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thedragonnerd · 3 years

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Rayaari headcanon - travel through the emotions with tears

(inspired by this lovely anon)

Tears of sorrow and pain

Raya is so young when she loses her mother, that the concept of death is difficult for her to understand. The reality doesn't strike her until bedtime, when she slowly begins to realize that Ma will never again be there to sing her a lullaby, or hug her fear of the monsters away. Benja is unable to stop the tears for hours, as Raya screams and cries and hits her small fists on the bed. Finally, she upsets herself so much she throws up, and her crying trails off to quiet whimpers instead. For months afterwards, Benja and Raya both dread bedtime, for this is when sorrow hits the hardest for her.

Namaari is nine when her Ba dies. Death is not an unknown concept for her, unfortunately. She has already begun to see its cold grasp ensnaring Fang citizens as famine begins to sweep the lands. But nothing can prepare her for the news the young soldier delivers of her Ba's accident, nor the expression on Ma's face when they both realize he won't be coming home. She doesn't cry for the first week after his death, and people whisper about how stoic and brave she's being. In reality, she is too shocked and numb to demonstrate any further emotions, until one night she awakens to find Ma has crawled into bed next to her, hugging her close in her sleep. Hot tears fall down her cheek, and she burrows into her mother's embrace as she cries silently.

After the Druun return, after she loses her Ba, Raya finds herself scared and all alone in the world, besides faithful Tuk Tuk. During the day, she wraps herself in false bravado, learning how to be a confident young woman instead of an easy mark for people with questionable motives. She employs a 'fake it until she makes it' approach to life, and it carries her through well enough...except at night. At night, she can't help but remember both her parents, and in the darkness she softly sings her mother's lullaby to soothe herself as the tears fall.

When the magnitude of what she has done by trying to take the Dragon Gem hits Namaari, she is horrified with herself. She cries quietly at night for weeks on end, reluctant to talk to anyone about her guilt. And then one day, she wakes up and decides she has no right to cry over it – she should step up and be responsible for her own actions instead, and be the best leader she can be. For several years after that moment, she refuses to let herself cry. Then one scouting mission, she loses her first soldier to the Druun, watching him turn to stone over her shoulder as they flee. She manages to hold it together as she tells his family how brave he had been; then, she goes to the kitchen, stealing as much rice wine as she can carry. She hides with her serlots, drunkenly crying into their soft fur until she can barely breathe. After that, she allows herself to cry sometimes, but only ever when alone.

The first time Raya visits Talon, she is fourteen and half-starving. The market place is loud and confusing, but it’s also full of food and wonderful scents. Unfortunately, she has no jade pieces and the soldiers patrolling the stalls do not seem like people with whom she should risk get into trouble. She almost walks away instead of trying to buy anything, but her stomach cramps just at that moment, and she almost gasps in pain. It breaks her heart, but she slowly hands over a ring of gold in order to buy some food – the only thing she has with her that belonged to her mother. ‘You know, that vendor scammed you,’ a young boy tells her with a snort, as she walks away. ‘You should have gotten far more product for the worth of the ring.’ The food tastes like ashes in her mouth after that, and hot tears slip down her cheeks as she tries to choke down the rest of her dinner.

Namaari’s scouting party is ambushed, not by the Druun, but by angry citizens from Spine. She loses good people that day, watching in horror as they are overwhelmed by Spine’s army, still acting as good soldiers trying to protect their Princess until the end. The last warrior screams at her to run, and even though it is against her instincts, she turns and flees into the forest, not even stopping when a sharp pain pierces her side - an arrow hitting its mark. She collapses some distance later, crying in pain and fear. For the first time, she fears she will die alone, bleeding out amongst the trees. Then she remembers her mother, remembers her duties and the promises she made to herself, and staggers upright. Her serlot finds her as she slowly makes her way forwards, and when she finally manges to crawl onto her back, they take off towards Fang.

‘You’re a traitor to your people,’ someone snaps at Raya, as she tries to mediate between two disagreeing Heart citizens. ‘You try to tell us what to do, but you’re a Princess who doesn’t even know half of her own culture. Too busy cavorting with binturis from Fang and other lands to bother with your own.’ She can feel the tears coming on as the words cut deep into all the fears she has about herself – how she isn’t a good leader, how she lost so many years where she should have learnt about Heart and her role as Princess. A hand lands on her shoulder squeezing gently, yet the voice behind its owner is cutting. ‘Gentlemen, I suggest you leave now before you make me do something I regret,’ Namaari says, and when the men depart angrily, silence falls. Namaari doesn’t say anything at first, drawing Raya into an embrace instead. ‘You’re a better leader than they could hope to be,’ she whispers into Raya’s hair, kissing her head gently. Raya clings to her tightly, arms wrapped around her waist.

‘You’re not welcome here, binturi,’ comes the accusation thrown into her face, and Namaari flinches, much to her own disgust. The celebratory gathering is supposed to be for all the lands to come together, but she can understand Fang not being so warmly welcomed. She is trying though, trying to atone for her mistakes, and after a long day of talking herself into having the confidence to attend, she is now just feeling overwhelmed with their cutting remarks. She simply nods and tries to walk away while hiding her face, but Raya is already pushing past her, getting into the personal space of the other women with a snarl. ‘She’s more welcome here than you currently,’ she growls. Then she spins around, holds out an arm gallantly to Namaari with a smile, and says ‘shall we?’ with a wink. Namaari links their arms, and they walk away with their heads held high.

Tears of laughter and joy

There is something charming and fun in watching Sisu learn more about people and their odd behaviours. Namaari is still slightly in awe of dragons in general, but she finds it easier the more she spends time with Sisu and watches her do ridiculous things. Sisu often brings Tong, Boun and even Noi along to visit Raya, and Namaari loves this time especially, because Raya will go and join in on the fun, laughing at her friends’ antics until tears stream down her face. Namaari sits and watches them with a smile, until Raya runs over and grabs her by the hand, dragging her over to the group.

Raya likes to think she is excellently athletic and nimble on her feet, and to a certain extent this is true. Unfortunately, she has a rather clumsy side to her also, and she spectacularly demonstrates this in front of Namaari by mistake. She is trying to demonstrate how smooth her mounts and dismounts from Tuk Tuk’s saddle are, and even goes so far as to try and show off by standing up on his back. And yet, she slips sideways instead, arms windmilling in the air before she drops onto the floor. ‘Are you alright?’ Namaari calls, and as soon as Raya answers in the affirmative, she can hear a cackle of laughter. Namaari is laughing so hard that there are tears shining in her eyes, and Raya can’t feel too embarrassed by her tumble when it brings Namaari such joy.

At the end of a very long day of Council meetings, Raya wants nothing more than to escape the political grandstanding and disappear into the night instead of staying for dinner. She manages to grab some food from the kitchen before it is even brought out for the guests, and then steals Namaari herself as company. They sit under the stars, enjoying their picnic and complaining about the day. Namaari does a wonderful impersonation of the most annoying Councilor in the meeting, and Raya startles into loud laughter at how realistic it is. Soon they are lying next to each other, giggling loudly until they are both crying from laughter.

Namaari kisses Raya for the first time during a sparring session. They are fighting in a casual manner for once, not trying to be highly competitive as usual, but preferring to shoot as many teasing remarks towards the other as punches, enjoying the moment. Raya manages to pin Namaari down on the ground, leaning forwards slightly to highlight her triumphant and teasing expression, and instead sees Namaari staring up at her with a soft smile. Namaari brings both hands up to slide her fingers through Raya’s hair, drawing her down until their lips are touching softly. Raya feels tears welling up behind her eyes at she feels the love emanating from Namaari.

Raya proposes after two years of dating and several days of angsting over whether she has the correct words to say or the correct proposal gifts. But when it comes to the moment, she forgets everything, and just blurts out ‘I love you. Marry me?’ Namaari stares at her in shock for a moment, before stepping forward to kiss Raya. ‘Yes, yes of course,’ she says, her voice shaking from her emotions. Raya cups her cheeks in both hands, gently wiping away her tears before they kiss again.

When they marry, neither of them can get through their vows without some tears of happiness. No-one judges them for it though – most of their family and friends are crying also.

#rayaari #raya and the last dragon #ratld #raya #namaari #raya and namaari #raya x namaari #one for sorrow #two for joy #tears headcanons #been a whiiiiile #work work work makes no time for headcanons writing #but hopefully i will have time now for moooore #enjoy this offering in the meantime

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Preference: Surviving the Holidays

Characters: Dewey Finn, Peter B. Parker, Tadashi Hamada, Bruce Wayne

Dewey Finn: Thanksgiving

Dewey’s relationship with Thanksgiving was wack, for lack of a better word. Really that could be said for his relationship with most holidays, but what made Thanksgiving stand out ever so slightly was just how obsessively tied to gatherings with loved ones it was when compared to other holidays: You could party for Christmas; you could party for New Years; you couldn’t really party for Thanksgiving. And given that most of his time growing up was just himself and his ma . . .Yeah, the guy wasn’t too crazy about what he considered to be a sham of a holiday. (Plus, he didn’t vibe with the parade.)

And none of that lessened as he got older, with his relationship with his mother becoming more and more strained. After a while, the most he really got from the holiday was tagging along accompanying Ned to his own family’s place. But once Patty came along, that window of opportunity closed.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t long for it. Quite the contrary, it had become sour grapes for Dewey: He could gripe and sneer about Thanksgiving being a “boring-ass” wannabe day all he wanted to; the truth simply was that deep down, he knew he wouldn’t really mind the idea of being in the presence of somebody who loved and appreciated him enough to share a meal with him. Or to be thankful that he was in their lives and wanted him to know it.

That, and he missed the option of not having to stay cooped up in the apartment he mooched off in, eating Kraft Mac straight out the pot while imagining others elsewhere eating homemade baked macaroni as a side to a much more delicious and filling meal.

You personally didn’t feel especially impassioned by the day one way or another to be frank. At least, not usually. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you -- maybe it was because the two of you had just moved in together and wanted to make a statement, or maybe the spirit of the season had finally possessed the both of you, or maybe it was because the delirium of moving in two weeks before a holiday had finally taken its hold (moving is statistically one of the most stressful events in a person’s life, after all) -- but there was a newfound determination in trying to “get this right.”

Of course, there’s nothing and no one who says that a house only becomes a home once it has been christened by a successful feast. But there was a sense of maturity that did come with the idea of holding down even a dinner for two that wasn’t picked up from the deli down the street, or delivered by some knock-kneed cyclist. And it was a maturity the both of you were far too eager to acquire.

Never mind the fact that most of your kitchenware was still lost amongst the boxes (what few of them you could fit in the glorified Fruit-By-the-Foot box you called an apartment). Or that you guys were on a budget. Or that the dinner table was an old plastic collapsible one reminiscent of the tables put up at parties held in gymnasiums. You two were adults, goddammit, and you were going to pull this off at least once! Just once, and things would go back to normal.

. . .

Like most things that tended to involve the great Dewey Finn, you had no idea how this happened.

There was no turkey, no green beans or corn on the cob or even mashed potatoes or a pumpkin pie. Instead, what cluttered the table was a plate of Bagel Bites, tater tots, a plastic case of Lofthouse cookies, and, of course, some Kraft Mac. Neither one of you said anything. At least, not out loud. But the sheepish expressions you gave one another said everything.

Time had gotten away from you both. As did proper ingredients to prepare the more traditional meals associated with the day. You supposed that, in a panicked haze, the both of you wound up grabbing and putting together whatever you could to salvage your pride efforts but you began to suspect that that might not’ve been enough.

“. . . At least we beat Snoopy’s meal,” Dewey tried. A beat passed. Then a snort.

“S-shut up!” you cried. How dare he criticize an animated beagle’s meal of popcorn and toast? Though you had to admit, he had a point: You’d take pizza-decorated bagelettes over popcorn any day -- including Thanksgiving Day, apparently.

In the end, it wasn’t the most . . . traditional situation. And it certainly wasn’t enough to change Dewey’s mind about the day. But you both had to agree: It was a feast that certainly christened your new home together as your own. And for that, you were quite thankful.

Peter B. Parker: Hanukkah

While it wasn’t the most important holiday on the Jewish calendar, Hanukkah still held a heavy level of importance in Peter’s heart. Growing up, it had served as a foundation for so many things in his life: In certain traditions, stability was established; in the togetherness it garnered, there was love; and in the activities partaken, there were memories. Memories of helping Aunt May in the kitchen and of Uncle Ben determining him to be old enough to recite the proper prayers. Of lighting the menorah and setting the room aglow with the history of a miracle . . .

It was therefore a huge regret of Peter’s when he had foregone observing both the winter holiday, as well as many others in his culture during the more recent years when his life began to slip and slide out of control. So when he reemerged from Miles’ dimension, ready and willing to take a chance on life again, it was only natural that Peter was also ready and willing to bring back more positive habits and influences – celebrating Hanukkah included.

And with you, now present in his life and curious and eager as ever, he couldn’t help but feel all the more encouraged to share it. And maybe perhaps show off. Just a little.

For example, once you removed the whole Spider-Man situation, Peter was a pretty simple guy. Especially when it came to foods: Far be it from Peter B. Parker to turn down a burger with some fries or some pizza or street food. So that’s what made it stick out all the more when, after the first night he announced his decision to attempt making challah. Followed by some latkes. Maybe a babka as well. And some sufganiyot. Never mind that he had never actually made some of these without the more experienced Aunt May taking up most of the task. But he was determined and literally and metaphorically hungry for success, and who were you to question his ambitions?

. . . Apparently somewhat saner and more aware than he was. The babka and latkes were simple enough, thankfully. But the sufganiyot? Peter couldn’t fry like that; not with the best materials money could by, when said money was provided on the budget of two people trying to make it in one of the pricier boroughs of New York. And the less said about the challah process, probably the better. . . . Though you still had plenty to say.

“You’re a spider, Peter – why is your weaving coming out so weird?” you questioned, eyeballing the tangled mess of dough. Peter huffed, trying to keep his glower on his failed efforts, rather than redirecting it at you.

“It’s not my fault the guy moves too fast,” he said, referring to the tutorial you had both played on loop. He muttered something along the lines of “for beginners, my ass.” At this rate, the real holiday miracle would be if you not only braided the challah correctly, but also if you didn’t burn down the raggedy apartment. You wanted to say that there would be no shame in calling it and just going to one of the nearby Jewish bakeries for a loaf, but your partner seemed invigorated by spite-induced determination to see this task through.

Never mind that the strands of dough flopped against one another in spite of his best efforts. At this point, it resembled less of a perfect princess braid and more like a flattened Tangela. It was pitiful, really, but you had to admit: The pout his failed efforts had earned him was cute. You didn’t want to think lightly of what he was deeming a situation, but it was quite nice seeing him like this at all. When you had first met he was quite nearly the opposite, all grumpy and aloof and wanting nothing to do with you.

Who would’ve guessed that in due time, he’d become the very man who stood before you, eager to interact with you and bond with you, sharing moments like these . . . Moments which you wish he would just go ahead and enjoy along with you.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Ye -- ” A small blast of flour collided with his crooked nose, stopping the man short. “HEY!” He cracked one eye open just enough to glare at your grinning face.

“Don’t be such a Grinch, Peeby -- ”

“Wrong holiday,” your boyfriend snarked as he wiped his face.

“Hush. Anyway, we still got a few more nights to figure this out,” you reminded. You placed a quick peck on his powdery cheek for good measure. His shoulders slumped with a sigh. As much as he didn’t want to say it, he knew you had a point. Maybe he had gotten a bit too (literally) wrapped up in getting all this right. Though he did feel his spirits lift somewhat as you placed your hand over his with assurance.

Somewhat. All that was missing was --

Pff!

“UGH! PETER!” Your hands flew to your face in an effort to wipe away the fistful of flour that now caked it. All the while, the offender himself laughed. He was probably going to have to appease you with some chocolate gelt “for damages” but as far as he was concerned, it was worth it. After all, what better way to share these important moments than with his favorite person?

Tadashi Hamada: Christmas

A local little cafe in the heart of San Fransokyo was simultaneously the best place to be for the holiday season, and the worst. The great things about it were the cute store-bought and homemade decorations that decked the cozy halls of the establishment; the seasonal baked goods and sandwich specials that made the Lucky Cat smell like cinnamon or roasted turkey; the cozy feeling that welcomed you like a hug whenever you walked in.

Alternatively, there was the whole to-do with picky or rude customers coming in from out of town; the saturation of Christmas music screeching through the speakers; and way-too-hype women taking up tables for hours at a time after spending the day shopping (and clogging the already small aisles with the bags from said shopping).

But all in all, Tadashi made it all better.

Having grown up in the Lucky Cat, he’d long since learned how to cancel out the grinchiness the holiday season brought out, and was more than happy to help you do the same using his own methods. If you focused on the little things, he figured, you could attach sweeter memories and associations to them. Especially if you veered a little off the usual path.

Sure, there was joining him in the kitchen to prepare and bake cranberry-speckled pastries and frost cookies to resemble familiar holiday characters and items. But there was also stringing popcorn garlands together (“Tadashi, you’re the youngest 70-something year-old I have ever met.” “Hush, you; I’m doing you a favor by laying my Christmas cheer all over you.” “Phrasing, ‘Dashi, geez!”). But at the end of the day, there was one thing in particular that your boyfriend did to sweeten the deal. The one thing only someone like Tadashi could do: Snowball fight a la manipulation of barometric pressure.

Following the incident with the snow machine two years ago, Tadashi had to make a promise to Aunt Cass to only use it outside. Away from the house. That suited Tadashi just fine. After all: What better way to pelt your loved one in the face using snow warfare than to do so in a wide-open space like the park? And while those fortunate (and unfortunate) enough to have come upon the unusual winter wonderland he had created, the facts still stood: This was about you and him. You vs him, diving behind mounds of snow, screeching with both joy and discomfort whenever the snow made an impact against bare skin, eyes tearing up from the cold . . .

You could’ve done this for hours, especially since you were pretty positive Tadashi was letting you win. If only he hadn’t called for an armistice.

“ ‘Armistice’? For what? You scared I’ll beat your butt again?” you taunted through chattering teeth.

“No, you ding-dong,” Tadashi shook his head. “Look at you: You’re clearly at your limit with the cold.”

“Nuh-uh!” As if to betray you, your body gave a sudden jolt; a release of shivers like a spring being let loose after coiling. As if unimpressed, the young man reached for your gloved hands and gave one a gentle squeeze.

“Does that hurt?” he questioned.

You winced. “N-no . . .”

You heard him click his tongue. “Ah. Enforced armistice.”

“No fair!” you whined.

“If you sign the treaty, I will include hot cocoa when we get back.”

. . . Well, he could make a mean hot chocolate. Not too sweet, not too bitter, it was perfectly creamy with only the slightest hint of cinnamon for kicks. It was the perfect thing to relax you, causing you to come undone as it’s warmth spread about you inside while the warmth of the kotatsu took care of you on the outside.

“Comfy?” your boyfriend asked. You purred, foregoing a more proper answer just to take another sip of the glorious hot drink. Your enthusiasm earned you a chuckle from him as he inched closer to you. Just enough to hold your hand in his. “For body heat purposes” he might’ve insisted, had you asked. Not that you minded it: It was just what the evening needed to feel complete. Not the goofy, awful ugly sweater he wore that made Rudolph’s nose blink when you pressed a certain spot; not the gentle crooning of Christmas classics sounding from the miniature stereo Tadashi had set up; not even stockings carefully lined along the makeshift mantle, or the presents glimmering beneath the lights of the twinkling tree.

Just the warm feeling of togetherness. That this beautiful man you get to call yours is so willing to share how he celebrates with you. And that you, it turn, get to celebrate with him.

“Hey, you made her cocoa?!” Hiro’s complaining ripped through the air.

And his small but nevertheless vibrant family, of course.

Bruce Wayne: New Years Eve

Let’s face it: New Years Eve sucks. All everyone wants to do is throw a party (even when they actually don’t really want to), the parties are either obnoxiously loud or awkwardly quiet (there is no in-between), there’s never any food because all people wanna do (or have been convinced to do) is drink, and the alcohol is usually crap by the time you get there because everyone already knew to tackle the good booze as soon as they arrived.

Suffice to say, you had some gripes when it came to New Years Eve. And in spite of the luxurious images that tended to come to mind, parties thrown by the wealthy weren’t any different from the average one thrown by the common man. Really, the only difference was that the alcohol was of higher quality and the gatherings were usually held at some large hall like a hotel ballroom or even at a prestigious gallery.

But even if you’d known that beforehand, you still would’ve accompanied Bruce to one such party. Bruce wasn’t fond of them himself, but he needed to at least make an appearance to save face with all the moochers and bigwigs from neighboring industries and enterprises. You were honestly just there for support, though it was just as agonizing for you as it was for him.

Well, at least you didn’t have to actually talk extensively with anyone, you mused. You’d been nursing your drink for the last half hour or so, trying to walk that thin line between going about undisturbed while also not coming across as frigid or wallflowery. Not too far off, you could see Bruce smiling at another partygoer: A buxom ginger, surely an important figure in her own right, but clearly seeing no harm in grinning coquettishly at the affluent Prince of Gotham. You felt no trace of jealousy within you, however. You knew Bruce’s real smile, and the one he was currently providing her wasn’t it in the slightest.

No, the real one was the one he flashed you when he glanced over at you to make sure that you were doing fine off and alone. A sweet, glorious smile that reached his eyes. Though, there were also traces of exhaustion. And you suspected that the smile you returned held just as much because soon after that, you watched him excuse himself from whatever conversation he’d been trying to carry before making his way over to you.

“How’re you holding up?” he inspected.

You shrugged and sighed, “It is what it is. I’m making peace with the fact that the last thing I would’ve eaten this year would’ve been an assortment of cocktail wienies, what I think might’ve been pate, and ginger ale.” You’d meant for it to come across as more humorous, but the dry tone you had delivered your words in ruined the effect.

Bruce winced and offered yet another smile: A wobbly, more sheepish one.

