#and also because he doesn’t care too much and would rather construct ugly house and train models

[wolfythewitch]

dude dude dude! imagine some vampire thinking tommy is easy target because he looks like a teen and trying to kill him when he is separated from his brothers (lets say at a ball because is illegal to make something with vampires and not involve a dance or ball) so they try to sneak on him to stab him in the back with a stake and before they are done winding up their throat has been completely slashed and by time they fall to the ground tommy has already walked away more worried about keeping his suit clean and whiping the blood of his claws

ABSOLUTELY

Tommy is actually op fighting him would not be legally advised

[thetargaryenbride]

A break [Levi x Fem!Reader]

Requested by: @emmaandemmal  Hi, I love your works! Can I request one where Levi and his fem s/o have been a couple since before they were captured by the scouts in the underground? After the deaths of Isabel and Farlan, the reader tries to convince Levi to leave the scouts with her to go and live together in a safer place, but he refuses saying that he believes in Erwin's vision of the scouts and the two begin to fight badly. The reader eventually stays in the scouts because she doesn't want to leave without him, but the relationship between Levi and the reader is getting colder and more detached. The reader begins to think that Levi is no longer interested in her after noticing his growing friendship with Petra and she decides to leave the scouts thinking it's the best decision for her and for Levi. When Levi finds out, he tries to find her, but without success. Only a few years later, he catches a glimpse of her in the crowd after the scouts have returned from an expedition and he follows her. Once they arrive at the reader's house, she and Levi make up and the reader claims that she has been selfish in the past and that she would like to return to the scouts to fight against the titans and to claim the deaths of Isabel and Farlan. Eventually the reader and Levi resume their relationship and Levi promises her that nothing would separate them again. I'm really sorry that it's so long, if you consider this idea feel free to modify it as you wish. Sorry for my English too... it’s not very good. Thank you so much, you're one of the best Levi writers I know! ❤️

I’m sorry for the delay, dear. I was struggling with a mini writer’s block and was focusing more on art but I’m slowly getting back on track! Thank you so much for the request and thank you for your kind words. This really means a lot to me! As far as modifying goes, the only thing I modified is the timeskip. Instead of a few years, I made it one year. I hope you don’t mind ^^

Words: 4.5K

Warnings: Very Brief mention of suicide, prostitution and self-harm

Hope you like it  ❤️ Feedback is deeply appreciated! ^^

Also, if Levi seems OOC, please feel free to correct me~ I accept constructive criticism ^^  

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

You were arguing.

You never argued.

But the situation that had befallen you made you feel all sort of ways and neither of you knew how to express those emotions, that stress, which is why it had slowly turned into a fight.

“You shouldn’t have agreed! We have no idea how the world above works! We’re going to fuck up, Levi,” you raised your voice, hands clenching into fists by your sides, levels of anger rising at Levi’s indifference at the situation. You knew that it was only a façade and that deep down Levi wasn’t indifferent. You knew he was probably worried just as much as you were. But right now you were so scared and you wanted him to just show some more emotion, fight back, shower you with words of reassurance, hug you…anything…not just stand with crossed arms, staring at you.

“So what, I should’ve let the bushy eyebrowed bastard send us in prison?” he raised an eyebrow as if challenging you to give him a good reason for your big distaste of joining the Survey Corpse. He couldn’t understand why you had exploded like that when he had agreed. It was the perfect opportunity for the fulfillment of your mission…Not that you had been very accepting of the mission either. Your paranoia and distrust always clawed at you, many a time ripping any semblance of reason and logic. But he couldn’t’ exactly blame you. He was similar in a way. He supposed that this is what living in the Underground did to you.

Living?

No. More like struggling, digging in the mud, to survive.

And the two of you had been doing this since you were kids.  

“I’d rather rot in a prison cell than a titan’s stomach. And since when do you trust nobles anyways? It’s mostly because of them that we all fester here in this dump,” you spat out and he pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a sigh.

“If you are so against this mission, why are you even joining?” he shot back and you choked on whatever words you had the intention of spilling.

You took a deep breath as you slumped next to him on the couch, body completely slacking in defeat as your anger simmered down a bit.

“Do you even have to ask me that?” you muttered as you stared at the ceiling, the hands in your lap fiddling with your fingers. “It’s because I would never turn my back on my family…on you,” you murmured as you straightened up and turned to face him. “Even if it’s the stupidest decision which would probably result in something shitty, I’ll still stick with you. You are all I have…I love you,” you timidly uttered the last words, casting your eyes downwards as a slight blush spread over your cheeks. The man sighed before his hands went to grab yours, successfully stopping your fiddling and wringing, squeezing them reassuringly.

“Look at me,” he ushered you gently yet firmly and you lifted your head, locking eyes with his. “We’ll be fine.”

You let out another sigh before you leaned, letting his arms encircle your form as he rested his chin on the top of your head.

“I pray that you’re right,” you whispered and just when you thought you could have a moment of peace, Farlan entered the room with a constipated expression. You couldn’t blame him. You were all beaten and battered by the soldiers and your ego was bruised, even though you let them capture you. And now they were all standing in your home or surrounding it while you packed the little of your belongings, breathing down your neck.

It was suffocating.  

“We’ve packed everything. It’s time to go.”

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

You wanted to blame him.

You wanted to tell him – “I told you so.”

But that wouldn’t bring back Farlan and Isabel.

It wouldn’t stitch back their ripped bodies.

They were gone and the only thing you could blame was this world.

Because it was so cruel.

And the only beauty you found in it was your love for Levi and his love for you.

He had no fault. Nobody knew that things would turn out like this. That fate would decide to cackle in your faces.

The two of you stuck together like glue more than ever after that day. You even went as far as to disregard rules as you would sneak into the men’s barracks just to sleep with him because he was the only one who managed to chase away the nightmares and wipe your tears. And you knew, even without him saying it directly, that you were the only one who could comfort him when he was feeling the burden of the world crushing his shoulders. And Farlan and Isabel’s deaths really did feel like the whole world just crumbled on top of you two. The only difference was that you were more prone to emotions and didn’t find such a difficulty at expressing them unlike Levi who preferred to bottle everything inside, feign indifference and coldness and find toxic coping mechanisms like not sleeping which as time passed shaped into the ugly form of his insomnia, despite all the scolding you’ve done.

Time passed. The first weeks after Isabel and Farlan’s deaths, you had been inseparable. But that slowly began to change after the date of the next expedition was announced. Your paranoia spiked up one night after you had tried suppressing it for days and that resulted in a breakdown.

You wanted out.

You wanted to leave the Scouts.

You had even gone as far as to talk to Erwin and the Commander, literally begging them to help you with the citizenship matters and let you and Levi leave. But of course, they refused and Erwin even went to speak to Levi about this, not knowing that the man had no idea about your plans and wishes.

Levi was angry that you did something like that behind his back. He understood your fear. He understood very well because he was afraid too. He was afraid that he was going to lose you too – the only person he had left. But he didn’t appreciate that you hadn’t been straightforward with him regarding such a serious matter, only revealing everything you have done and felt at the heat of the moment.

“I’ve been dreaming about this since I was a little girl, hiding in the wardrobe, listening how man after man would use my mother every night. Dreaming about a life, safely tucked in the corner of the world, surrounded by beautiful nature, peace and quiet, alongside my beloved person... Is it so bad that I want this for us?” you had asked with trembling voice and Levi’s expression had softened, a sign that he had forgiven you for everything and that he didn’t want to argue anymore.

“As much as I want that too, we can’t have it when the titans are roaming everywhere, threatening to wipe out Humanity. If we don’t destroy them now, we are only delaying our doom,” he muttered as his hand went to softly caress your cheek, making you sigh as you leaned into his touch. “But that man, Erwin Smith, sees something that I don’t. He has a plan to save humanity and… he sees victory… That’s why I want to stay in the Survey Corps and fight,” he admitted and at that moment, you found yourself captured by that determination burning in his eyes.

His desire to fight for a better future.

Not only for the sake of you two, but for the sake of thousands of people.

And while you weren’t completely sure yet that you were ready to sacrifice your happiness and life for a bunch of people you didn’t know or care about, you knew that you were ready to sacrifice anything and everything for him.

And that’s why you stayed.

And he knew that. He knew you better than you knew yourself. But he chose not to call you out for this. Because he understood how you felt. He didn’t belittle you. He didn’t call you selfish or insensitive or a bad person just because you didn’t want to care about anyone else but him. What does selfish, insensitive or bad even mean? They are just vague concepts that are different from every person’s point of view.

And as more time passed, after every expedition, he could see why you wanted to leave. He could see why you didn’t want to fight. Every expedition, every death, left an impact on you, stealing bit by bit from your sunny personality and shaping you into a depressed, miserable person.

Even if you claimed that you didn’t care about strangers dying, deep, deep down, he knew you did. It was just the person you were, trying to convince yourself that you didn’t care about anyone but him in order to protect yourself. But on a deeper level you still cared and you were still affected and he knew that you hated feeling like this – it brought only chaos, confusion and misery to your mind and soul as you desperately tried to live up to your own expectations and build walls around yourself only for every brick to be broken as a comrade would send you a smile or compliment you or help you out with something. And after every expedition, he would gain a better understanding as to why you wanted to be selfish and leave. Why you wanted – why you tried forcing yourself – to stop caring about anything and everyone and run away with him – the one and only person who – you tried to convince yourself – mattered.

And he didn’t know why he couldn’t follow you. On many occasions, he felt the same. But somehow, for some reason, he would always find a way back to Erwin – back to the goal they shared for humanity. He didn’t know where that sudden loyalty for the blonde had come from – the same blonde who more or less had been the reason as to why Farlan and Isabel had died. But it was exactly this loyal bond that had formed between them that prevented Levi from following you and he hated himself for it because he could see how this life of soldiers was destroying you from the inside out and there were moments when he would lay at night and dark thoughts would cross his mind – of your body hanging from somewhere or him finding you drowned or with sliced wrists or a bullet stuck in the head.

It wasn’t uncommon for soldiers to turn to self-harm as a coping mechanism and some even committed suicide.

The fight against the titans wasn’t something to be underestimated and it left an irreparable damage on everyone.

And he could see you were heading that way and he hated himself for not being able to put a stop to this and just grab your hand and run away from everything – as you wanted.

That’s why he decided to distance himself from you. He thought that maybe if he started ignoring you, if he was being cold and distant, it would put a rift in your relationship. It would make you think that he didn’t love you anymore. That you were a painful reminder of the past. And once your bond was severed, nothing would be holding you back. Nothing would stop you from leaving. Because he was the only thing, the only reason, as to why you were still sticking around. And then maybe you would finally be able to find the peace and quiet you had been seeking for ages.

His conversations with you became shorter. His answers – curt. His affection and acts of service decreased. It had brought you to tears, thinking that you had done something wrong and it tore him apart when he caught you crying one night. But it was for your own good so he had to grit his teeth and bear with it never mind how much it hurt that he was causing you this suffering.

Him being promoted to a Captain helped a lot. Now he didn’t need to find reasons or excuses to not spend time with you because he was genuinely so busy all the time. The stress was making him snappy too so he tried avoiding conversations altogether, not wanting to actually say something hurtful because then he would feel even more pain and regret and that would have his resolve crumble and he would go back to being loving and affectionate which was far, far from the goal he had.

Then Oluo and Petra had entered the picture – two members fresh into the Survey Corps, graduated from the same trainee squad with incredible talent and promising skills. He had taken them into his squad but he didn’t know that this would be the final straw to put such a rift in your relationship.  

It was true that Petra was a bit clingy. Her infatuation, devotion and loyalty to him were obvious. But he thought it was a childish, fleeting crush which is why he didn’t find it necessary to confront her about it. He thought it would disappear over time, especially with how both she and Oluo seemed like an old married couple more and more with each passing day. He didn’t want to push away the members of his own squad. He wanted to embrace them. To embrace their friendship. On a subconscious level, he was trying to fill the gaps left behind from the people he lost. The gaps oozing loneliness and pain. The gaps you couldn’t fill because he wasn’t allowing you to in his haste to push you away.

And when one day he went to have lunch with Erwin, as the two needed to discuss important matters in his office, he wasn’t expecting the blonde to deliver such mortifying news to him.

“Look, Levi…I’m sorry to say this but… Y/N left the Survey Corps,” told him the Commander with a sombre tone and Levi felt his entire world shift.

Suddenly, regret flooded him, chilling him to the very last atom.

Erwin saw each and every emotion flashing in his eyes. And even if he wanted to remind his friend of the words he had told him years ago, he couldn’t.

Because there were things in this life that were impossible not to regret.

Like losing a loved one because of your or their own demons.

It was one thing to lose a loved one to death. And completely another to lose them because of your decision.

Levi didn’t utter a word, pressing his lips in a thin line as he swiftly stood up and turned on his heel, leaving the office with ebony bangs covering his eyes, shielding him from his friend’s look of pity and compassion.

He needed to think.

He needed time.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

You don’t realize how much someone or something means to you until you lose them.

No, that’s not exactly it.

Levi cherished you a lot. Levi loved you a lot. You meant the world to him. That’s why he wanted you to leave. He wanted you to find peace. He wanted you to live a good life away from that misery and bloodshed.

Even if it killed him on the inside.

Because if you truly love someone, you would let them go if it was for the sake of their happiness.

But now that he’s finally gone and done it. Now that he not only pushed you away as a lover but pushed you away from his life altogether, he felt lost.

He felt lost and miserable.

As if life was drained from any sound and colour, leaving him to float in some abyss, soaking in his own negative feelings.

The sorrow, the pain, the dread, the loneliness.

If he had to list them all, he would waste all of Erwin’s expensive parchment.

And as he laid there in his bed, after thinking and reflecting on everything for hours on end, staring at the ceiling with an empty bottle of alcohol shattered into pieces against the opposite wall – alcohol that barely got him tipsy – he realized that maybe he wanted to be selfish too. That, combined with the regrets of pushing you away, burned at his soul, melting any doubts he had, like a blacksmith melting steel, and solidified his resolve to find you and bring you back, like a new sword being forged.

So next day after he had gotten all his emotions, thoughts and feelings in check and after he had taken a decision, he approached Erwin and asked for your location.

He was unpleased when his friend told him that he had no idea where you went off to. Part of Levi wanted to be angry and yell at him. Accuse him of lying. But he was so tired after the emotional and mental battle he had wielded that he just gave up on his anger and frustration and decided that instead of letting such negative emotions rule over him, he would brush them aside instead and pave way for that same scorching determination he had for the Survey Corpse’s cause, now combining it with the determination of finding you.

And he didn’t stop.

Once he started, he didn’t stop.

He would visit every town, every village, whenever he was free from his duty.

He never stopped looking for you.

It took him roughly a year to scout most of Wall Rose’s lands.

But it was during one fateful evening, after the Scouts were returning from an expedition, when he spotted you.

The sun had just set, allowing the sky to be painted in purples and blues with shimmering stars being sprinkled onto the canvas. The street lanterns shone brightly and the comforting light spewing from them had illuminated a very familiar form.

A form that Levi knew like the lines of his own palm.

He hadn’t wasted time to jump from his black mare and chase after you. He didn’t want to approach and confront you right away so he just settled for walking at a slow pace behind you, trying his best to not be noticed or come off as some creep.

