice himself, and I figured Hawk might be a little less mad at him after the fact, knowing that.

[princess-of-the-corner]

So, are you still taking MonsterMHA Asks? What is everybody?

YES

So this is basically trading powers for Magic and Monsters SO

Gonna start off with the Complicated™ bits before going into what everything is.

The Complicated stuff is the AfO/OfA and Izuku-Tenko situation!

AfO and Yoichi are both Fae.

The OfA passing-down-power thing is a powerful Fae Deal made between the users and passed down. Some users were various other monster species.

Now for the Izuku-Tenko situation. Basically, Changelings!

AfO wanted to yoink Tenko to use for his plans because he's a petty bitch like that. But he /is/ Fae he has to obey by the nature of Fae and trade something. So he creates a child of his own to trade for a different child.

He puts the Changeling Child in Tenko's room, the child's magic working to make him resemble the other, and takes the real Tenko. But he's also still a petty bitch so he decides to try and kill the family via house fire.

This doesn't entirely work because the Changeling Child wanders off. He's found by Inko, and imprints on her as a mother-figure almost immediately, his still-active Magic causing his features to switch from looking like 'Tenko' to looking like if Inko was his real mother.

Because the Child ran away and looks different, no one clocks him as 'Tenko' anymore. Tenko is presumed dead by fire, the Child is assumed to be abandoned. Inko takes him in and names him 'Izuku'.

This leads to some later fuckery because the Changeling Deal is not complete, as Izuku didn't replace Tenko, and now he never can because he's crafted the identity of 'Izuku'. But both Izuku and Tenko have claim to the name 'Tomura Shigaraki' or anything where the wording is about AfO's child.

Anyway! All the other fuckery of who's what:

the rest of 1-A

Katsuki - Werewolf (newly turned. Like literally had a single Full Moon before UA)

Ochako - Bakeneko

Shoto - Demon/Angel hybrid (Yeah basically for all the Todorokis just imagine their same Fire/Ice but with this nonsense)

Kirishima - Dragon

Mina - Slime

Denki - Frankenstein's Monster

Iida - Pegasus

Tsu - Merfolk

Sero - Arachne/Spidertaur

Momo - Selkie (Bear Variant)

Jiro - Human/Witch (Bard)

Fumikage - Harpy (botw-style rito tbh)

Eimi - Living Shadow

Hagakure - Ghost

Koda - Gargoyle

Ojiro - Tsukumogami of a Wing Chun Wooden Dummy (think Velveteen Rabbit)

Sato - Human/Witch (Potionmaker)

Aoyama - Sphinx

Himiko - Shapeshifter(sometimes also called Changeling but different from Izuku) and afflicted with Vampirism.

Shinso - Siren

(I still don't have anything for Shoji so RIP)

Other UA students:

Tetsutetsu - Dragon

Pony - Unicorn

Mei - Gremlin

Teachers:

Aizawa - Gorgon

Present Mic - Banshee

Midnight - Succubus/Incubus

Vlad King - Vampire

Nezu - Former Witch's Familiar, now a Witch himself.

All Might - Human-turned-Fae via OfA Contract.

Bonus characters:

Eri - Kirin(Dragon/Unicorn hybrid)

Lady Nagant - Human/Witch (Necromancer), formerly The Grim Reaper

Hawks - Erote, currently The Grim Reaper

[whimsicalmeerkat]

✨Fic Writing Review 2023✨

The ever-delightful @dear-massacre tagged me in this a couple weeks ago, but I decided to wait until the end of the year. I don’t feel like working today, so I figure it’s close enough!