“You ready to go home?”

God, yes.

“No, no,” you replied. “Really, it’s fine. Besides, it’s almost midnight anyway -- it probably wouldn’t look good if Bruce Wayne ditched a party his glorious hosts have so graciously invited him to.”

You watched as your significant other raised his brow. “Honey, I’m Bruce Wayne: I’m known for ditching parties.”

“Oh,” you said simply. Fair point. To your minor relief and slight embarrassment, he huskily chuckled.

“C’mon,” he sighed, placing his hand on your lower back as guidance. “My ass is sore from all the butt-kissing. Let’s go home where it’s warm. And quiet.”

“And we can actually eat!” you chirped, a little too excitedly. Once again, your embarrassment was met with approval.

The outside was both quieter and just as noisy as the inside of the celebration. Quieter because of the muting effect the fallen snow had, but also more lively because of the surrounding restaurants and streets and bars filled with people cheering and blowing party horns and singing in slurred joy. You liked it better than the party, if you had to be honest. But maybe perhaps because as you wandered the snow-caked streets to reach where Bruce had parked the car, you felt his gloved hand wrap around your own.

Of course, it was probably just to keep your hand warm -- maybe even just to make sure you kept pace with him, or that if you wouldn’t fall if you hit a small patch of black ice. But in a little corner of your mind, you couldn’t help but romanticize it: It was like he was accompanying you into the new year in a way. Just you and him. No loud parties, no pressures, no being anywhere or with anyone you didn’t want to be.

“Thanks, by the way.” Bruce broke the silence in a puff of cold air. “I know these really aren’t your thing -- I mean, personally, they aren’t mine, either, but you really didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to. But I appreciate that you . . . that you did.”

Your cheeks burned, though not from the whipping cold of the late December air.

“Of course I did . . .” you reasoned. “I know it sounds goofy but . . . we’re in this together, y’know?” You gave his hand a small squeeze. He squeezed yours right back, but with a bit more power. The warmth of it traveled up into your chest and cheeks. You licked your chapping lips.

“Besides,” you continued, “if I had just stayed home, I would’ve been bored. And probably would’ve given my New Year’s Kiss to Alfred.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, who knows? New year, new me, right?”

You couldn’t have imagined what Bruce would’ve responded with next if it weren’t for the sudden distraction: The air, disorderly and sloppy mere seconds before, had all at once seemed to become uniform with the sounds of chanting. A count down.

You’d lived through so many New Years before, you weren’t quite sure what made this one different. There was no reason for you to pause as you did, your heart suddenly thundering in your chest at the realization of what was to come. It was just another year, right? A new year with new promises, new disappointments, new surprises both good and bad, new --

“ -- two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”

You had barely had a moment to register the words before you became distracted with registering something entirely different: A pair of warm lips pressed against your own, the feeling of large arms wrapped about your waist to pull you in close.

As he parted from you, Bruce flashed you one of his real smiles once more. One that denoted the mischief only you were truly privy to.

“Beat him to it,” he teased.

And for as shocked as you were over the exchange of the midnight kiss, you couldn’t help but blink . . . and find yourself in a giggling fit. That was why this year felt different: You had never had a boyfriend on New Years before. Scratch that: You had never had Bruce for New Years. And that made a world of difference. You didn’t want to make any assumptions but . . . it was a pretty great way to start a new year, if you did say so yourself.

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borisbubbles · 4 years

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My favourite Dorian Quotes

Just as an addendum, since my previous didn’t exactly put across the hilarity of Dorian, here are my favourite quotes/conversations/reactions by Dorian Pavus in Dragon Age 3. Edit 22/01: added a few more because Dorian just keeps giving. 60. Dorian: Come on Varric, just answer the question. 😣 Varric: My mother didn’t raise any morons, Sparkler. 🙄 Dorian: But you must have an opinion! And you’re a Dwarf! Completely unbiased. Varric: There is no way I’ll answer “Which Inquisition Mage is the best dressed?”, not for all the gold in Orzammar. Vivienne: Also, the answer is obvious. 🙂 59. Dorian: So what's your estimation, Varric? Think we could win? Varric: 😱 You aren't asking me to give odds on our beloved Inquisitor's success?! 😛 Dorian: What would that look like? Three to one? 🤣 Varric: In his favor? Dorian: After Corypheus pulled an archdemon out of his arse, are you joking? Inquisitor: You would actually bet against me? Dorian: Now now, if I weren't here, it would be five to one at least. 😘 Inquisitor: I’ll take those odds, actually. 😏 Dorian: This is why I adore him so. 😍 58. Cassandra: So Bull, about Dorian... Iron Bull: Yep, it’s true. 😁 Dorian: By all means, let’s discuss this all together. 🙄 Cassandra: If you’re both pleased Dorian: He’s happy, I’m happy, everybody’s happy! Iron Bull: Awww, you’re happy. 😍 Dorian: 😣 Cassandra: 😄 57. You joke! they’ll be writing books about you, boring ones that will get it all wrong. Just you wait! 56. Iron Bull: Yesss, we’re going to fight the dragon, boss? Oh THIS is gonna be GOOD. Dorian: You are way too excited about this. 😑

55. Blackwall: How do you get your hair to do that, Dorian? With magic? Dorian: With proper hygiene and grooming. Maybe the three of you should get acquainted. 🙄 54. Cole: You’re happier now, Dorian Dorian: Oh is that what this light tingly feeling is? I suppose you’re right. 😏 Cole: Wishing but wondering, wounded and whistful Cole: What if he doesn’t want me after? Dorian: But he did. 😁 Cole: Now you’re smiling. It’s good. 😃 53. Varric: Does this shit make any sense to you? Dorian: Are you referring to the giant gaping hole in the sky, or the creature from a Chantry cautionary tale pretending to be a god? Varric: Either. I’m feeling generous. Dorian: What’s the matter? Some pretender comes along, tears the place down, declares himself king. That’s half of history. Varric: Corypheus is like that drunk uncle who refuses to leave the party? Dorian: Even after he puts a hole in the ceiling. Terribly common. 52. Sera: You gonna warn me the next time you’re throwing your magic around? Dorian: As long as you’re careful where you shoot all those arrows Sera: You magic me, I’ll put three in your eye! Dorian: 😅 Now we can live together in peace and harmony! 51. Vivienne: Dorian, what did you think of little Sera’s last Red Jenny mission? Dorian: Hmm... I’d call it ‘medium’. 🤔 Vivienne: ‘Medium’, my dear? Dorian: It wasn’t rare, and it certainly wasn’t well done. 😏 50. Cole: Dorian, what is 'a slave'? Dorian: FESTISBEIUMOCANAVERUM! 😨 Cole: You said I could ask questions! Dorian: I know I did, just... go ask the Inquisitor that one. 49. An optimist! 🤣 such a rare breed, I have stumbled upon a unicorn. 48. Dorian: What I wouldn't give for some proper wine.😫 Vivienne: Skyhold's steward is a sadistic little man who is trying to kill us. 🤢 Dorian: Perhaps he found a bargain he couldn't pass up, on vats of vinegar? 47. Cassandra: Why are you looking at me like that, Dorian? Dorian: I am trying to imagine what you would look like... in a dress.😈 Cassandra: Keep wondering. If my uncle couldn't put me in one, neither shall you. 46. Dorian: How do you want to be remembered, Cassandra? Valiant yet sexy rebel against the status quo? Cassandra: I don't have any control over how I'll be remembered. 🙄 Dorian: Sword raised high, blue scarf dramatically fluttering in the wind, sun rising behind you? Cassandra: Blue scarf?😒 Why would I be wearing such a thing? Dorian: It's a painting, of course! Work with me( It'll be fantastic! 🤗 45. Dorian: Why is it so cold? How do you southerners stand it? Iron Bull: What's the matter? Not enough slaves around to rub your footsies? Dorian: My ‘footsies’ are freezing, thank you! 😒 44. Blackwall: Dorian, I’d appreciate it if you stopped refering to me as ‘that hairy lummox”. 😠 Dorian: When did I do that? Blackwall: At the tavern, the blacksmith’s, the stable. You said it to the gateguards when we left Skyhold! Dorian: hmm... 🤔 yes, that does sound like me. 🤗 43. Dorian: Watch out where you point that thing! 😡 Iron Bull: Dirty! 😏 Dorian: Vishante kaffas, I meant your weapon! 😡 42. Dorian: What would you say Blackwall's best feature is, Vivienne? Vivienne: His absence, of course. 🙄 Blackwall: I can hear both of you. 😒 41. Dorian: Did you know we are actually related Inquisitor? Inquisitor: We, what? Dorian: Not first cousins or anything. Can you imagine? Dorian: I however did a bit of digging in my family tree, and somewhere down the netheregions of my line there was also a Trevelyan. Dorian: Perhaps the one who went to Ostwick to establish the branch? I knew we looked so alike for a reason. 😏 Inquisitor: Um, yay? Dorian: Indeed! 😁 Yay! 40. I’m always nice. 😏 39. Dorian: I don't know if you've heard, but the rumours are that you and I are... intimate. Inquisitor: That's not such a bad thing, isn't it? Dorian: I don't know, is it? Inquisitor: Do you always answer a question with a question? Dorian: Perhaps you would like me to answer in a different fashion? 🤔 Inquisitor: If you're capable. 😅 Dorian: 😘🥰😚 Dorian: 'If you're capable.' The nonsense you speak. 🤭 38. Dorian: You caught the eye of a young woman in that last village, Blackwall. Blackwall: I'm sure you're mistaken. 😒 Dorian: You're right. She was undoubtedly looking at me.🤭 37. Dorian: Vivienne, I have only the one question - why the Orlesian fixation with masks? Vivienne: It is The Game, darling. You never show the players your true visage. Dorian: A strange custom in a culture where people assassinate each other for putting too much salt in the soup Vivienne: An extra hurdle to be overcome. Fail at The Game, and you die. Dorian: And you people call Tevinter barbaric. 🙄 36. Dorian: You are smiling a great deal these days, Cassandra. 😉 Cassandra: I am not... smiling. 😒 Dorian: Now you're not, but only because I pointed it out to you. Cassandra: I am not a giddy schoolgirl! 😡 Dorian: That would have been easier to believe if you hadn't just blushed. 🤗 35. You’ll be surprised at the credit my tongue gets me, your Reverence. 34. Dorian: Sera, I see you are having fun with your illustruous paramour- Sera: WHAT? 😨 Is it showin'? Dorian: What? NO, oh heavens NO. 🤢 Dorian: I meant to ask if you're enjoying your new relationship. Sera: Then why not just say that? 🙄 Dorian: I did... in words you apparently don't understand. 😑 Sera: What's the point of words you know and others don't? Who'd you say them to? 🙄 Dorian: Letmejustdobothofusafavorandretractthequestion. 😡 Sera: Pity, because we're doing great. That's why I'm following her around with weirdies 🤗 33. It was fun to goad you, Cassandra. You get that knot between your eyes when you're flustered - Ah, look, there it is! Delightful! 🤗 32. Dorian: I half expect my mother to materialize from the crowd to criticise my manners. Inquisitor: Where would we be if you mother we really here? Dorian: Short one mage, after he's been dragged out by his earlobe. Inquisitor: I have a hard deal imagining that. 😅 Dorian: Picture me a young boy of five years then. She certainly always has. 🙄 31. Dorian: 'Official Mage to the Orlesian Court'. Well that sounds exciting. 🙄 Vivienne: It's an esteemed position, darling. One many mages should envy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose being paraded around like an exotic peacock is better than frantically running from templars. 🙃 Vivienne: Better an exotic peacock than one Tevinter rat amongst many. Dorian: Oh? A dig at my homeland? This should be fun. 😏 30. Sera: Dorian? Those words you say. What do they mean? Dorian: What, you mean like mendicant or ultimatum? 🤨 Sera: No, arse, when you're mad. 'Pish-anty cough-ass'. You're swearing, I know it. Dorian: Ah, 'vishante kaffas'. It's Tevene, relics of the old tongue. We still use the colorful phrases. Sera: And it means what? Dorian: Literally? 😏 'You shit on my tongue.' Sera: 😂 Why not just say that? Dorian: A mystery for the ages. 29. Sera: Demons! Flappy robes! Dorian: Thieves! Dog Stink! Sera: Culty shits! Dorian: Treacherous teyrns! Sera: Wha- It’s not a proper game of ‘Your people are shit” if you just make up words. 🙄 Dorian: A ‘teyrn’ is a Fereldan title, just below that of a king. I thought you of all people would know that. Sera: Well that’s just... I... smartasses 🤬 Dorian: Too late! I believe that’s my round. 🤗 Sera: Piss! 😠 28. Vivienne: You’re rather amusing, Dorian. Dorian: Your outfit’s entertaining, I’ll give it that.🙄 Vivienne: Pretending to be a shark from a land of sharks. But you’re not a shark and you’ll never be one, darling. They knew this as much as we do. Dorian: I could have of course pretended, wore fancy clothes, convinced everyone I’m something I’m not. Dorian: Then I could take a position at court, whore myself out, and desperately hope no one realizes what a fraud I am. Vivienne: Such snapping for a fish without teeth! 😂 Inquisitor: I cannot believe the way you two speak to each other. 😨 Vivienne: Inquisitor whatever is the matter? We’re having a perfectly civil conversation. Dorian: It’s true. I’ve heard worse from the gardener back home. 27. Dorian: Varric, you owe me five royals. I’d like them paid in candied dates. 😉 Varric: I haven’t lost that bet yet, Sparkler. Dorian: You said we would be arse-deep in trouble. This is more like knee-high. Varric: I didn’t specify whose ass, did I? 😏 Dorian: Leave it to a dwarf always lowering the bar. 🙄 26. I hope you tried the ham they were serving, by the way. Tasted of despair. Fascinating. 25. Dorian: Vivienne, we can continue this dance forever if you like. Vivienne: Certainly. Provided both of us are capable. Dorian: I mock Orlesian frippery and nonsense, you slam Tevinter decadence and tyrrany. Dorian: There's however something more important we must remember. Vivienne: And what might that just be? 🤨 Dorian: At least we're not Antivan. Vivienne: 🤢 Quite right. Thank the Maker. 🙏 24. Cassandra: You're not as handsome as you think, Dorian. Dorian: Ah, but I must be! Or you wouldn't have been thinking about it all this time. 😏 Cassandra: Anyone who claims it as often as you must be dreadfully concerned they're not. Dorian: Look at this profile - Isn't it incredible? Dorian: I picture it in marble. 😏 Cassandra: 😒 23. Flying cows over Minrathous? Preposterous! Okay that one is actually true, but the cows didn't have wings. 22. Dorian: I have only one question, Sera: did you cut your own hair? Sera: Yeah. Why wouldn't I? 🙄 Dorian: You could try using something other than a rusty butter knife. Sera: Oh, excuse me while I dig up my diamond-studded hair-cutting whatevers. 🙄 Dorian: Scissors. 😏 The word you're looking for is "scissors." 😏 21. Iron Bull: Quite the stink-eye you've got going, Dorian. Dorian: You stand there, flexing your muscles, huffing like some beast of burden with no thought save conquest. 😡 Iron Bull: That's right. These big muscled hands could tear those robes off while you struggled, helpless in my grip. Iron Bull: I'd pin you down, and as you gripped my horns. Iron Bull: I. Would. Conquer. You. 😏 Dorian: Uh. What? 😨 Iron Bull: Oh. Is that not where we're going? 🤐 Dorian: No. It was very much not.😳 20. You can't call me pampered, Varric. 🙄 Nobody has peeled a grape for me in weeks. 19. Sera: Dorian are you going to warn me the next time you bust out in demons or sumthin? Dorian: 😂 How exactly do you picture me 'busting out’? Dorian: I am just walking along and *OOPS* - demon? Dorian: I mean it could happen, after years of training. You could also trip and impale your eye on an arrow. 😏 Sera: So are you going to warn me or not? 🙄 Dorian: Certainly. But only because you're so dear to me. 😘 18. Dorian: For being so unnerved by magic, you aren't shy about benefiting from its effects.🤔 Sera: I don't. I use normal things, not magic. 🙄 Dorian: You consider swathing yourself in flame or ice 'normal' and 'not magic'? 🤨 Sera: For one: it comes out a bottle. Sera: For two: I mess up, I get burned. You mess up, your head chucks up a demon. Sera: For three: Bottle, little burned, no demons. So there. 🤗 Dorian: That was only... you know, if it lets you sleep at night, never mind. 😒 17. Festis bei umo canaverum! I swear, if you don't come through this, I will kill you. 😖 16. Dorian: The first time I entered the Fade it looked like a lovely castle full of silks and gold. 😍 Dorian: I met a marvellous desire demon as I recall. We chatted and ate grapes before he tried to possess me. 😇 Vivienne: 🙄😒😠😡🤬 Dorian: Yes? I hear your southern Harrowings are slightly more strenuous. 😏 15. What do they call this place? A "bog"? Lovely word for it. 🙄 14. Dorian: Solas, what is this whole look of yours about? Solas: I am sorry? 🙄 Dorian: No, that outfit is sorry.😷 What are you supposed to be, some sort of woodsman? Dorian: Isn't that a Dalish thing? Don't you dislike the Dalish? Or is it some sort of statement? Solas: No. 😠 Dorian: Well, it says "Apostate hobo" to me. 😏 Vivienne: Unwashed apostate hobo, more specifically. 🙂 13. I AM TOO PRETTY TO DIE 😭 12. Dorian: Amatus, it's been so long. Did you miss me? Inquisitor: A little bit. Dorian: 😂 'a little bit' he says. I'll show you a little bit! Just you wait. 😏 11. Dorian: Sera, where do you get your arrows from? You have so many. 🤔 Sera: From your arse. That's where. 🙄 Dorian: My arse should open up a shop. It's apparently quite prolific. 😁 10. Ah, this reminds me of the time Mother took me boating in summer. Or rather, she had the servants take me on the boat while she sat inside with a cool drink.🙄 09. Inquisitor: Things are going well with the Bull, I take it? Dorian: He's glad I've returned, if that's what you mean. Nearly crushed three of my ribs with that ridiculous hug. 🙄 Inquisitor: You say that as if you don't like it. 🤨 Dorian: For such a great beast, he can be such a terrible sap 🙄 Dorian: [bullvoice] "I want to talk about my feelings, Dorian". Dorian: Ugh. 🙄 Inquisitor: 😂 you do like it Dorian: Quiet you! He'll overhear, and then where I'll be?🤫 08. Dorian: Sera, I cannot believe you, of all people, are scared of magic. Surely you can see nothing wrong with a properly used tool? Sera: What about all the mages waving their proper tools in people's faces? Dorian: There's an image. 😁 Sera: "What about Corfyface? How many proper tools does he have under him? Dorian: That's not... I don't think I can continue. 😬 Sera: I don't care how gifted you are, don't cram it where it's not wanted. 😡 Vivienne: Maker, how does she not know? 🙄 07. Just once we should enter a cave and see normal sized spiders. 🙄 06. Cassandra: After all the places we have been, I hardly expected us to find ourselves in another cave. Cassandra: Still, as mad as our lives had been, I would take any chance to be together. 😘 Dorian: Why seeker, after all these years, I never realized you felt this way!! Cassandra: ... Dorian: ... Cassandra: 😒 Dorian: Oh, you meant him. 😶 05. Mountains! 😠 Cold! 😠 "Let's bring Dorian!". 😒 04. Dorian: I heard a little rumour that somebody has been doing some training. As an assassin no less. Inquisitor: I thought the skills might come in handy. Dorian: Yes, I suppose a little flair is welcome, with all the killing you do. Inquisitor: I don't kill that many people. 🙄 Dorian: Are you joking? I'm only surprised you didn't kill someone walking over here. 🤨 03. Cole: Breath painful, stabbing, and then real stabbing, lungs full, frothing, scent of apples as it all goes black. Dorian: 'Death By Applepie' - A lovely poem by our dear friend Cole. 02. Blackwall: Corypheus, one of yours isn't he? Dorian: One of my mine? 🙄 Like a pet? 🙄 Like a giant darkspawn hamster with aspirations of godhood? 🙄 Dorian: "Dorian, why can't you look after your little friends. Corypheus peed on the carpet again". Dorian: In this analogy, 'the carpet' is Haven. 😏 Blackwall: Is he or isn't he a Tevinter magister? 😒 Dorian: Meaning 'the source of everything bad in the world'? They are the same, yes? 😑 Blackwall: Sigh. Feels that way at times. 🙄 01. Inquisitor: No matter what happens, I wouldn't trade the years I spent with you for anything. Inquisitor: I love you. Dorian: I knew you'd break my heart, you bloody bastard. 😭

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Inquisition #DAI #DA3 #Dragon Age 3 #Dorian #Dorian Pavus #Pavus

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ticklystuff · 3 years

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Kuya and Bunso

summary: modern au where thoma is fluent in tagalog and aether is interested in learning

warnings: this is a tickle fic

word count: ~1.8k

a/n: ok so i found out recently that thoma’s english va is filipino and @danibby and i are both filipino too so we started talking about how thoma would be fluent in tagalog and he’d know a lot about filipino culture and he’d share his knowledge and experience with aether and that’s how the idea for this fic came about. i’m not fluent in tagalog but i can understand it perfectly fine and know a decent amount of words off the top of my head so hopefully this didn’t come out too bad but ya if you’re fluent in tagalog pls feel free to scalp me

“Paa.”

“Paa? Uhhh, paa,” Aether mumbled to himself as he scanned Thoma’s body, looking for the body part that matched what Thoma was saying.

Aether bit his lip in thought as he replayed the word over and over in his head. Learning a new language was a lot more difficult than Aether was expecting and he wasn’t sure how Thoma managed. Granted, Thoma did have to travel abroad for his work in the Philippines and if he wanted to live comfortably in a foreign place, adapting to their language and culture would have been necessary.

