#Treason's harbour

[thekenobee]

Rest in pieces Jack

[lessthansix]

Certainly he had heard of Homer, and had indeed looked into Mr Pope’s version of his tale; but for aught he could make out, the fellow was no seaman. Admittedly Ulysses had no chronometer, and probably no sextant neither; but with no more than log, lead and lookout an officer-like commander would have found his way home from Troy a d—d sight quicker than that. Hanging about in port and philandering, that was what it amounted to, the vice of navies from the time of Noah to that of Nelson. And as for that tale of all his foremast-hands being turned into swine, so that he could not win his anchor or make sail, why, he might tell that to the Marines. Besides, he behaved like a very mere scrub to Queen Dido – though on second thought perhaps that was the other cove, the pious Anchises. But it was all one: they were six of one and half a dozen of the other, neither seamen nor gentlemen, and both of ’em God d—d bores into the bargain. For his part he far preferred what Mowett and Rowan wrote; that was poetry a man could get his teeth into, and it was sound seamanship too.

Treason’s Harbour, Patrick O’Brian

[dzelonis]

Patrick O'Brian - Aubrey & Maturin #9-10

Patrick O’Brian – Aubrey & Maturin #9-10

Links uz grāmatas Goodreads lapu Manas pārdomas Iedomājoties, kādas briesmas un bīstamus apstākļus veselībai spēj sagādāt dažādie apstākļi uz 19.gadsimta burukuģiem, jāapsveic galvenie varoņi kuģa ārsts Stīvens Maturins un kapteinis Džeks Obrijs, kuri noturējušies pie tik labas veselības, turklāt ar visiem divdesmit pirkstiem. Treason’s Harbour turpina varoņus vizināt pa Vidusjūru, konkrētāk…

[dearbraus]

Covered in the Colour of You ࿐

— Armin Arlert

⊹ Details. 18+ minors dni, cisfem reader (use of girl as reference to the reader), reader's hair gets combed through, reader wears a nightgown, post-canon exploration of characters and setting, reader is mentally ill (so is Armin), hunger as a metaphor for desire, love as consumption, love confessions, first times (Armin is a virgin, Reader is not), first kisses, sex on a table, some foreplay, unprotected sex, creampies, ambiguous ending, angst, hurt/some comfort, childhood friends to lovers. ⊹ Run time. 10k ⊹ Note. I don't know how we got here but I'm glad we did. This was meant to be a cute comfort fic to deal with the ending of Attack on Titan but it became so much more, I hope you enjoy.

❝A surprise visit from your childhood friend, Armin Arlert forces you to confront the feelings you've been harbouring for over a decade..❞

The Jägerist’s cries are deafening, they bounce off the clay brick walls of the surrounding houses and slither through your shuttered window panes. Every Tuesday and Thursday, the newly minted Paradis military regiment convenes in the small town square within the rebuilt city of Shiganshina. It took them just under a month to replace the fallen with green boys and girls who were just buzzing at the idea of honouring Eren Jäger and avenging his death. Once Paradis managed to secure the resources– if there were any left– you were certain that the military would erect a bronze statue of Paradis’ “saviour”. For now, they’d bother napping babies and the elderly folk who milled about the area to soak in some of the sun’s sweet warmth. 

Today they seemed to be reminding those who’d spare an ear to listen, that traitors would soon shore and with them came treasonous falsehoods. If not for Queen Historia who still harbours some morsel of affection for her old comrades, they’d be as good as dead the moment their ship docked. Word spread quickly, how you weren’t sure, but like wildfire the claim that Armin Arlert had been the one to kill Eren Jäger scorched the plains and further sowed the seeds of instability amongst the population. 

The irony of such a ludicrous statement was not lost on you. Armin Arlert couldn’t kill Eren Jäger, they were best friends and all of Shiganshina knew there could not be one without the other. You had known the two almost as long as they had known each other. Shiganshina wasn’t so big in those days, Grisha Jäger was the only doctor and Armin’s father was something of a handyman. They were who you called upon when something was amiss and you’d thank them with a warm meal or something sweet. That was what you did in those days, you showed kindness wherever you could. They were so simple, those days when the walls kept secrets and our minds were shrouded with ignorant bliss. Some mornings when you woke before the sun had yet risen, you wished Paradis could have remained tucked safely beneath the blanket King Fritz had pulled over the island. 

What little sense of communal affection remained dwindled with calls to action that erupted from the square.

This morning, the sense of longing that had settled between your lungs weighed heavily as you listened to the shouting. You wished the clock would turn back and the next time you woke, you’d be ten years old and the house you lived in would be your home. It was sort of a sick joke, to be given the keys to the house built upon the rubble of your family's home. Floch handed you the keys as if he had done you this great personal service when it had been Eren, Armin, Mikasa, and their friends who had dug through the wreckage to salvage the home they too had lost. Vagrancy was tiring and what little money you had to your name after years of working for meagre wages that just barely covered your expenses, maybe you should have been grateful to at least collect a few pieces of your life before even if they jagged and misshapen. Something was better than nothing, wasn’t it?

It had to be. 

There needed to be some reason for you to keep going. Lately, there didn’t seem to be any. Everything felt wrong. The once-cobbled streets were made of smooth even stone that allowed you to bounce around the city with ease, it reminded you of the capital. As a child, you often felt jealous that Wall Sina was home to such niceties while you were made to trip over protruding stones and wade through mud puddles in the wet months. Now though, you’d give anything for a semblance of a distant past that would make Shiganshina home once more. But as you lingered around your old haunts, searching for familiar faces and memories that would ease the pain in your chest, all you’d find was something new and foreign that left you feeling disappointed.

Turning over onto your side you curled inwards, a soft sigh passing your lips as you willed your mind to banish the longing that gnawed at you. The cool breeze that glides through your window leaves goosebumps on the bits of flesh that aren’t being swaddled by your thin white blanket. All the battle cries seemed to have simmered down as the sun inched closer toward the middle of the sky. You might be able to catch the morning market before they pack up their wares for the day if you leave now. Your icebox was pathetically empty, with only a head of rapidly wilting lettuce and milk to occupy the space. Sitting upward with a yawn, you cast a glance toward your dresser. Your clothes hang sloppily over the side of the open drawers. You should probably tidy things up before the hour grows too late.

The sleek, mousy brown floorboards that make up the second story of your house do not creak as you pad across the room—your chest aches, though you’ve grown desensitised to the familiar feeling. Your house used to creak and groan when the wind blew too roughly, and the walls were thin enough that you’d wake to the sound of your mother humming as she prepared breakfast for your family. You tried not to dwell too hard, if anything you should have been relieved. An unexpected storm wouldn’t dare to blow the roof off your house now. 

Plucking the soft, brown wool knit cardigan off the lip of your cracked door you slipped the fabric over your body. Your delicate muslin nightgown did little to keep the morning chill away. It did even less to preserve any ounce of modesty. Your bare feet slapped against the stairs as you headed downward, and a soft knock sounded at your door. Pulling your cardigan closer to your body you sighed. It must have been Mrs. Bergmann from next door coming to check on you, make sure you left your house this week, let in some fresh air– function as any other human would, that sort of stuff. She had been widowed long ago, her only son had been one of the many scouts to give his life for a free Paradis. There wasn’t much for her to do aside from checking in on her neighbours. She was a wife, a mother– it was in her nature to nurture all the little lost souls she came across.

“I’m coming Mrs. Bergmann,” You called, your voice echoing around the empty space that would have been your living room, “You don’t need to call in Werner to bust down the door just yet!”

Forcing a smile to your lips, you prepared yourself to open the door. Mrs. Bergmann was well-meaning on the best of days, if a little nosey on the worst. It was better to have someone than no one at all, you remind yourself, pushing back the urge to blanche and roll your eyes at the urgency of her knocking. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you hope your hair wasn’t too gnarly after all the tossing and turning you did last night. The door opens with a soft click as you twist the knob open.

Shock blows through you as you blink at the person on the other side. Your eyes frantically open and close, trying to make sense of who stood before you but as your synapses fired off round after round, searching for something, they found nothing.

“Armin?” You timidly ask, your throat twists up and grows dry.

The syllables on your tongue felt wrong. Maybe, the muscles had just forgotten how his name tasted. As a child, his name rolled off your tongue sweetly and constantly. Back then, there had been too many emotions packed inside your small body, you could never make sense of them, all you knew was that they all led back to the man in front of you. Your cheeks warmed at the reminder of the crush you used to harbour, of how you’d write your name and his, silently calling yourself Mrs. Arlert as if she hadn’t already existed in the form of his mother.

Armin’s cheeks grow round with the shy smile he wears, “Hi,” he says. The remnants of his boyhood live in the soft curve of his jaw and the cherub-like softness of his rosy complexion. 

“Hi,” you breathlessly whispered as you searched for any other lingering signs of familiarity. 

“May I come in?” he asks, his nervous hands smooth imaginary wrinkles in his sage green tie. The breath is selfishly stolen from your lungs by the greedy, monster who lived inside of you. They swallowed back the traces of your youth, you hoped it was enough to placate them because as long as your breath was hitched, no words could come forth.

Armin’s blue eyes curiously peered back at you from beneath his pale blonde lashes. He was still quite pretty, but the edge of maturity that marred his features made your heart flutter in a way it never had. The desperate longing that clawed at your rib cage slowed, pawing instead as its interests morphed into something more amorous. You would have beaten it down if you could, shame prickles your skin as you clear your throat.

“Of course,” you stutter, opening the door to make room for him to enter, “You’ll have to excuse my appearance, I wasn’t expecting any guests this morning.”

His smile is polite, “What about Mrs. Bergmann?” He inquires, his eyes darting around to drink in the interior of your house. It looked just like the one he was raised in but it had been twelve years since he stepped foot in one. The scouts lived in barracks that were carved out of long-since abandoned castles, “You seemed to be expecting her.”

“Ah, not exactly,” you muttered, offering him a seat at your dining table, “She’s just the only visitor I have as of late … So, what brings you by?”

Armin declines the seat, instead pulling out the chair opposite of him for you. You thank him with a small bow of your head. His knuckles brush against your shoulders as he slides his fingertips along the edge of your chair before swinging around to the other side. In a world of boys, Armin Arlert was a gentleman, as he always had been, even at the age of ten when boys took to tugging girls' pigtails for attention. His grandfather would be proud of the young man he’s become. You think Mr. Arlert would have been proud even if all Armin did was survive.