He seriously couldn’t believe his luck.

Knowing your thought pattern, he believed that you had run away somewhere far. Back in the days when you lived in the Underground, whenever you had arguments – which was very rare – you would always run away from home and hide somewhere far, knowing that it would be hard for him to find you and nearly giving him heart attacks because of it. But this time you had decided to hide right under his nose – near Trost district which was not far away from the SC HQ.

He counted himself outsmarted and he didn’t know whether to be annoyed by this or proud of you.    

You looked radiant even in the dusk. The cream dress you were wearing made you look like a vision, glowing in the dark. It reached a bit past your knees, revealing some of your calves while the upper part left your collarbones in the open. He longed to run his fingers over your skin. Through your hair. To touch you. To feel you. To hold you. To tell you what an idiot he was. How he wanted you back in his life because he couldn’t exist without you by his side.

To apologize.

“Are you going to keep following me or are you going to help me carry the basket?” your voice interrupted his train of thought and he cursed lightly under his breath. You chuckled and stopped in your tracks, turning around ever so slightly, eyes finally landing on the person you were so anxious to see again but didn’t have the courage to approach.

He wordlessly took the basket from your hands and began walking next to you.

All the way to your house you stayed silent.

He didn’t even comment when you exited the District and neared the woods, only lifting an eyebrow.

Your shoes and his boots clinked against the cobblestone pathway, the little door of the wooded fence creaking under your touch as you pushed it. His eyes scanned the yard, taking notice of the freely roaming chicken, a few lambs, one cow and one horse – your horse from the Survey Corps. He could vaguely make out a garden peeking from behind the house so he supposed you also had a backyard where you were growing your food. He almost flinched when a huge dog – almost as big as you and him – came running in your direction, demanding head pats which you gladly gave.

Levi was impatient. He wanted to enter the damn house already and talk. But at the same time, a part of him was happy about the delay. He almost gulped nervously at the thought of the following confrontation.

Almost.

At last, you unlocked the front door and the two took off your shoes, putting on slippers, and moved into the house. You took the basket from his hands and placed it on the kitchen counter before you grabbed a rag to wipe the table and beckoned the man to sit down. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, taking a step towards the chair before halting, looking at you rigidly, and resuming his journey until he was finally sat. You clenched and unclenched the rag before you threw it away and sat across him, fingers now playing with the soft fabric of your dress. You looked at the ground and he looked at your feet, noticing your toes curling and uncurling from nerves even through the slippers.  

“I-“

“Levi-“

You both said at the same time and you chuckled lightly at the cliché situation.

“You first,” uttered the man and you gulped, sending him a wobbly smile.

“I want to apologize-“ you took a short pause and an intake of air when you saw his eyes widening as his features twisted in a dumbstruck expression as if he was unable to process why you were apologizing. “-for leaving so suddenly without uttering a word. It was…childish,” you quieted down and he closed his eyes, sighing deeply. “You were walking further and further away from me, getting extra busy with being a Captain and…and then Petra came into the picture,” you muttered but were fast to wave your hands in defence, “Not that I ever doubted your loyalty! My trust in you would never waver but…I just thought that maybe we both needed a break. We needed to breathe and clear our heads and start thinking properly. That’s why I decided to leave and give us some space. I never truly intended on leaving the Survey Corps or abandoning you…You mean so much to me…but I’m still sorry that I-“

“Stop,” he rose to his feet and you quickly followed, anticipation and fear at his next possible words, building up inside of you, making you feel like burning. “You don’t have to apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

That calmed you down a bit, the fear leaving your mind, but instead, worry settled as you looked at the way he lowered his head and bit his lip.

“I acted wrongly…I was foolish by thinking that pushing you away would bring you the freedom and happiness you sought,” he muttered and your face softened. “I just,” he sighed as his trembling hand went through his hair in an attempt to ground himself. “I just saw how impacted you would get after every expedition…how you started losing that glow of yours, your bubbly and sunny persona…I saw how hard you were trying to force yourself to stop caring, to be selfish and leave, but you still couldn’t because…because you’re not like that… damnit,” he grit out as he tugged on a few strands before letting his hand fall and rest against his hip limply.

He kicked himself inwardly. He was never good at expressing himself. The moment he had seen you in the crowd, the moment he had set a goal to talk to you and sort everything out, he had been reciting in his head and thinking what exactly he was going to tell you and how he was going to explain himself and the reasoning behind his actions.

“I just-“

“-wanted me to be happy…So you thought that by being a dick and pushing me away, you would make me leave so I can find my peace and quiet somewhere far, far away,” you finished for him, deciding to help him out which caused him to halt in his speech and just stare at you, waiting for your next words, the terror of you rejecting him or telling him that you didn’t feel the same anymore felt like a nettle rope around his neck, getting tighter and tighter with each second, suffocating and scathing him. “Listen, while you might have been partially right, you were also wrong. Because even if I do find happiness away from all the bloodshed, it just wouldn’t be the same without you, silly,” you shook your head as you sent him a sad smile. “I’d rather endure all the pain and suffering in the world than be separated from you,” you finally took the courage to close the space between you as you laid your head on his chest, arms slowly sliding around his torso. He didn’t hesitate to return the hug, sharply bringing you closer, if that was possible, and squeezing you so hard you didn’t know whether to groan from pain or chuckle at seeing him express himself so openly and in such a sweet, boyish manner. It kind of brought back memories from the days you lived in the Underground and how he would hug you exactly like that when you would do something stupid that would put you at risk, albeit a bit more awkwardly since back when you were teenagers you both had no idea how to express your love for each other.

“Deep down I knew you were onto something. Because why would you start acting like that so suddenly? It just wasn’t in your style. But at the same time I felt…” he tightened his embrace even more and buried his face in your hair, inhaling your scent and letting it comfort his tortured mind. He had missed you so unbearably much.

“I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” he whispered and you sighed as you ran your hands over his back in a soothing manner.

“I forgive you, Levi…I understand that you did it for my own good. But believe me when I say that I can’t find true freedom or happiness without you by my side,” you placed a kiss on his shoulder before pulling away to look him in the eyes. “Don’t ever leave. Don’t ever try to make me leave. Let’s just stick together through thick and thin as we’ve done since we were kids, ok?” you asked and he nodded, leaning hesitantly. You met his lips halfway and you kissed gently which slowly turned into a passionate, hungry, heated and desperate make out as you tried to feel one another after a whole year of being apart. When you finally broke it off, needing air, you rested your forehead against his and let yourself soak in his presence. He did the same. You just stayed like that, foreheads touching, arms around one another as you swayed ever so slightly.

“Want to help me pack?”

[imasimpforshanks]

Hi there!

I hope you're doing great. Ehm... May I requests Law for either the romantic or the Angst alphabet? I just can't decide that and would like you to choose from it.

I'm really looking forward to your work. Other than that have a nice day/eve. ♡

Fluff Alphabet - Trafalgar Law

a/n: hi there!!! thank you for requesting and for your kind words 💓 I chose the fluff alphabet because our man has suffered enough and I couldn’t handle writing out angst for him 🙃 ANWAYSSSS pls enjoy x

A-Activities (what do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?)

During the little free time he has, Law loves to spend it with you doing anything lowkey. He’s usually pretty exhausted from everything going on, so taking some time to wind down and read a good book with you tucked him next to him reading you’re a book of your own is his ideal way to spend time with you.

That being said, if you are a person who prefers to do something active, Law won’t say no to that (so long as it’s not Luffy level active).

B-Beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?)

Law admires your way of thinking. You always seem to bring a fresh, unique perspective and now he can’t help but ask for your input on everything. This is also what he finds the most beautiful about you. He’s never been one to care that much about what is on the outside. To Law, it’s what is on the inside that counts (who knew law was so cliché;)). Your mind and the way it works is a wonder to behold and Law counts himself very lucky that he is the one that gets to see you in action the most.

C-Comfort (how would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?)

Law takes a very pragmatic approach when it comes to comforting his s/o. He’s a doctor, so its only natural for him to think in this way. He asks you directly what’s wrong and how he could help – it’s the most logical thing to do and the quickest way to ensure you are feeling comforted.

D-Dreams (how do they picture the future with their s/o?)

In the future Law wants to live a simple, quiet life with you. Somewhere secluded and far away from all the noise and chaos of the world. You’ll live in a nice house (nothing too fancy), with a child or two running around acting out their parents’ infamous pirate adventures.

E-Equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or rather passive?)

He tends to take the more dominant role in the relationship. For the sake of your safety and his sanity, he prefers to be the one to take charge with you following his lead. But, he does still value your input in almost all decisions.

F-Fight (would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?)

Your fights tend to be pretty short lived resulting in forgiveness and apologies from both sides relatively quickly. He really doesn’t like to stay mad at you for too long – he’d much rather have you two on the same page.

Most fights are caused by stress and concerns of health and safety, so Law does a lot of eye rolling and using his title as a ‘doctor’ as justification that he knows what he’s doing so you just need to chill – but like I said these fights are very short lived.

G-Gratitude (how grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?)

Before he met you, Law’s life was very dull. Yes, he has his fair share of adventures and fun with his crew, but there was something missing from his life. But then you came along, bringing a little more colour into his life. Instead of being exhausted and tense from dealing with everything alone, you forced your way in and pried him open, allowing him to share his burdens. For that, Law is eternally grateful.

H-Honesty (do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?)

Initially, Law tried to hide quite a lot. He was very selective about the information he shared with you. It’s not that he didn’t trust you, he just struggled to share things with others – his past has made him very closed off. But, before he knew it you managed to weasel your way in, and soon he found himself confiding in you about everything. The only time he ever keeps a secret is if knowing it will jeopardize your safety.

I-Inspiration (did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?)

I touched on this a little bit before, but you were able to teach Law the relief and comfort that comes with trusting and relying on others. Because of you, he was able to learn that its important to not deal with everything on your own.

J-Jealousy (do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?).

It’s not often that Law gets jealous. It’s an ugly emotion, plus he feels no need to be jealous since he trust you with his whole heart. However, if he was to get jealous, he is definitely the quiet jealous type. His fists clench a little tighter, his frown deepens ever so slightly, and he just doesn’t speak. He doesn’t ignore you though, rather he chooses to curt replies until he eventually gets over it or if it’s really bothering him he may bring it up with you.

K-Kisses (are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?).

He is a very inexperienced kisser, not having (or wanting) many romantic relationships in his past. Even so, he’s surprisingly not horrible (but not great either) at kissing. Maybe it has something to do with his deep knowledge and understanding of the way the human body works. Unfortunately, during your first kiss he tried to rely a little too much on his ‘knowledge’ rather than melting in to it. It wasn’t a horrible first kiss, it just felt a little stiff. The desire was there, but it was as if he were afraid to give in to the emotions he was feeling and reading your signals. However, after a little communication and guidance he’s now an expert.

L-Love confession (how would they confess to their s/o?)

It was in the heat of the moment after you had done something completely and utterly stupid, that almost cost you your life. He wasn’t intending on doing it right then and there, in fact he actually had a whole plan of how and when he was going to tell you how he felt. But seeing you lying in the infirmary after having to operate on you was more than he could handle and before he knew it the words just slipped out.

M-Marriage (do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?)

Marriage is indeed something Law wants. You wouldn’t expect it but after you two officially got together, it wasn’t more than a month before Law started thinking about marriage. He knows now isn’t the time for marriage, but it’s definitely in his plans for the next few years or so.

His proposal is going to be low key. The two of you would have to be alone with no other people around – maybe while you two are lying in bed one night, he just pops the question. And as with the proposal, your wedding would also be low key. No big party or ceremony, just you two and the people closest to you (bepo definitely officiates).

N-Nicknames (what do they call their s/o?)

‘Babe’ or your name are his usual choices for when you are around other people. But occasionally when he’s on the verge of falling asleep he’ll let out a yawn followed by a sleepy “babyyyy”.

O-On cloud nine (what are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?)

When Law is in love he tends to keep his cool and collected façade. But on the inside he’s a babbling, nervous mess. He doesn’t do anything particularly out of the ordinary other than making a bit more of an attempt at conversing with you. He loves hearing you talk and rambling on about things you’re passionate about so he does try to find any excuse to talk to you.

P-PDA (are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?)

PDA is something Law isn’t the biggest fan of. He’ll stand next to you and be in close proximity while sharing a few glances, but other than that he won’t engage in PDA. Law considers that sort of thing to be private and intimate so he likes to keep it between the two of you. Occasionally, if you are feeling a little extra needy he may give in to a quick hug or forehead kiss.

Q-Quirk (some random ability they have that is beneficial in a relationship?)

It may not come as that much of a surprise but, Law can make one hell of a cup of coffee (actually any hot drink really). His perfect brew definitely comes in handy.

R-Romance (how romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?)

Oh boy, he is way more romantic than anyone would ever realize. He loves doing little things for you just to see that sweet smile on your face. It makes his heart swell with happiness.

S-Support (are they helping their s/o achieve their goals do they believe in them?)

Rather than being the consistently positive support, Law provides you with constructive criticism and things that can actively help you achieve your goals. He’s a realist, so doesn’t think only saying “you can do it” or “it’s only a minor setback” is the way to go. He still says those things because they are true – Law honestly believes you can do whatever you set your mind to, however, constructive criticism is needed in addition to this.

The key take away here is: YES. Law believes you can achieve all your hopes and dreams.

T-Thrill (do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship or do they prefer certain routine?)

Law needs routine, especially in your relationship. You have continued doing the same things in your relationship since you first got together because it works. Why would he want to change what works? It’s safe, it’s familiar, and it’s comfortable.

That being said, he’s not opposed to the idea of spicing things up. If you ever felt like trying something new (or even if he starts to feel bored about something), he would be open to the idea. Who knows, maybe the new thing you try could even become a part of your routine.

U-Understanding (how good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?)

It’s no surprise that he is very adept at reading people, he’s on to it and has exceptional observation skills. He uses these skills with you as well.

He knows what it’s like to be consumed by emotions (in fact he knows that too well), and while with most, he’s the type to keep his emotions hidden, when it comes to you he shares his emotions to help you realize that he also knows how it feels and that you are not alone.

V-Value (how important is the relationship to them? What is its worth in comparison to other things in their life?).

Your relationship is a top priority in his life. He’s lost everyone he ever cares about (other than his crew) and there is no way he is going to lose you too. The only thing that may potentially rival your relationship is his goal of taking revenge on Doflamingo.

W-Wild card (a random fluff headcanon?)

There’s nothing he loves more than you running your hands through his hair while his head is on your chest or stomach. He automatically leans into your hand every time. He feels the safest in this position.

X-XOXO (Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?)

Like I said before, he is affectionate but it’s mainly when the two of you are alone. Those displays of affection are for the two of you and no one else. But, when the two of you are alone he absolutely loves cuddles (especially lying with his head on your lap or chest).

Y- Yearning (how will they cope when they are missing their partner?)

He gets stressed when you’re not around for more than one reason. Firstly, you can’t help to calm him down and force him to take a breather. Secondly, he’s constantly worried about your safety and wellbeing.

Honestly, the only way he copes with it is by stressing (I know it’s not coping at all but I mean that’s Law for you LMAO).

Z-Zeal (are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind?)