Now, though, Thoma was back permanently from his business trip, having only visited home a couple times for one week max during the two years he had to spend there. Every time he flew home for a visit, Thoma would bring back many stories and experiences, as well as souvenirs, or pasalubong, to share amongst his family and friends. Aether loved hearing about the friendly people, the white sands of Boracay, the delicious street food that often gave Thoma food poisoning, and many more and this only helped to spark Aether’s interest in the Philippines. He often found himself spending most of his weekends at Thoma’s place, learning a little bit more about their culture each time.

Since Aether was so interested in the Philippines, Thoma started giving him Tagalog lessons, hoping it’d be enough to prepare Aether if he so chose to make the trip one day, but learning a new language is never easy, so the two had to think of creative ways to get Thoma’s lessons to stick, which led to Thoma coming up with their current game.

“You have ten seconds to figure out what ‘paa’ is,” Thoma told Aether with a smirk as he watched the other start panicking. “Isa..”

Aether’s mind started racing as Thoma started to count to ten in Tagalog, knowing full well what would happen if he failed to guess correctly. At the last moment, Aether jumped for Thoma’s feet at the end of the bed, giving the socked soles a few tickles, hearing Thoma burst into giggles from behind him. He had made a blind guess and hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

“Okay, okahahahay!” Thoma sat up and pulled his leg away from Aether, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he let his giggles subside. “Okay, you were right. ‘Paa’ means feet.”

Aether cheered to himself and was rewarded with a high five from Thoma, while mentally breathing a sigh of relief, happy he had made the right choice. As part of today’s language lesson, Thoma wanted to teach Aether different body parts in Tagalog. Instead of just telling Aether what certain body parts were called in Tagalog, Thoma decided to add a little twist to today’s lesson, claiming it’d help Aether retain the information after today. As part of the “game”, Thoma would give Aether a body part in Tagalog and Aether would have to guess which one Thoma was referring to by tickling the specific area on Thoma’s body to lock in his answer. If Aether guessed right, then they moved on to the next word, but if he was wrong, then Thoma got to tickle him back by targeting the correct spot that he was referring to. It was an exciting game that kept Aether on edge because of how ridiculously sensitive he was everywhere and he knew Thoma chose tickling on purpose due to how many times they’d gotten themselves into tickle fights. At least this specific method would help properly cement some of the words into Aether’s brain.

“Alright, let’s see,” Thoma said to himself as he let his body plop down onto the bed once more, tucking both of his hands under his head. “Let’s do one a little harder.”

“Bring it on, kuya,” Aether told him as he crossed his arms together, his voice laced with the slight bit of confidence.

Thoma couldn’t help but playfully roll his eyes at the smug expression plastered on Aether’s face. “How about ‘kili kili’ this time?”

Aether definitely knew this one. Within seconds, he was on top of Thoma, having pounced straight for his stomach, giving no time for Thoma to prepare for the wiggling fingers digging into the thin grey t-shirt that protected his tummy. Since he was attacked without warning, Thoma let out a half-shriek half-squeal, followed by a steady stream of giggles.

“Wrohohong! You’re wrohohong!” Thoma tried to tell him through his giggling, attempting to slap Aether’s hands away with his own when the other kept up the tickling.

“No, you’re definitely lying!” Aether protested, his fingers digging in slightly more, insisting that he was right again. He knew he wasn’t wrong.

“Nohohoho! AHAHAHAHAHA!” Thoma’s giggles turned into full-blown laughter once Aether had turned things up a notch. He started kicking his legs and continued to cry out that Aether was incorrect, eventually managing to catch Aether’s wrists with his own hands.

“Wait, was I actually wrong?” Aether awkwardly chuckled as he looked down at Thoma’s red face, watching the other catch his breath from the tickling.

“Y-Yeah,” Thoma managed to pant out. After recovering, he sat up on the bed and released Aether’s left arm, but still held onto the right, slowly lifting it up into the air over Aether’s head. “Stomach in Tagalog is tiyán. Kili kili means armpit.”

“Oh,” Aether muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed at his confident mistake. It wasn’t long, though, before he felt a single finger wiggle along the inside of his underarm at the edge of his sleeve, eliciting giggles from Aether.

“You were getting pretty cocky a minute ago. What happened?” Thoma couldn’t help but tease as he watched Aether squirm around, but Thoma continued to hold Aether’s wrist over his head. His finger managed to slip under the hem of the short-sleeved shirt, causing Aether to jerk around even more.

“Hehehehahaha! I’m sohohohorry!” Aether burst into hysterical laughter as he felt Thoma begin to add in more fingers scribbling against the pale skin. He tried his best to pull away, but Thoma kept his grip on his arm tight and his other hand simply chased Aether around wherever he wiggled his body.

After about a minute of tickling, Thoma finally released Aether’s arm, but still attempted to keep up the tickling, laughing playfully as he chased Aether around on the bed. Aether did his best to scoot away, but he simply wasn’t quick enough and soon felt both of Thoma’s hands in his armpits. He tried to protect his sensitive spots by clamping his arms to his body, but that only trapped Thoma’s hands in his underarms and Aether soon fell back into hysterics as he felt Thoma’s poke and pinch the tickly areas.

“Thomahahaha! Stohohohop!” Aether cried out once he felt Thoma’s hands move down to his sides, breaking the rule of the game. He squealed when he felt both of his sides being pinched, causing him to squirm back and forth as Thoma laughed along with how silly Aether looked.

“Alright, alright.” Thoma removed his hands and sat back, laughing as Aether pushed himself away and crossed his arms at him.

“You said you’d go easy,” Aether whined with a pout.

“Hehe, sorry, couldn’t resist,” Thoma told him, laughing when Aether stuck his tongue out at him. “But alright, let’s move onto the next. Hmm, how about ‘bunso’?”

Bunso? Aether’s definitely heard this one before, but he was having trouble picturing it. He bit his lip in thought, watching as Thoma laid down on the bed again. He didn’t want to mess up again like last time, but Thoma started counting out loud again and Aether couldn’t help but begin to panic for a second time.

“W-Wait, I need more time,” Aether said, but Thoma didn’t stop counting and it didn’t help that he seemed to be enjoying how nervous Aether was from the smirk on his face. The three spots that they had gone over already were feet, stomach, and armpits, so maybe bunso meant ribs? Only one way to find out.

“Wrohohohong!” Thoma managed to say through his laughter, brushing Aether’s hands away with his own.

“Ugh, I have no idea,” Aether sighed, pulling away as Thoma sat up once more. “What’s bunso?”

“Well, it’s a special word, I guess,” Thoma told him as he brought his hands to Aether’s sides, but didn’t actually start tickling, allowing his hands to rest where they were.

“So it means sides- Ahahahaha!” Aether squirmed around as Thoma began tickling him once more, but Thoma simply pounced on him, straddling Aether to keep him still.

“Actually, bunso means youngest sibling,” Thoma explained over Aether’s laughter.

“Whahahahat?!”

“In Filipino culture, we often refer to people that we’re close with that are slightly older as ‘kuya’ or ‘ate’, which mean older brother or older sister respectively, so I’m your ‘kuya’ in this case,” Thoma continued, digging even more into Aether’s sides, having to speak up as his laughter crescendoed. “Since you’re younger than me, that means you’re ‘bunso’, or the youngest.”

“Cheheheater!” Aether cried out, slapping the mattress with his hands weakly as Thoma continued to tickle him. Bunso wasn’t even a body part, so how was he even supposed to get that? Was he just supposed to tickle himself??

“Sorry to be deceiving,” Thoma snickered to himself, “but since you’re the bunso, that means I get to tickle you wherever.”

With that, Aether felt Thoma’s hands move over to his tummy, wailing as he felt his fingers dancing along the piece of bare skin that was revealed from his shirt riding upwards. His legs kicked and his arms flailed around as Thoma continued tickling one of his death spots, mentally slapping himself for falling for one of Thoma’s cheap tricks. He knew he would pull something like this at some point when Thoma brought up tickling as a potential learning tool.

“Wow, my bunso is so ticklish,” Thoma teased as Aether’s bright laughter filled the room, his fingers getting dangerously close to Aether’s bellybutton.

“Thohohoma! Plehehehease!”

“Hmm, call me kuya instead.”

“KuhuhuyahAHAHAHA!” Aether shrieked when he felt one of Thoma’s fingers briefly dip into his navel, sending a surge of tickly sensations to his brain.

“Okay, okay, kuya’s sorry,” Thoma laughed as he removed himself from Aether, sitting beside the other boy on the bed as Aether recovered.

“You cheated,” Aether complained through his breathy pants, slapping playfully at Thoma’s arm from where he lay.

“Sorry, it was just too easy,” Thoma giggled to himself. “Tell you what; I’ll let you tickle me for as long as you want.”

Aether sat up excitedly, his eyes filled with vengeance. “Does kuya promise?”

Thoma couldn’t help but chuckle nervously to himself, already feeling a bit of regret. “Heh, yeah, kuya promises.”

#aether #thoma #genshin impact #tickling

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years

Text

Black - Chapter 10

Here's a chapter that was exceedingly fun to write. I hope you enjoy it :D

@legolasbadass I have officially tagged you in something, now, go back to writing 😂

Fandom: The Hobbit

Characters : Thorin x OC, the rest, special mention for Dwalin being a cutie

Words: 5,5 k

Rating: Mature

Warnings: blood, reference to bodily harm, reference to God, ALSO: I am a drama queen *shrug*

“I think you are being unreasonable.” Faith shook her head at him. “Who? Uncle?” Kíli sauntered up to them, bowing crisply to her and adding: “I came to check on you, but I see our own dragon is guarding you jealously.”

“Get dressed, woman, if that one is here, the others are not far behind.” Thorin grumbled and blocked the view of his much too curious nephew while Faith was huddled in the corner of her room, slipping into her chemise and an old rough spun dress she had found in the pile of clothes that were left to her.

Faith had to admit that Thorin might have been right when other dwarrows presented themselves as well in front of her door, “to check on her” as if she was as sickly kitten. “Dori sends me with tea.” Ori mumbled, holding a literal pot of tea in his gloved hands.

“That is ever so kind.” Faith smiled, pouring the rest of her wine back into the carafe and extending the mug to the sweet dwarrow hovering just outside her door. Apparently, there was indeed something unseemly about crossing the threshold of an unmarried woman as an unmarried man. She wondered if that would have been the same if the townspeople of her home had lived. As it was, she would never know, but there was something quite touching in the pile-up of dwarrows outside her room.

“Oh, you’re holding court like a real queen. What is uncle unreasonable about?” Kíli silenced the others by almost screaming.

“Mistress Faith was on her way to bed when you barged in like a fool.” Thorin muttered, obviously in a cantankerous mood.

“She was not, she was berating you!” Kíli replied petulantly. “I don’t think your uncle, the king, should be camped outside of my door.” Faith intervened with an explanation.

“Why don’t you just bolt the door?” The lad asked, scratching his head. When she explained that she couldn’t open the door on her own and that she didn’t like feeling locked in, he gave his uncle a short nod and shrugged: “In that case, uncle is not being unreasonable at all. Let me know if you want company, I can sit with you.”

Faith was speechless. “You are a guest, and we’ll keep you safe.” Kíli said with an easy smile.

“I am safe.” Faith protested. “You are now because you have uncle outside your door. And us.” Kíli winked at her with that youthful pride and confidence that made her heart swell. Oh, bless that kid, she thought, may the stars align for him and bring him endless happiness.

“There you are!” Dwalin came barrelling down the corridor. “Me?” She was taken aback and tiny bit startled.

“No, not you, Mistress. That oaf, the king.” Dwalin nodded to her with what might have been a smile, Faith was not entirely sure and conversed in low, murmured words with Thorin. Faith just sat and listened to the sound of it, weirdly calmed and comforted by the rough elegance of their very own, secret language.

“Mistress Faith? Ah, there comes Fíli.” Faith scrambled to her feet and curtsied for the heir to the throne who presented her with a small cake. “We apologise humbly for having led you astray and for risking your good name. And for annoying you about uncle, we didn’t tell mother everything, but she was not happy either way.” The prince laughed. Faith was impressed by how resolutely and soberly he admitted fault and tried to redress his potential missteps; she understood that their social life had been an unsteady and uncertain thing and that it had been a priority to make them valuable fighters rather than charming courtiers.

Nonetheless, she admired them for their light-hearted honesty as much as for their supposed prowess.

“You’ve given us sweets and now, we give you cake. That makes us friends, doesn’t it? Ah, I see Dori has sent his little brother with that disheartening brew of his.” Fíli declared, commenting casually on the scene he had stumbled upon. Amongst humans, this would have been a childish thing to say, Faith thought, but she realised that he extended an invitation to her, and she was thankful for it. As she was a stranger in their realm, the declaration of a bond between them would protect her, shield her, most probably keep her alive against all odds. It was easy to see them as children as they were the nephews of a man she called a friend, but their lives stretched far into the past and hopefully would extend into a distant future, and already, they knew more than she would ever learn.

With another curtsy, she acknowledged the gracious offer of his friendship and the privileges it brought. “Thank you, dear prince I would be honoured to accept both the cake and your good graces.” He gave her an answering bow that sealed the deal.

If they knew what scandalous actions she had been engaged in only moments ago, Faith thought, they would probably not be that courteous to her. The idea of losing their affection stung, which surprised her, but the idea of losing them, period, turned out to be utterly unbearable to her. Her mind shrank back from the mere thought as from an open, festering wound.

She had been alone most of her life, but the mere contemplation of never seeing the creatures in front of her again filled her with dread and a nameless pain that choked the light out of her heart. For their own people and their culture, they were young still and she couldn’t bear the thought of having such promising torches snuffed out before their time. Would that she could live another hundred years to see their mischief soften to quiet humour, to see them take wives and father children, to be their friend through the different stages of a dwarven life.

The limitations of her own body and life constricted her soul, crushing it to dust, and she wanted to rail against the injustice of being given a glimpse of perfection only to have it snatched away too soon by the ravage of time. No, she thought, she would be thankful to be granted that precious peek; she would be grateful to have known what others only dreamt of and she would treasure those memories and all she had seen until her eyes saw no more.

“Thank you ever so much.” Faith mumbled again, feeling the effects of the half-glass of wine she had drunk and wondering if the dwarrows could eat all the time. She had had more than her fill at the dinner, but she dutifully bit into her cake which was sweet and surprisingly moist.

“Do you like it?” Kíli asked eagerly. “It is like everything else of dwarven make I have experienced.” Faith grinned.

“Bulky, heavy and smelling kind of weird?” Thorin prompted, much to Faith’s chagrin; she had not noticed that he had finished his conversation with his friend. Maybe, she had been wrong and dwarven mischief never really abated, maybe, they just learned to hide their wicked humour under longer beards in time. “Beautiful, compact, and delicious.” She gave him a brazen look full of dancing sparks; she liked bandying words with Thorin almost as much as she liked being kissed by him.

“Delicious, ey?” Dwalin laughed, clapping his king on the shoulder, and promising to come back later to relieve Thorin in his guard-duties. Oh, this was absurd, Faith rolled her eyes, she didn’t need two prime fighters in front of her door.

She had trekked through wind and weather; she had tackled a man with a knife and had chased away another one; she could take care of herself. It seemed though as if Thorin had been mostly correct: if they had lingered in her room, someone would have come looking for them and she might have lost a name that was worth more in this settlement than it ever had before.

She was half a savage, she realised, unused to the social conventions and rules of a society. As a maiden, she should have waited for a husband to give up this most sacrosanct of female gifts, but she was past the marrying age, and she was not overly fond of the idea of dying a virgin.

It was highly improbable that she would ever be anything else than a concubine to anyone and much more believable that she’d end up taken by force…hence the armed king outside her door. He had saved her once from rape and violence, and Faith did not doubt that he would do it again without hesitating.

Until he left.

Looking at the young princes, Faith realised that she felt safe here. She had stopped looking over her shoulder and hence, had let down her guard too much; all these lovely people would go on a perilous journey, and she would be left to her own devices. Maybe, she would have to heed the king’s advice after all and learn to be demure and discreet again.

That would be a whole lot easier once his startling beauty was removed and she could breathe again without getting a whiff of that intoxicating smell. How far would he have to be removed for her to no longer feel tethered to his steps?

She would miss him. His presence had become solace and home to her, a place to rest, a warmth to sustain her, and she would feel more vulnerable with him gone than ever before. Oh, another painful thought she didn’t want to pursue in this moment.

“We should let you get to bed. Just scream if anything is the matter and enjoy the cake.” The youngsters ambled away in high spirits, mocking Ori and his teapot and squabbling about the last cake. She would miss them too; like everything she had experienced in this wondrous place, they were a curious blend of beauty – light, colour, and laughter – and strength – honour, courage, and faith. Yes, she could say that she was fond of them and that she would be looking forward to seeing them again; there was just no way to dislike their open-hearted…fierceness. They were striving towards a brighter future with such zeal and indefatigable energy that Faith was pulled along despite her own reservations.

“Can I offer you a piece, my king?” Faith sat down again on her side of the doorframe, offering the baked good to Thorin.

“Ah, yes, I won’t say “no” to that.” He nodded, breaking off a piece and shoving it into his mouth, crumbs raining down on his tunic which she brushed away casually, amused to find that the king had a sweet tooth. His hand closed around her wrist.

“I am sorry, Faith, this…it was a mess. I…” He sighed. “I want to do this right…”

Oh, how could she have forgotten? While she was obsessing about her own death as if she was a crone already, she had forgotten that he had seen decades more than her; the time for his retribution had come and, of course, he didn’t want more loose ends and false starts to burden him.

“I will make it right; I will…” His eyes had softened to a mesmerizing dark blue in the low light, intense and captivating.

Now that the fire in her veins had dulled into a sensuous warmth, a steady flow of earnest affection and deep longing, she could put aside the wounds her vanity had sustained and mumble: “Oh, you king of second chances, I am sure you will.”

“Have faith in me, sweet one, I will make good on my word.” – “I shall not be another burden on your shoulders, Thorin-king.” She protested softly, putting her hand lightly on top of his.

“You are not, neither are they.” He waved in the general direction in which his nephews had disappeared. “I will succeed where others have failed, because of all of you. I will bring you home: my sister, my nephews, my friends…you. I swear.”

The intensity of his gaze and of his determination sent shivers down Faith’s spine.

She was a woman without a history and, probably, without a future, but she could recognise the weight of his ancestors’ failures, of his people’s suffering, and of his own ambition bear down on him inexorably.

“Rest, sweet king, you have done me no wrong.” She reassured him. “Have I not?” His eyes narrowed, suspecting a subterfuge or a trick. “You are a stubborn but very honourable fool, and I am glad that you convinced me to come here.” She grinned.

“So, you like it here? You’ll like Erebor then. It’s full of gold.” He smiled. “You and your gold!” She laughed.

“It’s full of beautiful things.” He tried again. “It shall be, yeah.” She chuckled, bumping her shoulder gently into his.

“You…I wanted to say that I feel honoured that you’d…consider me for…” He nodded at the empty room behind her, which made her giggle again; he really was too upstanding to be real.

“You are the single most beautiful living thing I’ve ever beheld in my life. You’re kind, generous, and brave. I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable; I see now that there are rules to be followed and I did not mean any disrespect.”

Thorin seemed to ponder her words for a while before nodding: “Yes, I guess that is true…I know that you are physically incapable of wilfully disrespecting anyone or anything almost, so no problem.”

“What are the rules, Thorin-king?” She had caught a glimmer in his eye that disquieted her considerably.

He looked purposefully away for a moment and then mumbled into his beard: “I’d court you and then…”

“What would you quarter me for? In that case, I do see why you think intercourse would be dangerous.” Faith hissed, aghast.

“Court you, not quarter you. Who do you think I am?” Thorin exclaimed, lowering his voice immediately.

“I am sorry that I do not have your sister’s supersonic hearing.” Faith grumbled, but she had to laugh when she saw his dumbfounded face. “Oh, Dís, she was born like that. It’s because she loves information that much. I call it information…”

He made a face.

“She sounds like a valuable councillor then, wouldn’t you say?” Faith teased him. “Kíli gets it from her, that wicked sense of humour and that…” His voice softened, “She has a fierce heart, my sister does, stay close to Dís, she’ll keep you safe.”

Faith believed him, but she wondered how he could be so sure.

“My sister loves me as I love her, you are my friend, you are her sons’ friend…She won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I don’t want to be a burden on the princess either.” Faith protested, flustered by the finality in his voice.

Thorin took her hand and murmured: “Can you do two things for me, please? One, go to bed, otherwise I will have to kiss you again and we have seen that it generally ends in…frustration; and two, promise that you’ll stay with Dís.”

Throwing a quick glance down the corridors, Faith stuck out her head of the doorframe and pressed a single, warm, lingering kiss on his stubborn mouth and whispered: “I swear to stick to the princess…and lay down my life if necessary for her protection.”

Mahal have mercy, Thorin thought, the two women he cared for most would try to die in protection of one another at the slightest provocation; they were both fiercely loyal and brave in their own way. Devoted and self-forgotten, Faith had no regard for her own fragile life that seemed to be entirely made up of service while Dís had ever been a pugnacious dwarrowdam who would not avoid a fight if she thought she could win. Dís always thought she could win. She was his sister, after all.

“Good night, king of kings.” She whispered, flipping one of his braids playfully over his shoulder and scrambling to get to her feet. Thorin watched her go, taking off her dress again as she went, and cursed himself for being such a fool.

As she slipped between the sheets though, Faith stiffened and cried out: “Wait a minute…what do you mean by court?”

It had taken some time for his words to sink in, but again, all her fatigue evaded her within a second.

“Well, courting gifts, braids, walking around with your hand in mine…more intrusive questions by my nephews, more teasing by my sister…” He enumerated and ticked off the fingers of his hand.

Marriage, Faith thought, that was what it all led up to. Courting led to weddings, in general, and she would not marry Thorin Oakenshield, king of the Longbeards, not if the almighty creator himself did not come down and grant her a life long enough to honour the bond she would enter into, and a blood worthy of his. Falling back hard into her pillow, she resisted the urge of burying her head in it and asphyxiating herself out of pure impatience and annoyance with the situation.