The warm yellow sunlight filters through the windows and turns Armin’s hair a shade of bleach blonde. His skin is tanned, his cheeks rosy. He looks healthy, he’s a bit taller too. His hair was different too now that you took a moment to look at it, only slightly so. The shaved undercut reminded you of the short, stoic captain whose charge Armin was in for years.

Insecurity stirred in your belly. You thought of what you might look like to him being so dishevelled in nothing but a nightgown and cardigan. Unkempt, that is how you must have appeared to him. The bike in your stomach burns at the back of your throat as you cross your legs and tuck as much of your body beneath the table as you can. 

“I just wanted to see you,” he says, resting his linked hands on the table, “It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

It’s been over four years, the bitter overly insecure voice in your head hisses, “It has, but you’ve been busy, saving the world and all,” you say instead, tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, “Honestly I must confess, I'm a bit surprised, I thought you and the other ambassadors would be meeting with the Queen.”

What you truly mean to say dangles in the air. Armin can feel it, he shifts in his seat— why wasn’t he with someone more important? How did he manage to sneak past the Jägerists predatory gaze? He shouldn’t have been here. The anguish that wrought the shores of Paradis couldn’t be fixed with a measly conversation but surely, it was a start so, why was he here with you?

“She met our boat at the harbour to ensure our safe passage into the city,” he explains, picking at his fingers, “We’re still trying to coordinate with the army but they’ve agreed to allow free reign of Shiganshina so long as we remain unarmed.”

“It would be rather counterintuitive for peace ambassadors to bear arms.”

Armin lets out a small chuckle, smiling a bit to himself.

“But, they’ve already proved their incompetence in thinking trained soldiers need weapons to fight,” you muttered, casting your eyes away from him, “I … My apologies, I shouldn't speak ill of your comrades.”

“They’ve dissolved the Scout Regiment, I’m no longer a soldier and they are not my comrades,” Armin swiftly replies.

He fiddles with his tie again, flattening out the fabric with scar-riddled hands. The last time you saw him, his skin was surprisingly unmarred. Old scars you could have sworn imprinted his skin ceased to exist, something to do with his newfound titan ability, that’s what Eren said when he rolled up his sleeves to expose his own blemish-free body. It seemed unnatural then, for the pieces of personal history to be erased but Armin felt alien enough without you reminding him of how much he had changed. 

“Yes, but-”

“How are you doing?” He interrupts, and an apologetic look swims within the depths of his baby blue eyes. His time in the military was a touchy subject, which was to be expected but it didn’t wash away the burn of curiosity that ribbed at your bones, “When I last wrote to Mikasa, she said she hadn’t seen you in some time in spite of being neighbours.”

Pursing your lips, you sigh, “I’m doing well Armin,” it’s a bald-faced lie but the two of you have become so estranged, Armin couldn’t know you the way he once did, not when so much time has washed the imprints you’ve pressed upon each other as it brought in the tide, “How are you?”

“That’s not an answer,” Armin frowns, the dip of his lips making his cheeks round in a way that reminds you that he is only twenty-two, “I haven’t seen you in four years, I … I want to know what your life is like.”

Reaching over the table, Armin takes your hand in his. If he notices the irritated and oozing flesh around your cuticles, he keeps it well hidden. Smoothing his thumb over your knuckles, Armin settles his eyes on yours, taking in the two little lines that have been carved into your skin from how often you furrow your brows. There was no “correct” way to tell someone that you spent most of your afternoons curled up in bed, lying listlessly as you listened to the sounds of the bustling street below. Armin had a penchant for worrying, he’d worry about your well-being when there were far more important issues for him to focus on. 

“It’s not so different from before.”

Armin was unconvinced. Eight years ago, after the Scout Regiment took control of the central government, a bit of money was sent your way in addition to your rebuilt childhood home. Though they wouldn’t say it, you believed that Eren, Armin, and Mikasa felt guilty for abandoning you the moment they turned twelve thus becoming eligible to enrol in the Cadet Corps. You had no interest in joining the Scouts, Military Police, or the Garrison but Eren was determined and wherever Eren went so too did Mikasa and Armin. With no family and no friends, you had to fend for yourself. It wasn’t so bad. A woman, you could hardly remember her name now, paid you to care for her youngest child while she and her husband worked, and their older children attended school. She gave you room and board, fed you three square meals, and gave you “hand-me-downs” to wear.

In the chaos of Trost being breeched you became separated and weeks later learned that the family perished. You used what little money you managed to save to pay for board in an inn near Jinae where you worked as a stable hand until your childhood friends and their comrades came bearing gifts. You’d need to find work soon. Now that you were of age, you were sure to find a cushy job as a barmaid at the local tavern. 

“You think it is?” You asked, biting on your bottom lip.

Armin nods. His grip tightens and he mutters a low, “Sorry” when you wince from how he accidentally squishes your fingers beneath his.

Shrugging your shoulders you think back to the before much like you did most days, “Paradis is being run by lunatics who worship a dead man,” you blanche, your chest preemptively tightening from your nerves, “That’s not so different to before when this shitty little island was run by lunatics who worshipped the walls.”

Except now, people actually paid mind to the chirping loons. They had access to weapons that could wipe out what was left of humanity and certainly were unafraid to use them. Crossing them would be a very stupid and very dangerous mistake. Bravery was what this island prided itself on, now the most one could muster was a contempt-filled glower that was sent in passing. 

“That’s not …” Armin’s voice trailed off. There was that look of guilt again. 

“I know.”

Lacing your fingers between his, you squeeze Armin’s hand.

“It’s not your fault, Armin,” you assure, your mouth twisting up into a strange smile. The muscles in your face seemed to ache as though you were contorting your expression, “You know that, right?”

He nods his head, and strands of his pale blonde hair fall against his forehead as he does, “I know,” he whispers with conviction though his hand trembles in yours. You remain unconvinced, guilt rolls off his shoulders in sickening waves.

“It’s not Eren’s fault either.”

You’re unsure why you say it. It was Eren’s fault. It was his name and his image that they fought for. Whatever politics happened behind closed doors did not matter, not when he died knowing that those men and women idolised him and would wage wars in his name. One spoiled fruit rotted away the entire crop and now Paradis was ready to cosign its doom, picking on the weakened and the damned as if this island had not once been just the same.

“Thank you,” Armin mouths, his voice barely audible as he clears his throat and replaces his expression with a friendly smile.

“I guess the trains are different,” you blurt, looking for a way to steer the sinking ship that was this conversation, “I’ll never get used to them, they’re so loud and dark inside.”

“Glad to know our hard work is being appreciated.” 

You lift the corners of your lips to smile at him, “It is, the horses are very grateful to no longer be worked to the bone by merchants transporting goods from Maria to Sheena,” you say, nearly forgetting that there no longer was an interior or exterior to name, “Life here is still simple, Armin, there isn’t much to update you on.”

“Still-”

“We can’t all be heroes,” you jest, nudging his foot beneath the table, “So, tell me what is life like for you?”

Armin withdraws his hands from yours, “It’s all I talk about, I don’t want to talk about it with you,” he explains, swallowing thickly, “Is that okay?”

“Of course it is.”

Rising from your seat you round the corner of the small table to press the palm of your hand between his shoulder blades. The gesture is meant to be comforting but you feel awkward, like you shouldn’t be touching him like this though your body craved the knowledge of what his skin would like against yours. The tips of your fingers graze the edge of his crisp collar, you hastily jerk back, eyes narrowing to inspect the fabric for any unwanted crinkles you may have caused.

“I’ve been such a bad host,” you mutter, “My mother would be so disappointed that I haven’t asked you if you’d like anything to drink.”

“Tea if you have any, please.”

You nod again, you still have some dried chamomile that Mrs.Bergmann gave to you when you confessed to her that you struggled to sleep some days. The tea didn’t help but it was the thought that counted. Goosebumps trailed up the length of your bare legs and you cursed yourself for not excusing yourself to dress before you sat down with Armin. The early spring air wouldn’t warm until the late afternoon most days. 

Armin’s gaze is heavy. He watches you flutter about your kitchen with keen intent. His eyes slither up your body in a methodical manner. You’re unsure if he’s leering the way men unabashedly do when they’re three pints in or if he’s searching for any indication that something might be amiss. You hope it’s the latter. It should be the latter, you didn’t feel uncomfortable and Armin wasn’t one to steal eyefuls of others.

“Do you still like it with milk and honey?” you ask, though you’ve already reached into the icebox in search of the milk you knew was in there. Hopefully, it hasn't yet spoiled.

You flinched when you rose to your full height. Armin had materialised behind you. The jug nearly drops from your hand but Armin is quick to wrap his fingers around the handle, overtop of your hand. He guides the jug to the counter and reaches an arm around you to take the teapot off the heat before it can release a shrill squeal. 

Pressing your hand to your chest, you murmur a breathless, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Armin chirps.

His eyes bore into yours, he’s inspecting you once more. Whatever he’s in search of, you’re certain he isn’t going to find it. The girl that he once knew was not the same woman that stood before him, nor was he the same boy even if his eyes twinkled just the same. That was growing up. Your stomach grumbled, licking its chops as the wanting returned. Your eyes trickled down Armin’s face until they settled on his cupid's bow. His lips were full and a dusted pink colour. They were nice, you remember wondering what they’d feel like against yours if it’d hurt to kiss him after he’d bitten his lips raw with stress. 

The sharp edge of the counter digs into the plush flesh of your hips as you press your body against it. Hunger is as frightening as it is all consuming. You are hungry. Are you hungry for him? You’ve craved and yearned for places and their people, but never their bodies. The one time you allowed a man in your bed it’d been out of curiosity and some twisted need to feel something, anything other than the dull twinge of melancholy that sprouted from the roots it planted in your heart. 

Armin placed his hand on your chest where your heart was. The heat of his palm melted through the thin fabric of your nightgown, causing you to instinctively shiver, “Your heart is racing,” he comments, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, “I didn’t startle you, did I?”

“No.”