Words

127,727 words posted on AO3

66 works posted or updated on AO3

Fandoms & Ships Represented:

Black Jewels - Anne Bishop (Daemon Sadi/Lucivar Yaslana: 5)

Demonic Disasters and Afterlife Adventures- Shannon Mae (Adam/Minos: 1)

Men’s Hockey RPF (1)

Original Work (2)

Perilous Courts - Tavia Lark (Julien Sandry/Whisper: 2, Bellamy Sandry/Rakos Tem: 1, Daromir Azri/Vana Dire: 1, Corin Marcel/Audric Sandry: 1)

Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh (Aden Kai/Vasic Zen: 1, Kaleb Krychek/Judd Lauren: 1, Lucas Hunter/Hawke Snow: 1)

Radiance Series - Tavia Lark (Evain Marha/Leth ka Tariel: 3)

Teen Wolf (Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski: 27, Derek Hale/Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski: 1, Derek Hale/Peter Hale: 1, Derek Hale/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski: 7, Chris Argent/Derek Hale: 1)

The Authority - DC Comics (Apollo/Midnighter & Jenny Quantum: 1)

The Hollows - Kim Harrison (Trent Kalamack/Rachel Morgan: 7, Jenks/Matalina: 1)

Top Fics by Kudos

my heart was connected (Teen Wolf: Derek Hale/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

Trading Up (Teen Wolf: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

won’t you take me from this valley (Teen Wolf: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

devil don’t take a break (Teen Wolf: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

I think I know a secret (Teen Wolf: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

My Fandom Fic Events in 2023

30+ Fanfic (@thirty-plus-fanfic) 24-Hour Drabbles (drabbles)

sterekdrabbles (@sterekdrabbles)

The Sufficiently Advanced Exchange (so we remain the same: The Hollows, Trent Kalamack/Rachel Morgan)

Rare Male Slash Exchange (ah my love, remind me: Teen Wolf, Chris Argent/Derek Hale)

Battleship 2023 (15 works, multiple fandoms: series)

30+ Fanfic (@thirty-plus-fanfic) Third Serversary (Summer) Holiday Event (some glad morning: Teen Wolf, Derek Hale/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

Rare Pair Exchange (I’ll Always Know It's You: The Hollows, Trent Kalamack/Rachel Morgan)

Launch the Ship -⚓︎- Round 3 (We Were Helping!: Perilous Courts, Daromir Azri/Vana Dire, Vana Dire & Bellamy Sandry)

RelationShipping (take me to the edge so I can fall apart: Original Work, Werewolf Brother/Human Brother He Wants to Turn)

Sterek Prompt Meme (@sterekpromptmeme) (Trading Up: Teen Wolf, Derek Hale/Peter Hale)

Trick or Treat Exchange (Trick or Treat!: The Hollows, Trent Kalamack/Rachel Morgan)

SPE (@sterekposevents) Fall In Love with Sterek (I think I know a secret: Teen Wolf, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

Wanksgiving (in the middle of the night: Teen Wolf: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski)

We Die Like Fen: We're Dark like Fen in a Storm at Night (then, now, and forever: Radiance Series, Evain Marha/Leth ka Tariel)

30+ Fanfic (@thirty-plus-fanfic) Holiday Bonanza and New Year's Shindig 2023 (Teen Wolf, multiple pairings: 2023 fics in series)

Upcoming 2024 Events & Projects

After making that last list my plan to do way fewer events in 2024 has been reinforced. I’m not going to list all of my projects. Most of what I plan to work on are my wips. Below are the events I plan to do:

Small Fandoms Big Bang

Sterek CollaBang (@sterekcollabang)

Battleship Exchange

RelationShipping Exchange

Various 30+ Fanfic Events (@thirty-plus-fanfic)

Rules & Tags

Honestly, do what you want to with this whether that’s putting in way too much effort like I did, ignoring it, or somewhere in between.

I’m not going to tag anyone, but if you see this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged!

[polyhexian]

Raine's entire experience in the eventually AU cracks me up.

Like, on the one hand, the rebellion seems to have a bit more steam earlier on here? (is that a result of Jasper being alive? or just headcanon?) In canon there didn't seem to be much organized rebellion until, like, a month before the Day of Unity. So they've got that going for them.