Then again, the idea of having his nephews and his sister, and ultimately of course him, around until her forever came, held such a sweet seduction that it tore her heart apart. The intensity of her longing made it very clear to her that she was reaching for forbidden fruit indeed. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling that started to swim and swirl in front of her eyes.

“Sleep, sweet one, tomorrow is another day. There will be time for you to decide if that is something you’d want.”

Oh, naturally, he would be a perfectly honourable man about that as well, Faith thought with something akin to disdain almost; while she fretted and fussed, he would offer his courtship and she would have the right to deny it.

Would he understand her reasons when she finally did reject his promise of tender and respectful advances? Or would he feel as miserably unsatisfied as she did now?

Again, she tried to remind herself of the fact that he did not care for her in that way. She had promised him her body and he was looking to find some justification for taking it; a man such as him would not simply despoil a woman because he felt like it, no, he would create the pretence of a mock courtship to explain why he had taken what he could never give back.

Time would tell. Time, her constant enemy, the shadow gnawing mercilessly on her hours in the sun, would decide if she ever got an answer to those questions.

“You can tell me sooner of course.” Thorin mumbled and she sat up in bed, her blanket a tangled mess around her legs.

“It is a discussion for another day, surely.” She replied calmly, falling back to hide her face and its expression from him.

“Are you very cross with me, Faith?” He asked then.

“Not in the least, Thorin.” She decided against a title, knowing that it would make him believe that she was indeed angry when, really, she was confused and considerably hurt by everything that had happened tonight and by the fears that swirled in her head and heart without surcease. “Good, I couldn’t bear to disappoint you as well.”

“What are you talking about?” Again, she shot up to stare at him in dumbfounded amazement. “I will do right by all of you.” He vowed anew and Faith wondered if he always took his own trespasses so seriously; of course, he would.

“Good night, Master Dwarf. I care for you, and you are beautiful.” She repeated the most important things of the evening, swallowing her rejection of his courtship and falling into a fitful sleep, constantly disturbed by her body that was as taut as a twisted piece of wire. Every time her thighs touched, a spark of pure agony shot through her limbs, a feeling she knew would subside but that made her intensely miserable, nonetheless.

“How’s the little lady?” Dwalin clunked down the corridor and was forced to sneak the last stretch so as not to awaken Faith.

Thorin loved his friend, but he would not tell him how he had spent the last hours listening to Faith mumble and moan in her sleep; more than once, she had whimpered his name and he had been sorely tempted to take off his clothes again and slip between the covers with her.

Somewhere between her body and the mattress lay heaven, he knew, and her soft groaning had worn out his soul and chafed his skin raw with desire.

“She’s not a little lady.” Thorin grumbled. No, Faith was fearless when it came to actual danger; despite her innate subservience and her sweet temper, she was a fierce woman he was honoured and happy to call his friend.

“You’re thinking about courting her, aren’t you?” – “If she’ll have me.” Thorin didn’t even try denying it.

Dwalin had his doubts about that; Faith seemed fond enough of their mutual friend, of their common king, but could she find that kind of love inside herself for someone who was not of her own race? Friendships were indiscriminate; they were based on mutual respect and understanding, but marriage followed a set of rules much stricter and more severe.

It was also probable that she’d die before him, but he was not exactly a young dwarf and they had years ahead of them that could be spent in happy union; if he lived, if she agreed. Did she know that? Would she want that?

“She’s very…kind.” Dwalin said carefully, for she had been nothing but nice to him despite the fact that even dwarrowdams had told him before that he looked like a raincloud pickled in vinegar and left to dry on a stony cliff. “She is.” Thorin agreed.

“What is with the door?” Dwalin then asked and nodded at the huddled form in the bed he could make out in the penumbra. “She can’t open it on her own.” Thorin explained and then, the epiphany hit him: he would not wait for his return or her joining him; he would start his tentative courting with the very basic gift of an appropriate door.

“I…I have something to do. Please do not turn around under any circumstance and tell Mistress Faith that I’ll find her as soon as I’m done.” Thorin spluttered hastily and, boots in hand, almost ran down the corridor in search of a carpenter.

He would have a door made that she could easily open and close herself, but he would make sure that it was sturdy, fashioning and applying the bolts himself. Would that this blasted wizard was around to help imbue the very slab of wood with spells for her protection. Yes, he would convince her of his deep affection for her in the only way he knew: hard work and presents.

Faith woke up to the broad back of Master Dwalin completely obscuring the doorframe.

“The king is…doing something and he’ll find you as soon as he has finished…doing whatever he is doing.” The dwarrow grunted as a reply to her cheery greeting.

Slipping back into her simple shift, Faith approached the stolid figure and tapped him on the shoulder. “Would you be so good as to let me out?” He shifted aside and let her pass, but as she took a step, he followed her.

“I’d rather keep an eye on you.” He muttered, a low, rumbling sound that she very much enjoyed. “You are a dear man, Master Dwalin.” She chirped and nodded slowly.

“Hmmm, me? Hmmm, thank you, Mistress Faith.”

If she had been a braver woman when it came to social conventions, Faith might have asked to hug him, but as it was, she didn’t dare presume. “You’re a funny little creature as well.” He chuckled after a moment which made her turn around in surprise.

“Where are we going?” He cocked his head. “First to get you some breakfast and then to the river, if that is agreeable to you.” She replied gently. As he was intent on shadowing her, she had to think of his well-being as much as he seemed to worry about hers; so, off to the kitchens they went in search of a fortifying meal for the big warrior.

While Dwalin was still munching noisily on his breakfast, Faith was already kneeling beside the river, digging her hands deep into the soil, and filtering out the clay in meticulous steps until she had a sizeable ball. Her guardian watched her work tirelessly, fascinated by her steady, soft movements. Thorin was right, he thought, she was a creature of mud.

Even though the king himself was, in this moment, hammering steel with ringing force, there was a parallel to be drawn between the rhythmic, almost dance-like movements both of them were performing to create something new. For one another, if Dwalin wasn’t very much mistaken.

“I’d ask the kitchens if you can use one of their ovens rather than the open fire of the furnace.” He commented when Faith started moulding and twisting her ball of clay into shapes. “It will be quicker and gentler on your creations.”

Faith nodded when a glint in the water caught her eye. A beautiful, iridescent pebble, smooth and shiny was sitting right next to a single coin. She knew not if it had been caught in the folds of her dress or if someone else had lost it in the river, but she took it to be a good omen for her sacrifice to find things so beautiful to add to her offering.

“Off to the kitchens we go again then, Master Dwalin.” She smiled, heaping her work into his broad palms and chuckling to herself as she watched him hold them carefully in his hands while he walked gingerly ahead of her. He was a dear fellow…and another soul to miss bitterly.

“Come quick, uncle.” Thorin looked up from the bolt he had been fitting on the wooden door meant for Faith’s room in surprise. “You have to see that.” Fíli, his nephew, his heir, was waving him along urgently and so he followed without taking the time to cross-examine the lad on the motivation for his peculiar behaviour.

As soon as they arrived at the side of his dear sister, Thorin could understand where the excitement came from. Faith was kneeling in front of a tree hugging the mountainside, laying out the earthen dishes she had made with her own hands this morning.

“Uncle.” Kíli yelped, just arriving, upon seeing Faith pull out a knife and slashing open her arm once again, letting her blood drip into one of the shallow vessels slowly. “Let her be.” Thorin muttered, closing his hand around his nephew’s wrist to restrain him.

“I come to you, oh great creator, guide of my steps, in prayer.” Faith started, touching her forehead to the ground.

“But, I come not for myself. I come to pray for the safe passage and blessed return of Thorin Oakenshield and his company.” Again, she bowed down, then lifting her bloodied hands to the sky and pleading:

“You who have many faces, allow me to address those I have known all my life without ever speaking their name. I have been told that the one Thorin calls Mahal and we may call “crafting face of the creator” has hewn the dwarrows from stone. Oh, father of all, remember those you gave life to and show them mercy once again. Oh, stone remember who you once cradled and mellow your bosom for them. May their steps tread safely on you and may you open your womb once again to give them refuge.”

Faith touched one of her dishes in which a single coin and an iridescent river pebble lay.

“Let not the fashioner of evil unmake your gift of strength and beauty to this world. For this, I pray.”

She turned to the second dish, containing seeds and herbs she had picked, offerings covered in mud and earth still.

“Oh, great creator, I cry to the part of you that is warm and motherly, to the face Thorin calls Yavanna under his breath. They are not made of stone; they are born, and they grow. May the protection of the mother fall upon them, the defence of all things that grow and thrive. Let the world I have cherished welcome them freely, oh great creator, oh manyfold God. May the rivers run smooth, and the trees grant them shade. Oh, earth you who have been my mother, hide their steps from foes and bear fruit to sustain them. I beg for this as a friend of all things living, may they be recognised by bird and beast, by heart and soul alive, for what they are: living, breathing, feeling creatures of this earth. Do not let them walk alone. For this, I pray.”

Finally, she lifted her own blood and poured it onto the soil in front of her.

“I am but a measly creature, a single life, but I understand that whatever blessing I might have known has had a purpose. I am a vessel and here, I surrender the mercy I have been granted to this greatest of kings. Take this blood into your bosom and see the flaws within it! May my life and the life of my kin be a cenotaph to guilt that spans over generations!”

She touched her forehead to the ground again before going on:

“Oh, great creator, carry the wisdom I have paid in blood and tears forth; may there be a gracious and brave child for every stubborn, unhospitable father, may the sons and daughters save their elders by their generous deeds. For this, I pray.”

Faith stood up again, bowing to her offerings thrice before lifting the knife to her throat.

This time, even Thorin jerked, but she merely cut off a strand of her hair to let it fall in the blood-stained dish.

“As for myself, I vow service, as I have before. I shall work tirelessly; I shall dig my hands bloody in search of fertile earth and I shall make plants thrive in your honour. From the day their feet fall into the first step of this most perilous of journeys until the day I shall gaze upon your blessed people again, oh great creator, I shall walk and pray in devout industry, only ever lifting my eyes to the sky to check if I am called forth. I yield whatever grace was placed upon and within me to Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, and whoever goes with him; I offer whatever strength I have to please you, oh great creator, in all your glory.”

Faith was about to turn away when she fell onto her knees again, her head pressed against the blood-drenched soil, sobbing in a low voice: “Oh, I plead with you, oh glorious, almighty, many-faced one, protect the one I call friend, the one who promised more than his body to me, bring him home safely even if I never get to see him again. Do not cut short the life of princes so valiant and honourable either. Take home the weary bones of old warriors and give fertile soil to the young ones to thrive. You are the maker of all things, of things that never change and of things that never stand still; honour their steadfast courage, eternal as the mountain, and their beating hearts, ever-changing as the seasons.”

Remembering the excellent hearing of the dwarrows, Faith lowered her voice to a whisper as she finished: “For I love them, dearly, desperately, endlessly. May the love of a mere mortal be guide, shield, and sword to them. I ask for nothing for myself, not an ounce of comfort, not a single blessing, heed my love for it is my only need in this life! I beg of you, I’d give everything for you to hear me…for this I pray.”

She bowed one last time, pulled down her sleeve and turned around to see Thorin staring at her with unfathomable eyes.

And then, the pain engulfed her, and she collapsed at the same time as Thorin broke into an impressive sprint for a boulder.

#fanfiction #thorin oakenshield #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #prayer #the aftermath of almost sex #nice chapter to write #overly dramatic

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songtoyou · 4 years

Text

Tempting Fate - Part Three

Paring: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Intimacy between two consenting adults.

Word Count: 2,147

Story Summary: Tommy is not a believer in fate or destiny. However, a new resident in Small Heath will question his beliefs and push his boundaries outside his comfort zone.

Chapter Summary: Tommy wakes up from a bad dream and decides to get some air. He finds himself at The Cut late at night. All of a sudden, you show up since you cannot sleep as well. The two of you sit and talk for a bit. Tommy walks you home, and you ask him to come inside for the night.

A/N: Remember, there is no Grace or Greta in this fic. They do not exist in the realm of this alternate universe.

Italics represent Tommy's dream in this chapter.

Please do not post any of my fics to other sites without my permission.

Tag List: @owenniasstars

He was digging, continuous digging. The tunnel was dark and claustrophobic. The 179 Tunneling Company were always stuck in the dark, never knowing who they were fighting. Tommy continued to dig. He was stationed at the front. He was always in the front leading the men to place the mines under enemy lines. Soon, Tommy heard a loud commotion behind him. He turned around but could not see anything. It was still too dark. Tommy dropped his shovel and put his hand out to feel for another tunneller or if the person had epaulets. If they had epaulets on the shoulder, then it meant Germans had infiltrated the 179th’s tunnel. Tommy continued to hear fighting amongst men. Some were screaming out in pain, but as Tommy moved throughout the tunnel, he never found anyone. The screams and digging sounds began to consume Tommy, that he fell to his knees, trying to block out the noise. Tommy felt himself starting to hyperventilate as he could not breathe in the confined space.

“Tommy,” spoke a muffled voice. He looked around to see where the voice was coming from inside the tunnel.

“Tommy,” the voice spoke up again. Tommy was able to distinguish the voice belonged to a female. “Over here,” the voice instructed.

“Who are you?” Tommy asked, but with no answer.

“Come find me, Tommy. Follow my voice.”

Tommy did not know why he was following an unknown voice. For all he knew, it could be a trap set up by the Germans for capture.

Making his way through the dark tunnel, Tommy was able to make out a lighted area. As it got lighter, Tommy could see that no men around. However, a woman was standing alone.

“Who are you?” Tommy asked again, reaching out to touch the woman. He wanted to see her face.

When the woman turned around, Tommy was taken aback. It was you.

Tommy breathed out your name. “What are you doing here? You have to leave, or you will get hurt. You are not supposed to be here,” rambled Tommy.

You smiled at Tommy and walked closer to him to touch his cheek. Tommy leaned into your touch. “I’m here to bring you home, Tommy. You don’t belong down in the dark. Dark tunnels, Battle of the Somme, this isn’t your life anymore. The war is over.”

Tommy shook his head in disbelief. “No. I will always be at war. I’ll never have peace,” he told you.

Tommy grabbed your hands and held them close to his chest. He needed a lifeline, and, at that moment, you were it. Tears began to sting out the corners of Tommy’s eyes.

You cupped Tommy’s face in your hands to look into his beautiful blue eyes. Leaning in, you placed a tender kiss on his forehead.

“Thomas, you have to wake up, now,” you told him. You leaned in again and kissed him on the lips.

Before Tommy could reciprocate, he woke up.

Tommy bolted upright on his bed. He looked around to see he was in his room. He was in Small Heath, not France. Sitting up, Tommy positioned himself against the headboard and took deep breaths to help control his breathing. He looked at his undershirt to see it drenched in sweat.

“Fucking ‘ell,” he said out loud. Looking at his timepiece, it read three o’clock in the morning. There was no way Tommy was going to get back to sleep now. Getting off the bed, Tommy located and laced his shoes. He put on his coat and hat, then headed out of the house. He needed some fresh air, which was not easy to come by in the smog-filled place of Small Heath.

Not many people were out, which to Tommy was pleasant. The less disturbance, the better. Tommy did not know where he was going but allowed his legs to lead the way. It was not long until Tommy reached the Cut. He looked down at the dark water and began thinking about his mother. It was a dark day for the Shelby siblings when they received the devastating news of their mother drowning in the Cut. Nothing was ever the same from then on out, especially when their father up and left.

Tommy, without hesitation, stepped up as the head of the family. None of the other siblings fought him on it as they trusted Tommy to look after them. That is why Tommy pushed so hard to provide for his family. He wanted them to have more and to be more. He did not wish to have the Shelby name only associated with gypsies, travelers, and Birmingham. Tommy Shelby wanted more out of life. He wanted to be someone of importance.

When Tommy heard footsteps approaching, he pulled out his gun and turned around to point it at the unknown assailant. However, he did not come face-to-face with a would-be attacker. Instead, it was you with your hands up.

“Whoa! Don’t shoot!” you yelled, stepping back slowly.

“Shit! What are you doing out so late?” Tommy questioned sternly and put his gun away. “I could have shot you.”

“But you didn’t pull the trigger,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

Tommy was not amused. He walked up to you and asked why you were walking around Small Heath late at night.

You let out a sigh, “I couldn’t sleep. I keep having these weird dreams. What about you? Why are you out here and not at home?”

“Same,” Tommy replied truthfully. There was no point trying to put on a tough front with you, mostly because he was tired and did not have the energy to come up with a lie.

Ever since the night Tommy walked you to the Yard to see his horse, he finally concluded that you were harmless. It was also the night that he realized he wanted you for himself.

“I couldn’t sleep and decided to get some air,” continued Tommy and pulled out a cigarette. He presented one to you, which you accepted.

You touched Tommy’s hand when he offered his match to light the cigarette. The two of you stood around the Cut, smoking in silence. You saw some boxes off to the side and took a seat, which Tommy followed suit.

“If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?” you asked Tommy out of the blue.

He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised. It was an odd question. One had not given much thought. However, the smile on your face helped brighten his sullen mood.

“I don’t know. That is not a question I have ever been asked. What about you? Where would you like to be?”

Without pause, you answered, “The Aran Islands.” When you saw Tommy quirk an eyebrow, you explained, “I remember reading ‘The Aran Islands’ by John Millington Synge. The book is a four-part collection of Synge’s journal entries where he shares his interaction with the Aran Islands people. He also talks about the culture and the language, predominantly Irish speaking, and how the community has a real connection through their stories and history. It reminded me of the traveler’s life, you know. How we use stories to tell the younger generation of our history, that is how we keep our traditions.”

“The Aran Islands, eh, that sounds like a nice place. Fuck it. I’ll take you there myself,” Tommy uttered playfully.

“Really? You would be willing to take me to the Aran Islands?”

“It would be an adventure, something new for the both of us, eh. We can spend our time learning Gaelic and taking in the ocean breeze. Our skin would get dry because of the saltwater, but at least it would a step up from Small Heath,” suggested Tommy. There was a hint of excitement in his voice that was nice to your ears.

“Deal. You better keep hold up to that promise, Tommy Shelby. I would hate to have to leave you behind.”

“Oh, we will go, I promise. I may be a lot of things, but I am a man of my word,” he replied.

After a few minutes of continued quiet, Tommy spoke up, “I better take you home.”

Tommy stood up, stubbed out his cigarette, and offered his hand to you, which you accepted.

As you walked back to your home, Tommy did not let go of your hand. You liked the feel of his large, calloused hand wrapped around yours. Tommy noticed that you began rubbing your thumb against his; it only made him tighten his grip. He was not letting you go.

When you reached the door of your home, you turned back to Tommy. You didn’t want him to leave.

“Do you want to come inside?” you shyly asked him.

“Are you sure?” Tommy questioned, leaning closer to you. “People may talk.”

“So, let them talk. We are grown-ups, are we not? We can make our own choices,” you said and leaned in to kiss Tommy on the lips. It took him by surprise that you were the one to make the first move. He liked your boldness and responded to the kiss. You pulled back to open the front door and pulled Tommy along with you inside the house.

You continued to lead him towards your bedroom. Tommy wrapped his arms around you and began pulling at the buttons on your blouse while leaving a trail of kisses along your neck. He could not remember a time where he wanted someone so bad. Tommy desperately wanted to feel your bare skin against his. He pulled off his jacket and cap and left them on the floor. You both plopped down on the bed, and it was no holds bar. Both of you were fighting to dominate.

Tommy took your wrists and pinned them above your head. The action made you stop to look up at him.

“You’re going to have to let me lead, love. I can take over from here, yeah,” Tommy ordered and traced one of his fingers along your jaw down to your breast. “Now, be a good girl for me and remove your clothes.”

Without hesitation, you took off your garments with Tommy’s help. Not long after, he removed his clothes and was on top of you once again. He ran a hand along your naked body, making sure to squeeze your breasts and tug your nipples. The action elicited a moan from your mouth. Tommy’s hand ran over your stomach and down to your lower region.

“Not quite ready for me, but I will get you ready. Just relax for me, love,” Tommy instructed and slipped a finger between your folds. You arched your back off the bed at the new sensation you were feeling. With your positive reaction, Tommy inserted another finger and began increasing his pumping. Soon, you felt the pulsing between your legs rise throughout the rest of your body. Tommy noticed you tightening around his fingers. You were close and ready, so he pulled out but then lined his cock against the opening of your cunt.

Slowly, Tommy entered inside and allowed you time to adjust to his length. You liked the way Tommy stretched you as he bottomed out. When Tommy leaned down to capture your lips to his, you lightly nudge him to begin moving.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Tommy teased and began a slow pace. He wanted to take his time with you, to appreciate every inch and feel of you writhing against him. It was a more Tommy wanted to savor and burn it to memory.

“Tommy,” you panted, clawing at his back. “I need you to go faster, please. I can take it.”

Obliging to your begging, Tommy adjusted his position, so he was on his knees. He grabbed your hips and began upping his pace. The new position allowed Tommy to hit your sweet spot.

“Oh, shit!” you yelled out at the new sensation you were feeling. It all felt so good, and it only got better when Tommy began rubbing your clit. You were almost close to the edge that you did not think you could last very long.

The bubble burst, and you arched your back and letting out a scream. Most likely, heard by the neighbors or any bystanders on the street; however, you did not care. You were feeling ecstasy at that moment. Tommy followed after you with his orgasm and plopped down on the bed next to you.