“How is Annie?” You nervously ask, searching for a way to stifle the deluded desire that coursed through your veins, “Last I heard from Hitch, she had been freed from her crystal and joined you. That must have been exciting, being able to speak to her after so many years.”

His face crinkles up into a confused expression, “Annie is fine, they’re all fine. Connie and Jean are excited to see their mothers,” he replies slightly, cocking his head to the side, “Why do you ask?”

You shrug your shoulders. Armin doesn’t remove his hand. Your heart skips a beat, you’re sure he feels it. 

“Was just curious I guess, since I heard you had feelings for her.”

“Annie and I are friends, nothing more,” his nose crinkles, he seems to want to ask where you hear such a ludicrous rumour but doesn’t. When he wasn’t with the scouts, he was with her crystal, talking as if one day she might answer back.

“Oh.”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Armin counters, his long pale lashes fluttering against his cheek as he blinks, “You’ve always been … quite the catch.”

His voice trails off, he regrets his wording. He didn’t want to liken you to fish or cattle but of all the vast information stored in his brain, there seemed to be nothing on complimenting women. Not that he’s done much of that in his lifetime. There’s never been a need to. Armin wants to compliment you, to tell you how he really feels but it gets clogged in his throat as he struggles to get a read on you.

Shaking your head, you avert your gaze.

It’s not for a lack of trying or wanting. None of the relationships you pursued ever felt right. Their hands didn’t fit within yours the way they were supposed to. Your body was hallowed out in the middle but they couldn’t fill you up. It wasn’t their fault. You’d accept that you were broken, someone who simply wasn’t meant to be loved. It was easy. Until now, when the one person your heart still clung to stood here and dangled himself like a carrot.

“Good, you’re too good for anyone on this island,” his proclamation makes your skin itch. Even if what he said were true, you would have to settle for someone on this island eventually, lest you spend the rest of your life as alone as you are now, “You deserve someone who’s good enough for you.”

You nearly laugh, though he makes this statement with such earnestness that you’re almost inclined to believe him. Almost.

“Who then?”

Looking into his eyes made your lungs ache. There was nowhere to escape with how he pinned you in place with his gaze.

“Who’s good enough for me?” You ask, your nails digging into the wood counter as you curl your fists around the lip of it, “You?”

Armin rolls his eyes and the sight alone shocks you, “No, I could never be good enough for you,” a laugh springs forth, crackling past your lips before you’re able to stop it, “Is something funny?”

His cheeks turn red with embarrassment but there's nowhere for him to hide either.

“No … Yes, actually,” you sigh, expelling all the air from your lungs as you muster up the resolve to be truthful, “I have loved for as long as I can remember and I have wanted you even before I even knew what love truly was.”

Your fingers coil around his wrist, intent on wrenching his hand away from your chest but the look in his eyes stops you. Sadness and self-loathing meet in the bright blue pools of his irises. You were born six months before he was but he’s always seemed years ahead of you. There was a certain kind of wisdom that surrounded him, you weren’t sure why. Now though, whatever maturity that shrouded Armin vanished and all that lay beneath was a newborn fawn that teetered on legs far too long for him.

Your nails dig into the cuff of his jacket, crinkling the pristine fabric, “There is not a day that goes by where I haven’t thought of you.”

“I’m no good for you either,” he says with a wet laugh. His eyes shone with welled up tears that had no business blurring his gaze.

“Because you’ve killed people?” You ask, your brows furrowing as you frown, “There are many people who have done worse for less. At least you had a reason.”

“I could never be the man that you need me to be.”

“Not even for an afternoon?” You had always known his future held more than your own, even before he became humanity's saviour. He’d make his peace with Paradis and leave, maybe he’d come back years from now, or maybe he’d plant his roots elsewhere.

His hand trembles as he shakes his head, “No.”

Pressing his forehead against yours, he releases a shaky exhale. You bite back the urge to ask him once more why he was here. You were never that close as children, you were close in a way that all of Shiganshina was but never anything more than, at least nothing that would have meant this unannounced visit was appropriate.

“Why?”

“You should live a quiet life,” Armin whispers, his lips nearly grazing yours as they move to form each syllable, “A happy life, after all you’ve been through, you deserve it.”

Your eyes flutter shut, “And you don’t?” It’s a stupid question, really, if he believed he did this conversation wouldn’t be happening, “You’ve been through far more than I, you’ve lost so much more.”

“I have even more to atone for.”

His bottom lip quivers as he presses the weight of his body into you. He’s heavier than you could have imagined, and his body is harder too. Somewhere between now and then his lithe frame melded into lean muscle and it serves as another reminder of how much time has passed, how little you two knew of each other now. Trailing your fingertips over his shoulder, you slide your arm around him, pulling him into an embrace. Armin shudders in your hold, a meek whimper slipping past his lips as he crushes his body into yours. Your nails press into the sliver of skin that peeks over the lip of his collar. 

It's the nape of his neck.

When titans were simply the monsters that hid beneath your bed and plagued your dreams, it was common knowledge that the way to snuff them out was through the nape. It felt oddly vulnerable for your hand to roam over the smooth expanse of skin, though even as a titan shifter it was no weak spot, it may well have been with the way his body shook in your arms.

“That doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to live or to love,” you whisper against the shell of his ear, “You get to love now, you get to be loved. Armin, you’re allowed to have things and to want things even after all that has happened.”

Armin sniffles, pressing his nose in your hair. The scent of the lavender soap you’ve used for as long as you could remember still clings to your hair. You wonder if he remembers if that is why he burrows his face deeper until the tip of his nose and his lips brush against the skin of your neck. 

Wanting was hard.

So little felt tangible and on the off chance it was, it remained just out of reach. Like a tease, that brushed your fingertips as you outstretched your arm before pulling away or a glimpse of the sun before an array of clouds moved in from across the sky. You couldn’t remember the last time you wanted something. Whatever it was you felt for Armin simmered lowly on a back burner until now, longing did not serve survival. Still, you wanted him but not in the way magpies coveted shiny trinkets but in the way the stars longed for the moon. It was a constant, all consuming yearning that made your stomach twist inward at the strange sensation.

“I don’t even …” Armin trails off, his voice wet with emotion, “I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself to desire something.”

Leaning back, Armin allows enough space for him to look at your face. His cheeks are pink, blotchy, and shiny with half dried tears that pooled atop the apples of his cheeks. Cupping your face with the palm of your hand, he smiles sadly at you.

“But, all I have wanted for years was to know what it is like to kiss you.”

Your body burns, not with embarrassment but something else.

“Is that all?” You ask.

The corners of Armin’s mouth twitch upward, “Maybe not but I let go of those dreams long ago.”

“You kept this one, why?”

“Wishful thinking, maybe or … ?” Armin says, scrunching his brows together as he trails off, “You’ve always been here, you’ve been a constant in this ever changing world so I suppose I hoped there’d be a day where I could …”

“Kiss me?”

Armin bashfully nods, biting his lip a bit.

The shiny metal kettle of water grows cold in the length of time you and Armin spend silently staring at each other. He assesses you, slowly, looking for any signs that your affection for him remained buried in the past. You spoke in the past tense, and your words were too easily misconstrued. Your hands slip to cup the underside of his jaw. All this waiting, all this thinking was maddening when you knew exactly what you wanted. His face replaced those of all the men you kissed, his body manifested in the throngs of taverns like an apparition to taunt you. You wanted to kiss him more than you wanted anything else in this world.

His skin was warm to the touch, you’re sure yours is too. You feel warm like you’ve been dipped in melted candle wax. A bit of stubble tickles the palm of your hands and it makes you giggle. His hair is so fair, you didn’t even notice. Armin’s shoulders tense as you lean in, insecurity claws at your throat but you’ve already taken the leap. You were too far gone now to change your mind. Gently grazing your lips across his, you give Armin a chance to back away but he only leans in closer, his calloused thumbs bite into the soft edge of your jawline as he instinctively squeezes you.

Armin’s lips are slightly chapped and scabbed over in a way that tells you he still nervously chews them when he’s worried. He’s inexperienced, that you were expecting, not that you were particularly tactful with how you clumsily melded your mouth against his. Though, he didn’t seem to mind as he eagerly attempted to mimic each movement. The thread of want that coiled around your stomach roared, begging for your attention as pulled away.

The small noise of disappointment that gathers in the back of Armin’s throat does not fall deaf upon your ears. But, you feel ravenous. If you didn’t slither away now, you’d consume him, bones and all, before he’d even had the chance to register that you sunk your teeth into his sternum. You feel ravenous. It makes your skin itch. Your fingers twitched, they desperately wished to burrow themselves into his flesh to feel how his heart thrummed for you.

Through lidded eyes, Armin peers at you, “Just like I thought,” he says, his cheeks somehow deepening in colour.

“What do you mean?”

“One kiss and I’m gone,” he explains but that doesn’t smooth the confused furrow from between your brows, “I want more, I don’t know how I’m meant to live on knowing what it’s like to kiss and never being able to again.”

Your nose scrunches as you frown, “Say who?”

“Pardon?”

“Who said that I’d never kiss you again?” You ask, smoothing your thumb along the length of his stubbly jaw, “Because, I never said that.”

“I just thought-”

Looping your arms around his neck you sigh, “Stop thinking so much,” you whine, allowing yourself to relish in the knowledge that he too wanted more, “Sometimes things are far simpler than you make them out to be.”

Armin bashfully dips his chin for a moment, his heat filled gaze cast away which offers you some reprieve. Only for a short moment, though. He faces you once more in an instant. You can see it swimming in the pools of his irises, the want, the hunger. It’s something you never imagined to be reflected back to you, least of all from Armin. It thrills you all the same, your skin prickling with electricity that crackles to life when he reaches for your hips.

It’s gentlemanly, how he rests his hands respectively over your body with a feather light touch that may flee should you move too quickly. You want more though, you wish he’d take claim to you the way you the way your cunt ached for.

“Are they?”

You nod, fearing your voice would somehow betray you.

He too nods, far more thoughtful than you were, “You know, I loved you too, never had any doubts of what it was,” he muses, his adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallows, “It never faded either even when I lost and confused about what came next.”

His admission makes you bristle, your ears perking up in search of any misspoken syllables that may have deluded you. There were none. There was no mistaking what Armin had confessed. It doesn’t feel real. You’d pinch yourself if Armin’s watchful gaze was pointed anywhere but you. That alone was proof enough that this was very real, Armin just confessed his love for you.