Law would put his life on the line for your relationship. He doesn’t want to lose someone he cares about – not again. He can’t handle that sort of pain, so if it was required of him, he would gladly give his life.

[soyouareandrewdobson]

…the ugly. SYAC: The Master Review 4

Last post I covered much of what I consider the good or passable strips of SYAC of the pre-Dobbear era. What I have admittedly not covered yet, were three certain characters of the strip that exist beside Dobson.

Persistent Pam

 Curmudgeonly Carl

And… this guy I am not even sure has a name.

No, seriously. He shows up in like the 61th strip of the series for the first time and yet I never see his name mentioned once

All I know is that he is an accountant, who pities Dobson (for good reason)

And despite Dobson not liking alcohol, they regularly meet up in a bar as if they are some late 80s comedy duo

Funnily enough, he shows up way before Pam, who would have her premiere in these strips

 And despite only showing up in a few strips after her premiere (mostly to make “fun” of overbearing and snarky commissioners I suppose…)

 She actually managed something no other character or series by Dobson managed to get: A fanclub

 Not that she would really be of any major importance afterwards.

As for Carl, he is supposed to be something like an antagonistic embodiment of Dobson’s “old” art teachers and people being stuck in old ways, who shows up for the following strips forming a sort of arc.

In addition, it is very obvious, that Carl is supposed to be a mockery of people flaming Dobson. Not helped by the fact that THIS character sheet of him made by Dobson assures us, that there were quite a few even less “endorsing” things he wanted to name the character.

Yet funnily enough, Carl turned into such a popular character with readers, Dobson was essentially “forced” to make him reappear in other strips. Not of the “classical” SYAC strips, but he showed up as the “antagonist” to Tenku in the storydriven multi pagers. Though even antagonist is a strong word, as he is essentially more of a jerkish art teacher and college advisor who is harsh on Tenku, but actually has his best interests in mind. To the point he even offers him to be his “harsher” art critic in the years till he enters college, because he wants to see him grow artistically.

 However, Carl was also more of an “accident”. Cause when it came otherwise to tackling criticism or things that irked Dobson (and were not anime related) he would end up more or less creating strips that painted him in a manner where he would supposedly always look like “the better” compared to his opposition or mock it. Which is where a lot of the irk Dobson would earn over the years eventually comes from.

Now to be fair, I do not want to call every comic in that regard “strawmanning”, nor do I want to say that Dobson doesn’t have the right to also mock to a certain extend the mentality of certain “snobs” and so on. For example…

On one hand, I know there are people out there who think they are “special” by having the best tools at their disposal. When in reality you can achieve good results also with less expensive stuff. So mocking that sort of attitude is fine to me to some extend

BUT, when you also make down the line a comic like this…

… essentially making yourself come off as a “better” artist or person than others because you have “chosen” the better mass produced crap (btw, that is coming from someone who types this review on a Mac that runs Windows) , then the hypocrisy ends up to be rather strong with you.

 Which is also essentially the biggest issue with the strips I am about to show. The hypocrisy of Andrew Dobson. And no, I do not mean the tumblr blog by that. I mean the simple fact, that the content of some of the soon to follow strips gets kinda muddled when you take into consideration some of the things real life Dobson had said and done either at the time or in the years to come. Well that and the way how he tries to mock issues people have with his work, not realizing how he is essentially just reassuring those “silly critics” in their opinions while making his flaws more obvious to people that may have been previously unaware of them.

But enough talk, let me just show you in quick succession examples to confirm said point.

Considering Dobson’s longterm disdain for DnD you have to wonder what the joke really is outside of him portraying DnD players as ugly nerds, supposedly too geeky even for him. Which is hilarious in hindsight as he would years later become a fan of TAZ among other things.

Less hypocritical but the set up is kinda flawed. Like, you are obviously at a convention trying to sell stuff. Why would some old dude not interested in “kids crap” be at the convention anyway? Is he just bringing someone there and just wants to go, but first needs time to belittle your life choices?

 Rather hilarious in hindsight to me. Cause for someone claiming he has ideas that last for a life time and who seems rather distraught on the idea of others giving their input, he turned out to be so in need of ideas. Alex ze Pirate e.g. became from 2015 onward only defined by Dobson talking about the sexualities of his characters (and not even in comic as by that point it was discontinued, but rather in tweets and so on). Formera, which ran heavily on cheap shonen anime tropes ended up cancelled after two volumes, Cabin Rest was a failure after 20 strips, 2019 he relied primarily on cheap comics about Miraculous Ladybug and his understanding of certain genres is so bad, he can’t even think up the most basic ideas for a magical girl story.

Weirdly enough, that pitch of a garbage truck driver who fights crime? I think that could make for an enjoyable short story about a vigilante a la the Punisher or Sin-City.

 The way Dobson perceives criticism, while also essentially giving a quick rundown how he appreciated criticism in his childhood way better than in adulthood. Yeah, because criticism by your parents as a kid was always VERY constructive. (looks back at certain drawings from own childhood) brrr. And sorry Dobson, but sometimes criticism by strangers is better than criticism from friends. Cause friends may mince their words. Plus people have over time given you quite some insightful criticism aside “U SUX” when it comes to comics. You were just never willing to listen

Hey Dobson, you hear that? That is the sound of your career, dying and no one caring.

Yeah, I think someone who made such “brilliant” comedy as in these comics, totally has the right not to listen to what seems to be solid theoretical advice.

BTW, that Talus comic… I swear to god the worst “joke” Dobson ever told.

 Wow. You essentially make a point why you suck at drawing. While still not trying to change.

And as someone else once said: Don’t play with fire if you can’t deal with the heat, BLOCK-son!

This is not how I perceived your shit over the years. See, on one hand it is true that Alex ze Pirate e.g. has its own webpage to read the comic for free. HOWEVER most of his comics Dobson would hide from the start behind a paywall. The idea being that he would e.g. put a small reading sample of 10-15 pages up somewhere and then expect people to buy his comic for full price to get the rest. And you know, if you are e.g. a professionally published writer, that is fine. But when your average art output looks like THIS

And you expect people to pay more than 10 dollars for something that is only around 70 pages long while most people can get 200+ pages for the same amount of money that look like this…

 You can frankly go and screw yourself.

On one hand I get that the joke is meant to be, that as an independent content creator you may find yourself in a weird spot where your “child friendly” work may be put in a palace between edgier stuff other creators sell at conventions. On the other hand, I find it rather insulting in hindsight, that self declared feminist Andrew Dobson portrays such competition as either psychopathic murderers or stereotypical cartoon bimbos. If modern day Dobson saw the same strip by any other person, he would be insulted on behalf of the female that she is portrayed as a bimbo, when she could also be a very smart and attractive woman who knows how to tell brave and sexy stories.

Also, I have read your “child friendly” stuff, Dobson. I would call Atea or Alex abusive bitches who like to bully orphans but child friendly? Not to forget that your work is so basic and shallow in depth, it’s like the someone tried to create a chimera out of some of the worst traits associated with Dora the Explorer, 80s toodler cartoons and the Fairly Oddparents.

I frankly hate this theory on comedy. It is true, a lot of comedy can be deprived from conflict, misunderstandings etc. Looney Tunes, Tom and Jerry and other cartoons as well as screwball comedies such as Rat Race can depend on it. Heck, one of my favorite comedians of all time is Christopher Titus, who based his entire career on the misery and absurdity of his life.

But comedy is not just defined by misery and conflict.

There are for example also the following theories when it comes to comedy…

And to get back e.g. to Titus, yes, he has build a lot of his comedy on the bad stuff that happened in his life. But he is also someone who in his comedy has build a lot of punchlines on the absurdity of certain situations he has been in life but which in a way have enriched his life positively.

 What I am trying to say is, comedy (and entertainment in that regard) does not just have to be defined by misery. And all things considered Dobson, you could have really tried to also just make comics wherein either you or your characters are just happy with their situation in life.

For example, this page from an Owl House fancomic?

I think it holds more entertainment value than your “joke” right here, despite not even telling a joke.

Simply because as a page overall, it tries to convey a positive emotion. Which is more than I can say about the strip.

Because of a lack of different level of thickness regarding your lines, which would trick people into perceiving depth, the fact that the fill bucket and shade layers can only do so much to cover for the rather monochromatic dull nature of your comic, the fact that your characters are not really all that complex and look rather simplicstic even compared to stuff from a comic like this…

And that is just coming from the top of my head as someone who never studied art. If any reader has something to add, I am willing to listen

And considering you could in later years never keep up to any release schedule, which among other things resulted in only three SYAC strips in total being released in 2016, I say go fuck yourself. Not to forget that even some of the worst newspaper comic strips out there tend to actually find a decent following and good jokes eventually, otherwise they would not manage to stay popular for years, if not even decades.

As someone who has worked internships a lot in life, I just want to say fuck you in all our names. Glad to see you having just as much respect for interns than any other scumbag on the planet. Probably even less respect, cause you know, in some places interns tend to get paid.

Also, there is supposedly an entire real world story going on about Dobson having worked at his former university at the time the comic came out and Chaz is based on a fellow intern.

Things are unfortunately rather vague in that regard and only hold up by demonstrative evidence such as the name of Chaz showing up in certain pages of the university and Dobson’s internship being mentioned somewhere.

Well, would you look at that: People have different opinions on your stuff.

There are ways to draw memes funny and then there are ways to fail at them

 You failed.

Funnily enough, that comic rings a lot truer to text than you expect. Considering how Dobson would often emulate certain aesthetics in his comics of shows that were rather passee by the time he published his stuff, plus how he will obsess over certain trends and games for years to come (like Skyrim or his Quiet Hate Boner) while also being unaware about current trends (how do you e.g. not have heard of My Hero Academia by 2018 at least once by accident?) Dobson has always been kinda late to the party. Missing the “zeitgeist” of nerd culture and as such never quite finding an audience.

Yeah, what Pam says. Not helped by the fact that yes, the floating eyebrows are real. Look at some earlier sketches or “professionally published” comics by his and you will see that each time characters get excited, their eyebrows will suddenly split into sets of three and float higher than Pennywise’s victims.

Ironically, that fits real life Dobson at the time and later on even more so than this comic version did. Sorry, but what am I supposed to call a person who has an hate boner on anime for years for superfluous reasons, made Danny and Spot a “gaming webcomic” deliberately to piss on non Nintendo fans and has admitted in some by now deleted youtube video, that he kept a list of usernames from an old forum just to remember even years later the people that were mean to him online?

 Fuck both of you. I do not expect the Sixtin Chapel in the background, but something to filll up the empty space behind you is at times needed.

The comic here is actually called politics. … ironic how things changed once a certain reality show host turned president.

Jesus Christ. I am not even that much of a Transformers fan (Prime fan for life however) but even I know that this is not supposed to be what you design the head of a Transformer like. Not even if they ever produce the Transformers equivalent of Teen Titans Go.

Too bad you still can’t stand the heat, otherwise you wouldn’t have completely disappeared last year.

When you know you are in a no win situation, and still manage to choose an even dumber option to escape. I really don’t get it. I just think the Portal reference makes the comic dated and Dobsn’s attempt at a smug face looks so stupid. Like his cheeks are falling in and his mouth is about ready to get raped by a garden hose or something.

Yeah, considering Dobson’s later constant need for safe spaces and to be in control of a situation and the narrative, which led to so many blocks over the years… if you know anything about Dobson, how this comic becomes harsher in hindsight is rather self explanatory. I just want to say one thing: There is a difference between genuine agoraphobia and just wanting to be by yourself. And I think Dobson just prefers the later on average. Which is okay, but humans still need to interact with other human beings in one form or another, even just for the sake of keeping their mental health stable. Why do you think are so many people getting depressed in times of covid lockdowns, despite many having all sorts of technical gimmicks at their disposal to at least keep boredom at bay?

And by putting himself into a bubble like that, I think Dobson has deprived himself of some of the most basic human interaction, which was likely a severe factor in his mental degeneration over the last years.

It is still a valid suggestion! Just draw some cartoon characters or a nice fantasy scenario on a mural and earn yourself some bucks. Just be sure they are not by Disney or the Mouse will tear down the school!

… Just google up the words Andrew Dobson and Samus Aran commission by ED and you will see how this comic just further shows how much Dobson seems to actually be proud of being an unproductive asshole.

 And by the way, I know that any form of artistic work takes time. Just writing these review posts takes a lot of time for me. But that doesn’t change the fact that people should post and create stuff in a timely fashion, especially when there are e.g. deadlines to hold up too. And by the way, Sloth’s don’t have fingers, they have claws!

And that is it.

Sorry if I missed anything folks, but I just saw how many pages in word this is already filling up, so I call quits for this part here right now. I think I made my point about how Dobson trying to badly deflect arguments people may make against his art and work ethics via jokes clear enough, while also showing some posts that are either harsher or hilarious in hindsight.

Next time we will however address one certain issue about our main character, that has been not directly addressed here. In the meantime, have a little fun video that shows hopefully how entertainment and a certain amount of comedy can be gained NOT via misery.

[kyoupann]

Please do more of the writing head canons. It’s really interesting to see other people’s ideas on the topic, so if you can be bothered, I would highly appreciate more, thanks bye <3

Y’all don’t know how happy I am to talk about these headcanons, they are my babies and I love them so much :’) thanks for asking g <3

Handwriting Headcanons

Same dynamic as before, try to guess whose handwriting it is before reading and tell me how many you got right! <3

You can find the first post here (no need to check it tho)

Quick disclaimer: halfway through making my initial notes, I remembered I had one (1) single lesson of graphology in my applied linguistics class, but that was a year ago and some information might be off. I just thought it was neat to include.

Another quick disclaimer: I don’t know much about Hylian, but I like to think it has a similar stroke system to Japanese, so the pressure and accuracy of your strokes play a major role in your handwriting (among other things, ofc.) so there are some parts where I focus more on that

(First Row, from left to right)

Sky

Our first boy is mother hen! Believe it or not, he has the prettiest handwriting out of all of them! Sky: probably has nice, even elegant handwriting because Sun forced him to practice when they were little. In the end, that paid off because his handwriting is the prettiest one. There’s no pressure, but he is confident in what he writes that his lines aren’t thin. Mistakes? what is that? this boy has impeccable grammar and spelling. No mechanic errors to be found in his letters! I’d like to think that many of Hyrule’s classic/staple poems were originally written by the firt king aka sky child. Like, imagine, after a retiring from being a Person of Power (as the first ruler), Sky finds comfort in the arts: revisits his old woodcarvings and starts writing poetry about the world he still doesn’t fully understand. wowie. tldr: sky writes poetry and you can pry it from my cold dead hands.

This is what one of his letters would look like: 

Next one is the one and only, our Hero of Time

2. Time

I’ll die on the “Time didn’t know how to read and write” hill. His handwriting is simple, not pretty but not messy. It has some grammar and spelling mistakes here and there. Can become unreadable if writing in a hurry, he sorts of forgets spaces between words are a thing/letters have different sizes and lowercase letters end up the same size as capital letters. I’m not saying he sometimes forgets to write articles: he just doesn’t want to. Honestly, he just has this dad-neat handwriting. He is a gentle dad and writes like a dad, if he puts too much pressure onto the paper, his handwriting become too sharp/angle-ish and ends up looking ugly. And as much as he would like to not care about it, in the end he does (:

Malon taught him how to write and it was quite the experience. At first he didn’t want to because he was ‘too old’ to learn and it was torture at first, but now look at him devouring his cowboy novels. 