Looking over at Tommy, you saw he had his eyes closed and trying to even out his breathing. He looked peaceful and sweet. You could see the boyish charm on his face and not the cold-hearted gangster he showed to the world. You were going to cherish this moment, that you would soon find out would be few and far between.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fic

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whiskeyworen · 2 years

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“Finally... a good cup of tea.” Cyrus sighed blissfully, feeling the tension leech out of his neck and shoulders at the sight of the steaming cup before him. It’d taken a while to figure out a good time to visit the Red Duck Tea House in the upper reaches of New Kaineng. More than once he’d taken a look at the line to get in to the prestigious establishment and turned away. Other times, he’d nearly gotten to make a reservation, only to be called away himself on business. But finally, he’d managed to reserve a seat for himself, at a time when the tea house wasn’t stiflingly populated. It was quiet, peaceful and serene. When he closed his eyes, he could hear the ocean outside the barrier wall nearby. He could smell the sea salt, as well as the pleasant ozone tang of the jade tech electrical devices. Picking up the ceramic cup, he inhaled the scent of the tea; taking in its wonderful fragrance of peach and honey. He took a slow, long sip, and savored the flavor. Yet another thing mainland Tyria lacks. He mused. Good tea, and tea houses. It wasn’t to say that Tyria didn’t have tea or tea houses...just not good ones. Finding a teahouse was easy. Finding one that didn’t serve you cheap black tea that was so coarse it could etch deldrimor steel, or ‘official Canthan’ Tyria-grown, insanely expensive, generic-grade green tea.... that was much harder. Elona was no picnic either. He’d had to bring along his own tea supplies, because Elonians preferred coffee to tea. Spiced, heavily caffeinated coffee served in very small thimbles -- half because water was scarce in places, so you did not waste a drop even when making coffee, and half because having a full cup of Elonian coffee had as much kick as three pots of Tyrian coffee or black tea. You did not drink more than a thimble at a time, unless you were wanting to courting a cardiac arrest. Or wanted to run from Amnoon to the Desolation in half an hour. But Cantha... Oh Cantha... For one of the few times in the last twenty years, Cyrus felt as close to ‘home’ as he was ever going to get. The towering skyscrapers, the jade-powered neon signs, the sound of machinery vehicles zipping along either in the air or along the ziplines... The thrum of a heavily industrialized and modern city around him. It truly felt like home. He walked the streets with a level of casual and comfort that you would not expect from a ‘foreigner’, a tourist. He hadn’t even realized how much he missed noodlebowls until he ordered the spicy selection from a street vendor, and was nearly brought to tears with the nostalgia (as well as the wonderful spiciness). But it was in the teahouse that he found his center, his calm. In another world, it would have been called his Zen. He was at peace. As he sipped, he pulled a book out of his hip satchel, and flicked it open one-handed to where he’d left off reading. Another good thing about Cantha; they had not only libraries full of books unknown to the rest of Tyria, but a very vibrant printing industry and mass-produced books at a level that outpaced the rest of the world. The concept of a paperback novel was not only old-hat here, but was so cheap you could buy them anywhere. It was hard to find good fantasy novels, but there were a few out there. This one he was reading though, was from back in Tyria. It’d been part of payment for transporting the manager/editor of a reclusive writer to Cantha when the Forsaken Aspect was going to head there. She was apparently supposed to scout ideas, concepts, and locations as well as culture, for her client. Someone named the Lady Gray. In addition to a sizeable monetary sum, she’d gifted Cyrus the novel, with an inscription supposedly from the author, as thanks for the rapid transit. Shadows amongst the Gears. the title read. From the text summary on the first page, it was an inventive tale of the last days of the Thaumanova reactor, of intrigue, spycraft, sarcastic quips, compelling romance and swashbuckling combat, all surrounding the darker side of science behind the construction -- and destruction -- of that massive power plant. Already, he could tell he was going to enjoy it; the two main characters were likable, even if half the time they were at each other’s throats. Whoever wrote this novel clearly had an idea of story tropes and how to use them, and melded it well into their novel. It felt so real that he wondered if perhaps they’d based the novel on their own experiences, or the experiences of someone they knew. Cyrus smiled, turning the page with his thumb, and took another sip.

#gw2 screenshots #gw2 #My characters #Cyrus Sigismund #Tijja Lei #Lady Gray #Forsaken Aspect #New Kaineng #Cantha #Red Duck Tea House #tea #relaxation #Cyrus was isekai'd

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bard-llama · 3 years

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WiP Wednesday: Love Breeds Love Isendain Edition

So, I have a porny universe called Love Breeds Love where the premise is that settlements across the Northern Kingdoms are being founded with the intent to save the elven race from extinction.

Now, for Iorveth and Roche, we discover that the settlement they're living in (Aiseirigh meaning rebirth/resurrection) is dedicated to doing this through accepting half-elves and creating more half-elves, because humans are very good at breeding. This means adjusting their culture as they share it, because half-elves and humans have their own experiences they're bringing to the settlement.

For some elves, that is simply not acceptable. They don't want human blood to taint their 'purity'. So they commit to working with elven couples to make babies. Their birth rate is much lower, but they argue that their product is better. (For the record: when you hear this kind of rhetoric, run. It's VERY eugenicist and suuuuuper racist).

Isengrim and Eldain both find themselves at one of the latter settlements (which I haven't named yet oops). They don't arrive together, though. In fact, they hadn't expected to see each other at all, though it's nice to see that rumors of each other's deaths were greatly exaggerated.

Because of the way I've made elven biology work, it's really important for the volunteers at this pure elven settlement choose a partner and really get to know them, get comfortable with them. This increases their chances of conception actually happening. I haven't actually decided if only one or both get pregnant, but they did decide to have some 'practice sex', to ensure their comfort. XD

I'll stick a bit of the WiP under a cut, but the really fun thing about this 'verse (aside from literally just being an excuse for breeding kink) is that the two settlements have to actually MEET at some point. At which point, rorveth and isendain discover each other and have a variety of reactions.

'cause see, Eldain doesn't like humans and he doesn't trust humans. He's made that mistake before and he refuses to do it again. So he is perfectly happy with the idea of living amongst elves and never having contact with a filthy human again.

But life isn't that easy and Isengrim and Iorveth are still old friends, though it's definitely awkward at first. But over time, Roche becomes the first human that Eldain actually feels comfortable around and they become bros. They most definitely bond over being feral raccoon disasters while their partners are fancy shmancy proper and polished types lmao. Oh, also, Iorveth and Eldain may both be musicians, but they despise each other's genres XD

I mentioned that this universe was just an excuse to write porn, right? So I've got a whole arc planned for isendain to meet up and bond with rorveth, but first, they all gotta get bred, 'cause that's the premise of the 'vese lmao. So this first isendain fic is the set up - establishing the settlement, getting them together, going through the breeding ceremony, etc. The sex is unfortunately fighting me during the 'practice sex' stage, but eventually, this will be a nice, long smutty piece. For now, though, here's them actually meeting again.

He’d arrived at the settlement alone, responding to a notice on saving the elven race, and he’d been astonished at how many people had actually shown up to do this. Of course, out of the thirty elves that had come to be bred, only a small portion would actually be able to conceive.

Eldain swallowed, wondering if he’d be one. He wasn’t sure if he was hoping that he would or that he wouldn’t, honestly, but hell, he was already here. He couldn’t back out now.

Which meant he had to find himself a partner. The notice had specified that single volunteers were welcome along with couples that were willing to conceive, but the first thing the elf who greeted him when he’d arrived had said was, “pick someone and get to know them. The actual breeding will not begin until this evening, but it’s important that you spend some time with your partner and become comfortable with them.”

Eldain had nodded, aware that feeling safe and comfortable was essential for elves to produce viable eggs and for them to be able to conceive. But he hadn’t realized just how many people there were and how daunting trying to choose one stranger out of two dozen would be.

So when he spotted the scarred man with dark hair that stood about two inches above everyone else, Eldain’s first emotion was relief. In more than one way, because this was someone he actually knew, but also, he’d heard that the other elf was dead. Of course, they’d likely heard the same about him, so Eldain shook himself and strode towards the famed Iron Wolf.

When he got closer, it became apparent that he was not the only one who had recognized Isengrim Faoiltiarna, because several other elves were circled around him, trying to persuade him to pick them.

The feeling in Eldain’s stomach was not jealousy, nor was it disappointment. It wasn’t like Isengrim was likely to choose him amongst all these choices. Hell, when they’d met in the past, he’d gotten the impression that Isengrim tolerated him at best.

Nodding to himself, he spun on his heels to find someone else to partner with when Isengrim apparently spotted him and called his name, a little bit desperately.

He couldn’t exactly walk away now, so Eldain turned back and walked up to Isengrim and his pursuers, forcing a friendly smirk onto his face. “Hey,” he started to say when Isengrim grabbed his shoulders and pulled him close in an overly familiar hug. Before he could say anything, Isengrim murmured in his ear.

“If you pick me, I swear I will owe you a favour of your choosing,” Isengrim’s low voice growled and Eldain shivered, Isengrim’s breath tickling over his exposed skin.

Pick Isengrim? Sure, twist his arm. That had, after all, been his initial intent. But he wasn’t sure why Isengrim was asking when Isengrim was the one with the pick of the place.

“Yeah, all right,” Eldain shrugged, trying to exude casualness. He was obviously just doing this for the favour. No other reason. “Shall we find somewhere to chat, then? Apparently we’re supposed to get to know each other.”

The look of sheer relief on the Iron Wolf’s face was strange to be on the receiving end of. But Isengrim slipped his arm through Eldain’s, immediately pulling them away and guiding the pair towards the garden.

Eldain looked around, mildly impressed. For a new settlement, these organizers were doing a pretty good job and getting it up and running.

Which made sense, given they were hoping that this event would culminate with many pregnant elves.

“So,” Eldain drawled, surprised by how much he liked the feeling of Isengrim’s fingers against the crook of his arm. “Seems like you’re a big hit.”

Isengrim’s nose wrinkled in a strangely adorable expression and Eldain bit his lip against a smile. “Apparently there is potential acclaim in having the Iron Wolf’s child. Even though, as I understand it, the point of this event is not about genetics as much as just…”

“Conception?” Eldain offered, and Isengrim nodded, frowning. “So why choose me? Do I not get the same acclaim?”

Isengrim snorted, “you have your own acclaim. Though, speaking of, I’d heard you were dead?”

“Likewise. It was a close ‘almost’,” Eldain shrugged, trying not to let the memories flood through him. He cleared his throat instead. “And you?”

Isengrim made a face, “believe it or not, I owe my survival to a human.”

“You’re kidding.”

The Iron Wolf shook his head, looking every bit as imposing now standing in an early-stage gardener’s plot as he had commanding Scoia’tael into battle.

Eldain licked his lips. Sure, he may have his own ‘acclaim’ in the form of a brutal reputation that was based mostly on real events, but there would always be something majestic about the Iron Wolf that people like Eldain could never match.

“Well, I doubt either of us want to talk more about that,” he said, jerking his gaze away from Isengrim’s face and continuing their walk through the garden. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know,” Isengrim shrugged casually, “fighting, assassinating kings, that kind of thing.”

Eldain blinked, gaze landing on Isengrim again. Isengrim had a little smirk on his face, like he was enjoying Eldain’s reaction, but there was no sign that he wasn’t telling the truth.

“Wow, and here I thought I was doing well with my best kill being a duke,” Eldain joked, smiling back at Isengrim.

Isengrim tossed back his head and laughed, deep, rumbling sounds that felt at home settling in Eldain’s chest. Weird.

“What about you?” Isengrim asked after his laughter had passed. “What’s keeping you busy these days?”

“Eh, I’ve been working as a merc,” Eldain said, wondering if Isengrim would judge him. It was always hard to predict with Scoia’tael – some thought fighting for money was horrific and some thought it was sensible. He didn’t know what Isengrim thought.

“Oh? Around Aedirn?”

“All over,” Eldain shrugged. It had taken him about a year to be ready to return to Aedirn after everything with fucking Queen Meve. She was a perfect example of why humans could never be trusted. Ever.

He swallowed hard. “So, what do you think about this event?”

Isengrim huffed a soft laugh. “At my age, I kinda figured my chances of having a child were pretty slim. But…”

“Yeah,” Eldain nodded, understanding the unspoken reason. How could they not, when the very fate of their species lay in peril?

“But you’re pretty young, aren’t you?” Isengrim asked him. “Is this your first time doing this?”

Eldain hummed, pondering exactly how much older Isengrim was. The Iron Wolf had lived pre-humanity, Eldain knew that much. Most of the Scoia’tael commanders had been older elves that had been born before the Conjunction of the Spheres. Eldain had been unusual in gaining his command, but none of the elder elves ever had the balls to take on the Moulderwoods, so it had fallen to Eldain and all the younger elves who had been born there. Not that there were many of them left anymore, not after...

Eldain shook himself. If he kept thinking about his old command and his old home, he was either going to scream or cry, so he very pointedly redirected his thoughts to his companion.

Isengrim looked – pretty great, actually, for someone who was supposed to be dead. But then, Eldain wasn’t entirely sure it was possible for the Iron Wolf to look anything but gorgeous and commanding and in control.

“So, Isengrim,” he enunciated Isengrim’s name clearly and Isengrim cocked an eyebrow, one that was split by the scar that spanned across his nose. It was kind of beautiful. “What do we need to know about each other to be able to comfortably fuck?”

Isengrim choked slightly at him being so blatant about it, but seriously, they were at a breeding event. There was nothing un-crass about this whole thing.

“Well,” Isengrim cleared his throat. “Um, I guess… I have no idea,” he said after a long moment. “Um, maybe preferences, I guess?”

Eldain snorted, “feels like an icebreaker question. ‘Hi, I’m Eldain and I prefer men.’”

“Any man?” Isengrim’s eyebrow arched again. “Or specifically one who can put a brat like you in their place?”

Eldain’s breathing hitched and his exhale was shaky. “That helps,” he managed to say, and Isengrim’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “And what does the Iron Wolf prefer?”

Isengrim’s nose wrinkled again, clearly uncomfortable with his moniker in this context. Eldain made a note of that. “Apparently,” Isengrim said slowly, “my type is bratty musicians.”

Blinking, Eldain took a moment to process that, then grinned widely, bowing and flourishing his hand in front of him. “At your service.”

Isengrim laughed again, shaking his head. “What kind of music do you play, anyway? All the rumors said was ‘former musician’.”

Eldain tsked, “really, Isengrim, don’t you know better than to believe rumors?” Isengrim rolled his eyes and Eldain laughed. “Mostly, I play the lute and the fiddle, though I know several other instruments. I’m a modern musician, none of that classical shit.” He shut his mouth, abruptly realizing that Isengrim had been alive when those ‘classics’ were new, and may have been attached to them.

Fortunately, Isengrim just chuckled. “You’d probably get along terribly with my ex. He’s very much a classicist.”

“Oh?

“Played with symphonies and stuff, way back,” Isengrim said, a soft smile on his face that Eldain knew wasn’t for him.

He cleared his throat, looking away from Isengrim’s face. It wasn’t as if he was in love with Isengrim or anything, but it still hurt a little bit to be reminded that this was all to save their species. Isengrim had chosen him, sure, and that was an honor. But it was nothing more than sex. He needed to remember that.

Swallowing hard, Eldain forced a smile on his face. “Bet I’m a better musician,” he taunted, and Isengrim laughed again.

“You might be,” Isengrim conceded. “Would you play for me?”

Blinking in surprise, Eldain looked back at Isengrim. The smile on his face was different now, not like he was thinking of a past love, but like it was intended for Eldain.

This time, he swallowed down an entirely different emotion. “Yeah,” he managed to say. “Um, lemme–” he cleared his throat again, cursing himself for leaving his lute with his stuff in the room the organizers had given him.

Isengrim licked his lips and suggested, “I could come with you.”

“Uh, sure,” Eldain shrugged, wondering why he felt like a teenager bringing a boy home for the first time.

Isengrim’s smile widened, and he stepped up to curl his hand around Eldain’s elbow again. Eldain bit his lip against his own smile, leading them towards the rooms for volunteers.

#isendain #isengrim x eldain #past isengrim x iorveth #rorveth #mentioned #the witcher #wip wednesday #my fics #love breeds love #i should really be consistent about if each 'verse gets its own tag honestly

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djemsostylist · 3 years

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Djem's Legion Thoughts

About three years ago my brother joking suggested I read the Horus Heresy, knowing literally nothing about Warhammer. (Literally nothing. I just thought Space Marines were big dudes in armor and I had never heard of Primarchs and I still know nothing of 40k. Have no idea how the Heresy ends--I'm spoiler free babes.) Anyway, what follows are my feelings on each Legion at the following times:

As of midway through Fulgrim

At the end of First Heretic

At the start of the Master of Mankind

Halfway through the Siege

This is very long. I'm not sorry.

Dark Angels

idk I haven’t met them yet, but their name tells me they are either going to be amazing or fucking awful

Um I still dk

God I fucking love these stupid idiots. Like, they are stupid, for sure, but I dunno, I dig their bizarre sort of pseudosecrecy thing. Plus, aesthetically I’m all about weird monk orders. Also, nothing kills me quite like Farith Redloss having anxiety attacks over trying to figure out Lion.

Corswain showing up like the living embodiment of the dude with the pizza where the apartment is on fire is just so deeply on brand for these chucklefucks like, Lion is all “I’m deeply uncomfortable where Imperial Secundus is concerned so instead I’ll just go ahead and attack home planets because that will demoralize the traitors and then I’m Doing My Part” like fam, pretty much all the traitors sans Perturabo are actual literal demons rn and they all had zero qualms betraying their immediate brothers and also the emperor (and Perturabo already fucked over his own) why in the livid fuck would you think this is in any way helpful, but this is Classic Lion and I love him now on account of that one time when he hugged Roboute because he was proud of him and also because he calls all of his sons “Little Brother” bc he is afraid of being a dad and also because I too am deeply avoidant of issues I don’t want to deal with.

Emperor's Children

mostly wonderful, because they are fabulous and also extremely extra, but they have the most ginourmous fuckwad as a Lord Commander, BUT they have a very good boy as another one, so idk really. Plus the whole betrayal thing and the fucking lodges, but they are purple and fabulous, so, +1?

These are the saddest boys ever in the whole world, and they didn’t deserve what happened to them. I loved them all except for Eidolon and they didn’t deserve anything bad to happen to them ever bc they were precious and I loved them. Also Fabius because he was bugnuts and he hurt my boys.

Jesus, I’m so fucking over them all

Honestly I’m so tired

Iron Warriors

I totally confused them with the Iron Hands. Idk even, boring? But Perturabo (while he has a fucking terrible name) also hates Horus so +15

I still know nothing about them, but I think they are buttholes because of the whole Isstvan V thing. Dick move guys, dick move.

I literally can’t. Like, their entire shtick is besieging and being besieged, and then being pissy bc it is what they are good at???? Like, they are literally traitoring bc their dad got a hair up his ass bc he wasn’t a good independent thinker and didn’t think he was allowed to build castles or whatever? Idk they are exhausting except for the ones that aren’t

I still don’t really get them at all except like 99% of them who aren’t named Barabas Dantioch are asshats and are not independent thinkers who are literally still traitoring for reasons unknown except to stick it to the emperor like?? Get an actual culture??? Just literally stop???

White Scars

I dunno, haven’t met them, but since no one else talks about them, I’m gonna guess, boring?

I dunno but they are worried about them hooking up with the Rout so I guess they are cool?

Oh bless your tiny little souls. They are so sweet, and so, so dumb. But sweet.

They are very, very good boys. They don’t have a ton of range per say but their simplicity is sort of the point I think. They are what space marines are supposed to be, and I love them for that

Space Wolves

ehm, oh, I’m sorry, The Rout. Whateverthefuck, they’re boring, over-the-top fuckheads who are giant fucking hypocrites who suck and probably don’t ever shower. Honestly, they rival the Emperor’s Children in extraness, and not in the loveable way. Fucking awful, 0/10.

Okay, honestly, not as awful as some. I mean, hella extra and I hate what they did at Prospero, but in a world full of awful things, we gotta pick and choose.

They are just so, so...Space Wolfy. Bless them they try, and some of them legit crack me up. I’m just not about their aesthetic, you know?

Much like the other fuckups amongst the Loyalists, they are a blunt instrument used for a specific purpose and do better with like...direct instruction. I’m saying they are not the kind to do well with metaphor and also a lack of like, a dad. They need TE:BBA is what I’m saying.

Imperial Fists

Literally only met them briefly, but they seem a good sort. I like their Primarch? -3 tho cause damn that color scheme.

Still good boys.

Omg I love you all, you precious little bbs. They are just so calm and stoic and honestly even though yellow is a hideous color they are literally like Templars and that is fantastic?????

Listen, the amount of love that I have in my heart for these precious, perfect boys is rivaled only by my love for Rogal Dorn, who might possibly be, and I don’t wanna sound dramatic here, be the love of my life but anyway.

Night Lords

idk but their name sounds sick.

Right, these guys are also dicks. I hate them on principle.

Every time I think of them all I can think of is that one video of the goths dancing under the bridge. They are so. Fucking. Extra. Christ alive, get a hobby that isn’t fucking skinning people.

Yeah idk they still mostly suck and to be perfectly honest I’m still not entirely sure what their point was, even pre-heresy? Like what role did psychopaths play in TE:BBA’s plan for a glorious human empire, someone explain

Blood Angels

I dunno cause I’ve only ever met their First Captain (who was consorting with fuckheads) but Sanguinius is literally Top Tier Fabulous, like Prince Extra, so I hope they don’t let me down

I’m still holding out hope. Don’t let me down boys.

OH. MY. GOD. Honestly, kill me, I love them so, so, so, so, so much, it’s a lot. And I suspect something terrible will happen with them but I don’t care because they are perfect. All of them. Wonderful, perfect, lovely, caring boys who love their dad and I love them. Sweet, loving, precious little bbs who occasionally suffer from tragic vampiric tendencies but I don’t love them any less. They better stay perfect forever. If I could, I would be like Sangy and just take them all everywhere with me so that they could always be safe <3 On a less gushy note, I think one of the most important aspects of the Blood Angels (and of their primarch) is that while they acknowledge their differences from unmodified humans, they also love humanity, deeply. They see them as worth fighting for and protecting, and acknowledge that their abilities allow them to create a universe that is safe for the common man to live in. There is a sort of profound love and tenderness that they have for humanity, and I think it really does make a difference in their legion. (That scene is Master of Mankind with the Blood Angel and the Custodian really highlights what I’m saying here.)