And they've got the Martlet! Who is a very strong ally, even if they can't figure out what the guy's whole DEAL is. Who is he? Where'd he come from? What's with the lack of magic? What's with the broken hawk palisman? How does he seem to have better castle intel than Raine does despite Raine WORKING IN THE CASTLE? Why is he so standoffish about getting more involved when he OBVIOUSLY hates Belos? He is weirdly obsessed with fighting the Golden Guard but also insanely protective of the Golden Guard? His motivations are inscrutable and make no sense. But beggars can't be choosers and the Martlet is really good at what he does, so Raine doesn't question him much.

But the guy isn't all that great at cashing in favors? He just keeps racking them up. What does he WANT??

When he DOES cash in a favor or name his price in a trade, it makes no SENSE.

"I want more information on the Golden Guard."

"You probably know more about the Golden Guard's fighting skills and tactics than anyone else at this point."

"Not that kind of information. I want to know ABOUT him. His likes, dislikes, personal history…"

Raine squints at the Martlet. "Okay, I'm aware you two are rivals, but this is a bit much." They can't afford to worry too much about the Golden Guard, aside from worrying that he doesn't get in the CATTs' way. The child soldier thing is messed up, but the kid is severely brainwashed and there's not much Raine can do when they need to focus on saving all of the Isles. Still… "Are you aware that the Golden Guard is a teenage boy?"

The Martlet straightens up. "Aha, so you are aware that the Golden Guard is a teenage boy."

"That…doesn't answer my question."

"Nope, but it's answered several of mine."

Raine groans, but the Martlet's price is relatively inexpensive and while the guy is weird he's never been a creep, so they say, "I know of a few people who were involved in his upbringing, I'll see what I can do."

Things progress generally along the same lines as canon for a while. Raine's got the CATTs, and they reunite with Eda for a bit, and then Darius and Eberwolf "protect" them in the stupidest way possible but at least it ends with them joining the CATTs, and they've got to fake being brainwashed by Terra's STUPID tea, but everything proceeds as usual.

And then Any Sport in a Storm happens.

"Darius," Raine says, staring blearily at the other man, "it is four in the morning. WHAT is so important that YOU are skipping out on your beauty sleep to knock on my door at four in the morning?"

"I need the Martlet's contact information," Darius says, wild-eyed.

"…Why?"

Darius draws a blank. "Um…classified?"

Raine decides they don't want to know and gives him the Martlet's scroll number.

And then things get weird. Darius doesn't leave his room for like two days and when he does he's oddly jumpy now? Eberwolf seems to think he's depressed by WHY is anyone's guess. And then Darius starts trying to befriend the Golden Guard?? Why?? Darius we're running a rebellion we need to stay UNDER the kid's radar - You're going on a camping trip? What? YOU? What's this about eating bugs??

If they try to contact the Martlet during this time period they are. taken aback. by what a bad mood the guy's in.

And there's a million ways Hollow Mind could go down, but if it goes down in such a way that Raine remains oblivious to the whole Jasper situation, they are just. So confused. Like, okay, we didn't get into the Emperor's mind, but we got the intel we needed. Time to stop the Day of Unity!

The Golden Guard ran away for some reason and Raine is like, okay, one threat eliminiated, yay? Except now Darius is freaking out over the missing kid and it's like, Darius. Darius can you please focus? Darius we are all going to die.

They try calling the Martlet like 50 times before he finally picks up and they're like, look, we figured out what the Day of Unity is, and it's bad, we need all hands on deck! Are you in or what? What do you mean no? So just because you're a wild witch you're gonna leave everyone with a sigil to die?

"I'M A LITTLE BUSY, WHISPERS."

"Busy doing WHAT? What could possibly be more important than - did he just hang up on me?!"

Eda's house gets raided but Eda herself isn't captured, so that's a relief, but Darius is really cagey all of a sudden, and - what's this about the Martlet single-handedly holding off an Emperor's Coven attack squad at Hexside? What is he DOING?