A chunk of his handwriting: 

*sniff* such a dad quote.

3. my mansss, your  4x1 deal at Target: Four

Look, my boy is patient! He could do some nice and fancy lettering if he wanted to. He was taught that handwriting and spelling said a whole lot about him as a person, you know, like a first impression kinda thing; so he always proof reads more than twice before sending ­a letter. Super rare grammar mistakes.

The faster he writes, the more slant his writing becomes. Under stress/ when not sure how to write things down, run-on sentences are everywhere and his handwriting is inconsistent in general (I don’t headcanon each part of him having completely different handwriting because handwriting becomes muscle memory over time. It’s just slightly different variations of the same, like idk  Vio’s handwriting is neater than Green’s and Red writes hearts instead of any dot/circle and no, I do not take constructive criticism on that, jk i do.) Adding on to each of the colours’ handwriting, I’d think Red and Green write with words slanted to the right( inclined), Vio is a mix of the opposite, so reclined and straight, and my mans blue a true neutral writes straight (kinda like Time’s).

The logic behind this is that inclined writing supposedly means honesty and need for giving (and getting) affection; reclined means, as you can probably imagine,  defensiveness and repression of true feelings, but also shows great concentration; straight handwriting means self-control, observation and reflection as well as distrust and indifference. But as complete being (tm), Four just writes as in the image example which is not too straight and not too inclined, and I believe that’s a good middle for him

HOWEVER, if I’m feeling in the mood for crack, I totally accept this boy to have the ugliest, chicken scratches-looking handwriting! :’D It’s just funny to think that someone like him, who has to be precise and careful in his work, can't write neatly to save his life. 

One of his letters would look like this: 

Also I just LOVE how his hero titles look in this font ksksks

and that’s

(Middle row, from left to right)

4.- Mister Bunny Boy - Legend

His uncle taught him how to write. I’d call his handwriting pretty and neat at a first glance, but he presses too hard on the paper, most of the time staining the back or the following page. Sometimes will retrace some words if he doesn’t like how it looks (which only makes it messier). According to my notes, a thick or strong handwriting represents determination/commitment.

As I also headcanon him to know many languages, mechanical errors are more present than grammar ones; that is, weird capitalisation of words. Punctuation is somewhere in between; uses too many commas when he should just cut the sentence. he mixes punctuation from two languages or more in writing when too distracted (or too focused, because, well, pressure.); when he writes for himself, he has almost no problem following said language’s punctuation rules. Also, this is just polyglot culture, and I’m projecting a bit, but when he forgets a word in the language he’s writing, he just replaces it with its equivalent in another language because we don’t care about fluency, but rather functionality. in this household (more on that in my language hc, ksksks).

An example of his writing:

so powerful

4.-  Mr. Wolfman, howl me a song - Twilight

I don’t have much for him because 1) I don’t think he writes a lot and 2) he is a hands-on/visual learner, I’ll die by that. He only learnt how to write because Ulli insisted it was important and he was not about to disrespect his momma; he IS That Guy, but doesn’t really write enough to have neat handwriting.

Many people seem to overlook the fact that his house is filled with books and write him as completely illiterate (which if not explored properly, ends up feeling a bit disrespectful and full of prejudice, but go off I guess; and that’s on my core Headcanons for Twi); however, he sticks to simple sentences. Knowing how to read and understanding a text is different from knowing how to write them. Like, when we would see a semicolon and understand its position in the text, but didn’t understand the nature of it. Is this clear? idk i’m sorry. So yeah, boy reads a lot, writes very little.

As for his Actual Handwriting, as opposed to Legend, his handwriting is thiccc but not because he presses into the paper; he is just that messy, he has no sense of ink-flow-control, he does what he can with what he has. To the untrained eye, his handwriting illegible letters like v, n, u are very similar; when he makes notes for himself he does it in the form of doodles or small ‘icons’. But! He reads a lot, so he rarely makes spelling mistakes (: he is your go-to guy when you don’t know how to write a word.

An example of his writing:

He keeps a journal, sue me.

3. My first born- Warrior

Okay, first off... I accept this is completely biased. I saw the idea and said “That’s True”. If you haven’t, please read Effective Communication; or The Lack of Thereof by htruona, a fic where the boys reflect on the language barriers between them. It’s incredibly funny and probably what made me start making these silly notes. So, if you’ve read that fic, you know where I’m going.

My man, Warrior, can’t fucking write. I mean, he physically can, but it’s very bad. Here’s the reason for it, tho, and it’s not his fault: Technically, he knew how to write alright but he joined the military and whatever note he had to write had to be concise or in the worst case coded. He mixes capital and lowercase letters. If we consider that he joined the military at around 15, his handwriting and grammar had yet to continue developing. Just think about how after summer break, your handwriting was always slightly worse than before because you didn’t write for an entire month. Now think what 2 years can do to that. Hmm, not cool, dude. He makes quick notes, when writing he’s all gotta go fast. he is the lighting mcqueen of writing; good for emergency messages, not ideal for love letters. His punctuation also suffered a lot, he only know full stops and commas and hardly uses them. A sentence for him is either one word or fifty without a single comma, no inbetween.

His hero title and an example of his writing.

(Bottom row, or what I like to call “fuck cursive” row)

7.- Magic man - Hyrule

I’m basic and I do agree with the popular headcanon of he not knowing how to write because well, y’all know his Hyrule. He only knows how to write his name because that’s important, same with numbers. I don’t see why would he write/read except checking the roadsigns. (he can even use this as an excuse for getting lost frequently; he thought it said something different.) But I do think that because his habitual reading consists of roadsigns, his ‘punctuation’ is weird af and places full stops/points/periods at the same level of his words and his commas/question/exclamation marks below them. Yk, creative license. Sadly, I don’t have much about my magic hands man so here’s what his writing would look like if he actually wrote a paragraph:

Man, I love Hyrule.

8.- Man, I don’t understand this boy -  Wild

Cursive? ain’t nobody have the time for that. He woke up and had to save the world in his underwear while not knowing how to read nor write.  He learnt during his journey and was taught by multiple people from different regions, that explains his inconsistent spelling of things and names for them. So Wild knows language variations for many items and uses them interchangeably (even if they aren’t exactly the same). Another headcanon related to writing/language skills that I’ve been thinking about is that if the shrine was able to cause amnesia, I’m sure there were other areas in the brain affected which leads us to language disorders such as agraphia and aphasia. But that’s a story for another day ksksksk

An example of his writing (after relearning)

9.- The best of sons - Wind

I don’t have much for him and that makes me sad. Look, he’s a kid, doing kid things like stabbing dudes on the head. This boy was taught cursive by his grandma, but could never do it and no one needs it anyway. His handwriting is good enough for his pirate life, Tetra is the one to handle Official stuff, he just gotta sign. Spelling and grammar mistakes abound. He is still relatively young and can correct his handwriting if he desires. But same as Wild, with how many times he’s been thrown out and hit his head, I’m starting to consider some language disorder for him as well.

An example of his writing:

aaand that’s it.

Thanks, y’all for showing interest in this silly thing uwu it was fun to finally talk about this. If you ever want to discuss ideas/headcanons(especially if they are related to language and culture), I’m your person (: I’m always happy to hear new headcanons. Feel free to add anything to this post either in a reply or in a reblog, I’d love to hear from y’all <3<3

[livnonstop]

[ CAMILA MENDES | 27 | WOMAN ] OLIVIA DE SOUSA is working at NEW BANGS? you’d think SHE would have it together by now but SHE can be SARCASTIC and GUARDED, which counters how EMPATHETIC and HUMOROUS SHE is. i think SHE wanted to be a FAMOUS ACTRESS when SHE were/was younger, so i don’t know what happened.

name: olivia marisol de sousa nicknames: oli ( although she hates this one to pieces ) liv ( preferred ) birthdate: october 13 age: twenty-seven (27) place of birth: scottsdale arizona family: mother ( marissa de sousa [nee: pereira], father ( tomas de sousa, satan little brother (FIRST NAME DE SOUSA), little sister (FIRST NAME DE SOUSA) gender: cis-female ; she/her pronouns height: 5′2″ ( but in heels she’s a decent 5′5.5″ to 5′6″ ) sexual orientation: bisexual romantic orientation: biromantic diagnoses: high functioning anxiety zodiac: capricorn with insanely too many sag placements in her chart social class: kind of broke? but i mean, getting by. current location: minneapolis occupation: hair stylist

languages spoken.

english, portugese, spanish (conversational and a bit further), italian (conversational), french (a combined possible three sentences thanks to school)

wins / losses.

(+) caring, loyal, empathetic, good listener, humorous, great with advice, kind, loves to laugh, tells decent dad jokes. (-) sarcastic, flirtatious, guarded, doesn’t always speak about her problems or emotions, too giving in a sense, sometimes self deprecating, pessimistic.

fun facts.

- licensed cosmetologist but the bane of her existence has got to be doing highlights because simply, foils bore her and its so many!!!! - fell asleep during her SATs. still got a score of 2140. - in this cruel world of Backstreet Boys vs *NSYNC, she listens to both but is the future Mrs. Timberlake. - wants to live like Lisa Turtle or Kelly Kapowski, but is kind of too broke to do so. - has a small stature but will eat you out of a house and home

bio.

There's only so much a girl like Olivia talks about, or maybe in her case, only so much she doesn't want to talk about.

LIFE BEFORE SCOTTSDALE

Born in Cincinnati, OH to two Brazilian-American parents, the oldest of three kids, Olivia Marisol De Sousa was bought into the world in the dead middle of fall, October 13th. Her big wide eyes instantly made her a daddy's girl. Dad, Tomas De Sousa, was a construction worker while mom, Marissa De Sousa, worked at a hotel as a manager. The two met while in high school and kind of hated each other to the ends of the earth before finding love with each other as they became older adults. Olivia was the result of make up sex after a huge fight. Still, the parents loved her like no other, because she was the reason they worked harder to keep the family together. Two years later, Olivia's little brother was bought into the world, which made Olivia cry.

She wasn't the sole child that were to get all the attention from her parents anymore.

The sibling rivalry was heavy in the first seven years of Olivia's life, she had to one up her little brother, Jeremy, in every way possible. Just when she thought she had the competition won, her little sister was conceived and was due any time now. Olivia and her little brother, once sworn sibling enemies (yeah okay, drastic much Liv?) became allies. It was short lived once all the kids lived together harmoniously.

They had no other choice but to since life was about to change.

Olivia was twelve when she heard her mother scream at her father. "Maybe if you learned how to keep you dick in your pants and out of other whores' vaginas, you wouldn't have gotten caught and try to blame me for you being the piece of shit you re right now!" The screaming went on forever it felt, followed by a slam of the door and huffing. On one side, she heard her mother sobbing, the other she heard her father's footsteps pace around the house. Olivia couldn't do much, her younger siblings were crying and her being the responsible sister had to protect them because over the course of time, family became important.

Olivia also decided to take out her iPad she had gotten the year before and go incognito to google everything she heard from her parents. It led her to a discovery of naked figures, moaning, pleasure. How could her father be yelled at if it looked like it was such a good thing? Then she realized he wasn't doing this with mom, but with other women. That's when her heart broke for her mother even more.

At age thirteen, Olivia wasn't like the other girls in her class. She wore glasses because her eyesight was shit, baggy clothes because she still hadn't developed. Her hair was a frizzy mess, god she was a mess. Still, she craved to be touched like the girls she often watched at night with headphones on. Other girls in her class had been kissed, guys she hung around boasted about touching boobs and getting hard and she wished she had a guy to compliment about her. Still, the self-proclaimed ugly duckling didn't realize the best and the worst was about to come.

That summer, when she finally got boobs, her parents filed for divorce. Tomas was seeing some girl and Marissa was planning to move with the kids far, far away.

LIFE IN SCOTTSDALE

Marissa, Olivia and her younger siblings all moved to Scottsdale, AZ in August of 1985. The family started over on the west coast which bothered the children more than Marissa. Marissa easily found a job at another hotel as a manager and made more money than when they were in Ohio. That's when Olivia decided to make changes to herself.

Once the young girl started high school, her whole outlook on life and how she looked changed. She started wearing makeup and better fitting clothes, her feet always in heeled shoes for added height, glasses no longer a thing for her since she wore contact lenses. Olivia De Sousa from Ohio didn't exist in this world, oh no. Once people began to comment on how pretty her skin was or how amazing her hair looked, things and who she used to be didn't exist.

Her first boyfriend was also her first hookup, named Darren Price. She was fifteen and he just turned seventeen. They were short lived, which didn't bother Liv at all. She was young, she was beautiful. This was just the tip of iceberg for her; the world is her oyster and she was a pretty shiny pearl.

That same year she dated a girl named Irene, who was the really pretty girl (almost as pretty as she was if you asked Olivia) and it was her first time with a female. It certainly wouldn't be the last in her lifetime. The two girls were a whirlwind of fun and secret hookups in places they should definitely have been arrested in but again, short lived.

When Olivia became a junior in high school, the beautiful Brazilian found herself in a taboo relationship; she was hooking up with her history teacher, Mr. Garland. He was a rather young teacher, one with a wandering eye on the girl toward the back of his class with a pen resting on her lips, bedroom eyes and always showing a bit more skin to make him think of it all in the shower when he got home. Mr. Garland was also married, which made everything even more taboo. Still, Olivia thrived off the relationship, the sex was great, he was smart, she was intelligent and hot. It was a Lifetime movie waiting to happen. The affair went on until Olivia graduated from high school.

Because high school things need to be left behind in just that, high school.

Olivia found herself repeating the same old habits once she entered college. The young girl began attending University of Nevada in Reno the summer of 1991 studying Film and Drama when she met Professor Alexander. Again, old habits die hard. Olivia found herself in another illicit affair with a teacher of hers. Unlike her affair with Mr. Garland, Olivia quickly grew bored and ended the affair after a semester and a half. After graduating with a degree, she decided to take up cosmetology and move to Minneapolis. Of all places.

After that, she's mainly just having a bunch of flings, one night stands, short unimportant relationships and focused on her job.

[the-captains-ayebrows]

Deck the Halls - CSSS 2K19

Getting in just under the wire (it’s still Christmas in my time zone anyway!), but here I am with a fluffy little enemies-to-lovers (ish) one-shot for the amazing and delightful @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ It sounded like you had a rough start to your holidays, dear, but I hope your Christmas has been the merriest! I’m a bit rusty at this writing business, but I do hope you enjoy your gift. 