“And you?” Armin asks.

“Huh?”

Your heart pounds, screaming over the sound of Armin’s voice. You suck in a shaky breath and will your heart to calm down. In all your years of wanting, of yearning, you never imagined what it would be like to have your feelings reciprocated. You assumed neither of you would live long enough for anything to come to fruition. But you could hope now, right?

“Did your feelings for me ever fade?”

“No … no, never,” admitting out loud that you pined after a boy for nearly two decades would have made you feel pathetic if it wasn’t Armin who pulled the truth from where it coiled around your ribs,  “Even if I wanted them too, they never would. You’re it for me, you’re the only person I was made to love.”

You didn’t fancy yourself a dreamer. At least, not after everything was said and done. There wasn’t much to dream up, but if you were to dream or indulge you’d tell him that there could never be anyone else because your souls were tied together. It was a terribly selfish thought but it was true enough that you felt inexplicably tied to Armin. Even if this day passed and you never saw him again, your heart would remain his until you both returned to earth.

Armin kisses you before you’re able to backpedal on any of your words, almost shyly, but still eager enough that his need rolls off his body in waves and crashes into you. His nails press through the thin material of your nightgown to nip at your hips. You’re reminded of just how strong he has become in all your years apart when you feel his muscles ripple through his forearms.

“Armin,” you sharply whisper between the desperate press of his mouth to yours, “I want you.”

It’s an unfinished thought. There are too many words that could come next and not enough actions to convey what it is you want. Threading your fingers through carefully styled hair, you tug at the strands. Armin keens into your mouth, one of his hands shooting out to grasp the edge of the counter you were pressed against. Having braced himself, he’s careful not to put too much of his weight onto you as his body melts into yours. 

“I’m right here,” he says, with a slight laugh.

Resting your forehead against his, you sigh, “I want you,” you repeat, untangling your fingers from his hair to fiddle with the top button of his shirt. You flick it open, slowly testing the waters. There’s a sparse patch of flaxen hair that leads your gaze past his collarbones, “I want to be close to you, close with you…” 

Your whisper, wanton words did little to clarify what you meant, Armin’s confused stare was fixed on your swollen, kiss bitten lips. Popping open another button, you glare at his tie. It constricts the fabric of his shirt from spilling open any further. Pulling the tongue of the tie out from where it’s neatly tucked in his waistband, you tug on it until you’re nose to nose. You swallow thickly, your gaze trailing down the expanse of his neck. The muscles strained beneath the skin as he nervously clenched his jaw.

“Oh … Oh.”

The red in his cheeks deepened. He looked a bit like a tomato but it was rather endearing.

“...Yeah?”

He nods a bit too quickly, “Yeah,” he agrees, biting his bottom lip, “I want this, I want this with you.”

Tentatively, Armin rests his hands on your shoulder and thumbs at the worn wool of your well loved cardigan. The fabric is slowly peeling away from your body, slipping down your biceps to pool in the crook of your elbows. Your heart flutters, it’s a strange sensation and for a moment you wonder if it’s healthy. It can’t be, not with how your stomach lurches alongside your heart. Unfurling your fists from his tie, you straighten your arms and allow your cardigan to unceremoniously fall to the floor.

“Are you sure?” You ask, your fingers skimming the delicate neckline of your nightgown. You weren’t yet so overcome with lust that you forgot yourself or Armin’s apparent lack of experience.

His hands replace yours, “Yes,” his skin is clammy but so is yours, the sheen of nervous sweat that gathers along your jugular feels disgusting when laid overtop of goosebumps but you can’t will either away, “You’re special to me … there isn’t anyone else I would want to do this with.”

“You’re not just saying this because you want to die with no regrets?”

You cringe at the crippling edge of insecurity that creeps over you, mentally slapping your hand in shame. Bad! You silently scold. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. In spite of all that happened, the future was never promised, you both knew that much. There was no shame in wanting to taste all life had to offer just in case. It was human nature.

“I’m going to live a very long life,” Armin says with a confident smile. Such sureness would usually make you roll your eyes in annoyance but Armin doesn’t say it to be boastful– even if he had, he’d have earned it– he says it matter of fact, he will live a long life in spite of everything, “And so are you, there’s no need to think in half measures filled with worries because we’re going to live long beautiful lives filled with everything we could ever want.”

It’s a pretty picture he paints but you can’t help but whisper, “We are?”

Smoothing his calloused thumbs along the column of your throat, Armin exhales, “Yes, we are,” you almost believe him, his optimism was just that convincing, “I’ll make sure of it.”

Armin tugs on the loop that keeps your nightgown tied closed, not minding that the two of you still stand in your kitchenette and it’s his first time. He gently guides the thin cotton fabric open to expose your chest but doesn’t move to pull the cloth from your body. In turn, you push his jacket off his shoulders and toss it to the floor with your cardigan. He unbuttons his shirt, letting it fall open to reveal his lithe abdomen. 

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, walking backwards at your behest, “You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

His brows shoot into his hairline when he bumps into the edge of your table, “I never pegged you to be such a flatterer, Mister Arlert,” you tease, pushing his chest until he takes the hint to hop onto the tabletop, “You tell all the girls that?”

It’s easy to wear a smile and play the part of a bashful lovestruck young lady. It’s only half a performance. There were parts of you that have long since been buried amongst the past lives you lived. They seemed to come back to you with each puff of breath that passed your lips. You slip in and out of you were and you could become. It’s frightening and thrilling. You like the rush you get when he smiles back at you. It’s megawatt bright and wide enough to take up most of his face. You wonder if he feels it too, the pieces that come together like a puzzle. He must, that’s why he smiles and allows himself to indulge in the perilous depths of wanting that lap at your bellies.

“No,” he playfully rolls his eyes, his fingers splaying out as he presses his palms flat against the table, “Only you. It’s only ever been you.”

Your stomach somersaults, you could get used to the feeling, the flirting, being desired earnestly. 

You’ve been desired before but those men didn’t desire you, but rather the idea of you, your house, even your cunt, but never really you. They never filled you with empty promises, their intentions quite clear from the first shared mug of ale. It never bothered you before but now it does. You wish you didn’t fall for their promise of something good when the real thing was so much better now that you had it in your grasp.

The tip of his shoe just barely grazes the floor as he swings his leg back and forth, stepping into the space between his spread legs, you graze your fingertip along the length of his thigh. The metal of his belt glints in the warm morning light. You should probably bring him upstairs, to your bedroom. You worry if you do, you’ll lose the nerves that have steeled over to service the aching monster in your belly. Tomorrow he might think you crass, perhaps he would even sooner when the haze of desire faded and he was left with the weight of his indulgence.

“May I? 

“Yes, please,” Armin breathes, shuddering a bit when you place your hand on the buckle.

His hips twitch upward, seeking the warm touch of your hand. Daring to cast your gaze downward, you rake your eyes over his growing bulge. His belt clinks open and you suck in a nervous breath. You’re about to ask if you can unbutton his dress pants when he whispers another small plea, his breath heavy.

A few strands of hair slip over the edge of your shoulder, Armin tucks them behind your ear with a pleased smile. His cock springs forth when you pull the waistband of his underwear downward. The wispy trail of hair that disappears beneath his shirt is a shade darker, but just as fine as the hair on his head. Your mouth waters at the sight of his rosy tip, precum oozes when you gently squeeze the base of his cock. Slowly pumping your hand up and down his length, you glance at Armin.

His bottom lip is squished between his teeth, hiding the sweet little sounds that travel up his throat. You strain your ears to listen, your eyes boring into his. He blinks but holds your gaze. He frees his bottom lip and allows his jaw to hang open when he realises that you’re listening to his sounds. Armin doesn’t have to be quiet, he can loudly indulge in his pleasures so he does. Softly moaning your name with a goofy, lovestruck expression on his face even as he jerks his hips up to match your rhythm. 

“Does that feel good?” you ask, internally cringing as you wrack your brain for something to say. You wonder if you should stay silent, but words may be more comforting. 

Armin’s head bobs as he nods a bit too quickly, “Yes,” he moans as he digs his nails into the splintered wood of your table.

He uses his other hand to curl his fingers around your wrist, the one that wasn’t languidly working his cock. Armin squeezes your wrist too roughly like he forgets himself and his own strength, your brows crinkle in pain but it’s easily masked as a look of concentration. You don’t mind though, the pain reminds you that you’re alive, that this was real and not just the machinations of an overactive imagination. Armin shudders when you use your thumb to spread some of the precum gathered along the head of his cock down the shaft, allowing your hand to slide more smoothly.

Your name is  sweet on his tongue, the syllables roll off it in a way that makes you think it belongs there. Like Armin was meant to say your name like this for the rest of eternity. 

“I want to touch you too,” he pants, between wanton whimpers. The smooth silver of skin that he clings to isn’t enough, “I want you to feel good too.”

It’s difficult to say no to Armin when he asks so sweetly, “Okay,” you say, bringing your linked hands up to your mouth to press a kiss to the back of his hand, “Lay back for me, okay?”

Armin does as you ask without question like a dutiful dog obeys its owner. You hitch your legs over the edge of the table and settle atop of his thighs. Hiking the hem of your nightgown upward, you guide Armin’s hand between your legs to where your bare, wet pussy clenches in anticipation. Your cunt aches with need and your chest squeezes at the slight brush of his calloused fingers across your folds.

“Touch me here.”

“Like this?” he asks, curling his fingers to rub against your throbbing clit, a shiver rolls through your spine.

Cupping your hand over his, you encourage him to make a few small circles, “Mhm, just like that,” you shudder, your breath halting when the table creaks beneath your shared weight, “It feels good, Armin.”

Seeming satisfied with himself and the way his name melted past your lips, he replicates your movement. You feel feverish with need as the urge to burrow yourself within his sternum consumes you. It melds with the pinpricks of pleasure that dance inside your belly as your muscles tense. It’s a terrible fate– to be ensnared by Armin Arlert. You don’t believe his promises, no matter how saccharine. It’s devilish for him to touch you, you’ve decided. Like with your kisses, how were you meant to go on without Armin ever touching you like this again? But, you’ve learned to manage your expectations. Dreams were called dreams because they were never meant to be anything more than something to wish on as a child. Even if he did still love you, there was too much distance between what became of your life and what became of his. 