Listen, this may sound dramatic, and I don’t wanna like, go over the top, but I would literally die for them, which would seem counterproductive since that is what they do for humanity but the amount of love of I have for this entire legion and one Angel is too big to contain in my heart okay

Iron Hands

I don’t know them well yet, but they seem like good boys overall. I’m sure one of them is bound to be a crazy fucker tho.

They are good boys. I don’t know them very well, but my favorite moment is when Ferrus had to thank Lorgar for his help so he made him a crozius and then threw it at him because he didn’t want to have to talk awkwardly.

Poor sad bbs

No, but really, poor sad bbs

World Eaters

literally terrible people, but I guess when your Dad is bugnuts….

Definitely should have been put down. As in to death. They should have been killed. Probably.

Still fucking crazy. But I love Kharn, and honestly Lotara (who I know isn’t technically a World Eater but close enough.)

No but they probably should have all been just euthanized? I mean not Kharn bc I love him but also like--they are not viable. Long term? Tbh still not entirely sure what TE:BBA’s plan was here with them and Angron (I’m gonna assume something along the lines of ignore it and hope it goes away, since that is mostly his plan for everything)

Ultramarines

probably enormous squares, but tbh in a galaxy with World Eaters and the Rout, we could do with some squares.

Honestly, I have no issues with them. They do their duty, they are loyal. I hope to love them though. They actually believe in colors.

HOLY FUCK DO I LOVE THEM. ALL 200,000 OF THEM. (Which is probably what Roboute thinks tbh.) Like, I literally haven’t met a single one that I don’t adore and love with my whole soul and entire being. They are precious, soft, beautiful bbs who I adore with my whole heart. And who will make great leaders of the world someday I’m so proud. On a less gushy note, much like the Blood Angels, the Ultramarines really have a sort of profound feeling of protection and duty towards humans. They may not always like dealing with them, but Roboute is of the firm belief that they must understand what they are truly fighting for. Saving humanity is not enough, you have to fight for the humans who live there. (See, the one short story where they find a baby and I died.)

No but what you don’t quite get is that I literally love them. Every single individual solitary one of them, and while some may say “But Djem such a thing is impossible you haven’t met every Ultramarine” I need you to understand that the depth of my love for them and their Primarch is such that I know, in my bones, that I don’t need to meet them all to love them okay bc I already do.

Death Guard

Okay, so honestly I wanted to hate them (because BETRAYAL) but tbh its only the First and Second Captains who suck a lot and idk really the rest are sort of tragically precious??

Seriously, what is Mortarion’s issue?

No, seriously, what the fuck is their problem? Get the fuck over it.

Okay, I do feel bad. For Mortarian. Of all the traitors, him I understand the most. However, that being said, while I can understand his issues, I feel like giving yourself over to demons, turning into actual demons, and also turning on and killing your brothers who refused to become said demons makes you terrible awful people who really need to like, die.

Thousand Sons

okay, I fucking love these lame Warrior Monk Priest Wizards who live in a literal glass city with restaurants and teach random people Tai Chi in the park or whatever. Overall 10/10

I am v. worried that they are going to do something dumb like join the rebellion in order to affect change from the inside and then like, adopt demons or something. Pls don’t be dumb boys.

I don’t even fucking--look, I’m just tired okay?

What the fuck Azhek. No seriously, ⅞ is good enough? What the fuck is wrong with you?

Sons of Horus? Luna Wolves? who the fuck knows

my precious sons. You did not deserve what was done to you. This is why we don’t do frats. I believed in you and you failed me. D:

I love my precious sons. The Sons of Horus however, can go die.

I just--why are you the way you are?

I think the best thing about these absolute morons is that half the legion isn’t even demon fuckers, they just woke up one day and Horus told them to kill their brothers and they went “sure okay” and then just did. They are so fucking pretentious and stupid, fucking speartip, honestly die. I take it back. You all deserved exactly what you got, you dumb fucks.

Word Bearers

look, I haven’t met the rest of these dudes yet, but Erebus is a terrible fucking ambassador. -60/10 for not controlling their boy

HOLY LORD. I cannot--there are not actually words to describe how much I loathe these ignorant dumbasses. Like, seriously. Honestly, the ones who were purged were probably lucky, because the rest of them fucking suck.

God, eat a fucking landmine. Except, that would probably turn them on or something. Fucking assholes.

Just--imagine being such a fuckup that even when you were the first to the “become a demon, save the world” thing you still somehow ended up last. I hope the Ultramarines put down every. Single. One.

Salamanders

idk but this name is dumb. Salamanders are cute and slimy, and while Astartes are fucking adorable, they are not slimy. -1 for the dumb name

They are loyal, which is cool, and they seem like chill bros.

I just, like, they are sweet, but good lord are they simple.

I’m not sure? What they are doing? With their lives? Guys, idk if anyone told you but like, um. There is a war. And I get they’ve had it rough but also the loyalists could use their hope so maybe, idk. Do something? I mean I know there are like, 50 of you left and also you think your dad is dad and I feel you but like-

Raven Guard

idk but I like Ravens and Black, plus their Primarch’s name is Corvus? 11/10 they better not suck.

OMG I love Corvus?? Flies with a giant jetpack and tried to gut Lorgar? Yeah, he’s wonderful. Plus, their Captain seemed cool before he was fucking murdered.

I love them all, bless. They are sweet and simple and kind of stupid, but they make me feel things in my heart, so like, idk, stay precious.

Look, I cried over Branne fucking Nev, I don’t wanna talk about it rn

Alpha Legion

seriously? Lame.

Fuck these guys. What is their deal?

I can’t even really. I really, truly can’t. Nothing has ever satisfied me the way I was satisfied when Alpharius literally lost his head. God, that was beautiful.

Or Omegon? It was actually Omegon? I don’t even know anymore man

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mcmystery · 4 years

Text

Side by Side

(Mr. Brunswick is invited to a Schnee party, luckily he was given an extra invitation to bring a guess if he choose to do so. Cerise enters the party first before he does, how shall this night go?)

Arriving to the Schnee manor, Cerise followed the other guests into the main hall. Her breath was taken away by the spacious hall that was trickling in fancy guests who huddled into small groups, forming conversations and proper greetings. "Welcome, please help yourself to the food and drinks." A servant spoke to Cerise, as she was idle near the entrance of the room. "T-thank you..." she smiled and walked more into the hall. She wore a slim cherry red colored dress, that exposed her shoulders and some of her chest with a V-neck lining. The dress bottom flowed gracefully as she walked; exposing her left middle thigh down with an elegant slit that displayed her simple sophisticated black heels. As she wandered into the hall, she eyed the tables decorated with different unique spreads of hors d'oeuvres of the likes. "May I offer you a beverage?" A waiter asked Cerise, disturbing her trance of the lavish party. She saw the tray of drinks and picked one up. "Thank you!" She smiled and humbly thanked the waiter who left, repeating his question to another guest. Cerise took a sip from the glass. It tasted of a light sweet champagne. Cerise stood alone watching the crowds gather as women giggled and men shook hands or nodded with a greeting. Cerise felt completely out of place, and stood alone, sipping her champagne in small intervals, and thinking to herself. "There sure are a lot of fancy beautiful people here. I wonder when he’ll be coming in... I feel weird just being here by myself."

"Not enjoying the party?" A voice spoke from a short distance. Cerise jolted out of her inner monologue and turned to see the man she adored just a few feet away from her, also holding a glass of champagne. Cerise took a step closer to him, but he spoke out calmly halting her progression. "Best we stay separated for part of the evening. Till everyone starts to mingle more." He took a sip from his glass and kept his gaze towards the random crowd. Cerise stepped back to her place and held her glass tightly between her hands feeling awkward. "R-right..." He glanced over to her and saw her downcast appearance, "Remember, I'm supposed to be here alone this evening. The man who invited me was gracious enough to extend me a guest invitation, but I don’t think it would be wise for others to see us together. Keeping up appearances is part of my job." He spoke in a whisper, though loud enough for only Cerise's ears. Cerise looked down to her glass and watched the bubbles rise to the surface, while her feelings felt the opposite and sank down; disappointed that she wouldn't be able to spend this evening like she thought with him. She forgot about his position amongst Huntsmen and how it might seem inappropriate for him to be here with a guest like her. Especially someone so out of her element in a place like this. "Why don't you mingle around?" Mr. Brunswick stated. "Bound to meet some interesting people." "Mm... yeah, I guess so. I just feel like I stick out here." Cerise confessed. "Well, that red dress really suits you. Of course, you'll stick out.” He mentioned holding his stare away from her but grinned at his comments. “I'm sure you've already captured the attention of some individuals." Grinning as he held his posture straight as he took another sip. Cerise's cheeks blushed a bit at his compliments, though the only attention she wanted to grab was his. She didn't really care much for the others here. But as she scanned the room, she saw some individuals already eyeing her direction. Before Cerise could comment on his statement she was interrupted by an older man's voice. "Young (Mr. Brunswick’s first name)! Glad you could make it." The man was accompanied by another older man, a very particular one, dressed in a white tux and slicked back dark hair that was graying a bit under the back and slightly on the sides. "Greetings again, Professor Roothorn." Mr. Brunswick greeted in a professional tone. Cerise's heart raced a bit by the exhibition of how professional his tone changed. "Jacques, this is (First Name) Brunswick. Our new addition to our little group. I've extended the invitation to him, thought it would be nice for you two to meet." The man titled, Professor Roothorn, turned to Mr. Brunswick. "This is Jacques Schnee of the Schnee dust company. Of course, our handsome host of the evening." The gentleman, Jacques, fixed his tie a bit at the compliment, "Ho-ho, it’s too early in the evening for your flattery, Professor." Jacque said, "But I won't stop you from keeping them coming!" The two men laughed as Mr. Brunswick smiled, "It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Schnee. Quite the lovely home you have. I'm thoroughly impressed by the architecture." "Yes, well, its part of my wife's side of the family, but I have added my own personal touches here and there. But jumping off the topic, I've heard your quite the skilled Huntsmen yourself, young man." "Ah, well... hard work and perseverance go hand in hand..." Mr. Brunswick gave a quick glanced to Cerise. She got the hint, or at least an idea of it and walked away. She headed towards the table lavished with food and rare dishes. Cerise eyed a few of the unusual treats and wasn't sure what to get, fearing she wouldn't like it and end up stuck with a plate of uneaten food. She trailed her way down the long table when an unknown voice spoke to her. "Can't decide?" A male’s voice spoke next to her. Cerise looked up to see a young man peering at the table as well. A light brown hair individual who wore a fitted deep royal blue suit, along with matching vest and tie that carried the same blue color with a shimmer to its texture. "Kinda hard to choose when everything here looks so odd." Cerise giggled at his comment, more out of nervousness. The young man smiled and turned his attention more to her. "Marlott." He held out his hand. Cerise stared at it and slowly reached out to shake it, "Cerise." She pulled her hand away before he made any attempts. "Cerise? That's a cute name." Marlott commented trying to read her reaction. Cerise took another sip from her drinking trying to play off the awkwardness she felt from his compliment. "Marlott's interesting too." She glanced at him then back at the food. "Well, it’s okay." He mentioned while grabbing a small sample of food. "Mm.” He hummed as he ate the sample and his face winced slightly, “Don’t try that one, not so good. Trust me." He chuckled and displayed a flirty smile Cerise pushed a giggle. "Say, you here alone tonight?” He turned his head to her, as she turned to his question. “I'll keep you company?" Marlott asked as he closed the gap a bit between them slightly, making it seem like he was looking more at the samples of food near her. Cerise took a small step back as if readjusting her stance and kept her arms up to her chest, holding onto her drink a bit firmly. "Oh well, I actually came here with..." she was about to point at the man she most admired and saw him in a good conversation between Professor Roothorn and Jacque Schnee. She remembers what he spoke about, wanting to appearing being alone this night. "I was… invited by someone as a guest. We’re not really together, together..." "Well, I'm here? I'll be your date for the evening." He gave a smirk to her, looking down her dress and back up to her with a grin. "Ah, well..." Cerise, began awkwardly. During his conversation between Professor Roothorn and Jacques, Mr. Brunswick noticed Cerise talking to another young man. He saw how he looked at her, smiling. He became curious to what Cerise's expression was and what she might be saying to make that young individual smile at her. The other men noticed his distracted attention and followed his gaze. Roothorn spoke first, "Quite a few lovely women tonight. Any catch your eye?” When Mr. Brunswick didn’t reply because of his fixation of the view of Cerise and the unknown young man, Roothorn pinpointed his focus, “Are you interested in the one in red dress?"

Jacques swayed his glass in small circles as he looked to that direction as well, “That one certainly stands out.” He took a drink from his glass, “Perhaps she’s looking for some attention, poor thing. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard couples hit it off at our parties.” Mr. Brunswick pried his eyes away from Cerise's as much as he tried but the men before him kept their comments coming. Roothorn chuckled, "We’ll your parties are a perfect place to network, Jacques. Also, a good place for the young love to mingle, haha.”

Mr. Brunswick, while still maintaining his composure, couldn’t help clenching his jaw a bit at the thought of Cerise mingling in the way the two men were describing. He did tell her to do so. So why was seeing her talking to another individual, especially one who smiled at her with obvious intentions, tugging at him. He wants Cerise to experience meeting other people, making friends, bonds and culturing herself.

He noticed the induvial advance a bit toward Cerise and she stepped away ever so slightly. This sort of eased his mind.

“Hm, at least the lad’s trying.” Roothorn spoke, still on the subject.

“Some women like playing hard to get.” Jacques commented, “I know my wife did.” He chortled, drinking the remaining champagne from his glasses.

The concerns flared back up. Perhaps she was doing this? But it feels out of her character to do so. Maybe he didn’t know her well enough to see that side of her. Though, she seemed straight forward with him, especially making it aware about her feelings towards him. Could she be trying to redirect those feelings to another individual? Maybe someone who’s opened to accepting them and giving them back so easily, like that gentleman she’s speaking to. These questions put weight on his chest. He knows that she’s honest. She’s bold and open to people, so kindhearted and always willing to help those in need. Perhaps keeping her in limbo about his reply to her feelings wasn’t good at all. But what is he supposed to tell her? Being a huntsman, having this job, it’s too risky to get people involved. Involved with his duties, involved in his life. He’s come to appreciate her company, find comfort in it. Though is that all she is to him? Comfort? Decent company? Or is there something more that he feared. Becoming attached and losing it all.

Music began to play in the large hall and the tunes of the instruments bounced all around the walls. Couples started heading to the floor and commenced in formal dancing. Some men approached women and took their hands to the dance floor. Some women approached the men and had them lead the pair to the floor. “E-excuse me?” A young woman approached the three men, breaking Mr. Brunswick from his deep thoughts. She stood in front of the three but most of her direction was pointed towards him. “I would like a dance.” She spoke with confidence as she looked directly at Mr. Brunswick with a soft smile.

“Apolog-” He began his decline as Professor Roothorn pushed him towards the young woman.

“Go on, lad! Live a little! Can’t go denying a woman who approach you so honestly.” Roothorn boasted with a hearty laugh.

Mr. Brunswick halted before being pushed too close to the unknown young lady. Approaches me so honestly. He held that statement and peered over to Cerise’s direction. The young lady before him blushed a bit at the closeness but brought her hand out. He gave a half smile as he handed over his glass to Professor Roothorn. He took the young lady’s hand and guided her to the dance floor. As they stood before each other, he did a traditional bow as she curtsied, then began their dance with the rest of the prancing crowd.

“Well… I’m fine not having a date tonight. Just trying to mingle,” Cerise emphasized the word mingle with an awkward playful tone, “and meet some new people, I suppose.”

“Aw, come on. I’m not so bad…” Marlott trailed off his sentence as music started to flood the air. Cerise also caught this and watched as couples began to spread across the floor and sway to the melody of the tunes.

Both watched as soon as the floor swirled with dancing partners and flowy dresses. Cerise glanced over to the man that was always on her mind and saw him taking the hand of a young women. Her heart sank as she watched them start to dance and follow the pattern of the others.

She looked back down to her glass, rubbing the rim of it with her thumb and stayed in dull stated. Marlott took notice and pouted because of her silence and retreat. He looked around a bit but didn’t really find anyone else who gained his attention like how Cerise did. He looked back to her.

“Let’s mingle then. How about a dance? I’m pretty light on my feet.” He tuned playfully. Drawing out his hand to her. Cerise looked at it, then to Marlott, which brought her attention back to the dance floor seeing her unrequited love dance away, and then to her hand. Which to only her view saw the red string sway with his movements away from her.

Cerise held her glass with both hands again. “Sorry…” She gave an apologetic smile up at Marlott, “I don’t really feel like dancing... Thank you though.”

Marlott awkwardly kept his hand out, “You sure…? I promise it’ll be fun.”

“That’s kind of you, but no thank you.” She stated a bit firmer and gave a painful smile.

Marlott frowned a bit but shrugged his shoulders, retreating his hands into his pockets. “Alright then.” He looked away from her and saw some other choices to choose from. “Well, later then.”

Cerise looked up as he strode away towards another group of young women.

During Mr. Brunswick’s dance with his unknown partner, he took slight glances towards where he last saw Cerise. He saw the man close to her take an advance again towards her. He became fixated on their body language. The gentleman appeared to be asking her to dance. Mr. Brunswick turned away during the traditional dance but came back to seeing Cerise declining the invitation and the young man walking away from her. She only looked down at her glass and held herself reserved. No usual upbeat smile, no glimmering eyes of excitement. Just there standing, alone.

He stopped his dance and took a bow to his partner. “It was lovely dancing with you, thank you for your time.” Giving his thanks with kindness to the young lady. The young woman, flustered by the sudden halt, replied with curtsy and a jumbled thank you as she watched him walk towards the table of sample dishes.

Cerise kept her head down as she watched the red string, only visible to her sway little by little until it stopped and stayed still pointing forward. Curious by the movements she looked up. Mr. Brunswick approached Cerise and offer his hand to her. She looked at it a bit puzzled.

“Would you be interested in a dance?” He asked with a slight natural charm.

"Um... are you sure?” She spoke in a hushed tone. “I thought you wanted to seem like you came here alone tonight?" He raised his eyebrows surprised that she didn't jump at the chance to dance. Instead he saw her become more reserved and holding her glass closer to her. He gave an apologetic smile, feeling bad for putting her in this situation when he invited her to tonight's event; knowing she was looking forward to having a nice time. "Well, I've already danced with someone tonight. I'm sure no one would think twice about me mingling this evening. Dancing away with lovely young ladies." Again, holding out his hand. Cerise looked at it and gave a small smile, she cued a waiter over to take her empty glass and as the waiter left, she turned to the tall gentleman in front of her. Heart fluttering and with a growing smile, she placed her hand in his and he guided her to the dance floor. As they entered the floor, he stopped in front of Cerise. Other couples danced around them with the music. Cerise stood there a bit awkward as he did a small bow and lent his hand out again. Out of instinct Cerise gave him a low high five. Smacking it loudly with earnest feelings. Mr. Brunswick's eyes widen a bit of embarrassment as the slapping sound caught some of the dancing couple’s attention and gave Cerise some odd looks. He leaned down towards to her and whispered, "Cerise? Do you not know how to dance?" Cerise straightened up, with a glee smile and hands on her hip as she replied, "Oh, I know how to dance. It’s just back home we dance more like..." pointing up, giving him a comedic thinking bubble of her and some villagers dancing freely to upbeat music. She brought his attention back as the thought bubble popped, leaning towards him, and coving the side of her mouth as though sharing a gossip, "Seriously, is there a special class everyone here takes to dance the same?" He chuckled at her statement. He saw some truth to what she meant, though these dances are just passed down from generation to generation from what he knows. "It’s just something everyone learns to pick up. Here." Taking her hand in his and placed her other hand on his shoulder. He took her waist and brought them a bit closer which placed a subtle blush on Cerise's cheek. "Think of this as when we train. Follow my movements. I'll go slowly." He grinned as he began to step into the dance steps. Cerise looked down at his feet to watch his steps. She carefully followed but stumbled a bit here and there trying to memorize the movements. Slowly she caught on to the pattens of the steps, grinning as she got the hang of it. "That's good, now a twirl." He mentioned and let the space between them drift apart so Cerise could be guided into the twirl. She smiled at the feeling as she came back to their original position and continued their steps. Cerise giggled as she followed his steps a bit easier now. "See you got it." He smiled as they danced in place a bit. "Now, let's follow the rest of them, shall we?" "Okay!" Cerise peered up at him with glimmer in her eyes at this fun new experience. He took the lead and they danced along with the rest of the couples. They made fun graceful strides. Cerise laughed at the fun sensation of being dipped here and twirled there. Her dancing partner had fun as well; enjoying her amusement in the dance and how bright and blissful her smile really suited her nature. He was impressed by her quick learning as she gracefully took the steps and made them her own. Adding a charm to every turn, a skip to every step. She really did know how to dance and adapted it to her own personality. At this point he wasn't sure what made his heart race: the dancing or Cerise's fun and carefree nature. He lost sight of the outside world, lost sight of the people, the place. He only kept Cerise in his view and nothing else caught his attention. Even his worries and regrets, his duties became faint in his mind. He so badly wanted this feeling to continue, no worries or concerns. Just this blissful feeling, this moment he felt like himself and only himself. Seeing her prance at his side, being by her side made his heart pound that much more. He swung her out, still holding hands tightly and pulled her back in to him, as she did a few twirls till he caught her, she brought her arm to wrap behind his neck for support and finished their dance with a soft dip that froze in place. Cerise looked up at him as he held her. Her eyes dilated as she gazed into those eyes that made her heart soar. He kept his eyes on hers and appreciated the deep blue color that calmed his heart and soul. He caught his breath a bit as a confession was about to spill out, "I..." Clapping soon erupted all around them. Both Cerise and him looked around and noticed everyone clapping from the presentation of their dance along with the other couples. He brought himself and Cerise back up during the applause. Clearing his throat and gave a small bow to Cerise. She mimicked the other women and gave an awkward curtsy. As they left the dance floor to find something to drink, Cerise gave him a shy glance. He seemed to be catching his breath a bit, but his face still looked composed. She on the other hand felt her face flustered, hopefully he believed it was from dancing, but to her it was more than just that. "I'll, um... get us some refreshments." He looked over to her, "Would you like something to drink?" Cerise nodded with a bit of embarrassment as she still felt her face hot. "M-mhm!" He smiled back and hesitated to leave her side but pulled himself away to retrieve a beverage for her. Cerise watched him stroll away, already missing his presence. Watching his back as his dark messy hair made her heart swell. She quickly followed behind him and caught his sleeve. He turned gently to see her. "Maybe it's okay to go with you? I'm sure no one would think twice about you having a good time this evening, mingling with a young lady you just danced with..." Cerise looked down hiding her blush and smitten smile. He grinned, "Of course. Shall we?" He hinted towards the drinks. Cerise nodded looking up at him. She stayed by his side and he stayed by hers. And for the rest of the evening they stayed side by side.