Rated: G; Word Count: ~2700

~~~~~CSSS2K19~~~~~

“He made cookies, Mary Margaret. Homemade. From scratch. How could I possibly not hate him?”  

Emma glared across the teacher’s lounge at the man in question. Killian Jones. Music teacher, expert classroom decorator and apparently on the short list for the next Great British Bake-off. As she looked back to her best friend for moral support, it occurred to Emma that she’d never before realized a person could sip tea sarcastically.

“You’re right,” Mary Margaret replied. “I mean what next? Caroling through the corridors? Oh wait! He already did that with my Kindergartners, didn’t he?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the reminder.” Yes, Killian Jones had in fact led the Storybrooke Prep kindergartners singing merrily through the halls. And yes, it had been absolutely freaking adorable. 

She dunked an admittedly delicious homemade gingerbread man into her coffee, then bit its head off. “I don’t see why he has to be such a show off. It’s not like he can actually win the contest. He doesn’t have his own class, you know? Not really.”

“Maybe he’s just really into Christmas?” Mary Margaret shrugged. “Honestly, I think you may be taking this whole ‘Deck the Halls’ contest a bit too seriously.” 

“Says last year’s winner.”

“Or maybe there’s more to your fixation on Mr. Jones than just this contest?”

“Don’t start. It’s only about the contest. I wanna know what his evil plan is, that’s all.”

Ah, the annual Deck the Halls contest. Every homeroom teacher at Storybrooke was enthusiastically encouraged by the school principal to decorate their classroom door and hallway in festive winter style. The winning teacher’s class got some kind of prize, usually a special field trip. This year, students would be treated to a Polar Express themed ride on Storybrooke’s fully restored historic steam train. The kids could wear their pajamas and drink hot chocolate while they watched the snowy town pass by, and at the end of the ride, they’d get a chance to meet “Santa”. Emma’s fifth graders all seemed to think themselves too grown up for such a thing, but still… A little Christmas magic never hurt anyone.

Mary Margaret finished her tea and gave Emma’s shoulder a maternal pat. “Time to go pick up my little guys from the cafeteria.”

After her friend left, Emma let her gaze drift back to the object of her ire. Mary Margaret was right. Emma was definitely taking the contest too seriously, but that Killian Jones was just so damn infuriating. Ever since he’d transferred - no, swaggered - in from Misthaven Prep, he’d been the bane of her existence. He and his stupidly perfect hair. And his ridiculous flirty comments. And his stupid, ridiculous, unreasonably attractive face. The man may as well have had a banner over his head that read, “I’m sexy and I know it.” 

That was bad enough, but then came the first day of school after Thanksgiving break. Emma walked her class to Mr. Jones’s room for their music lesson to find he’d decorated the entire fine arts hallway to look like a giant gingerbread house with lights, human-sized gingerbread people and enough craft glitter to choke a reindeer. Between that and the caroling and the freaking cookies, how was anyone supposed to compete? 

And Emma really, really wanted to win. She had a competitive streak, sure, but it was more than that. It was-

Oh, crap. He caught her looking. And there he went with the eyes and the smile, and oh god he’s walking over to her. 

“Swan! I noticed you’ve been sampling my goodies. Fancy the flavor?”

Emma bristled. Killian Jones had a unique ability to say perfectly innocent things and somehow make them sound dirty. And also vaguely appealing, but that was beside the point.

“A little bland for my taste,” she lied. “They needed more cinnamon.”

“So the lady likes things a bit spicy. Duly noted.” He grinned at her, eyes alight with mischief. That smile of his was infectious - like the plague, Emma told herself - and she fought against the instinct to return it.

“My spice preferences are none of your business, Jones.” 

“Quite right, Swan.” He glanced downward, seeming appropriately chastised, but it only lasted an instant. He flashed those devilish blue eyes at her again with a wicked smirk to match. “Spicing up your life would be my pleasure, not business at all.”

Emma felt the blush begin to rise up from the back of her neck. It was bad enough that he could make her blush. She sure as heck didn’t want him knowing that.

She managed an unimpressed lift of her eyebrows and muttered something vague about picking up her class, before turning on her heel and exiting the lounge. At a perfectly calm and casual pace, thank you very much. 

—-

Later that afternoon, Emma sat at her desk grading papers. Or rather, sat behind a stack of papers that needed to be graded while staring around her classroom in an attempt to visualize a masterful decorating theme. Ugly Christmas sweater? No, that’d be a hot mess. Frozen? No, Ms. Arendelle the art teacher was already doing that. The Nutcracker? Nope. Mary Margaret won with that one last year. 

A knock on her door shook Emma out of her Grinchy brooding. “Ms. Swan? Can I come in?” Without waiting for a reply, Henry Mills barged in with an anxious smile on his face and a stack of printer paper clutched in his hand. “You said you’d read over my writing sample, remember?”

Emma pushed aside her grading and took the proffered essay. “How’s the scholarship application coming along?”

“The Sisters are doing most of the paperwork for me,” Henry answered. “I just need one more recommendation letter from a teacher and then my essay.”

The “Sisters” meant the nuns who ran the group home where Henry lived. It wasn’t the posh life that most of Henry’s classmates at Storybrooke Prep enjoyed, but the nuns cared deeply for the children in their charge. A better situation at least than Emma ever had during her years in the foster system. 

Emma read through the essay, all about the power of storytelling and how Henry aspired to be an author someday. He was capable of great things, that kid, but he needed the scholarship to pay his tuition so he could continue on at Storybrooke. 

“This is wonderful, Henry. I’m sure the scholarship board will approve you.” 

“Thanks, Ms. Swan.” Henry beamed at her for a moment, then glanced back toward her undecorated door. “Are you going to enter Deck the Halls this year? The judging is on Monday, right?”

Emma narrowed her eyes and leaned toward him as if confiding a secret. “Sure am. I’m just waiting until Monday morning so it’s a surprise.” Yeah, that sounded plausible, right?

Henry nodded, unconvinced. “It’s just that, well, I was really hoping our class could win this year. I’ve never been in a class that won before.” His focus shifted to a chipped spot on the edge of her desk. “I know it’s more for the little kids. I mean, it’s not like I believe in Santa anymore or anything, it’s just…” he picked at the chip making it worse. “The Sisters can’t really afford to take us anywhere, you know? And I thought it might be kind of fun to ride a real steam train and meet Santa just like in The Polar Express.”

He met Emma’s eyes finally. She knew that look. The I-want-to-be-a-part-of-something look. The I-want-to-be-a-regular-kid look. Her heart twinged with the familiarity. That. That right there was why she needed to win this year.

“Don’t worry, Henry. I’ll get you that train ride.”

—-

That Friday after school, Emma hit the local craft store. She bought tinsel and bows, little strings of lights and fake snow spray, garlands and non-breakable plastic ornaments. She even bought a sprig of freeze dried mistletoe for good measure. Come Monday morning, she had every intention of turning her hallway into a winter wonderland. 

As she and Mary Margaret walked to Emma’s classroom Monday morning, their arms laden with shopping bags, it quickly became clear that they were too late. Someone had beaten them to it.

Emma nearly dropped her parcels. “What the hell is this?” 

Wide-eyed, Mary Margaret took a hesitant step toward Emma’s classroom door. “I’d say it’s a train.”

Emma took in the sight before her, the initial shock slowly morphing into anger. Her classroom door had transformed into the front of a huge black steam engine, featuring a smoke stack that nearly reached the ceiling and a cardboard cow catcher protruding out at the bottom. Black duct tape train tracks laid neatly from the door clear to the end of the hallway. Blue butcher paper covered the walls on either side of the door setting a backdrop for a winter forest scene, complete with three dimensional evergreens made from layers upon layers of construction paper and fluffy white batting for snow drifts. Delicate tissue paper snowflakes had been hung painstakingly from the ceiling.

The Polar Express. Someone had turned her classroom - hell, half her hallway - into the Polar Express. It was beautiful. Perfectly executed. Emma hated it. 

She hated it because she didn’t need anyone’s help. She had it under control. Okay, so maybe her craft skills were not in the same league, but she had determination, damn it. Not to mention six bags of tinsel which she now had to shove into her supply closet for next year.

She hated it even more because she had a pretty good idea who the perpetrator was. There were only two teachers in the school capable of that level of Pinterest-worthy crafting, and since Mary Margaret looked as stunned as Emma, that only left Killian Jones. The one thing she couldn’t figure out was why he’d done it. 

“Looks like someone is trying to impress you, Emma,” Mary Margaret said with a sly smile. 

Emma shook her head. She couldn’t deal with her friend’s needling right now. She wanted to storm over to the music room right away and interrogate him, but she knew she needed to cool down first. Rationally, she told herself that the whole reason she became so invested in this silly contest was for Henry’s sake, and these decorations were sure to win. Irrationally, she simply did not want to deal with Killian’s smug, perfect face and whatever double entendre he was sure to throw her way. 

But it bugged her all day. 

Was Jones trying to be some kind of white knight swooping in to save her ass? Well too bad, mister. No one saved Emma but Emma. Did he want two chances to win? That didn’t make sense. As music teacher, he didn’t have a homeroom class so the prize didn’t apply to him. Maybe it was just the bragging rights? That could be. That was way more likely than Mary Margaret’s suggestive suggestion. Wasn’t it? 

She had to stop that train of thought right away before she devolved into the ten year-old mentality of her students and sent him a note: “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” Not that she thought he actually did. Not that she would want him to. It was only a point of curiosity. 

—-

To absolutely no one’s surprise, Emma’s classroom won the Deck the Halls contest. She waved sheepishly at her students as she walked to the front of the school assembly to accept the prize tickets from Principal Hopper, but one look at Henry’s bright smile had her grinning for real. 

As she scanned the crowd, her eyes locked onto another face. Jones’s bright blue eyes met hers with an unreadable expression. Wasn’t this his moment of triumph? Wasn’t he going to claim the glory? She raised her brows in question at him. Was it you? He gave a small nod. Yes. She subtly bobbed her head to the side. Meet me outside. The whole silent conversation only took a couple of seconds. 

After the assembly ended, the students were dismissed for the day. A small group of teachers herded them outside to the bus lanes, but Emma noticed Jones wasn’t among them. Her stomach began to flutter as she ducked out a side door from the cafeteria. She shivered when the crisp December air touched her face and shrugged on her coat, thankful she’d remember to bring it to the assembly with her. Why did she feel nervous? No, she wasn’t nervous, she just wanted answers. Right.

Emma heard the door creak open again, and Jones stepped out clad in a black leather jacket  that couldn’t have been much insulation against the winter chill, but did a marvelous job of framing his broad shoulders and lean torso. He looked… wait, did he look nervous, too? She needed to say something. Anything. Right now.

“What the hell, Jones?” Okay. Solid start. “You hijack my classroom, but you don’t take credit for it. I don’t get it. Did I seem like I needed saving? Because I’ve got news for you, buddy-”

“I didn’t do it for you, Swan,” he interrupted. 

“Then why?”

“I did it for Henry Mills.”

For Henry? Her student? Emma blinked at him, trying to formulate a response to this twist, but all that came out was. “What?”

“I happened to overhear your conversation with him last week. I had written him a letter of recommendation for his scholarship application, and I was bringing it to him when I noticed him going into your classroom. I figured I would wait outside your door until he finished talking to you. I wasn’t eavesdropping exactly, but the door was open.”

“So you heard him talk about why he hoped our class would win. And just what? Took it upon yourself to make that happen?” 

“Aye.” He ducked his head, looking almost shy. “I suppose the lad reminds me a bit of myself. I shan’t go into detail, but suffice to say my childhood was less than idyllic.”

Emma huffed a laugh. “I know the feeling.”

A tiny smile tilted the corner of Killian’s lips. “I thought you might. At any rate, the thing that made my young life bearable was my brother, specifically his insistence that no matter what, we would have a special Christmas. I simply wanted to be able to do the same for young Henry. I apologize if I overstepped, but a bit of Christmas magic never hurt anyone, did it?”

He reached up a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, and that right there did it. The vulnerability of that simple gesture shifted something into place in Emma’s heart. She regarded him for a second longer, looking for any trace that this was an act, but could find none. So, she raised up on her toes, placed her hands on his shoulders and kissed him softly on the lips.

Killian froze at the contact, and Emma was sure she’d made a terrible mistake, but then his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer. He returned her kiss with exuberance, smiling against her mouth. Oh, god she’d never in her life been kissed like this. For all the sin his lips usually promised, this kiss held more joy than lust and an almost unbearable sweetness. His smile lingered even as they separated again.

Emma shook her head in a bit of a daze. “Wow, that was…” He seemed to stop breathing, waiting for her to finish the sentence. “-really unprofessional of me. Sorry.” Emma cleared her throat, but saw Killian’s expression droop. He took a step back.

“Of course. You’re right, Swan. That will ne-”

She reached out and touched his arm, halting his retreat.  “No, what I meant to say was, would you maybe want to get a cup of coffee with me sometime?”

No display of Christmas lights could have been brighter than the way his eyes lit up for her, and Emma thought fleetingly that she could get used to basking in that glow.

“Aye, Swan. I’d love to have coffee with you.”

----

On the day of the Polar Express trip, Emma’s class had an extra chaperone along for the ride. Emma served hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and cinnamon, while Killian passed out homemade cookies, and soon even the most blasé fifth graders were filled with Christmas spirit. A little Christmas magic never hurt after all. 

[maviemesregles]

Once I was an Eagle

Aaaaaand, I'm back! I know it's been bloody ages since the last update but I needed a break. I also had been busy with other ficlets so OIWAE was put on pause. But the story is back and I do hope you like this instalment. I really, really like this chapter.

I am absolutely horrible at answering the comments (which I'll fix, promise) but I do see each one of them! I LOVE reading what your thoughts are, whether you liked some moment or a particular turn of phrase, I appreciate it all. No matter if it's one word, emoji, or a big analysing comment. Thank you lovies for staying here with me. <3

Anne, you’re my gem  💜 @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur​

Read on AO3

     Chapter I: The beginnings

Chapter II: Sassenach

Chapter III: Catharsis

Chapter IV: Lovestruck. Part I

Chapter V: Lovestruck. Part II

Chapter VI: Flecks of Sun

Chapter VII: Mince pies & baubles

                                           Chapter VIII: Home

Blood pounded in Claire’s ears muffling the music and the howling wind outside. Jamie’s face blurred as the tears gathered at the brink of her lower lashes. She inhaled deeply, blinking furiously to get rid of the swell of moisture in her eyes. Closing them Claire could feel Jamie moving towards her, gently touching her arm, voice concerned.

“Claire, was it too early? Did I-”

He could not finish his sentence because she dissolved into ugly crying. Clinging to him, gasping for air and in general being an awful mess.

“Shh, mo graidh. Shh. Tis alright.” His hands wrapped around Claire in a familiar way, thumb circling the tender skin at her nape softly.

“I.. I’m going to ruin your shirt.” Sniffing, voice muffled by his aforementioned shirt Claire leaned back to look at the mess she created. Her running nose and damp cheeks imprinted a mascara-black wet blot on green fabric. She could hear Jamie chuckle as he picked her up and sat down with Claire curled on his lap.

“I dinna care one bit about the shirt, lass.” Lips gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. Claire sighed though still gasping for air. The comfort of Jamie’s warmth made her body become limp.