Pleasure burns your belly. It singes your insecurities but doesn’t snuff them out in their entirety. It’s just enough to chase them away and leave nothing but bliss in their wake. Your head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton. Your chest heaves with haggard breaths, and your nightgown slips open to reveal the supple skin of your chest and your breasts to Armin. His gaze is respectful as he drinks in the sight. He moans to himself and marvels, it’s quite endearing. You like it, you don’t feel dirty or ashamed for your wanton ways, how could you when Armin drinks you in like you’re a perfectly crafted mountainside that has been crafted just for his admiration?

“Armin,” you sigh, “I need you inside of me.”

Wrapping your fingers around his cock, you slide the head between your dripping folds. Armin’s body wracks and his shoulders shake as he quivers with need. He moans your name once more, and you commit the sound to memory, for those cold and lonely nights that never seem to end. Your shoulders tense when you press the tip to your hole. It’s been a while, the stretch burns a bit. But, it’s nice. Your eyes roll back into your head and you curse under your breath. 

Armin slopes his hand around the nape of your neck, “Can I kiss you?” he all but moans, “I want to kiss you again.”

His rosy cheeks grow round when he offers you a bashful smile. You kiss him, your tongue and teeth clicking against one another as you sloppily move your mouth alongside his. You’ve never been much of a multitasker. It’s hard to focus on much else aside from the mind numbing pleasure that distracts you. He hasn’t stopped rolling your clit between his fingers and as he swallows up your moans with desperate, fevered kisses, you wonder if he’s enjoying how much of a mess he’s made of you. 

Your heart throbs in a funny sort of manner when you sink all the way down the length of his cock. The feeling of fullness spreads to the tips of your fingers all the way down to your toes. You hate how complete you feel, the fact that a small part of you wishes you could bottle the utter feeling of contentedness that warms you. The hunger and longing that lives inside of you never felt satiated, not once in the decade since it burrowed behind your lungs. Now though, they purr happily like a fat cat who’s had its fair share of the cream.

The taste of salt dabbles on your tongue, “Why are you crying?” Armin asks, his voice laced with concern, “Is something wrong, does it hurt?”

Swiping your fingers across the top of your cheekbones you confirm that those are your tears and not his. They spill past your lash line and there is nothing you can do to stop them. You don’t feel sad, even with the mess in your head you know that much. You sputter for a moment, desperately searching his face for an answer but nothing comes.

“I’m just so happy,” you say though you’re unsure where those words come from but they flow freely before you can stop them just like your tears, “I like being this close to you, I want to stay this close to you.”

Forever.

That’s the word that should complete your sentence. You keep it clutched to your chest where it’ll remain safe so long as you’re vigilant.

You knock your hips forward to silence whatever endeared sentiment Armin is about to form. His brows press together in concentration. He’s nearing his end, you can feel it in the way he throbs inside of you. Your tears are gently wiped by rough hands, you hardly register them. It’s difficult to focus on much as he plays with your clit and dutifully matches each flick of your hips. He’s a quick learner, he always has been. You wonder if he’s storing your reactions and sounds for later so that if there was a next time, he’d do exactly what you’d like without instruction. The end nears for you too, it lingers amongst the obnoxious groans from your table as you rock your hips. The sounds of skin bare slapping marry your shared, debauched whines. They’ll haunt your walls tomorrow and the next. 

They haunt you right now.

You didn’t think you were capable of feeling so serene, but you do. You’re untouchable as you chase your release. It lays in the palm of Armin’s hands. You’ll eat straight from them if you have to. The coil in your stomach tightens for a moment and your breathing becomes staggered. Armin is no better, he sputters small half breaths between needy whines of your name. His forehead rests on your shoulder, and his sweat dabbled hair sticks to you. Strands of your hair cling to the nape of your neck too. The cool breeze that slithers across your house makes your heated skin break out with goosebumps. It doesn’t bother you though, nothing could bother you now.

“I love you,” Armin whispers into your skin as he cums, holding your body close to his.

A few more tears well up as your orgasm washes through you. Your thighs shake and you struggle to bring your arms around his torso. His tight embrace makes up for it as they lay limply by your side. Your flush skin is peppered with affectionate kisses and his nose is nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You feel loved, you haven’t felt it in a while but it felt similar to this. The earnest way he embraces you without a second thought is imbued with love. Lifting your tired arms, you curl them around his body. Your nails dig into the hardened flesh of his back. They leave a few crescent moons to join the myriad of battle scars and freckles that have returned to him.

‘“I love you too.”

You wish you could say it was true for the moment but it’s not. It was true because you did love him, you loved him in a way you weren’t sure you were capable of loving anyone else. If Ymir the Founder had left her people with anyone before erasing herself and her titan kin from existence, you think it might have been eternal love. The kind that wasn’t possible of fading, even when you didn’t understand why.

Hours pass and you find yourself in your bed once more, on the edge of waking and sleep you register the lack of sunlight. You don’t remember exactly how you made your way upstairs but you do remember two strong arms holding you close as you allowed slumber to cradle your tired mind in its embrace. The other side of the bed is still warm, but your blanket is tucked snugly beneath your chin.

There’s a letter on your bedside table and a glass of water. You make out the letters of your name and the promise of return but you choose not to read any further. Laying in silence you wonder if she’s still out there, your creator, the founder. If she was, you hoped she would listen to your pleas. You were strong, but you weren’t strong enough to spend the rest of your life waiting on a lost life whose remains had long since returned to the dirt and earth.

You prayed that the Jägerist’s stupidity would fall deaf to Queen Historia’s ears and that when you awoke next, there’d still be a head of blond hair next to you with long pretty eyelashes and rosy cheeks that told all his secrets. 

He was too far entangled in your rib cage. You were far too comfortably curled around his aorta. Armin may be able to withstand it but you weren’t. After all this time, you really hoped you could be happy. Even with all the strangeness that came from estrangement, you felt more alive with Armin than you had in all the years of living in Shiganshina. It was a shell of its former self, with the ghosts of yesterday's past filling all the nooks and crannies. You too easily allowed yourself to become one of them, the ghosts but you didn’t half to be a ghost, you could want things just the same as Armin could.

And you wanted him to come back to you so the two of you could experience that future he was talking about.

Mr. Arlert did not raise a liar or a man who’d break promises. Your chances were good. You could be happy. All the lost parts of you could return and maybe you’d feel whole again, and maybe you’d welcome the warmth of the sun on your skin the same way you welcomed Armin back into your life. 

You deserved some ounce of happiness too. 

© all content belongs to dearbraus. do not modify, repost, or redistribute.

[ltwilliammowett]

Cooking like a Sailor - Admiral's Flip

A small drink fresh from the galley today. Readers of the Aubrey Maturin books will already be familiar with this one, as he sent poor Pullings to the land of dreams when he had a few too many after learning of his promotion to Master and Commander (Treason's Harbour, 31-2). We are talking about the Admiral's Flip.

Today, a flip refers to a group of cocktails made with fortified wine or brandy that contain egg yolks or whole eggs. Unlike eggnogs, however, neither milk nor cream is added. In the 18th century in North America, a flip was understood to be a slightly different group of drinks: This was always based on rum, mixed with beer or cider and drunk hot. The drink became unpopular after the American War of Independence, when rum lost popularity in the United States. The modern flip probably developed from this group of drinks. Beer or cider was omitted, egg was added instead and the sugar content was increased.

The North American flip, which played a major role in North America for over a century, was first mentioned in 1690. To make the drink, a large jug was filled mainly with strong beer. Ingredients were then added to sweeten the drink. This could be molasses or parts of a sugar loaf, but sweet fruit was also used. Around a quarter of a litre of rum was added. The mixture was neither stirred nor shaken. Instead, a small iron with a ball about the size of an onion at one end was heated in an open fire until it was red-hot. The red-hot iron, a so-called "loggerhead", which was also used to heat pitch, was then dipped into the jug - the mixture not only became hot, but also began to foam strongly. It was then divided into smaller glasses and drunk hot, as mentioned earlier.

The Admiral's Flip works slightly differently and is also drunk cold. It is not known when this type of drink first appeared. However, it seems to have emerged at the end of the 18th early 19th century and was more likely to have been drunk in the Navy.

But let's get to the recipe (Lobscouse & Spotted Dog, by Anne Chotzinoff Grossman and Lisa Grossman Thomas)

Mix 1/2 cup of chilled brandy with 2 tablespoons of sugar until the sugar has dissolved. Then pour in 1 1/2 cups of champagne and flavour with 1 whole nutmeg. Pour into ice-cold tankards and enjoy.

[fluffypotatey]

I find it deeply aesthetically pleasing, character-wise, that Arthur and Merlin are both very much like their mothers, which is especially meaningful in Arthur's case since he's never known his mother beyond a single painfully brief meeting in "Sins of the Father."

Not only does Arthur look like Ygraine (which adds several layers to the clusterfuck of his and Uther's relationship) but it's clear that he takes after her temperament, too. Yes, he sometimes shows his father's temper, and yes, he does stupid things when he's in a temper, but unlike Uther, who literally took his prejudices to his grave and beyond, Arthur never stays mad at people, and he's overall a far more caring and kind person than his father, which is an interesting case of nature vs nurture.

And then on the other hand, we have Hunith, who told a mounted, armed brigand to go fuck himself, later fought another (also armed) brigand with a twig broom, harboured fugitives on multiple occasions, and raised an illegal magic child out of wedlock, and Merlin "Fuck the Police" Ambrosius, who got in a fistfight, got thrown in jail for the fistfight, called the prince a bitch to his face in a public market square, got in a second, armed fight all within his first 48 hours in Camelot, and then committed treason on a daily basis for the next 10+ years, compared to Balinor, who became a weird antisocial hermit that lived in a cave for twenty years.

couldn't have said it better myself bestie

also, there's a reason hunith and ygraine never met in the show. their dynamic duo would outshine everyone, they'd be unstoppable, untouchable, I FEEL ROBBED

[slavonicrhapsody]

Bernahl and the Blasphemous Claw

Bernahl seems to be the most senior recusant at the Volcano Manor; he’s been an agent of the Manor since we meet him in Limgrave (“You are an enigma, to be certain. The Volcano Manor awaits you.”), he’s a seasoned killer on the Manor’s behalf, and he wields a very important weapon to the Manor’s mission — the Devourer’s Scepter, depicting the serpent cult’s prophecy of the serpent devouring the world. Tanith bestows weapons upon the manor’s greatest champions, so it makes sense that she gave Bernahl the scepter as a reward for his exemplary service. This begs the question, though: if Tanith’s goal is to feed Volcano Manor’s strongest champions to Rykard, so they might join the “family” and aid in his growth and power, then why was Bernahl not eaten? 