Darius finds the Golden Guard. Yay? The kid isn't on Belos's side anymore so that's good and Darius wants to give him a mission and you know what, knock yourself out Darius, Raine is just going to ignore whatever's going on there and focus on the ACTUAL plan. The Martlet STILL isn't answering their calls. Why does Raine feel like they're the only one who cares about this rebellion?

And then, y'know, Day of United, puppetization, possession, final battle, stomping Belos into an unrecognizable puddle of goo before seeing the spirit of their god ascend into the aether. Raine has had. A long day. Week. Month. Whatever. But they've won! Everyone's alive! And there are reunions!

Darius is with the Golden Guard kid, because of course he is. There is a strange man glaring very intently at Darius. Darius looks terrified of the guy but that is not stopping him from listening to Hunter's ramblings.

The strange man is the Martlet. The Martlet is the previous Golden Guard. And also Hunter's father. WHAT? WHAT??

And Raine looks at this enigma of an ally whom they have never been able to figure out, who is apparently the Emperor's old lackey and infamous bogeyman, and who the CATTs owe approximately five million favors to.

Shit.

And Raine is like, okay, what do you want. Are you after money? Power? What is your GAME?? I'll have you know we aren't going to replace one tyrant with another BUT I admit your leadership experience COULD come in handy so if you want a seat in the new government we've got to build up I could probably arrange SOMETHING.

And this man just looks at them and says, "I'm going on paternity leave. Don't call me."

And Raine is just like. What is HAPPENING.

DONT CALL ME FIRUABNDJFOWKRF

god raines perception of this man is so funny. He's a weirdo who won't listen to them unless they bring him a plain boiled egg for lunch. The only favours he ever cashes in are "can you find out what the golden guards favourite animal is" and "if anyone but me touches a hair on the golden guards head I'll blow up the boiling isles myself." He's so fucking DRAMATIC. And after the day of unity they don't see him again! It's three months and until Raine is captured they keep an eye out, but he appears to be gone. Either he ran away like he seemed to want to, or he got killed. Either way he's out of the picture and he's probably never coming back. Then. Who the fuck is that guy over there with Darius and Hunter.

Actually I imagined in hollow mind jasper shows up to the party late because obviously this was NOT on hunters mission schedule, and it is also not the weekend or his day off!! By the time he gets to the owl house eber and Raine and Darius are panicking in the bushes frantically arguing about what to do when the Martlet fucking emerges from the brush panting for air like what the FUCK did you DO. And they explain what happened as quickly as they can and he's like SO GO TELL THEM HOW THE FUCKING SPELL WORKS???? SO THEY CAN GET THEM OUT??? and they're like but our secret identities and-- at which point jasper just grabs Darius and drags him across the yard, kicks open the door and throws him on the floor. Everyone inside like HELLO and the Martlet like HE IS GOING TO TELL YOU HOW TO FIX THIS NOW.

And here, for DRAMA, it's like when Luz went in that portal she made for the vee episode, where they had her tied with a rope so they could pull her back? They have to send someone in to grab them so they can pull them back, and obviously jasper insists. Because how fucking cool would it be for the kids to be finally cornered by Belos like they were just before they got teleported back only for jasper to show up out of nowhere with a flapjack staff to block a big dramatic blow and Belos to freeze like YOU-! and a moment of absolute terror on jaspers face before he grabs the kids and yells he's got them and gets pulled back. And then they all drop on the floor, hunter panics and bolts, and jasper frantically goes after him but oh god, jasper just got hit hard, maybe he hurt a leg or something and he can't CATCH him and Hunter goes off on his exciting homeless era while jasper is left to collapse in the woods and wail angrily at god because he was so fucking close!