“I’m not crying because I am sad,” Claire whispered, hand cupping the back of his head. “I... I’m crying because I’m happy, Jamie. Happy to live with you.”

Dropping a kiss on the bridge of her nose, he smiled.

“Aye. Me too, my Sassenach.”

* * *

It was the beginning of what seemed like an endless hunt for what would become a perfect flat for us. We spent about three weeks chasing an ideal place, checked at least ten flats scattered all over Edinburgh but none of them was quite what we were looking for (not far away from my work; with a park nearby to allow Jamie to go on his morning jogs. And it needed to have a large living room and be pet-friendly.)

Jamie (bare-chested, skin still flushed from the shower) was performing his magic by preparing the scrambled eggs I loved so much while I sat on the windowsill, feet in fuzzy socks propped up the wall. As I scrolled through rental ads on Jamie’s iPad I felt the pressure of upcoming headache from all this searching. And suddenly, there it was. The place that we were looking for.

A stone-built ground floor house had a spacious kitchen and a huge living room adorned with an old fireplace. The ceilings were so high I thought there is no end to them. “Canna wait to hear yer voice inside these walls” Jamie smirked at me as we followed behind the agent chirping away about how great this flat is. “Whatever do you mean?” I quirked my brow at him. He leaned closer, whispering into my ear, his warm breath tickling the little hairs on my nape. “Weel, those sounds ye make when I-” Giggling, my elbow pressed into his ribs, stopping him before any dangerous and inappropriate (for the agent) revelations could occur.

Grand windows allowed the sun to slip into every little corner of the flat and made it breathe with light. There were two bedrooms with hardboard wooden floors and a small study fully equipped with bookshelves. French doors in the kitchen opened to a garden with a southern exposure was the last deciding straw for me. It had everything we needed. Adso would be welcome to live here, it was a fifteen minute drive from my work and there was a park just across the street. Although it was rather pricey, Jamie ignored my hissing remark “Almost four grand quid? Fucking insane,” and said that we should sign the rental agreement. I kissed him senseless allowing the feeling that this is us now, our own place fill me up.

The rental price had changed our plans a little bit. Forcing us to spend a couple of days moving small furniture and other possessions Jamie and I owned to our new accommodation by ourselves. At the end of it all, sweaty and tired, we sat on the boxes in the empty living room, watching the snowfall outside the huge windows.

“Are ye happy, Sassenach?” Jamie gently pulled me by the wrist to his side. My hands cradled his face as I stood up and found myself a prisoner between his thighs.

“Of course I am, James Fraser,” thumb caressing the apple of his cheeks I glanced around. “Only I have no idea how we are going to organize this mess.” It feels like between the two of us there are millions of boxes and bags, packages. I’ve brought the plants I owned (the only three I managed not to kill), a box full of uncle’s Lamb belongings, an enormous contemporary art painting Geillis got me for my 30th birthday two years ago. Adso had his belongings too, a scratching post, litter tray and his own little blanket. Adso himself was being babysat by Geillis while I and Jamie tried to sort out our moving. Jamie was currently sitting on a stash of my medical books destined for the study.

“We’ll manage, a nighean ” His hands patted my hips, bringing me closer. Planting a soft kiss on the washed fabric over my sternum, Jamie looked up. “We canna do more than our best.”

My stomach had the quite opposite opinion of doing our best and rumbled loudly.

“God, I’m starving” yawning I reached for the cellphone.

Later, full and warm with chicken ramen, curry with prawns and wok-fried greens we had just enough strength in us to unpack most of the carton boxes that said “Kitchen”. In that hour and a half, we managed to laugh, listen to Jamie’s Dire Straits playlist on his phone and argue over ridiculous things. Putting away a bitty family of my mugs and cups Jamie dropped my favourite mug Frank bought me a very long time ago and I never could get rid of it. It was massive and bright yellow, with Friends on it. It was my all-time binge-love TV show. It shattered in yellow pieces atop the counter and floor. I didn't mean to snap. But we both were bone-weary from a long day of moving back and forth, of a week packing before, exhausted from all the searching catching up with us. Suddenly I felt my chin quiver at the sight of my beloved, now broken mug.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach.” Jamie bit his lip, trying to reach me with his hand over the island counter but I shrugged away.

“Why are you so bloody clumsy, ” I mumbled, kneeling to pick up broken ceramic bits. Jamie rubbed his face, clearly wanting to say something, but instead he bent to help.

Annoyed just by him breathing next to me at that moment I dropped collected pieces straight into the bin. When he tried to sweep the floor from the dusty mug remains I snapped.

“Oh, please, just move away, or you’re going to break something else.”

I regretted the words right after I’ve said them but blood was already pounding in my ears and there was no way back.

“I said I’m sorry,” Jamie muttered, looking visibly irritated himself now. “It’s just a mug, I’ll buy ye a new one.”

The tension crackled with its force.

“I don’t want another bloody mug! ” I barked at him trying to busy myself opening a new box. “Frank gave it to me. It was my favourite one.”

Time seemed to stop for a second as Jamie slowly licked his lips looking me straight in the eyes.

“Frank?”

Unable to hold his gaze anymore I turned my back to him staring out of the window.

“Don’t you start playing a jealous boyfriend on me,” I grunted, telling myself to calm down. You know he doesn’t mean it bad.

He grumbled and I could hear him retreating to the living room.

“Why are ye bitching about it, Claire?” He hissed and I thought I could feel his words crawl inside me like a poisonous snake.

“What?” I followed him to the room (aka the mess) full of boxes.

“Nothing.”

“Repeat what you just said,” I demanded.

He didn’t. Instead, we spent the next hour in different rooms unpacking. Or pretending to. I wasn't able to do a proper job and stopped on one box. As the sweat cooled off on my skin and the urge to cry faded away I plodded down the hallway towards the bathroom. Passing the living room I caught a glimpse of Jamie placing my candles (that he hated) on top of the fireplace. The sight gave my heart a painful (and guilty) squeeze. Deciding that taking a shower, putting fresh PJs on and making us both a nice cup of tea would make both of us feel better.

I turned on the hot water. It was blissful and caused me to go limp. Engrossed as I was I did not hear Jamie come in. Shedding his clothes wordlessly, he stepped into the shower behind me. Cupping one breast, he dropped a kiss on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry I snapped, Claire. And I’m sorry for ye wee mug.”

Turning to face him, I nodded and kissed his jaw softly.

“I am sorry, Jamie. I was unreasonable and acted like a jerk.”

Our earlier argument was mended when his lips sealed on my neck, leaving me breathless. Moments later I cried out as I sagged against the tiled wall, him still inside me.

We slept on a makeshift bed that Jamie constructed from his mattress and two blankets just right in front of the fireplace. We laid, limbs entwined, among the boxes and bags, hands lazily tracing hills and valleys of each other bodies. “I love you,” I whispered before my mind drifted away into the realm of Morpheus.

* * *

Weeks later our flat finally started looking like somebody really lives here. With all our mismatched furniture, collection of books (mine mainly botany and poems, and Jamie’s classics and fantasy), with a horrid motorbike engine of Jamie’s (the one he used to drive in his uni days). No matter how much I asked him to throw that away he squealed like a girl protecting her virtue, not letting me come near that metal monstrosity. We agreed to put it away in the second bedroom which initially became a storage room.

One evening as I rocked my hips atop of him Jamie smirked that we marked each room in this flat. “ Aye, we did” I said mimicking him as I yanked my scrub top off over my head. Jamie made my body go limp against the shower tiles; he drew mewling sounds out of me on the kitchen table; my moans bounced off those high ceilings in the living room; his laboured breathing filled our bedroom and crawled up the walls. I gasped at the feeling of him in the storage room when Jamie announced his evident desire for a quickie; and he groaned “Oh, Claire” following his meandering Gaelic cursing as his hands tangled in my curls while I kneeled down unzipping his jeans.

Every time I showed up at work Geillis would never forget to ask me with a wink “So, my darling, how’s yer wee ginger? Loves ye well? I TOLD YE. Yer fucking glowing like a candle, Claire.”

Living with Jamie was a whole new experience. Now I had the luxury to wake up to his sleepy face and mussed curls every day. He would make the most miserable facial expression as I switch on the table lamp, grunting and burying himself under the layers of blanket. James Fraser was definitely not a morning person. “Five in the morning is torture,” he mumbled sleepily as I pressed a goodbye kiss to his forehead. “Normal people sleep at this time, ye ken. Go, save yer humans, Sassenach.” Squeezing my hand he turned to snooze immediately. But as soon as I got to work my phone would beep with his text message every morning “Have a great day, a nighean. Love ye.”

Any other morning I had a chance to stay in bed longer he’d wake me up with his hands, his mouth and his body molding into mine much like matching puzzle piece. I could not remember life without him anymore. Without his perfect morning coffee for me; without our banter or seriousness full talks in the darkness of the night, his hands on my hip, thumb carving the shape of my pelvic bone; without lazy evenings on the couch with Netflix and takeaway, my head resting on his chest, Jamie’s hand wrapped around my waist, and Adso curled on his lap.

Every day I had a pleasure of observing his fucking gorgeous post jog body. But like any other couple, we shared our bit of things that drove us crazy. Jamie had this annoying habit to turn the TV on so loud I had to scream like a banshee from the kitchen to get his attention. He also seemed to be very dedicated at the task of leaving the puddle of water on the bathroom floor after showering. I would not even want to mention his morning cologne spraying session that left a suffocating smell in the hallway. But, I myself was far from perfect. I had to endure him rolling his eyes at me and making disgusted faces as he plucked my hair out from the shower drain. Also, Jamie was patient with me and my attempts to cook and never protested eating ordered food. He would often volunteer for the task seeing me struggle with slimy spaghetti. But all those things did not matter as each night I fell asleep saying “I love you” lulled by his steady heartbeat beneath my cheek.

It had gotten to the point where I found that I could not live without him. So when Jamie had to leave to Inverness for three days I cursed at his business the whole day. Without him, I felt like the part of me was torn away and even Adso purring by my side couldn’t remedy the feeling. That’s why now I shamelessly found my place on Jamie’s lap, sparkling rosé in my hand. Our kitchen was filled with laughter, chats and instrumental indie playing from Google Home speaker Jenny and Ian gave us as a gift. The food was rich and tasty, the wine was pleasantly chill and Jamie’s left hand on my hip too much to handle. We haven’t made love for three days and I was positively flushed with desire. My skin was on fire - a mix of alcohol, laughter and Jamie.

“So, Claire, I do hope ye like yer wee rug?” Angus tried to wink at me sipping his red. I rolled my eyes and looked over my shoulder to have a look at his present again. It was a door rug in a bright green colour with a white cat on it that said: “Don’t forget to pet my pussy-cat”. He shoved it into my hands grinning. I was taken aback and did not know what to say. Meanwhile, Jamie broke into almost hysterical laughter, as I stood mouth agape. “Ye do have a cat, no?” Angus snorted and I only managed to nod as he welcomed himself inside our flat.

“Very thoughtful present,” I said, saluting my glass to Angus.

Untangling myself from Jamie’s embrace I excused myself to the bathroom. I washed my hands and caught sight of my face in the mirror. Cheeks pink coloured I splashed cold water on my face, feeling the drops run down my neck. Hair drawn back in a sweaty knot. When Jamie opens the door there is a trail of loud raucous laughter coming from the kitchen follows him.

“I’ll be right back,” I said thinking he came to get me. But the next moment the latch on the door clicked closed. His lips sought mine and he tasted of whisky leaving the burning sensation on my lips. His hands reached under my sweater, tracing the small of my back and then soft skin on my belly.

“I love them all, but I swear if they dinna leave soon, I’m going to have to kill all our guests” Jamie breathed out heavily as my hands fumbled with his belt, tugging at the stubborn zipper of the jeans. He cursed something in Gaelic that I did not understand when my fingers found his hot flesh.

“I might kill them myself,” I agreed, gently biting at his earlobe. My mouth fell open when Jamie snaked a hand between us, curling and tasting me with his fingers exactly right.  

“Christ, Claire” He muttered under his breath, fingers damp from his exploration. But our moment was rudely interrupted by Murtagh unceremoniously knocking on the door. “What are ye doing there, ye wee beasties? We need more booze.” Grunting in annoyance Jamie slid his belt back in and reached to pull my rolled sweater down. Kissing him chastely, we made it out back to our guests.

Over the next several days, we both were swirled into the routine business of life seeing each other mostly in the evenings. I’ve been extra busy at work and Jamie still had to finish important tasks at the brewery. Both of us exhausted, we barely managed to order takeaway, with me falling asleep on the couch as soon as the food was finished as a new episode of Peaky Blinders played. Jamie would carry me to the bedroom. He crept in beside me covering us both with a quilt. We would touch fingertips and sleep holding each other until the sun came uninvited, crawling inside the room. There was a silent agreement between us and the sex was at bay. There was a day when Jamie’s hands glided over my hips, finger drawing patterns at the panties waistband. Sleepily, I mumbled that I’m gross and disgusting and in need of a shower and shave. The other day I managed to pull off my sexiest face and slowly pull down my knickers I turned to find Jamie had fallen asleep soundly, mouth slightly agape. Chuckling, I picked my discarded underwear and slid under the blankets next to his starfish sprawled body.

Standing in the locker room at the hospital I’ve snapped a photo of myself. I turned myself provocatively displaying my ass to look as if I spent days in the gym (I did not of course) but nonetheless Jamie seemed more than fascinated by this body part of mine. Sending him the picture with capslock text “TONIGHT FRASER” I retreated back to work. All morning and lunch I spent thinking of the upcoming evening. Geillis took me out of my thoughts by grabbing my hand in the hallway.

“Claire, are ye alright?” Her eyes examined my face worriedly. “Ye look as pale as the wall behind ye.” I shook my head, reassuring her it’s nothing but a bit of nausea.

“I’m fine, Geil.” Running a palm over my clammy forehead I felt the imminent need to vomit. “It’s probably that sushi I had for lunch with Joe. I told him it did not look good.”

Giving me judgmental-mother look and shaking her head Geillis still made me sit down and close my eyes.

“Ye work too much, lass. Jamie needs to take ye on a holiday.”

The perspective of vacation sounded like an unreachable luxury at the moment but under Geillis’s superior look I agreed to go home earlier tonight. It started to rain hard outside when I crossed the threshold, dropping the bags of groceries down. Deciding that I might as well cook today instead of having takeaway again I strolled down the kitchen feeling slightly wamble and dizzy. After taking Pepto-Bismol and hoping it’ll help calm down my disgruntled stomach I opened a can of cat food, summoning Adso. But my cat was nowhere in sight. I’ve checked every nook and little corner, under the bed and couch. In the storage room as last time Jamie closed the cat in there by accident. My furry baby seemed to have vanished into thin air and I felt an oncoming wave of worry mixed with nausea. The open window in our bedroom hit me with a realisation. Eyes swelling with tears I dialled Jamie.

“Christ, Sassenach, I must have forgotten to close the damn window and the cheetie ran away.”

He promised to find him. I spent the evening googling stories of cats running away and cried some more thinking of my poor Adso alone in the cold rain, scared and hungry. I was sure I would not see my cat again. It was around midnight when the front door opened, Jamie’s footfalls startling me from my broken sleep on the couch. I rubbed my puffy eyelids as Jamie stepped inside the room.