I think this is because he was entrusted with a special task; by Rykard, or by Tanith in Rykard’s stead. After Bernahl leaves the Manor, the next time we see him, he invades us in Farum Azula, carrying the Blasphemous Claw:

“A slab of rock engraved with traces of the Rune of Death. Can deflect the power of the Black Blade. On the night of the dire plot, Ranni rewarded Praetor Rykard with these traces. Should the coming trespass one day transpire, they would serve as a last-resort foil, allowing Rykard to challenge Maliketh the Black Blade, the black beast of Destined Death.”

Why does Bernahl have this object? Given that we encounter him on the way to Maliketh, and that the claw has the unique ability to deflect the power of his black blade, it’s safe to assume Bernahl is going after Maliketh. On our own journey, after Melina gives herself to the flames, we are transported to Farum Azula, where we defeat Maliketh in order to unbind the Rune of Death, bringing “death’s dark fate” back to the Lands Between and causing the Erdtree to burn. Crucially, Maliketh must be defeated so the Rune of Death can be unbound, allowing the Erdtree to burn… so this must also be Bernahl’s intention in going after Maliketh. This reading is supported by Bernahl’s speech to us before leaving:

“So. You killed Rykard? I harbour you no ill will. The strong take. Such is our code. Even he was prepared to meet a wretched end when he first took blasphemy unto his very flesh. But anyroad, the Volcano Manor is no more. Though we may yet fulfill an old promise. We hunted our own kind, and took what was theirs. And with everything in hand, the time has come to rise, against the Erdtree. O Greater Will, hear my voice. I am the recusant Bernahl, inheritor of my brother's will, and you will fall to my blade. We refuse to become your pawns. Consider this fair warning.”

Bernahl says that now, the time has come to rise against the Erdtree, and he calls out the Greater Will specifically. I think it’s clear that he intends to fight against the Greater Will by first burning the Erdtree. When Bernahl refers to “his brother,” he’s referring to Rykard, in the sense that they are brothers-in-arms in a wider struggle against the Greater Will, and that Rykard’s will has now become Bernahl’s will… in fact, Rykard has actually intended to burn the Erdtree and to go after Maliketh and the Rune of Death for a long time: there are paintings of the Erdtree burning hung throughout the Manor, and Ranni had given him the Blasphemous Claw in the first place so that he could challenge Maliketh, “challenge” implying an offensive attack. 

I believe the “old promise” Bernahl speaks of is not only a promise he made to Rykard and Tanith to fulfill this task, but it might also refer to a promise Rykard himself made to Ranni. Long before the Shattering, the siblings mutually agreed that the Greater Will must be overthrown: the “coming trespass” mentioned in the Blasphemous Claw’s description refers to an open act of treason, one that Rykard and Ranni must have intended to carry out against the Erdtree. I speculate that the two had a kind of agreement, that Ranni would slay her empyrean flesh, then eventually kill her Two Fingers and be free of their influence for good, while Rykard challenged Maliketh and burned the Erdtree, opening the door for a new age free of the Greater Will’s control. Obviously, things went... awry. 

But indeed, Bernahl’s message to the Greater Will that “we refuse to become your pawns” is essentially the exact same sentiment as Ranni’s words against her Two Fingers: “I would not be controlled by that thing.” For me, that’s proof enough that Ranni and Rykard’s joint struggle against the Greater Will left a lasting impression. 

[harmonysanreads]

Submission

yandere shikanoin heizou x shrine maiden!reader

wc: 1.3k+

cw: general yandere themes, some not sfw implications if you squint.

Sir Shikanoin visits too often.

A thought that was passed behind the other shrine maidens' sleeves, in hushed but made for certain people to hear voices. Her excellency, Sangonomiya Kokomi had agreed with what used to be but local gossip at one point, too. The Detective's recurring visits might've not been so strange if this had taken place even a year prior ; when the borders of Inazuma were still open for trading ships and foreigners—or, when Sangonomiya was still yet to announce rebellion.

Perhaps, it might've not been as suspicious if the Doushin's visits were simply to admire the views of said island, which would be far more understandable (but still weird) logical even so, to the locals of Watatsumi. You could've also continued with your plain life watching waves gently touch the pastel shorelines as if it were a teenager too shy to approach their adored, resorting to stolen glances and sheepish, fleeting encounters.

You wouldn't have paid any mind to the floating words around Watatsumi at present. You wouldn't have had to suppress a scowl as the detective passed by in all his bubbly and unbothered glory or have had to be subjected to the unwanted spotlight when he (much to your dismay) turned around and waved at you with the energy of a gorilla. But you knew better. The Doushin's repeated visits shouldn't have earned this much attention, too. You wished so greatly that you could ignore it, ignore everything like you know he was as well. But you can't, you can't console yourself or the locals with ruses anymore when it seemed like Shikanoin Heizou's appearances were repeated solely for you.

You could've continued your training as a shrine maiden uninterrupted, hand not shaking at the fraction when lighting up the incense every morning, as another whisper is exchanged behind your back. You might've not had to worry at all when strolling in the streets, ignoring the judging eyes that drilled your form from all sides.

You might've not loathed the Doushin as much either if he hadn't been so hell bent on bothering you from day one, if he left you alone to your afternoon poetry reading. Things could've escalated differently if he'd decided to ‘sight see’ at another time than in the middle of a civil war and after the sun had melted in the horizon.

But as with many things in life, not everything goes your way.

You couldn't blame the locals or your fellow shrine maidens. It was only natural for them to find the Tenryou Commission detective's behaviors questionable. They were normal people thinking, well, normally. Who wouldn't find a detective of all people loitering about the island stationing the resistance and simply doing nothing but interacting with just a shrine maiden instead of, oh, they don't know, investigating a crime scene? Hell, him coming here to spy on the resistance would've been far more rational than whatever this was. But after some careful watching, the Divine Priestess herself had concluded that he had shown no signs of such intentions.

So then, what other option do they have left but put the other person in question? This, you understood very well. But merely understanding never eased anything for you. How would it when you were being accused of treason in your own hometown, by the people who you grew up watching all your life? Your fellow shrine maidens' favourite pastime was now talking behind your back, the bookstore from which you'd purchased so much was hesitant to even let you in and all the people who'd asked for countless favours were reduced to a mere silent audience (were you that untrustworthy?). And so, you now had no one to blame and hate other than Heizou himself.

Your gut tells you he has some sinister intention and a part of you believes it, too. But when her excellency had personally called you for an audience and asked if his advances harboured any malicious intentions, you had abruptly stopped.

True, the detective would always pester you for a conversation or to sing him a song and even though your intuition screamed that he had ulterior motives—you couldn't speak up. What would you tell her anyway? Even Lady Kokomi knew that the Doushin had yet to spy on or sabotage the resistance or even take any action regarding that at all. He never even asked anything regarding it to you ; no matter how hard you tried to think of something, anything your mind would only remind you of that plaguing smile.

Ah, no wonder you had nothing to refute the gossips, the whispers and her excellency's sincerest queries with. Because you were guilty, too. It takes two to start a quarrel after all. Your dread increases further once you remember not pushing him away when he leaned in a little too close. Truthfully, the air of Watatsumi would not have carried any whispers if you hadn't unknowingly indulged him either, if you had rejected his requests for a song or if you bit your tongue from laughing at his stupid jests.

You, along with everyone had been too late to realize the game the Doushin had been playing all this time—huh, it's as if you'd forgotten the very vital fact that he was, after all, a shrewd detective whose mind did not function all that different from a master criminal. That was the last thing that came crashing down on your confused mind before Lady Kokomi's pitiful blue gaze was all you could reckon.

The waves this night hit the coral shores with a force you'd not seen from all your years in this island. Since when did the sea get so bold? Or was it the wild winds that had given it that courage? Although you knew that it wasn't advisable to be by the shores at the quiet of the night, that mattered little before this nightmare. 

What was to be afraid of now, the raging waters that seemed so ready to devour you, that lulled you to give up? Or the unruly winds that nudged you to give in, encouraged you to listen to the sea? Had it been the eery moonlight that made even the overlapping shadows visible? You knew you should've just headed straight to your quarters, locked and jammed the entrance with heavy furnitures and wrapped yourself in a blanket til this nightmare ended. You should've begged the Divine Priestess to protect you, to maybe send you somewhere far, far away where you'd be safe from the hands that now rested atop your shoulders in what you could feel was more of a mocking embrace and the face that was so close to your own.

“Yet you didn't do anything.”

You close your eyes, in hopes that the next time you opened them, it wouldn't be that cheeky, haughty smile you'd see first of all. But the symphony of the waves and winds altogether continued to echo in your mind, drowning out the painful revelation ; why did it all suddenly feel so welcoming?

A chuckle. One you know too well threw aside the fleeting peace you'd found and you feel something soft, like skin resting against your cheek. You still don't open your eyes.

Click.

From an outsider's perspective, this view would've been so ordinary ; just a serene scene of waves touching the shorelines and the moon spectating a moment shared between a detective and a shrine maiden—if not for your wrists that were bounded in a handcuff.

Perhaps, giving into the sea's advances and following the winds' guidance might not be so bad now—and maybe that's why you didn't shrug off his embrace, as mocking or prideful as you can sense it growing. You open your eyes just in time to see the waves subduing, the winds being reduced to mere breeze as if your submission to him were all they wanted.

How pitiful.

Guess who took Kokomi's voiceline about him and ran with it lol goodluck to every one who's pulling for the detective boi! Heizou wanters will be Heizou havers<3

[laundrypause]

Think: Loscar as princes who are in line to take the throne of their respective houses and Oscar who is supposed to be the future king of the realm because he's already been betrothed to the Prince of the realm who is obviously going to one day be King but is harbouring feelings for Logan. Obviously Logan doesn't know of it yet because Oscar's an idiot but Logan also likes Oscar so in truth, they're both idiots.