And of course he doesn't go back to Eda's or explain shit lmfao he's just gone again like fucking always

Can you imagine Raine seeing THAT. He drags Darius away. Enters the owl house all dramatically. Long silence. Flash of light, lots of yelling. Door slams open, hunter sprints into the woods. Martlet runs after him, bleeding, also vanishes into the woods. Darius stumbles out with a thousand yard stare. Raine is like what the FUCK happened??? And Darius is like I need a nap goodbye

[throughtrialbyfire]

TESFest, Day 5 - Forgotten/Devotion

a piece on the fate of the Brinehammer wreck in The Pale. takes place post-Oblivion, pre-Skyrim. inspired by this song from Beyond Skyrim: Bruma word count - 2,374 content warnings - death, injury

The ship was called the Brinehammer, though most have forgotten its name by now. Even the sailor himself had almost forgotten, often simply referring to it as the damned boat. Some say the way the boards creaked and groaned beneath their feet was a warning, jokes spouted here and there of how her temper must be a nasty one that none could spend time aboard her without feeling at best, watched, and at worst, loathed. Perhaps it was haunted, or it was the haunting, wrapped in wood, adorned with metal and gowned in high sails. Sailors were a superstitious lot, anyone knew, and when the ship itself seemed to hate the presence of the crew, that's when it was time to return to land.

He shouldn't have been surprised when it crashed. He knew the captain had a habit for skooma and strong mead, and the two seldom mixed well. The crew had been thinking of leaving him behind entirely, or whispering of mutiny whenever there was a spare moment. But not even the best laid plans were foolproof, and if the gods wanted a laugh, who were they - this damned crew - to deny them?

Morning cast an iron-soft light upon the seas, turbulent with an oncoming storm. He'd warned the captain, the Dunmer had, many times. He was an experienced sailor. This captain was new to the sea, though aged and weathered by his time on the front lines during the Oblivion Crisis. He drove them through waters none should have traversed. He'd been good at the start, or else the Dunmer would never have set foot on his vessel. But the sea challenged this. The hard conditions, the nights pacing the deck in case of pirates, the sleeplessness and the tossing and turning. The old Khajiit aboard cursed and muttered often of Hermorah, of the god that could tear a mind asunder. Perhaps their captain, then, had fallen into the clutches of the writhing beneath the seas.

There had been a crew of twenty-five when they began, but by this point in the voyage, seven were left. Too many got off the ship at ports, had seen too much of the abyss. The Brinehammer became a curse on their lips.

Ice sharpened like spears along the distant horizons, waves slashing through the frigid sheets. The captain, his hands shaking as they always seemed to, sipped at the bottle he clutched with hawk-tight fingers. The Dunmer watched him, red eyes examining every motion the captain made. He'd seen this madness creeping up over time, but today, something darkened in the wind. The Dunmer eyed the sweeping of the high winds, the cold air bashing against the figures aboard the deck, all shivering in it's breath.

"Are you sure we're on the right course?" He asked, words coming out much harsher than intended. The captain grunted. "Shouldn't we be-"

"We'll get to Solitude when we get there," the captain barked as he gazed down at his compass. The old Khajiit listened, ears twitching as he swept at the deck. It was a futile thing, salt and melted snow turned to sludge that none could hope to banish. But the Khajiit didn't care of that. He did it to listen, as the Dunmer knew from their endless conversations.

The crew was comprised of two Imperials, a Breton, an Orc, a Dunmer, a Nord, and the old Khajiit, whom the Dunmer respected. He was a sea-hardened, wise old man, a Cathay from a small family that lost some members during the Oblivion Crisis. He'd grown weary of trade and commerce in the Imperial City, and by the time the Dunmer joined the crew's ranks, he'd seen enough sea to last several lifetimes. Took the Dunmer under his wing. Taught him how to keep level-headed, even in the most dire of situations.

The Sea of Ghosts, they called it. Ferocious thing. Named well. The Dunmer looked out along the endless expanse of sky, the thousands of miles of nothingness, blotches of shadow indicating land just beyond their reach. The sky threatened more snow, or a storm. He peered into it, silent prayers on his lips for fair weather, but he'd stopped expecting answers. He'd long since given up the idea of anything beyond what he could see with his eyes, break with his hands, yet he still whispered to Azura to be good to them. To guide his fate.