His clothes were soaking wet, face painted with tiredness. But the smile on his lips was an encouraging sign. Unfolding his jacket Jamie stroked Adso’s grey ear who was nestled against his chest.

“Jamie! Oh, I can’t believe you did it.” I jumped up, taking Adso into my arms. He was wet and dirty, paws leaving marks on my skin. “Where did you find him?”

Taking off the jacket, Jamie leaned down to receive my kiss on his cheek.

"Here, you must be freezing cold." I reached for the bottle of whisky, pouring him a glass. When he gulped it down and his cheeks turn into baby-pink he told me.

“Ye’d never believe it. I spent hours just driving over the neighbourhood, mistaken at least three cats for him, but he was nowhere. And then I had an idea, it was crazy but possible.” Jamie ran his hands through his damp curls. “I drove to yer old place. And there he was, sitting in front of the door of yer old flat.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” Cradling Adso I reached for the towel I had just in case Jamie managed to bring him home. “Why did you run away, you silly?”

“I’m sorry, Claire. 'Twas my fault, I left the window open.” Jamie patted my thigh gently, looking guilty.

Lening in to kiss him, I traced his cheekbones with my fingers.

“You found him, Jamie. It’s all fine.”

* * *

Jamie woke to the sudden absence of Claire in the bed, her side of the blanket looking like a messy ball at the end of the bed. He could hear the water running in the bathroom. Glancing at the clock that showed three in the morning Jamie called out her name. When no response followed, he swung his legs down the bed, worry caused a cold feeling in his stomach as he walked to the bathroom.

“Sassenach, are ye al-” The words stuck in his throat seeing her small figure, curled on the floor next to the toilet. “Christ, Claire, what happened?” He kneeled down, cradling her head into his lap. His heart was pounding away in his ribcage, fear filling every fiber of his being. She looked pale as a paper sheet, sweaty curls stuck to her skin. Shaking her head weakly, she mumbled as quiet as he ever heard her “I’m okay.” But she was decidedly not okay. Her eyes closed then. Jamie picked her up, rushing to the car outside and mentally thanking all existing Gods that the hospital was just fifteen minutes away. Jamie was there in precisely seven minutes.

[bastardsunlight]

//LONG-ass headcanon sesh for D, Alucard (Hellsing) and Adrian (CV’s Alucard) all kinda rolled into one.

So, since I don’t have radiantDecay anymore, I’ve sort of pulled back from the verse where Adrian BECOMES D. There was a lot of movement and timeline adjustment that had to happen for that one, and while it is in some way still possible, I’m not terribly interested in upkeeping a unique interpretation for a character that’s never really going to come into play. If you’re writing with D, it’s thousands of years after he was Adrian. If you’re writing with Adrian, it’s pre-1999 pretty much.

So, I have some documents someplace that I had written regarding D’s origins. The novels heavily imply that he’s somehow enhanced—y’know the movies hint at him just being super powerful Mary Sue turbo ultra dhampir simply because he is the son of “Our Sacred Ancestor” whomst we all pretty much know is Dracula himself right? Certain novels even hint that Mina Harker is his mother, if they don’t just outright state it. It might be the clunky translation (they really should have been more carefully transliterated because WOW some of those sentences just… don’t), but thus far it’s not been made CRYSTAL PERFECT CLEAR. However, I’m more than willing to run with that idea.

Dracula is, by the time Mina et. Al. come up against him, quite old, nigh ancient. I think that the Dracula of the Bram Stoker novel is or, rather, was the historical Vlad III Dracula Tepes (the impaler), born in the 1420s, “died” in the 1470s, iirc. Supposedly, the sultan at the time… Mehmed Fatih, kept his head in a box for a while before pinning him up on the walls of Constantinople, which the Turks controlled at the time. Ugly period in history for Eastern Europe… With Wallachia and Transylvania, in particular, two kingdoms in Romania, times were triple trouble. They were sandwiched between the Ottoman Empire to the east, then west was Eastern Orthodox Christendom—further west was Roman Catholicism and if you think THOSE guys didn’t fight, ding dong ur wrong!

BUT this period of violence produced one of the most well-known and controversial heroes (sometimes called a war criminal) of all time. Also he had a great ‘stache. Now when I write Hellsing’s Alucard, I roll with this same lore, so D and that Alucard could absolutely exist in the same ‘verse. It’s kind of a “darkest timeline” deal, a world in which the Belmont clan never existed. Before that even, Lisa never made Dracula’s acquaintance so the guy’s motivations are a little different. In addition, he is NOT Mathias Cronqvist, a tactician during the first crusades in 1090 AD. In that case, he would have revamped (PUN) his whole personality and integrated himself into one of the other great houses of Wallachia/Transylvania and re-emerged four hundred years later as Vlad the Impaler. That could work fine—not like he hasn’t got time—and that would have been around the time he met, and lost, Lisa. Now whether THAT part of history looks the same is dubious, since Vlad’s exploits during the period of his reign/deposition/reign/deposition/beheading are pretty decently documented. In this case, I’m going to say the Belmonts’ existence is in a timeline where those conflicts also may have played out differently. As these are all fictional worlds, I guess this’s up to ME atm. Nice.

So this is part “how I write D” and part “how I’d be inclined to write Alucard (Hellsing) in interactions that take place BEFORE the manga—like WAY before”. Since Adrian would have been a major contributing factor to the Belmonts’ strength from Trevor onward (so in the games idk if folks know this, but Adrian is Trevor’s father, with Sonia Belmont being his mom), that would also have contributed, at least in part, to the ability of the Belmonts to stomp Dracula and his minions.

With D, there is no need to include Mathias and his ebony/crimson stone conundrum, which does tend to throw a small monkey wrench in the ol’ gears (but not big enough I can’t adapt, trust me). The difference, aside from lack of Belmonts, is the origin of vampires. Clearly, they’re a magical construct or a spell-woven form of sentient life in Castlevania. In Vampire Hunter D, it’s heavily implied (once again, not outright stated) that the Nobility, some of them anyway, are simply a mutation of humanity (Dark Gene vs Light Gene, Lina’s whole deal, among other passages here and there), who also happen to be allergic to garlic, crucifixes, running water, and basic-ass Bram Stoker weaknesses. They’ve even got labs full o’ Nobles tryin’a conquer the sun issue.

So to know D, we gotta know his dad first. At the beginning, Vlad III is born to (big surprise) Vlad II. He and his brother are sent to Edirne as part of the Ottoman Empire’s “tribute” of however many young  boys from noble houses, to be trained in the ways of Islam and Turkish mannerisms, etc. This is more for pacification of that region of Europe, which is still Eastern Orthodox, than it is for real “peace”. It’s “peace because you guys are a good buffer zone between us and the rest of Eastern Orthodox-dom”, anyway. Every _voivode_ of Wallachia has to swear allegiance to either the Ottoman Empire or to the Eastern Orthodox church. While most of that area is EO, it’s in their best interest to swear to the Ottoman Empire. They’re bigger and closer. Vlad’s dad has done some underhanded shit, but he’s also a member of the Order of the Dragon and has propelled it to new heights within the EO and that’s where Vlad gets his name: Dracula, which is Son of the Dragon. So Vlad II’s immediate family are known as the Draculesti, which is fucking cool—it’s like “children of the dragon” and that’s not even his like, NAME name—it’s a frickin’ nickname, or sobriquet, as is Tepes.

In the world of Vampire Hunter D, vampirism appears to be a genetic phenomenon—ironically, a mutation. No Noble is going to admit that, OBVIOUSLY. And while it’s true, they were probably born that way, they’re still a mutant human derivative. Rather than mutating due to radiation or whatevermstthefuck like the actual mutants in VHD, they’re just born that way. So what I’m rolling with is Vlad III was born with that particular mutation and, kind of like my OC Toby, who is also a genetic vampire, it takes a violent or unnatural death to trigger the actual symptoms, else you’re just a normal-ass person. In fact, in this interpretation, I’m going to say that maybe quite a few people are BORN with that mutation, but if they live to a ripe old age and die, it never triggers. Most likely, the body is too enfeebled to handle it, maybe it dies after menopause/andropause? Either way, the body has broken down too much and there’s no material to work with.

That might also go a long way to explain the animosity many old vampires have toward humanity. Sometimes it’s straight up contempt, of course, but every single time, it seems to be a removal. Carmilla is a good example. Most of the time, her backstory involves a vicious assault that might very well have killed her. Imagine dying that way and waking back up to find that you had to KEEP living in the world that did this to you, that death is FAR far off. I can understand being VERY PERTURBED, to put it mildly. By the same token, what about war? How many folks die in war? Thousands? Millions? Of all those, how many have the mutation? Probably quite a few. Some folks might not figure out what’s going on and stay where they are, buried for decades, before just wasting away without sustenance—Vampires DO require blood, after all, to keep doin’ their thing. Plenty more are probably just torched in the sun. Since they were KIA, it might be rough finding their bodies in the first place…

So Vlad is beheaded—now this part intersects VERY well with Hellsing’s Alucard in my portrayal—and Mehmed Fatih keeps his head close at hand for a bit, probably talking to it. What happens when it starts talking back? We know Dracula has some SERIOUSLY kickass abilities and putting himself back together would definitely be one of ‘em, in my humble opinion. Mehmed dies not long after he achieves “victory” over Vlad the Impaler and no one knows where Vlad’s remains are. Maybe they up and walked the fuck away, hm? Maybe it was HE who ensured Mehmed’s destruction. How poetic would THAT be? Spoiler alert ||very||.

Now imagine going through everything he did—the guy had a tumultuous life. He might be one of the few, lucky ones who figure out that sunlight is a no-go, hide himself away, eventually go back to haunt his castle in the mountains between Transylvania and Wallachia. Now fast forward to the 1800s, MODERN TIMES (heehee okay) and one very ambitious realtor who wants to sell a creepy old abbey to some weird foreigner. Seems legit. Anyway by now we can see that Dracula’s gotten kinda nutty? He has three scary “wives” but he doesn’t seem to care much for ‘em. They’re obviously vampires, too, though I cannot recall if they’re turned by him or if they’re LIKE him—anyone who’s read it recently, do feel free to refresh me.

He’s kinda senile and while he’s crafty, he’s outsmarted by a dandy, an ancient-ass doctor, a dude who cannot stop fainting, a man named Quincey (my husbando), and Jack Seward—nuff said. He has some kind of congress with Mina, though ofc it’s the Victorian age so the only penetration is that of his li’l toofers on her poor neck. Nom. I don’t think Dracula banged Mina Harker. I think that, in THIS world, a dhampir is a nigh-impossibility, because at this point (and their cool-ass vampire science might’ve changed this), vampires are The Undead™ and therefore cannot CREATE LIFE. Not even if they have a raging turboner (that’s a turbo boner, for those of u not in the know). So he bit Mina, but before he did that, Mina married Jonathan—like as soon as he got home. They were married and living together and doing the frickle frackle, presumably, before Drac shows up in London to mess up their day.

In this case and for the sake of sanity, to create a dhampir, the vampire must chew on a pregnant lady. The curse lifts from her when the master is killed, but his blood has already entered and changed the child; the process is much longer and more involved for an adult human, who has an immune system and much more ground to cover. If the smol bean was in embryo stage or even fetal, it had no defense and mom’s body provided it with everything, Dracula’s blood, included. The final set of letters in Dracula mentiones a young boy, Jonathan and Mina’s son, Quincey, named after their fallen friend. So little Quincey is a dhampir!

Now, a bitten vampire cannot, in this universe, turn anyone else. They can feed and create thralls, but they can’t make VAMPIRES. In Hellsing lore, if a vamp bites you and you’re a virgin, you become one—if not, you become a ghoul/zambolio thingamajigger. Integra narrates this for us pretty early on. But it’s not Alucard’s venom doing this. It’s the vicar of Cheddar Village, who is a manufactured vampire. He’s not a true vampire, not like Alucard. Now, Alucard DOES ask Seras if she’s a virgin ‘fore he kills and bites her, which makes sense… IF HE LOVED MINA.

Hear me out. So, he saw this strong-ass bitch and thought “goddamn I’m sick of my whiny, vicious wives UGH I need me a woman like that”. So he’s gunna turn her. It probably takes longer since he hasn’t been powered up by Hellsing and their dark science-magic shit, or whatever it was… OR as he chomps on ‘er, he realizes “well fuck me she’s preggo, so even if she changes, I can’t have her”. Pregnant blood has GOTTA taste different, all those hormones and shit, even early on. I think he did have some weird admiration-affection for her. His arrogance and greed, however, has taken him over, so perhaps he decides to change her slow, to make the fellas suffer. They’ve fucked with him so he’s gunna fuck with them, but I think it pains him a little to do so, because lbr Mina’s the woman of his dreams.

So when Quincey is born, he’s perfect, healthy, rosy-cheeked, and by god only Mina knows something’s amiss. Damned if she’s going to say shit to Jonathan, who’s liable to faint, the absolute fucking walnut. They live fairly well, having taken over the real-estate business from their wonderful, generous, dead benefactor. 

Much like Carmilla’s weirdo ghost, however, Dracula’s spirit absolutely lives on.

TL; DR D was born Quincey Harker. 

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

Sigrid • Michael Gray x Norwegian!Reader

A/N: This reader’s name is Sigrid Tangen & she’s a gift for @peakystitches

(this is now a one shot)

He'd said something.

You turned from the sweep of green rushing by the window and back to the only other inhabitant of the train car. You had been doing your best to ignore him, a friendly good morning aside, because he carried a certain quiet beauty far too easily to make conversation with him anything but clumsy.

"Pardon?" you said. It was easy enough, if you avoided looking directly in his dark eyes.

"I said, is this your first time on a train?"

You smiled. Oh dear. "Is it that obvious?"

"It's not a bad thing. It's only a fact." He took out a silver cigarette holder from his pocket, the gold glint of it matching the watch on his wrist perfectly. "Cigarette?"

"No, thank you." You should have turned back to the window, but he was eyeing you with faint curiosity, and there was nothing about one mile of forest that another mile of forest didn't also contain.

"I can't place that accent," he said mildly.

A faint suspicion stirred in the back of your mind, but no, it was a fairly obvious question. You did have a thick accent. Your palms began to sweat anyway. "Norway."

"Oslo?"

Your throat tightened. You tried to smile. "You have an admirable grasp on geography."

He shrugged.

"The family house is in Oslo," you finally said. That seemed accurate enough. God, why bother with trying not to lie at this point?

"That's interesting, I've never met a Norwegian before. Pleased to meet you, Miss...?"

"Margit...Henne." Couldn't even come up with a simple name fast enough.

His expression turned from amused curiosity to sharp assessment. Your terror must have shown on your face; you were never a good actor.

"Have I said something offensive?" he said.

You made your hands into fists to stop them shaking. Looking him up and down now, there were details that didn't quite fit a young businessman. One in particular. You had thought about this for a long time beforehand. If it was going to happen, it would at least happen on your terms. "Don't play with your food. Just eat," you managed to say.

"I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about." His gaze flicked down to your hands and back up again. "I think you'd better have that cigarette."

You were breathing fast, speaking between teeth. "Don't bother."

"Look—"

"You have a gun, in a shoulder holster, under your left arm."

He raised his hands, placating you. "That doesn't mean I'm going to use it on you. I only learned your name a minute ago."

Deep breath. Who knew what was real and what wasn't, at that point. You met his dark eyes full-on, tilted your chin up, and said, as evenly as you could, "My name is Sigrid Tangen, and I have been expecting someone to come and kill me for the last three weeks. If it's going to be you, you should know: I'd prefer it quick."

.

.

.