In my head, Oscar's the Prince of House of Moon (honestly the houses names need more thought but let the literal names be placeholders for now), one of the most powerful houses in the realm. Known for their swordsmanship and weaponry, House Moon also holds one of the strongest armies, second to House Sun. House Moon's colours are predominantly black with purple and silver as complimentary colours. Oscar's the oldest of four children and the only male heir, making it his duty and birthright to next rule House Moon. Raised to rule ever since he was a babe, he's known and grown to learn nothing but to be the perfect King. One of the most talented swordsmen in the realm, he's only 8 and 10 moons when he's already managed to hold three victorious battles under his belt. Now, don't get him wrong, Oscar in no way is a violent man but when push comes to shove, he'll do anything to protect his house and the people he cares about. It's like how that saying goes, “Don't poke a sleeping dragon unless you want to face its wrath”. Fitting for the prince.

Logan is the Prince of House Forest (ik, it's a WIP). House Forest's colours are green, brown and gold. Not one of the realm's powerhouses, House Forest instead is known for its handsome craftsmanship and relationships with magical creatures. Don't be mistaken in underestimating House Forest though. As much as they are peace lovers, they are as much cunning. House Forest is one of the oldest houses, having been established before the War™ so they know a thing or two of fending for themselves during one. Logan is the youngest of two children but the sole inheritor to the throne after his brother's tragic death at sea. The stormy seas caused his brother to have gone overboard and before help could've reached him, he drowned in the rough waters. It is rumoured the sea beast, Drakolia, a huge sea serpent part of the House of Seas had something to do with the young Prince's death but House Seas denies any claim that they or Drakolia had anything to do with it and threatened anyone who dares say otherwise with treason and consequently, death.

And just for fun, Oscar's sword is called the Blood Moon. It has a cross guard shaped as a crescent moon and the blade has the various stages of the moon. Together with the Prince's blood and iron– the iron came from the summit of the tallest mountain in the kingdom where it's said it was the closest you could get to the moon– the sword was forged under the conditions of a lunar eclipse. Enemies claim that the sword gleams and pulses under moonlight but no one ever believes them, chalking it up to pure imagination or delusion. Rumor has it that the sword's actually alive, that it whispers to thieves who wish to steal it away from its rightful owner, making them do unspeakable things.

House Moon harbours a secret, actually a multitude of secrets but one of them is being the ones who killed Logan's brother. It was all apart of their plan, in the name of their thirst and greed for more power and sway over the realm. There were rumors that the king and queen of House Forest could not produce any more offspring so Logan's brother was to be the only child and sole inheritor of everything House Forest. Because of that, House Moon knew if they killed the sole inheritor to House Forest's throne, it would be easier for them to take over it or at least, weaken it to the extent that it'll make their path for power a smidge easier. Oscar wasn't even born when this happened but he did find out when he was 9 moons. It was an accident, truly. He was walking past his parents’ chambers, wanting to sneak out for a late night snack. What stopped him in his tracks was the mention of House Forest (at that point of his life, anything related to Logan made him stop). Curious, Oscar peeked into their study. Inside he found the King and Queen of House Seas, laughing merrily with his parents. Though, laughing merrily is quite inaccurate. No, they were snickering, vicious smiles plastered on their faces. They seemed to be quite drunk and perhaps that was why their lips were so loose at that instance, under the pretence that no one was near them to eavesdrop. What Oscar heard was basically an admittance to the two houses having a part in the first prince of House Forest's death. It was truly unlucky when Oscar had accidentally placed his weight too much on the door, causing it to fall open and him to unceremoniously plop onto the ground.

The second it happened, everyone in the room sobered up. Oscar was placed in a chair, his mother's arm tight around his chest, halting any movements he wanted to make. A mage was called upon and a spell was placed on Oscar, wiping any memory of what he saw that night from his memory. House of Moon would not let their secrets get out, they'd do anything even to the extent of altering their child's memories. Nothing was too far. Well, now Oscar wouldn't need to think about l his family had played a part in Logan's brother's death that took an enormous toll on his mother, leaving her heartbroken and bedridden for months before she could get back up again. Logan's mother now was but a shell of what she used to be back when his brother was still alive.

Logan might not have known his brother but he knew how loved he was. It truly was an act of God when Logan's mother learned that she was with child, years after her first child's death. House Forest painstakingly ensured that the second Prince was well cared for and no enemies would be able to even graze a strand of his hair. House Moon had grown a great deal during the last few years. They didn't need to kill Logan for power, no, House Forest had practically been left to ruin after the first Prince's death. House Moon's prospects didn't include House Forest anymore, they were in the big league now and when their Queen gave birth to the house's first prince, it was a no-brainer for them to betroth young Oscar to Prince Lando of House Sun.

[no-fury-like-a-thrown-bike]

RRR Wanted Poster Transcripts

I think a lot (if not all) of this information is already floating around in various places, but I thought it might be useful (not least for my memory lmaoo). We have ages and names for Bheem, Malli and the Pashas, and a height and weight for Bheem. And also the fact that his beard being scruffy is apparently canon.

Now in 4k and with Malli's poster and the bottom of Bheem's properly transcribed (and a better image for the Pashas) thanks to @belligerentmistletoe! :D

Bheem

Wanted Kumram Bheem alias Akthar Reward Rs. 10,000 for information regarding the whereabouts of this criminal, Kumram Bheem. The criminal was last seen in the forest 20km north west of Agra. Description Kumram Bheem is 26–27 years old. He is about 5'8", and about 75 Kg. He is most likely to be seen with a scruffy beard and scars from severe wounds from all over his body. The convict is accompanied by an 8 year old girl. The Governor of Delhi hereby decrees that this man is wanted by the Government, and that anybody who is caught withholding valuable information regarding this criminal will be punished for treason against the crown. Signed (Scott Buxton) Governor of Delhi Province [Coat of arms of the United Kingdom on the left]

Malli

Wanted Mallamma aka Malli An 8 year old tribal girl, is wanted by the Police. Distinguishing features :- Dark skin, large eyes, has a wound on her forehead Anybody with information regarding her whereabouts is ordained to come forward Signed (Scott Buxton) Governor of Delhi Province [Coat of arms of the United Kingdom on the left]

The Pasha Family

Wanted Ahmed Pasha (50 years old) Fatima Mirza (45 years old) Mehreen Pasha (16 years old) are on the run from the Delhi Police. The charges against them include harbouring a dangerous criminal and sedition. Valuable information leading to this family's capture will be appreciated by the authorities. Signed (Scott Buxton) Governor of Delhi Province [Coat of arms of the United Kingdom on the left]

[reve-writes]

—deceit; touya todoroki.

ʚ todoroki touya x reader | my hero academia | 0,9k words. ʚ you're a respected hero who was fooled into believing that dabi has changed, that he's willing to repent. in actuality, he used you to siphon intel to the league of villains. ʚ profanities; angst; sad ending. ʚ a/n me when i write more sad stuff.

“Leave,” you spit out, anger bubbling in your stomach and you visibly shake from it. “Get out of my house.”

The term your house is true. This is your apartment, but it was his, too. One of his jackets still hang behind the door from the last time he wore it. His slippers lay neatly in your shoe rack in the entryway. There are food in your fridge that he purchased from your last grocery store trip. Everything has his name written all over it, and you haven't had time to erase it.

As much as you want to, the police and the Hero Public Safety Comission have been all over you. You're suspected of treason because you were harbouring the notorious Dabi, even though when he came to you, he told you he wanted to change and needed your help. You should've called the cops on him, but perhaps it's your saviour complex or perhaps it's his persuasive way of talking. You didn't. You ended up letting him in your house.

One thing led to the other and the two of you had something. It looked a lot like love, but it wasn't. It was deception. He used you. You never had qualms about Hawks doing the same thing to infiltrate the League of Villains, but it hurt.

He sits at the edge of your open window, letting the night breeze brush against his naturally white hair colour. His blue eyes peer at you, keeping his head against the window frame. One of his legs are folded close to his body, foot firmly planted on your windowsill while the other dangles lifelessly out the window.

“I would have come back sooner or later, sweetheart.”

Angry tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Don't call me that.”

You rummage through your sofa, coffee table and kitchen counters to find your phone. You made a mistake once and you won't fall for it the second time. You're calling the cops on him as much as you don't want to.

“I'm holding onto this for now,” he says, waving his hand that is holding your phone.

You dash forward for the phone, closer to him—and it was too close. As if he burns, you jolt back. He pulls his hand back, your phone dangles dangerously outside.

“Give it back,” you demand. “You fucking asshole.”

Touya's gaze soften when he turns to look at you. You scoff. What a great actor.

“I missed you too.”

“Shut the hell up, Touya.” You wince. The name is too familiar—personal. You swear not to call him that again. “Why are you here? Don't you dare lie to me.”

“I never did.” He shrugs.

You scoff. “If you're going to be a piece of shit, the least you can do is admit it.”

“I never did,” he insists. “Not once. I meant everything I said to you. I meant all the sappy shit—the I love yous, the pillowtalks.”

“You expect me to believe this?” You ask indignantly. Does he really think you're that naive? That stupid? Does he really think you're so easy to fool?

He sighs, closing his eyes, knocking his head back on the window frame. “You can't seriously believe that there was nothing.”

The problem is: you can't. You don't think that when he wakes up early to cook you breakfast is just part of the act. Or when he washes and dries your hair. Or when he brings home little things—sometimes desserts or keychains or a little do-it-yourself kit to do together. Or when he traces your skin. Or when he kisses you so passionately your lips turn swollen and red.

You swallow. “No.”

His eyes light up ever-so-slightly. “Yeah? We really had something, didn't we?”

“This is what you're here for?” you ask angrily. “To what? Rub salt on my wound? Feel some sort of validation from me?”

“I'm here to say sorry,” he rasps softly. “Fuck. I couldn't let it end the way it did.”

Your mind rewinds back to that fateful day when your team attacked their hideout. You see him, standing victoriously with a satisfied smirk as he watches you. You remember trying desperately to get everyone out—it was a trap, after all. They had known in advance.

He had known in advance.