He watched as the captain, stone-eyed, guided the ship forward, between the sharp and impending ice, between the rocking waters, the Brinehammer sliding along the surface even as the sea sloshed and churned beneath them. The boat had once been a sturdier thing, the Dunmer heard the old Khajiit tell him, but years in harsh condition and little time for repairs had done its damage. Sometimes the Brinehammer would creak under their feet as though confirming the old Cathay's tales. He seemed the only one that the vessel tolerated, or at least didn't loathe.

The captain ordered the Dunmer to head below deck, check on some cargo, "and by the gods, don't take anything," the older man added sharply. He knew of the Dunmer's past, something that he often regretted mentioning off-handedly when he'd joined the crew. The idea of a former thief on board tended to make the captain give him shifting glances, quick eyes that shuffled to and from his own ruby gaze. His cold hands clenched the helm, the aged Imperial keeping his sights set for land. Everyone was anxious to get to Solitude, unload their cargo, and spend some nights at the local inn getting hammered beyond fathom.

The Dunmer passed the Orc, a burly man from a small city in High Rock, who spent most of his time helping the captain keep an eye out for anything on the waters, for land. They spoke quick greetings to one another, a small bit of conversation before he climbed below deck, his grey hands working to steady him as he descended. He'd never liked the rocking of the sea.

All went well, for the next hour or so. He organized and reorganized and catalogued their cargo, ensuring everything was marked as neatly as possible. The Dunmer hummed and made idle comments to himself as he continued his work, keen eyes scanning bottles and trinkets and wondering just how much he would be paid from all of this when they finished their work in Solitude.

He was about to head up to inform the captain, when the world rattled beneath him. A noise, puncturing through his ears, loud as thunder and cracking like bone, and a force that sent him tumbling. The boat went sideways against something. Before he could scramble to his feet, a crate came scraping down towards him. He had no time to act, the wood crashing into his knee.

Seering hot pain scorched through him, burning every sense. His eyes squeezed shut. He cursed loudly, shrieking and shoving his palm over his mouth to mute the sound. A blast of cold air threw his senses off, his face tickled by something spraying at him, and when he finally opened his eyes, he saw why.

The hole in the side of the ship. Sharp rocks, jutting against it, and snow pelting inside unlike he'd seen in a very long time.

The old Khajiit came rushing down into the cargo hold, as though he'd overheard the cacophany. From beyond the door, the Dunmer could hear the captain cursing, shrill, barking like a mad animal at some god or other, a snowstorm, as sudden as the sun is bright. The Cathay knelt beside the Dunmer, examining his leg, grave expression digging into his fur.

"What happened?" The Dunmer demanded, but he already knew. He knew this ship was cursed, haunted, whatever one called it, the Brinehammer was too damned strange not to be.

"Snow," the Cathay breathed, words forming clouds as they left his mouth, "this one tried to warn the captain, but the Imperial would not listen, this one-"

"Oh, gods," the Dunmer groaned in pain, head lolling back as his vision blackened. The Khajiit rested a warm, clawed hand to his face, trying to keep the younger of the pair awake, "oh, gods."

The Orc ran in next, shouting at the captain, the pair back-and-forth arguing as he made it down the steps, clinging to the walls for balance. He spotted the Dunmer and the Khajiit, and in a hush that poured ice into everyone's veins, he whispered, "Where's Titus?"

The crew had long lost use for names. They didn't care, most of them were never aboard the Brinehammer long enough to use them, but Titus was the newest member. Youngest of the crew. Wiry limbs, wiry red hair. The only Imperial aside from the captain. Everyone else had been on deck or in their room. The boy snuck off to nap in the captains quarters sometimes, said the bed was more comfortable, the captain would never know since he hardly slept anyways, the boy hadn't been on the deck or in his room…

"Oh, by the Nine," the Breton sailor clutched a hand over his mouth as he pushed the door to the captains quarters open, apprehensive, "my gods, Titus…"

"What is it?" the Dunmer groaned. The Breton turned back, eyes shadowed by his heavy brow.