#mcmysteryart #rwby #rwby oc #Cerise Han-Brunswick #Between Destiny #long post

32 notes · View notes

inkandpen22 · 4 years

Text

Time is Irrelevant (3/?): The Beauty of a Perfect Rose

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Female!Reader

Warnings: so much fluff

Word Count: 3k

Part Summary: Y/N finds herself alone amongst the French Court and she’s panicking. Then, she meets a charming young gentleman who becomes quite fond by her.

Masterlist

The Doctor ran off who-knows-where, so I decided to go on my own little adventure outside for some air. In truth, it’s hotter than the Sahara inside and I was feeling claustrophobic. A major flaw of mine, it doesn’t take much to get me to feel claustrophobic. Large crowds, small cars, closets, elevators, I can’t stand to be in any of them.

I take a breather on the grand terrace that overlooks the massive estate. Everything is so immaculate here. I’m amazed when I stare up at the night sky, in the future stars are too faint to see with all the lights. In 1778, the sky is lit up like a Christmas tree. Hundreds of bright tiny lights scatter the sky and they’re indescribably beautiful. The people who live in this time must take them for granted, unaware of their ancestors won’t have the pleasure of seeing them each night.

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves… ”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a man appear beside me. He admires the starry night.

“You know Shakespeare, impressive," I compliment without thinking.

I swallow hard, I don't know French, at least not well. If we're counting a high school education, I'm an amateur. Wait, how could I understand him? How can he understand me? I spoke in English.

The man chuckles lightly, “what is more impressive is you could identify the words as Shakespeare, shows you know him well.”

I sway my head from side to side. “I suppose you could say I know a lot about English literature.”

“Do you visit England often?”

Aware of the everlasting feud amongst the nations, I deny the chance. Better safe than sorry, right? Especially since there's the American Revolution happening this moment and I’m meant to be a French lady of a higher social status. I must be loyal to France whole-heartedly.

“Not as much as I used to when I was a child. I simply enjoy the art and literature the English produce among other foreign creators," I answer rather diplomatically.

The gentleman snickers lightly, seemingly impressed by my reply. “I take it you travel often? You appear well-aware and educated on world matters.”

I suppress my laughter, the irony doesn't go over my head. I've traveled further in the last twenty-four hours than I have my whole life.

“Yes, traveling is one of my many passions!" I enthuse. "Experiencing other cultures of the world is fascinating to me and I almost need traveling to survive I feel.”

The stranger nods in agreement, “France is home but when there’s an entire world to be discovered, I never feel content settling here when I could be out there. Especially now with the new world across the sea. One day I wish to see them for myself.”

I turn to the gentleman and without a second thought, I encourage him to do so. I may be giving him the chance to survive the French Revolution.

“I’ve heard they’re incredible! Of course, I suggest you plan a visit for the colonies after the war.”

He meets my eyes with a smile. He's young, just a few years older than me maybe. “Definitely, speaking of, what is your opinion on the war between the so-called “patriots” and England?”

In my mind, I’m thinking the revolution was the best thing to happen to the world. America exists because of the revolution and my era wouldn’t be the same without it. However, this is 1778 and I’m supposed to be a French aristocratic woman, so my answer can’t be so blunt.

“My belief is our alliance with the colonists was a wise political move. Economically, the alliance with benefit us greatly, and by being allies we’re hitting England directly where they’ll feel the effects. In addition, the war is not on our land, so the people of France ultimately go untouched. It’s the perfect situation.”

The man smiles brightly, "You know Madame are-"

"You're Majesty," a man interrupts us. He bows to the stranger and I see the smile falter from the young man's face. "You're needed, Sire."

My eyes nearly pop out of my head once I comprehend what's happening. I stare at the gentleman wide-eyed. I've been speaking with King Louis XVI this entire time!

I quickly snap out of my state of shock to curtsy properly. "Your Majesty."

King Louis scoops up my hand as I rise from my curtsy. He kisses the back of it softly.

“Excuse me, Madame,” he requests calmly. “I promise to find you again tonight to further our conversation. It has truly been a pleasure.”

Swiftly, King Louis follows the man back into the palace without another word. He doesn't acknowledge that he never announced that he was the king. This entire time I’ve been speaking with King Louis and had no idea! I thought he was just another noble or something.

“Holy-” I gasp, into the air, covering my mouth in shock. King Louis XVI just kissed my hand, this is unreal! _________________________

I’ve found that if I act as though I know what I’m doing, I blend in and they assume I’m one of them. I've also learned that they think I'm speaking French. I open my mouth and I hear English, but for some reason, they hear my words in French. I'm going to have to ask the Doctor about this whenever he decides to come back.

Look at me go, The Doctor was so worried I would stand out amongst the French court for nothing. Well, pish-posh to that! For a young woman of the 21st century, I'm killing it! I made friends with some of the women attending the party, especially Thérèse-Lucy de Dillon. Everyone here is mainly interested in palace gossip. Having grown up in a somewhat small town where everyone knows everyone else's business, I know how to gossip and make it interesting.

Thérèse is one of Marie Antoinette's closest friends and one of her ladies-in-waiting. The most interesting part, she married her second cousin.

“Yes, quite lovely indeed.” I agree with Lady Thérèse about summers in Paris. I've never been to Paris, but I've watched enough TV and movies to fake it.

Thérèse fans herself, I must agree the room is undoubtedly hot. The idea of air conditioning hasn’t even been considered yet and it’s August according to the women. I hope The Doctor finds whatever he’s looking for so we can leave sooner rather than later. Acting this posh is draining!

A man clears his throat behind me, interrupting the circle from our conversation. I turn around and am met with a familiar face. I find myself frozen for a moment until out of the corner of my eye I see Thérèse curtsying and I do the same.

“Your Majesty,” we greet in unison

“Madames,” he smiles kindly to each of us. “Pleasure to see you again Madame de Dillon," he addresses Thérèse.

"Pleasure is all mine, Sir," she smirks.

King Louis then directs his attention to me with a grin. He scoops up my hand as he did before and plants a kiss there. “I don’t believe we have met Lady…”

I play along. “Benoit,” I reply with the first name I could conjure up.

“Madame de Dillon, would you mind if I stole Madame Benoit for a moment?” He asks.

“Not at all,” she complies, sending me a mischievous look. “If you would excuse us,” she curtsies to the King.

He grants his permission with a slight nod of his head. Once they're gone, King Louis gestures toward the doors leading out to the hall. I stroll with him into the hallway, leaving behind the lively atmosphere and the security of others' presence. Now, it’s just him and I, excluding two of his guards following us.

I admire the art hanging on the walls as we pass stroll. The time it must’ve taken to paint such detail is beyond me. I also think of how priceless these pieces will be in the future.

“Would you like to see the gardens?” He offers.

I jump at the opportunity eagerly, "oh could we?!"

The King chuckles lightly at my enthusiasm. I’m sure he isn’t used to receiving such a genuine reaction from someone. Everyone has to be so uptight around him.

"I'm sorry I-"

"No, no, don't apologize," he waves his hands to ease my nerves. "I'm glad to see your interest." He places a hand on my upper back gently. "They're right this way."

King Lous guides me through two glasses doors leading outside to the gardens. The area outside is lit with tall torches lining the paths throughout the entire estate. If I let myself overthink the fact that I’m strolling in a garden with King Louis XVI then I’ll geek out and ruin the chance of speaking with him truthfully. Thus, I must remain calm and try to not think about the circumstances. After all, I spent almost five minutes with him before without any slip-ups. Then again, I didn’t know I was speaking with the King of France.

“Madame Benoit, tell me,” he implores. “How is it we have yet to meet before tonight? Unless we have, but I believe I would have remembered the pleasure and your beauty would be quite memorable.”

My cheeks become warm, though I think the excessive amount of white powder Joséphine plastered on my face may mask my blushing.

“I’ve been away in Italy.” I make up a story as I go. “My father sent me away from my education. He wanted it to be only myself and my tutor constantly.”

King Louis seems impressed, even fascinated by my tale. The secret to a good cover-up is to lie as little as possible, to basically sugarcoat the truth. That way it’s easy to remember but also simple to discuss.

He glances up from the pebble-covered path to me. He raises his brow slightly. “What are you favorite subjects?”

I notice his body language, his interlocked behind his back. It’s very informal. He must be becoming comfortable around me. I first noticed the shift in his demeanor when we left the crowded party. He almost instantly relaxed once when we were out of everyone’s view.

“I enjoy literature and history above all. Yet, I also find learning to speak other languages such as English, Latin, and Italian all very fascinating.”

I make it a point to name the languages I’m positive His Majesty is fluent in. If this works to gain his approval, perhaps I could use my knowledge on him to gain earn his good graces.

He halts and I immediately dread that I may have said something wrong. Reluctantly, I meet his eye.

“You are quite the fascinating lady, Madam,” he states as if it’s fact.

He’s dropping compliments like candy from a Piñata. Granted, he’s French, they’re known for their romance. Plus, I’m sure Louis is used to charming women in his court. He is a politician after all.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” I manage to say though I feel very exposed under his gaze. I mean, he is iconic after all, for good and bad reasons.

The two of us continue through the paths, exchanging facts about one another. I find similarities between us, genuine ones too! Everything I say about my interests and background is practically true, just altered a little, so there’s an honesty in our conversation.

“What are some of your favorite pieces of literature?” King Louis asks as we stop in front of the Fountain of Apollo.

I hum, pretending to be thinking over my favorite when in reality I’m rushing to remember work from before the Colonial Era. I can’t exactly say A Farewell to Arms, it doesn't exist yet.

“I don’t have a favorite piece per se because I prefer to read all sorts of work. Authors, philosophers, playwrights, I will read them all. Including the essays written by Rousseau or Voltaire in particular. Though they challenge the essence of our beloved country's system, I believe it is important to be well-read and educated on all points-of-view to form a legitimate opinion.”

In reality, Rousseau and Voltaire were geniuses with the An Essay on Tolerance and The Social Contract. Yet, I’m a women currently in a male dominated world. I shouldn’t be speaking of philosophers or politics.

He picks up my hand and holds it in both of his gently. My heart starts beating rapidly as my breathing catches in my throat. I’ve spoken out of turn for sure. I suppose my modern views can’t be so easily suppressed despite my efforts. I prepare for any insults he could say.

“You, Lady Benoit, are by far the most alluring woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Taken aback, I was expecting the polar opposite reaction. I bow my head in gratitude. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

He grins charmingly, “please, call me Louis.”

His request flatters me more than his compliments. It means far more to me that we share a bond rather than his appreciation of my appearance or words. Now, I know he respects which this time is rare to earn from a man.

This entire experience is so unreal and I feel as though I’m on cloud nine. In history books, these figures seems so far away, almost like fictional character. Yet, here I am, speaking to King Louis XVI and he just asked me to call him Louis.

“In that case Louis, please call me Y/N," I request in return.

In exchange for his respect, though I already did, I give him my real name. He is trusting in me by opening up, so the least I can do is give him my real name.

“Y/N,” he repeats to himself.

Boy, it sounds so beautiful with his perfect French accent. I could listen to him speak all day.

“So unique! Exquisite, the same could be said for the woman who possesses it," he smirks.

My gaze falls to the pebbles beneath us as we start to move again. I can feel Louis’s eye on me, but I can’t form the courage to meet his focus. In history, it’s said he is very shy and kept to himself. He certainly isn’t shy at the moment.

Unexpectedly, Louis jogs ahead a few feet and leans over the short perimeter of a small edge. I watch as he picks a flawless red rose from the massive bush.

He hurries back to me, gleaming. “For the girl who's beauty is unparalleled, even by that of the most perfect rose.”

Wow, he’s good, and he just came up with that? Smooth.

I accept the flower with a soft smile. “You’re too sweet.”

The back of his hand rises to my cheek and gently brushes against my skin.

“I see the world in your eyes,” he mutters under his breath, mere inches from my face.

My heart is pounding in my chest from both excitement and mere shock that this moment is occurring. King Louis is totally hitting on me right now. What am I supposed to do? This isn’t just some creep in a bar I can dismiss!

“You’re not what I expected… ” I blurt out in a whisper

It could never be more true. The history books don’t do him justice. Considering many of them were written off the accounts of people who were not close to him the lack of fact makes sense.

He laughs breathlessly, unfazed by my words. “‘expectation is the root of all heartache,’ as Shakespeare once said. What were you expecting?”

I shake my head, unsure in all honesty. Deciding to put a stop to his advances while things aren’t too complicated, I create some distance between us.

“I guess I was prepared to meet the person subject to the rumors and gossip. I was told to expect one person and was met with someone completely different,” I answer honestly.

“If it means anything, you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You don’t treat me like the King, you treat me as you do anyone else and for that, I’m eternally grateful to you. It was that very fact that drew me to you! When we met you didn’t know who I was and I took advantage of that. Yet, hereafter you continue to treat me like the average man.”

“At the end of the day, we’re all human," I reason with a shrug. "Each of us play a role in life and yours happens to be King. You were born into your position, you didn’t choose it. The least I can do is treat you normally for all you do. When I look at you, I don’t see the King, I see Louis. The man who enjoys intellectual conversations, loves to travel, who one day will see the colonies for himself.”

I know the last part not to be true, but I can at least hope that he may listen to my advice and go.

Louis smiles softly, leaning in closer to me. I prepare to turn my cheek and dodge his lips when suddenly the rapid clicking of heels on the pebbles cause both of us to whip our heads toward the castle.

The same man before jogs up to us. He halts and bows to Louis, struggling to catch his breath.

“Your Majesty, you're requested by Her Majesty the Queen to give a toast and begin a dance."

Louis signs deeply, clearly not wanting to return to his duties. “Yes, very well, let us get it over with.” He starts to the palace in a brisk march.

I debate whether to follow Louis as I watch the man frantically tries to keep up with him. Suddenly stops in his tracks and the man nearly runs into him but skids to a halt. Louis turns on his heels and walks back to me, shaking his head.

“My apologizes, Y/N.” He offers me his hand, “accompany me please?”

If I do choose to return to the party hand-in-hand with him then it will be evident that we were alone together. People would have a field day for gossip. That wouldn't exactly count as 'laying-low.' Against my better judgement, I slip my hand into his. Louis kisses the back of it, then interlocks our arms. I place my free hand over his arm as well. Finally, he escorts me inside at a much slower pace than before, evidently not caring if he’s late.

“Tell me about your family,” he requests, glancing at me with a joyful grin.

_____________________

Masterlist

#eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x you #doctor x reader #eleventh doctor #doctor who

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saoirsetm · 4 years

Text

hey y’all ! i’m kat and we’re FINALLY opening ?!? i’m so hyped, you don’t even know. i’m a double leo Trying to survive video lectures in a noisy house who loves dark chocolate and 80% of the kpop releases so far this year ( stream feel good by fromis_9, it’s such a cute bop ! ) i’m also a cat mom to my almost fourteen year old babies who are still like energetic kittens, so ask for pics and you shall receive DSLKGJ but without further ado, here’s my girl who’s gonna prove that hindsight is INDEED 20/20, so this is gonna be fun:

✧ ˖ * ° ><> ╱ abigail cowen, cis female, she/her — look who’s fresh from the ferry, aren’t you SAOIRSE LEARY ? your eroda brochure says you’re TWENTY-THREE and that you’re currently residing in MARMOTON . your favourite tourist attraction to hang around is ERODIAN BEACH , and the locals around these ports would describe you as INQUISITIVE & INTREPID, STUBBORN & IMPULSIVE . your resting fish face really gives off LONG HAIR BLOWN BACK BY THE OCEAN BREEZE, LATE NIGHTS SPENT PLOTTING THE NEXT GREAT VOYAGE, RED LIPSTICK IMPRINTED ON A MUG OF TEA , and i’m a big fan of the VINTAGE CELTIC KNOT NECKLACE you seem to always be attached to. well, if you see the minister this morning; make sure you head on home as quick as possible, you never know what bad luck he could bring. ╱ ooc; kat, 23, she/her, ast.

tw: needles ( tattoo mention ), cancer mention, death mention

miss saoirse...... oof

GDFLSJL where do i begin with her honestly ??

full name is saoirse eve leary, affectionately called cece by her family since she was young and runs with it as her nickname !

born and raised in cork, ireland with two siblings, a working class father and Slightly upper middle class mother

her childhood wasn’t like, Majorly eventful; she was considered a bit of a tomboy which isn’t a surprise bc she’s always been a bit of a spirited, adventurous girl, has the odd nomadic moment strike her and loves to travel

had a SUPER close relationship with her maternal grandmother before she passed a few years back, still has a close one with her grandfather and paternal grandmother as they’re still living

is a big family girl overall, so much so that she’s eagerly awaiting the day she gets to be the cool aunt

had a decent cluster of pals over the years that’s likely dwindled due to everyone going their separate ways after high school

saoirse Did go to uni between her travels — and graduated — and has aspirations of becoming an anthropologist to explore other cultures and meet new people/understand them

which.. obviously ain’t happening now LFSGJGF rip

came to eroda partially bc it seems like such a pretty and quaint place, partially to explore its “ myth ” that you can never leave; her naturally curious ass questions the whole thing, at least in the sense that there’s no way to challenge your supposed fate on the island and won’t deny entertaining some conspiracy theories around the mystery

she still doesn’t understand that.. yeah, she Literally is stuck here for the rest of her life now, probably because she hasn’t made a Real attempt to put that to the test, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it FDSLKJDS

anyways she came here solo ( more than likely ) and has enjoyed her time getting to know the locals and other visitors, taking in the scenery, etc

probably took up a part-time job at sally’s tavern to cover her expenses since she lives in marmoton and it ought to be close enough for her to get to gfjlsdg

personality and everything else

a sociable, ( relatively ) fearless ginger with an eclectic taste in music and a profound appreciation for pastries..

despite being all about cleaner eating habits and lowering her sugar intake, she takes a cheat day or week wherever she can LSDGFJK

parties, game nights, etc, you name it ?? she’s there !

kinda competitive while we’re bringing up games and such, but she’s not about the whole sore winner/loser thing — rather she’ll groan and sulk a little before moving on

like i said before, loves to travel, loves pretty places in general so prepare yourself for an abundance of pictures on her insta feed of where she’s been or where she wants to go

loyal as hell, but she has her limit if you misuse the trust that comes with it

she’s just v wholesome and has a mix of small town city/endlessly curious energy with a sprinkle of being the life of the party……. kinda

however, she’s the most ?? hard to place person all the same

that feeling of freedom that comes with her exploring and all makes her a little hard to tie down; she doesn’t plan on staying in eroda ( which is unfortunate for her considering.... fglsdk ) as she has more to accomplish and see

very much does her own thing and doesn’t wanna hear any criticism for it

as if she’s that out of line DLJGDSLK but still

always wants to try new things, no matter how dumb they might be; except for anything that’s a Legitimate death sentence or is.. a GENUINELY dumb idea, she has enough common sense to know what Not to do KSGFDJDS

has little tattoos on her wrist and behind her left ear for her Favourite trips/symbols/whatever and her family, will let y’all know what they’d be whenever i figure them out since i’m so damn picky with these things

a Big supporter for buying/investing locally, has little trinkets and such to prove it

in fact, she has a collection of thrifted or vintage clothes from her travels and back home, and a chest full of cute jewelry she switches between daily

one piece she wears all the time — only parts with it when she sleeps — is the celtic knot pendant mentioned in her app that’s become something of an heirloom on her mom’s side of the family !

she has the cutest irish lilt in my mind, kinda the same as miss ronan’s and aisling bea’s

really loves her freckles, partially bc i love her freckles and my own :(

tea > coffee, but she loves coffee-flavoured things; bring her a peppermint or camomile tea as her shift winds down or.. idk, just because, and she’ll be forever indebted to you fldjgs

loves to hang out by the water in her free time — she loves the scent and sounds that comes with it, it’s one of the few places where she can put her mind to rest for a bit

the sound of rain hitting a rooftop is her perfect sleep soundtrack

kinda wants to adopt a pet, but doesn’t wanna leave them if she goes on an excursion where they can’t come with her :(

baths with epsom salts, candles that smell like lavender or something just as pleasant and calming, etc during a night in soothes the hell out of her soul

top three products she has in her bag at all times, besides personal info and her phone ? lip balm, a powder spf and mints FGLGKSD

btw.. miss ginger hair and freckles will probably gasp at anyone going out with no spf on them and scold tf out of them bc ‘ hello, melanoma ?? sunburn ?!? ’

wanted connections

childhood pal(s) she’s bumped into: reunited by chance, cece’s glad she has a couple of people she knows to keep her grounded when her mind runs wild at what Might happen when she decides to try her hand at leaving

cousin(s), other relatives: idk, figured it’d be fun for her to have a family member or two running around and not realizing the other relative is the Only one they’ll see in person from here on out

best pal(s) in eroda: someone she’s taken to since arriving, likely spending their free-time eating pastries on the beach, talking shit over tea, little market dates, going to the rainzone half-drunk and trying to rope each other into new things

opposites attract.. of sorts sfdlgkj: basically just a traveler meeting a local who’s never been off eroda, telling all about their ( quite limited ) excursions and bonding in other areas over time !

hook-ups, fwbs.... ENEMIES with benefits?? idk, point is the girl’s probably gotten laid since arriving, it’s all a matter of the situation that fits your muse(s) best FHGSDKJ

roommate: she lives in marmoton, likely in a rental of sorts, and i can’t see her living alone given the situation on the island ( though i’ve viewed her as the type to live alone in a space for one and a half people any other time tbh ). so she has just One and they make the arrangement work ! depending on their personalities and such, we’ll figure out how well they get along Exactly, if at all

ex ??: the girl’s bi so y’all can toss anyone at her for this one as well ! question marks bc i was thinking it’d be an on-and-off thing but maybe not come the time i post this intro LSGKD. basically they were seeing each other for a few months, she fell hard Quick/they moved kinda fast bc they were vibing and they would distance themselves upon realizing this — though i see cece giving them distance bc she knows they need it rather than needing it herself. if it IS on-and-off, they’re definitely off rn and treading lightly ( though she finds it hard to stray and hates things not being fully resolved no matter what happens ?? ), so all it’s a bit angsty regardless of how it goes dfgkljsdg

fellow mystery fiend: someone please fuel her curiosity to the max and try to crack the impossible case of eroda’s captive capabilities with her.. and proceed to watch true crime shows with her when that clearly goes to shit SDFKLJ

older sibling or mentor dynamic: someone to look out for her/teach her some things to help fully support herself/give her advice when she probably needs it most.. idk, i just like the idea of someone becoming a stand-in relative type of friend to her

just give her someone to confide in, to swim at night with, stargaze and all that cute shit, be it platonically or otherwise !

she’s not gonna click with everyone and that’s fine, BUT maybe they run in the same social circles and cece thinks they seem nice enough, but they never really talk amongst themselves ?? just a case of awkwardly starting from scratch and seeing where it takes us !