From you.

Wreckage. Injury. Deaths. All on your conscience because you couldn't keep your mouth shut. Trusted a convict a little too much. You thought you would be the one to change him, but he was still a villain.

“What's the point?” You sigh out, slumping on your sofa, tracing the expanse of his skin on the night-sky backdrop. You hate him. You love him. Is it possible to feel both simultaneously?

“I don't know, sweetheart. Fuck.” He runs a hand through his hair. He truly doesn't know. “I'll go.”

His hand twitches, wanting to reach out to you. There's a strong desire to comfort you as you sit dejectedly on your couch, even though it's caused by him. He turns, ready to hop off your window, but you call out.

“Touya.”

He likes his name when it falls from your lips. Without turning to look at you, he answers, “Yes?”

“If — If I ask you to stay, right now. If I say, it's okay, come back to me, would you?” You ask, your chest tightening. “Would you leave everything behind? For me?”

Touya wields fire. Fire bends to his will and to the winds, but he doesn't. He's an immovable thing, like Excalibur fixed in the stone and you aren't the one who holds the power to draw it out. You know it. You don't even know why you bother asking.

“I'm sorry,” he says, jumping off, leaving your phone on the windowsill. You don't rush forward to see where he goes. You slowly walk to the window, geabbing your phone and dialling the Hero Public Safety Comission.

[ ]

[thekenobee]

I WHEEZED SO HARD I NEEDED TO PUT DOWN THE BOOK

[thiefbird]

WIP Name Tag

Tagged by @trans-ruffboi !

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

I will sort these by fandom because. Wow I have a lot of WIPs

Aubreyad:

high priestess whump jack/stephen prompt

"jealousy seems to be a great motivator for you” jack/stephen prompt (may end up SLLT)

Diana/Stephen Came Back Wrong fic

Jack/Diana/Canning pwp

Stephen/Diana insane pillowtalk regarding The Naming Of Tortoises AKA Stephen/Diana Torture Machine

Diana/Stephen/Jack Threesome From Hell (name order is Important)

HDM AU

Mass Effect AU

Sedoretu AU

Soulmate AU but get weird with it

The Time That Passes By (SLLT)

Something Blue (SLLT)

Untitled Fic Regarding Sophie's Pregnancy With The Twins (SLLT)

Untitled Mauritius Fic (SLLT)

Untitled Desolation Island Fic (SLLT)

Untitled Fortune of War/Surgeon's Mate Fic (SLLT)

Untitled Ionian Missions/Treason's Harbour Fic (SLLT)

Untitled Far Side of the World Fic (SLLT)

Untitled Reverse of the Medal Fic (SLLT)

Untitled Letter of Marque Fic (SLLT)

My Heart and Eyes Have Erred AKA The Wives Find Out (SLLT)

Deh vieni non tardar (SLLT)

Untitled Thirteen Gun Salute fic AKA The Wives Have Unionised (SLLT)

Untitled Nutmeg Fic (SLLT) [note: apparently THIS is the one I didn't want to type out in full? Despite so many absurdly long titles]

Clarissa my beloved (SLLT)

HERE IT IS THE LESBIANS CAN FINALLY HAPPEN finally we beat the Beschdel test (SLLT)

Untitled Yellow Admiral Fic (SLLT)

Hornblower:

Hornblowergender Genderflu AKA Hornblower Torture Machine

The Great Kingston Debauch

Pellew Being Moody

“aren’t you tired?” “i’m fine. don’t worry about me.” stephen maturin/hornblower prompt

The Terror:

Time Loop But Evil/Canon-Compliant Time Loop/Crozier Torture Machine

Weird Fitzgender Character Study

Space AU

Temeraire:

TemSummer Exchange(I can't give info about this one sadly ;-;)

laurence sick in australia laurence/tharkay/granby prompt

"'i feel like shit.' 'you look like it, too.' *they bump shoulders*" laurence/granby prompt

"this is not something that can be fixed by simply wishing it away" laurence/tharkay prompt

"you know, if you’re trying to make me feel guilty, you’ve succeeded" laurence/granby prompt

"and the job gets done, but you worry some, i know" jane/laurence prompt

shibari tharkay/laurence prompt

Holy Mother Of Crossover Fic Aubreyad+Hornblower+Temeraire

Dragon Age:

Darkspawn!Justice/Nathaniel Howe

"I could make you feel better" nanders prompt

Kinloch-era Kanders <3 prompt

"I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me I fucking tried" fenders prompt

Nanders+Justanders+Fenders+Nate/Justice Mother Of All Complicated Soulmate AUs

JustSolAnders Inky!Anders AU

Sanctuary

Tagging @glowing-blue-feathermage @aurpiment @sere-allwehaveisnow @marthielsmain @kerfanna and YOU if you would like to do it <3 please tag me, my dears, if you decide to play, so I see and can send you asks!

[sparklecryptid]

Sel+All The Bastards girls having a 'girl's day'. How scared is everyone else? How scared should they be?

The brothers are terrified. They all decide that they need to leave Immediately and thus do so.

Meanwhile Sel comes to the conclusion that Jules must be protected at all costs but also that her demeanour and cute little face could get them out of so much trouble.

They probably plot how to thoroughly screw the Astrals they don’t like over. There is a big gossip session. Persephone winds up teaching everyone How To Get Away With Poison

Mercury teaches an impromptu lesson on who is who in the Empires upper class and who is secretly harbouring treasonous ambitions.

The boys go to Ardyn’s place and stay there until their sisters are done upsetting political and divine powers.

[ltwilliammowett]

Hi! I was wondering if you've read the whole Aubreyad and if you have which are your favourites? And thanks for this great blog, I really appreciate all the work you put in. I saw in an earlier post you were in hospital so I hope you're recovering well and have a good holiday season! 🩷

Treason's Harbour the ninth volume is so far my favourite book. Although I actually like them all because it's one of the few book series that I reread from time to time.

Thanks so far, been back home for a few days now and just need to recover. However, I know that Christmas will be stressful again, but I have to take it slowly otherwise it will look really shitty for me, my body is sending me the clearest signs you can get. So take a deep breath, do quiet things and don't do so much at once and take things a bit slower so that I can stay with you all here. <3 Wish you a wonderful holiday time.

[fritextramole]

a hidden gem, my own goldmine

part 1 of a Vanessa Abrams playlist - best heard in order

tracklist and quotes under the cut

The Revolution Will Not Be Televised ~ Gil Scott-Heron

The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal The revolution will not get rid of the nubs The revolution will not make you look five pounds thinner Because the revolution will not be televised, brother

Chain Gang ~ Sam Cooke

Can't you hear them singing I'm going home one of these days

The Rebel Girl ~ Hazel Dickens

There are blue blood queens and princesses Who have charms made of diamonds and pearl But the only and thoroughbred lady Is the Rebel Girl

The Mesopotamians ~ They Might Be Giants

In Mesopotamia (No one's ever seen us) The kingdom where we secretly reign (And no one's ever heard of our band) The land where we invisibly rule As the Mesopotamians

Myriad Harbour ~ The New Pornographers

(Ah, who cares, you always end up in the city) Stranded at Bleecker and Broadway Looking for something to do

Which Side Are You On? ~ Work O’ The Weavers

Which side are you on, boys? Which side are you on?

Thus Always To Tyrants ~ The Oh Hellos

Over hill, over dale, through the valley and vale Do not weep, do not wail, I am coming home to you Every tomb, every sea, spit the bones from your teeth Let the ransomed be free as the revel meets the day Let the valleys awake, let them rattle and shake

Twenty Five Miles ~ Edwin Starr

Now I'll be so glad to see my baby And hold her in my arms one more time, huh Now when I kiss her lips, I turn a back over flip And I forget about these feet of mine I got to keep on walking, hey

THE FRIEND SPACE ~ Ryan Woods

I really hope I don’t throw it away But you couldn’t imagine the way I feel And now I can’t see why You wouldn’t wanna be my baby I got all you need

Comin’ Down ~ Jackie Shane

What's wrong with me? I said it's a simple fact I don't believe you're ever comin' back

Even The Losers ~ Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Well, it was nearly summer we sat on your roof Yeah, we smoked cigarettes and we stared at the moon And I showed you stars you never could see Babe, it couldn't have been that easy to forget about me

Sylvias Mother ~ The Refreshments

Sylvia's mother says Sylvia's packin' She's gonna be leavin' today Sylvia's mother says Sylvia is marrying A fella down Galveston way

Hot & Heavy ~ Lucy Dacus

When I went away it was the only option Couldn't trust myself to proceed with caution The most that I could give to you is nothing at all The best that I could offer was to miss your calls

I Can’t Stand the Rain ~ Ann Peebles

I know you got some sweet memory But like the wind, ah, you ain't got nothing to say

Radio, Radio ~ Elvis Costello & The Attractions

They say you better listen to the voice of reason But they don't give you any choice 'cause they think that it's treason So you had better do as you are told You better listen to the radio I wanna bite the hand that feeds me

Stairway to Heaven ~ Led Zeppelin

There's a lady who's sure All that glitters is gold And she's buying a stairway to heaven When she gets there she knows If the stores are all closed With a word she can get what she came for

Solidarity Forever ~ Pete Seeger, The Song Swappers

We can break their haughty power, gain our freedom when we learn That the union makes us strong

American Idiot ~ Green Day

Welcome to a new kind of tension All across the alien nation Where everything isn't meant to be okay In television dreams of tomorrow

9 to 5 ~ Dolly Parton

There's a better life And you think about it, don't you? It's a rich man's game No matter what they call it And you spend your life Putting money in his wallet

Stop! In The Name Of Love ~ The Supremes

I watch you walk down the street Knowing your other love you'll meet But this time before you run to her Leaving me alone and hurt (Think it over) After I've been good to you

5AM ~ Amber Run

We run into a dark room And we spasm to the sounds Of a copy of Morrissey Or the blues of the Deep South

Val Kilmer ~ Bowling For Soup

So when you walk down that red carpet I hope you trip and fall I hope someone squirts you with a water gun A super soaker filled with pee

There’s A Ghost In My House ~ R. Dean Taylor

I can't hide (Ghost in my house) From the ghost of your love that's inside You're still such a part of me (Ghost in my house) Still so deep in the heart of me (Ghost in my house)