Beyond him, he could see blood.

The captain, finally, stormed down to see where everyone was and what was happening, the Nord behind him, her fists balled as though ready to throw the bastard off the ship herself.

"If you would just listen," she urged gravely, "then we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"I couldn't have foreseen the weather, girl," the captain sneered, "that storm blew in so fast it nearly took us into the water!"

"Onto the rocks is not much better."

He watched them bicker for a while as the Orc stepped slowly over, resting his large palm over the Dunmer's knee. "I can't…" he shook out, "I don't know Restoration, but there's got to be some potions here somewhere,"

"We unloaded all our healing potions last port," he grimaced.

The Khajiit stroked at his chin, thinking. "How far are we from Dawnstar?"

The question was enough to silence the crew. After a moment, the Breton made the awkward clamor up to the deck, staring out into the horizon. When he returned, he still looked grim, but there was a tinge of hope in his eyes. "I don't know, but I can see the Blue Palace."

"Our friend needs medical attention," the Cathay noted, gesturing to the Dunmer's broken leg. Shattered, probably. He couldn't move it, and all he could feel was enough pain to make the room spin if he so much as moved his eyes. "If we go looking for someone, a way to town, perhaps…"

The captain glanced around at his crew. "Alright."

The room fell quiet, aside from the whipping of the wind and snow, the high shrill of sound.

"If we make it to Dawnstar, we'll be able to bring a rescue party, get you patched up," he pointed a wrinkled finger to the Dunmer, "and get us to Solitude."

"Shouldn't someone stay behind?" The Nord asked. The Orc held up a hand, but lowered it when the Khajiit said that he would.

It was settled, then. The others would go to Dawnstar. They would get help, and return to rescue him. He watched them leave, and the Khajiit set to work creating a space for them to rest, to keep warm. He pulled a couple of bedrolls from a crate - grinning as he did, knowing full well the captain would toss him off the crew for it - and pulling a lantern, igniting it. He brought in some books, a quill, and the pair sat there together.

The Dunmer knew by the third day that all hope was lost. The Cathay had said all he was going to do was try to light a fire outside, maybe attempt to boil some water, but the look in his eye… The Dunmer knew.

He waited. And waited, as the hours ticked by in the dark. He was lucky to have not frozen, but dehydration had set in long ago. He could barely think. He reached for his chest, as though fumbling for something, and murmured to himself of an amulet he'd long tossed in the sea. He'd once been devoted to Azura, in his youth. And in this moment, he had nothing to remind himself of home, of her. And to die here, near Dawnstar, where rumor circulated of a shrine being built in her honor, seemed nothing short of fate.

He flipped open the pages of the book he'd been reading and re-reading. Father of the Niben. He grasped his quill, dipping it in the half-frozen ink. One final plea, one final prayer. In the back of the book, scribbled down, the sailor's last request. That Azura end his suffering. That his soul may find peace.

He had no idea what may become of it. Perhaps, like himself, it would be forgotten. Another shipwreck and damned crew. Perhaps, he added bitterly, his crew had gotten piss drunk off in Dawnstar and forgotten all about the two sailors back at the ship, and the rotting remains of Titus. The cold had prevented him from stenching up the entire cargo hold. The old Khajiit had said he'd been crushed by a chest, and the Dunmer was glad he hadn't been able to see it. Still, he wrote, and used his strength for one last moment.

One day, maybe someone would stumble upon the wreck. They would find the skeleton of the elf, and his last prayer. They would find the bones of Titus. What would become of the words scribbled on the inner back of the book, he would not live to know, but the words would live on in his stead.

As the Dunmer allowed his strength to pass, laying back and closing his eyes, he swore he heard a voice, and felt the warmth of arms around him one last time.