#eroda.intro #╰ ✨ . ❪ 𝐖𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐒 ↝ kat chats ｡#tw needles #tw cancer #tw death #i think?? that's all the triggers here?#i really hope it is anyways :/ i'm bad for spotting them sometimes when they're vague mentions #anyways FINALLY did it !!#now to make my theme even Remotely presentable in the next half hour GLDFJS

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

Note

May I ask for 11, 14, 22 and 28 for Benoit Blanc if you don’t mind?

Certainly! Stuff below the cut!

Disclaimer: I personally headcanon Benoit’s s/o as being somewhere on the spectrum. I know not everyone identifies with this so I’ll also be including snippets of otherwise when I deem it necessary for accessibility. Happy reading!

11. What do they hide from one another?: Benoit isn’t really secretive about himself. He may avoid being upfront about his intentions (most often with regards to a case), but even then he tends to come out with the truth eventually, and with such a sense of calm that it’s more like he simply went along with peoples’ assumptions of him. But when you two start seeing each other more seriously, he does feel a tiny bit embarrassed of the fact that he may not be as up to date on all manners of slang, pop culture, etc as he would like to be. It’s not a hidden thing, really; it was a given there would be a bit of a gap there, what with the slight age difference going on. But he’s supposed to be one of the greatest detectives out there, isn’t he? He may not take the title seriously but he surely has some vagueness of an image to uphold, right? He has to have tabs on everything. Besides, deep down, he wants to seem impressive to you. Like I said, it’s not so much hidden . . . but the tab to Urban Dictionary sort of is. You hadn’t even meant to find it, you just needed to use his laptop for a quick moment when -- “. . . Ben? What, uh . . . what’s up with --. . . Why do you need to know what ‘guap’ is?” “It’s for a case, darlin’!” He has since become a little less afraid of asking you what certain terms mean. You, on the other hand, aren’t exactly as candid as your other half . . . (Spectrum Option) You weren’t exactly sure what possessed you enough to think you could skirt by without him noticing. The man was a detective after all; surely he would’ve noticed at some point that there were some things . . . amiss about you. Sure, he could chalk up your difficulty holding eye contact to shyness; everyone used fidgeting devices now, so that you had quite a few on your desk as well as on your person wasn’t anything spectacular. But surely he noticed that whenever things got too loud or rowdy at the station you disappeared; that you seemed to get particularly upset when your system was thrown off; how certain textures were enough to completely rattle you; that you had a speech pattern that could, in a word, be described as . . . “unique.” Besides that, you knew it was silly to hide the fact that you were autistic: It was nothing to be ashamed of! It was simply how your mind worked and you were doing the best you could with it. And you wanted to say you were doing pretty well in most regards, but past social experiences had a way of convincing you otherwise. Particularly in the romance department. Potential date mates would get thrown off by your seemingly stony expression or occasionally flattened tones; they didn’t always find themselves impressed by your preference of going slow; sometimes your methods of stimming threw them off; and that was if they could even get you to stop being so anxious about certain social interactions. You knew deep down that Benoit wouldn’t be like that; he was far too kind to. But also, what if?! Eventually, before the courting got too, too serious, you felt it would just be better to be honest and open with him about it. You owed yourself that much. Thankfully, you never really needed to know what the “what-if” could be, as it turned out that you were right: Benoit already kind of knew you were somewhere on the spectrum after his first few interactions with you. Having more intimate encounters during your courtship honestly all but confirmed it. This isn’t his first, fifth, or even tenth rodeo wherein he’s encountered and befriended someone who’s neurodivergent, after all. He understands to a point why you wouldn’t necessarily jump to telling him, however, though he’s glad you felt comfortable enough with him to confide that. (Non-Spectrum Option) Honestly, it’s hard to hide anything from the last of the Gentleman Sleuths. He’s so perceptive that even if it meant hiding snacks from him, you’d eventually come back to your desk to find him eating your stash of Craisins. The one thing you have managed to keep a secret, though? Your old fanfiction identity. In your teens, you were scribbling down fics anywhere you could get them: Fanfiction.net, Quizilla, Blogspot . . . On one hand, you thank the experience for giving you practice with proper writing skills, which is part of what earned you the job you have. But on the other . . . they just weren’t the greatest showcase of who you were, young or not. And Benoit does not need to know about the shipping wars you started on accident. Thankfully, Quizilla is gone and nobody really uses Blogspot anymore . . . But sometimes he asks you if you’d ever read or watched books and movies you just so happened to specialize in, or what your thoughts were, and you can’t help but wonder if that blond bastard is on to you.

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?: The moment you appear to be under the weather, Benoit’s already activating Mother Hen Mode. He summons the Mama Blanc in him and already has you laying down in bed or propped up on the couch with some quiet music playing or a court procedural drama playing while he’s in the kitchen making homemade chicken soup. If you put up a struggle eating or are too tired to feed yourself, he’s not above feeding you. He’s going to make sure that you eat at least enough to be able to take half a zinc tablet without getting sick, and make sure you drink plenty of water and vitamin C. And God help you if you think you can just do work from home because even if you’re not experiencing the worst cold, he’s not convinced you should be up and about instead of resting. At most, he’ll let you sit on the couch instead of staying cooped up in your room all day. He’ll even join you, often times sitting next to you and reading through files he brought home from his own casework. He doesn’t really mind the close contact in spite of your protests. Which is annoying because when he inevitably catches your cold, he’s more fussy than you are. Not in the man flu fashion, but he’s a lot more stubborn about resting. He knows it’s what’s best, but he’s so used to handling himself over the years that he’s gotten into the habit of doing as much work as he can before dropping, with self-care just happening to take place between his illness naps. You have to actually scold him and hide his files for a bit until he eventually falls asleep thanks to his exhaustion and the medicine you make sure he takes. Because of this, you’re more task-oriented when Benoit is sick. Certainly, you make sure that he’s eating the proper things and taking the right vitamins and medication and getting enough rest, but between all that you’re also making sure that he has less to worry about. You quietly clean around the house, you do the laundry, you run as many errands for him as you can (groceries, dry cleaning, etc), you even meal prep. That way when he gets better, he’s better in a cleaner house with next to nothing to worry about besides the paperwork he’d had taken away from him earlier. As much of a fight as he puts up at first, he truly does appreciate your generosity and kindness. He’d kiss you if it weren’t for the fact that he’s still a bit sniffily.

22. Where does their first kiss happen?: In the filing room. Sexy, right? You were technically still courting at this point but it was undoubtedly clear that things were getting serious. Nobody said anything about it, though. After all, was now, in the middle of a potential scandal, really the best time to talk about going steady? Probably not. Though you’d be lying if you said the thought didn’t buzz around in your head all day and all night. You had to be professional about this. Just as Benoit is, you reminded yourself as you watch him reading through the files you’d given him moments earlier. His brow furrowed before slapping the manila folder shut. “Well, that’s a crock of shit,” he muttered. “Hm?” you questioned, perking up. Maybe he needed input? He certainly seemed to be seeking yours more often as of late. You tried not to shiver when he focused those icy blue eyes of his on you. “This doesn’t make any sense,” Benoit explained, giving the file in his hand a gentle flap. “Carters doesn’t even have a history of violence; I sincerely doubt he suddenly became overwhelmed with the temptation to attempt fratricide all over some rather tacky jewelry. Which therefore begs the question. . .” He paused dramatically. “What do you suppose would cause a man to jump from petty theft in high school to murder in his mid-thirties?” You shrugged. “Bad friends,” you half-joked. It gave Benoit further pause. “. . . What ever happened to that accomplice of his? From the petty theft?” he questioned. Obviously, you didn’t have the answers; but the department filing room most likely did. Somewhere amongst the many boxes and cabinets, lined up in crammed and musty-smelling aisles, lay the answer. And, to your dismay, it appeared to be on a shelf a little higher than you were tall, serving as a load-bearing wall against other boxes of files. You grimaced as you arched your feet once more, attempting yet another lurch forward to reach. You weren’t sure who let this section of the filing room get this bad but whoever it was (you were sure it was Debbie; it was probably freaking Debbie), you were going to wring their neck. “(Y/N), really, I insist --” Benoit began, but you were quick to cut him off. “No, no, Mr. Blanc,” you insisted. “I got this.” You couldn’t see him press his lips into a thin line. “You know, it’s perfectly fine to call me by my name,” he said. “Mhm,” you grunted. “’M just . . .keeping it professional.” Dammit! Your fingers had just brushed the edge! Just a bit more -- “This isn’t a situation for HR, I technically don’t really work here,” you heard him chuckle. “And anyway, stop being so stubborn, and let me help.” “It’s fine!” Really, it was: You managed to nudge the box closer. “(Y/N), be reasonable.” You suddenly felt warmth against your back. Oh. Oh, God. He was pressing up against you as he leaned forward. You felt your cheeks burn at the stimuli. With far more ease, he nudged the box close enough to the edge to where it could easily fall into your waiting hands. Unfortunately, any relief was short-lived: Truly, the box was load-bearing. You yelped as the threat of musty cardboard and decades worth of paperwork threatened to fall on you . . . only for it not to actually be carried out. You glanced upward to find Benoit, once again, leaning forward. Just enough to shove the materials further on the shelf. You hear him huff and chuckle. “See? I bet you’re real happy now that I came along, aren’t you?” You turned just enough to glare at him. It didn’t last: Nobody can really find themselves glaring at Benoit Blanc for long whenever he had a smile on his face. At the very least, you couldn’t. He had that effect on you and you wanted to despise it so dearly, at the very least now you did. But you just couldn’t. Nor could you bring yourself to turn your face away as you noticed him leaning in closer. You had to be honest: You never took Benoit for the sort of man capable of performing such a strong liplock. Strong, warm, yet sweet and enticing -- “BLANC!” The sudden cry was more than enough to make you part. There, in the threshold, stood your less than amused superior, arms crossed and glowering. “Do you really think that this is the place to be making out?” Lt. Elliot demanded. You whimpered, hiding your blushing face behind the box still in your arms. He didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he scoffed and stormed off, feeling his point had been made. As you began your walk of shame out of the room, you hissed at your newly acquired boyfriend, “This is why I wanted to keep things professional!” To your dismay (and deeply hidden amusement), however, Benoit appeared to be unfazed. If anything, he seemed quite pleased with himself. He chuckled as he placed an arm about your lower back. “Oh, admit it: You didn’t mind being a little unprofessional.” He didn’t need to use his smarts to deduce that, and you hated that.

28. Why do they get jealous?: Benoit rarely gets jealous. He trusts you enough, and he trusts the bond you two share a great deal. But on the rare occasion he exhibits what would be called jealousy, it’s usually because of one of two things: Either A) someone manages to best him at wits or glamor and it appears to impress you, or B) someone younger (and hungrier) than he approaches you. The reasons why these are rare occasions, though, are simple. For the first bit, Benoit is mighty smart. He won’t go as far as to consider himself a downright genius, but he’s aware enough to know that his mind thinks a bit more broadly and rapidly than the average person’s. Sometimes, though, the lifestyle he runs brings him to circles where he must interact with great minds. And sometimes, as you are often his companion for certain circumstances, you may meet, say, an Ivy League alumnus who isn’t afraid to kiss you on the hand as a greeting or give you a grand tour of their vast estate while Benoit has to hold interviews. And as for the second bit, Benoit knows and accepts he’s no spring chicken. He also knows he may not be fast and furious in terms of romance, and some younger folk may find that tedious. The worst case is if that Yale graduate with the big fancy mansion is also around your age. But he also knows you. In the end, any insecurities he might have about his lifestyle or age are squashed because he knows you’re not the sort to just grab onto anyone just because they’re rich, shiny, and new. You’re honest and know what you do and don’t want, and he also knows that even if you’re having internal battles with your thoughts and feelings, you eventually come out with them. That’s how he knows you thought that one heir to the Havington Spa empire was a bit of a pompous douchebag, or why you were bored listening to that one poet who many saw as a prospective Nobel Prize winnter. You try not to get jealous yourself. Maybe you put him on a pedestal, but you certainly see a lot of value and endearment in the likes of Benoit: He’s smart, handsome, understanding, kind . . . Maybe a bit ambitious and odd, but nothing too terrible. He was, without a doubt, one of your favorite people to be around. But sometimes, you worried if he could potentially be another’s favorite as well. There had been the occasional case where his gentleman charm appealed to a woman involved, usually suspects but occasionally they were just vaguely related the the situation and decided to throw their two cents in, if only to have more of a chance to be around Benoit. You couldn’t tell if maybe you were reading too into it, or if Benoit was ignoring them or even flat out oblivious to their efforts, but come on: There’s only so much ignoring a man can do when a lady has her bust pressed up against his arm! But what really drove you nuts was whenever she’d initiate banter with him. One of the best ways to the detective’s heart was wit. And sometimes, to your dismay, these cases would include women who could make hogwash sound like Shakespeare. And that they made it look so easy drove you insane! But luckily, that was about as far as the women would get: The best way to Benoit’s heart was embracing the unusual, which was startling against the backdrop of a prim and proper gentleman they assumed him to be. They’d quirk a brow when he found himself making odd little rhymes, stand by awkwardly as he monologued to himself, and assume he was joking whenever they came upon him singing showtunes or making references to musicals. You, however, responded accordingly: You’d echo his limericks to feel them for yourself, listen and take notes of his allegories so you could contribute your own thoughts, and joined in on whatever song he brought up. In the end, you needn’t really be jealous because he’s already made up his mind: You’re his favorite person. And there isn’t a pair of doe eyes and a thesaurus mouth that’s going to change it. But still: You’d rather not take that risk!

I got carried away in some areas I think . . . But hopefully it turned out okay!

Character Ship Headcanons

#benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc #benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc imagines #regrettablewritings #character ship headcanons #character ship meme #it has occurred to me i have a tendency of switching tenses...#hm...don't like that much #but i also don't like having to go back and fix everything...

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a-stitch-in-time-and-space · 5 years

Text

Queers in Space (DS9 Edition) Part 1 (Seasons 1-midway season 5)

Continuation to Queers in Space (TNG)

Benjamin Sisko: Similar to Picard's Captain-Gender, Sisko is Dad (some characters, like Julian, might occasionally look at him and think Daddy, mainly when he's being Righteous). He’s very caught up in caring about everything and is just happy he’s got such a large family (although he wishes there were more babies he could dote on). What he otherwise really loves is getting pegged by beautiful women.

Kasidy Yates: Speaking of women who peg... She uses she/her pronouns and “woman” but her relationship to gender is like... not relevant. Not needed. Whatever. Call me whatever and I'll respond to it. And she's pan. She's been in space for long enough to have realised that attraction is attraction. Chaotic bench, I love her.

Jake Sisko: he's a burgeoning bisexual, Byron is his literary inspiration and he's the only man on DS9 who's pretty consistently half-well-dressed (you cannot change my mind about this). He and Nog have tested kissing. Mayhaps they may try out more in future.

Kira Nerys: Her lesbianism was so powerful that she was barely allowed to interact with other women (mirror!Kira may have been a bad bisexual trope, but she was also far closer to the truth). Not just a lesbian, but stompin' about in her butch boots and padded shoulders for the first half of the series, damn! All those guys she keeps dating are her beards.

Jadzia Dax: Omnisexual, poly, genderqueer babe - the poly part is why I cannot fully ship her with Worf, even though I love that she’s with a partner she can spar with (in ahem multiple ways). The whole point of trill is to experience life to the fullest and Jadzia takes that brief very seriously (that is canon!). At heart she's also very romantic. The fact that she and Nerys don't seem to have any storylines together is homophobia.

Julian Bashir: Trans, queer, dork. He canonically comes aboard knowing nothing about himself or the universe, he's just here to learn and have a good time and be an idealistic hero and accidentally fall in love with both his best friend and a lizard spyman and we're here cheering that wonderful foot-fetishist on like proud parents (Benjamin has literally sat him down to give him his blessing, but also express his confusion about his tastes).

Elim Garak: Blessed by the mouth of Andy Robinson himself, omnisexual and into Julian and down to clown and generally just a chaotic energy of fun and murder and sex, in whatever order. I read a thing about Cardassians choosing gender through specific make-up and the blue mark on the forehead, and they're all intersex and honestly Yes This! Garak opted out. He dresses like the genderqueer slut icon he is.

Miles O'Brien: I could go 50 different places with him. At first I wrote him off as a straight cis guy, but then as DS9 went on I became less sure... for one, there's Julian and the poly marriage with Keiko and Nerys. For two... it'd be fun if he were gendershrug. “I'm an engineer, I haven't got time to think about that” - does this open up the possibility that in the future all humans choose their own gender? I mean, the federation is supposed to be a form of minor utopia, so yes, and Miles just never got around to it and never will.

Keiko O'Brien: My poly, pan queen. I didn't see her and Nerys coming at aaaall and may I just say I am thrilled. It's what she deserves. She has two hands and a large heart (and a large bed too). She's a lady, but by now I've entirely decided that cis just doesn't exist at that point in the future. Gender is A Choice and she liked the sound of woman and like with everything else she liked the sound of, she grabbed it with both hands and went “mine” (she did that with Miles and Nerys as well).

Worf (Part 2): Ds9 is when Worf got more interesting to me. He was fine on TNG, but here, my word. Both the worst and the best. Okay, yes, he's very monogamous, I will relent. But also he's got a much bigger bi energy going for him, which I celebrate. On that note, if Garak isn't his type, what kinda person is? I'm assuming he's just not into Cardassians as a rule, because of their culture-biases. He likes a partner who'll punch him in the face before propositioning with all their cards on the table. What he needs is to get pegged.

Odo: Ace and aro. He’s full of love. In order to mimic “solids” he tries to make sense of his emotions from their perspectives and so comes to the conclusion that he definitely isn’t allowed to love Quark and definitely ought to be in romantic love with Nerys, but once he understands himself better, he doesn’t feel such a need to limit himself. He has unlimited hands you guys!!!! (sometimes he has no hands, but that doesn’t limit him either). He’s tried out various body shapes, and he likes the sound of “man.” He can’t place his finger on why, and honestly he doesn’t have to. It’s his identity. Hope he realises how loved he is.

Quark: He thought he was your average straight man on the station, but ds9 has a way of bringing out your true colours and it turns out he’s in love with an occasional bucket of goo. He expresses this by snarking at aforementioned goo-man. This isn’t even me, this is just... canon facts. Ferengi have strong binary genders. Quark is a man, but he’s later not-so-secretly sympathetic towards people who veer away from binary gender, such as...

Rom: Is “not having the lobes for business” code for being trans-femme? Kinda feeling it is. In a way it’s harder to be trans-masc, simply because afab people in Ferengi culture have a much harder time escaping the home planet in order to explore themselves, and Rom will eventually launch a campaign for equality for trans Ferengi (what is “trans” in Ferengi?) Also he’s more ace than he realises. He has urges (that one episode... definitely proved that), but they’re not directed at anyone. He likes being loved. Surprisingly sex doesn’t play as big a role in that as he might’ve thought it would.

Nog: "Doesn’t have the lobes for business” but is kinda chill about gender. Probably due to having grown up amongst other humanoids. Especially come starfleet academy he fully embraces gender and sexuality definitions as being “eh” to him. It’s not his interest, so he doesn’t define it. That being said, he’s also somewhere along the bi/pan spectrum.

Leeta: Pan-ace. She likes a certain amount of attention, and she has strong sensual attraction and she doesn’t mind sex, but as long as she’s loving and loved, she’s happy. After dumping Julian (like they both deserve), she gets a bunch of sugar-parents, who pay her school for her. It’s like hunger games out there, with how every one of them tries to impress her the most. She likes the attention and she loves studying, she can do it all. Be a bombshell and a smart cookie.

Gul Dukat: His gender and sexuality are “idiot clown-man.”

#ds9 #benjamin sisko #kira nerys #julian bashir #jadzia dax #elim garak #jake sisko #kasidy yates #miles o'brien #keiko o'brien #quark #odo #nog #gul dukat #worf #I haven't watched all of it but I couldn't wait #writing

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