His eyes darted around the train compartment, to the hall outside, assessing. You went on, only because it would be a relief to have the words said to somebody, anybody: "A bullet through the eye would be enough. And if you have orders to make it bloody, have the decency to do that part afterwards."

For a moment, you both went still, staring, his eyes calculating, yours shining with unshed tears. Then he reached under his jacket, produced the gun, leaned over, and laid it on your lap.

"There," he said. "The easiest proof."

It could be a trick. You picked the gun up hesitantly, felt the weight of it.

"That's a Webley," he said. "Made right in Birmingham, where we're headed. Ugly one, isn't it? I like their revolvers better."

Well, the black steel of the pistol, with its awkward grip and its the sight perched on an oddly thin barrel, was not exactly a beauty. Even the diamond of smooth steel in the crosshatched grip, the gun's one concession to aesthetics, seemed slightly off to the left of center. You ran your fingers over the grip, there, feeling the cold, odd texture, anchoring yourself in the object.

"Fuck," he said quietly. "I'm sorry you find not dying such a disappointment."

You were crying.

"Here." He got up and sat beside you, took the gun from your shaking hands, and holstered it. Then he produced a handkerchief, which you took gratefully. He patted your shoulder a couple times. "You'll be all right."

"Sorry," you managed to say. "It's been a week since the last time someone tried to kill me, and the waiting is the worst part."

"It's not the part where they're trying to kill you, eh?" He lit a cigarette, passed it over. You took it, because it must have been rude not to, and there was a little relief in the brush of fingers. There was a little relief in that he was trying, a little dignity in managing to smoke without coughing. You passed the cigarette back to him, and he exhaled slowly, gave you another handkerchief.

Finally, you got ahold of yourself, ran out of tears, and handed him back his handkerchiefs. "Thank you."

"So, Sigrid. What happened the last time they tried to kill you?"

His low voice, the casual lilt of it, helped you enormously. You felt yourself getting into the rhythm of a quite normal conversation, even if the subject matter was wild. "Car bomb. But it didn't go off properly. Why are you carrying a gun?"

"I like to be prepared."

"Prepared for what?"

"Anything. What happened three weeks ago?"

"It's a long story."

"We have time."

You teetered on the edge of it, looking at him. The rational answer was a flat no, but something in the steadiness of his broad shoulders, the calm of his voice, his hands, made you want to trust him. And then that instinct was probably fucked too, wasn't? God, you weren't cut out for not trusting people.

"I'd rather not tell it to you if it's only for the sake of your curiosity," you said. "Though you have been kind. I'm sorry, it's not a good story anyways. Not as interesting as it seems."

"It's more than rubbernecking. I'm beginning to be concerned that while someone tries to kill you, I might get mixed up in it. There's several stops on this train, you know."

"I know. I'm sorry." You rubbed your forehead. You were beginning to get a headache, as you usually did when you cried that hard. Or when the weather was bad. Or for no reason at all. You had to at least keep up the conversation, though. "What is rubbernecking?"

"Turning your head to look at something. Gawking. Like a tourist. Maybe it's a thing only Americans say. I barely know anymore."

"Do you work in America?"

"I live in America. Used to. Fuck knows where I live now," he said bitterly. "I've been summoned."

"By who, the queen?"

He smiled a smile that reached his eyes. He looked a world different when he did that. "Almost. She's worse, and better. My mum."

"Oh. Summoned for what?"

"A family meeting." He gave you a sidelong glance. "Have you heard of Tommy Shelby?"

"Maybe? I think? He's some politician?"

Michael gave another smile, this one of private amusement. "Yes. He's family. He called a meeting, and my mum wants me a part of it."

"Is that why you have the gun, then?"

"No, if Tommy wanted me dead, he'd have me killed in London. Not Birmingham."

"I didn't mean that your family hated you—I only meant—sorry. I only wondered if it was family troubles that made me cautious. It's family troubles that have made me cautious, you see. That's all."

"'Family troubles' is accurate," he said dryly. "So, what was Oslo like?"

You went into it, from your store of memories, careful to paint each one with the patina of a false familiarity, taking a wharf-side restaurant you'd eaten at once and turning it into a family favorite, turning a pretty painted church into a weekly spot, and so on and so on. You tried to give something of the flavor of its people, but found yourself speaking mostly in negatives and contrasts; the difference between Oslo and London, that is, because you had so little else you could compare it to. None of it was quite a full lie.

In turn, he told you about New York, and that seemed to unfold him, after a while; he grew animated, talking of its internecine battles amongst glittering socialites and politicians and gangsters, his favorite club, rolling his eyes about some third-generation construction magnate trying to bring in his pet peacock, trying to put into words an apparently tangible difference between the social classes in New York and those in London—

"What's wrong?" he said abruptly.

"Nothing. You don't have to stop, it's only one of my headaches. I get them for no reason, they last however long they last, and I won't let them get in the way."

"What does it feel like?"

"Like my head is a small nut being slowly crushed between the teeth of a giant. But," you added, "I can still hold a conversation."

"Here." He produced a silver flask, engraved in a cursive you couldn't well read at that angle.

"What is it?" You unscrewed the top and sniffed.

"Whiskey."

"Is this medically sound?"

"No, but it feels good," he said matter-of-factly. "And it'll help you fall asleep. You're going to Birmingham, right?"

"Yes."

"I'll wake you up when we hit the stop."

It was deeply unwise to drink anything offered, of course, but fuck if sleep didn't sound good, and if he wanted you dead, as he himself said about his cousin, you'd have been killed already. So you had your drink, and he had a little too, and then you slipped away into a light, unsatisfying sleep.

The sleep didn't help much, and when you woke, he offered to show you how to get to to the address of your new house.

"I should take a cab," you said.

His lips quirked in a smile. Another one of those amused little things.

"What?"

"So you do have some self-preservation in you."

"It's not because I don't want you to see the address. It's because I don't want to walk on strange streets. I'm no city girl, and I'm not in any state to deal with complications."

"Never mind complications, if by complications, you mean people trying to kill you. If I walked with you," he said quietly, "I could take you through the factories of the Gun District, and past the brothels downtown, and along the shipping docks, and no man would so much as say a word to you."

It had not occurred to you before, but it occurred to you then: perhaps the interest he had taken in you was more than simply polite. Your mouth went dry.

Before you could muster an appropriate response (whatever the hell that would sound like), he had hailed a cab for you, and opened the door. "Here you are."

"Michael..." There was absolutely no polite way to say I take it back, I'd love to walk with you and your odd ugly gun and your beautiful dark eyes and your strange New York tongue and your quick half-smiles, I'd want all of it. Really there was no acceptable way to say that. So: "...thank you."

He nodded, expressionless, then turned and began hustling your bags into the back of the cab.

"Do you have a business card?" you said, after a second.

"I didn't say what my business exactly was."

"You didn't have to."

He fished one out of his wallet and handed it over to you. "Ignore the American number. And in the Birmingham number, change the last two numbers to 71, all right? Otherwise, you'll be in for it with one of the secretaries."

"In for it?"

"They're not exactly hostile, but they are inquisitive."

"All right."

"Are you comin' or not?" the cabbie demanded.

"Coming, sorry. Sorry." God, you must have been obvious. You must have been so obvious, the little black card clutched in one hand, hair rumpled from the train nap, unwilling, even then, to leave him.

"Goodnight, Sigrid."

"Goodnight."

[ellanainthetardis]

I've got a prompt for vampire au: Please give me vampire!Chaff so annoyed by hayffie's antics that he's ready to bite it (if only he could). Because spending eternity next to hayffie surely sucks (pun intended) ;)

I reblogged part 1 and part 2 earlier (though you can follow the links). I love this au so much I’m always glad to be able to play in it. I might trasform it into something more constructed one day, I don’t know. {ff] or [ao3]

The Village’s King

Being a vampire came with enhanced hearing and,for the first time in more than a century, it was something Chaff could havereally, really done without.

“They’re at it again?” he sighed, leaningagainst the frame of his front door, stealing a cigarette from the packetJohanna was holding.

Why Johanna felt the need to come litter his front yard with her cigarettes wasanyone’s guess. He had stopped expecting serious answers to his questions threedecades ago. The girl was caustic on her best days and aggressive on her worstones. She was one of those he and Haymitch kept a close eye on because it wastoo easy for them to slip and stop hunting animals to go after humans. It was anice place they had found in that gated community, he and Haymitch would haveboth liked to keep it as long as possible.

“Do they ever stop?” she scowled, tossing thebutt of her cigarette and crushing it under her boot, flashing her fangs.“You’ve got to talk to Haymitch, Chaff.”

“Me?” he scoffed. “Why me?”

“’Cause you’re the oldest.” she said veryseriously and he became aware that they were being watched. The night was youngstill but already alive. He throbbedwith the thrill of it, the urge to seize it, hunt something nice, a deer or awild cat, sink his fangs into warm flesh…

“Mags’ the oldest.” he argued. Mags was almostas old as Snow himself but she was weak, thanks to their rival vampire’s ploys,and completely dependent on Finnick. She was no vampire queen and while he andhis one hundred and twenty-five years came after her in age… He was no vampireking either. He wasn’t the one managing this hive. He wasn’t the one keepingthe youngsters under control through sheer charisma.

“It can’t go on.” Jo hissed. “We all agree.”

“Oh, you allagree, do you?” he scowled. “Then why don’t you all get your asses over there and tell him yourself?”

Johanna rolled her eyes. “We can’t challengehim.”

“But Ican?” he snorted.

“You’re the oldest.” she repeated as if itmeant shit.

They might not have been running this gatecommunity like an official hive – they were certainly not running it like Snowruled his little kingdom of slaves – but there were still protocols to follow.It was ingrained in their nature. Vampires lived in hives and hives ralliedaround a leader. Mags might have beenthat in the beginning, after they had all fled Snow’s tyranny, but that hadbeen before they had starting taking in rogues and loners abandoned by theirsires, it had been before Mags had spent years locked away in a crypt becauseSnow had hoped losing their leader would weaken them… Losing Mags hadn’t weakenthem. Because they still had had aleader.  

And it certainly wasn’t him even if he was theoldest there.

“Give me a fuckingbreak.” he snapped. “Didn’t even drink any blood yet.”

And he would need coffee in it. A lot, lot of coffee.

“I’ll get you blood.” she growled. “I’ll getyou a fucking bag of O neg and somewhiskey to top it but, for fuck’ssake, go and talk some sense into him.”

He rubbed his face.

Youngsters didn’t challenge a master vampire,not if they valued their hide.

He was no youngster and, by right, he mighthave been considered a master too. He was a century old after all. But he had always been aware Haymitch was morepowerful than he was. Instinct was hard to suppress for them and his instincthad a very strong submit or flightresponse to Haymitch. Fight wasn’t an option because he knew he would lose.Haymitch was aware of that, it would have been hard for him not to be. He had been sired by Snowhimself and Snow was as old and powerful as they came. His own sire had been aminor vampire, not enough power to pass along.

They had long ago agreed not to let thatinfluence their friendship. Haymitch liked to pretend everyone was equal intheir little community. He liked to pretend he wasn’t their king.

Everyone humored him but everyone also knewbetter.

Even Katniss and Johanna.

“What do you want me to do here?” he scowled,flicking ashes off his cigarette with annoyance. “It’s only been a couple ofweeks…”

“It’s been threeweeks.” Jo cut him off. “She can live on her own now. If he can’t control her,then she needs to go. They’re bothering everyone. When they’re not screaming ateach other, they’re fucking loud enough to wake half the Village. Day andnight. We’re not animals. The way he’s behaving… He’s never been like this. Youcan’t tell me you don’t see it? She’s done somethingto him.”

He actually chuckled at that but there was noamusement behind it. “She’s done some things to him alright… You’re sure that’snot what’s bothering you?”

Johanna sneered. “Please.”

But her shifting eyes said it all. She had beensporting a crush for Haymitch ever since they had found her in New Orleans thatsummer thirty years earlier but he had never wanted to do anything with her.Aside from the occasional lay, Haymitch had never wanted to do anything withany woman that Chaff could tell.

It was the first time Chaff had seen him takingany interest in a woman like that.

And despite the incessant arguing, his friendwas happy. Sure, the shouting and the never-ending sex noises soundtrack werebecoming old… But Haymitch was happy.

“You’re so eager to kick her out, why don’t youtry challenging her?” he mocked.

“Like I couldn’t flatten her in five seconds.”Jo muttered, burying her hands in her pockets.

Maybe, maybe not, he mused but didn’t say that outloud, mindful of Johanna’s ego. The girl prided herself on being the toughestof their lot and it would have been difficult to say who, of her or Katniss,was the most powerful one.

But Effienow…

The moment he and Haymitch had walked into thatclub he had felt her and that had been beforeHaymitch had finished turning her. Given who her sire was… It wasn’t thatsurprising she was that powerful. Shemight not have been a skilled fighter but she had charisma enough that he wascertain it wouldn’t be long before she managed to develop a thrall.

“I’m not sure she’s the one you should be worryingabout.” he snorted. “Can’t see Haymitch taking it very well.”

“You’re going to go talk to him or what?” shespat, bringing them back on topic.

He sighed. “And say what? Look, you don’t like her, I get it, but I ain’t gonna marchover there and get my ass landed to me just ‘cause it all bothers you thatHaymitch is getting some.”

“It’s not about him getting some.” she snarled.“You’ve seen his neck? She uses him as a chew toy.”

“Whatever floats his boat.” he dismissed. Hehad his suspicions that Haymitch used her as a chew toy too, except the bitemarks must have been in more… discrete places.

“What if she claims him?” she insisted. “She’sthree weeks old and she thinks she can waltz in and…”

“Johanna.” he growled, putting just the rightamount of authority in his voice that the girl shut up. She glared at him andplainly resented the show of power but she blissfullyshut up. “Listen to me, girl. He’s a hundred and he’s her sire. She won’tforce him into anything he doesn’twant. And if he wants to claim her or let her claim him…” He waved his stump inthe air. “It’s about time he finds some good in this world. He spent half hisundead life taking care of all of your ungrateful asses who want to send me explain to him what he can or can’tdo. Newsflash. He can do whatever hewants. You know why? ‘Cause he could tear us all limb to limb and not break a sweat.”

Jo’s pout was an ugly thing. “So you won’thelp, that’s what you’re saying.”

“I’m saying it’s been three weeks, they’restill all over each other.” he grumbled. “It will fade soon enough. Now runalong and let me enjoy my evening in peace for fuck’s sake.”

He tossed the cigarette and stormed back in hishouse, slamming the door behind him for good measure. He had just finishedfixing himself some blood with his coffee when his too sensitive ears picked upthe echo of yet another argument.

He closed his eyes and let out an annoyed sigh.

He couldn’t quite make out what they werefighting about but he had figured out quickly enough that fighting was a lotlike foreplay to them. And, surely enough, the shouting match soon left placeto more straightforward noises. And even if he had been deaf, it would havebeen difficult to ignore the buzzing.Haymitch’s power was a familiar and comforting background hum that they had all gotten used to – it was comforting, it wassafety, it was home. Effie now…Effie’s power was new and nobody was still quite used to it yet, which lefteveryone on edge. It would settle eventually but when they were together like that… Well… Haymitch’s power seemed to throb and it was impossible to ignoreit.

He ate his breakfast and waited.

He might not agree with Jo’s methods or withthe cowardice of the rest of their friends who would rather push him under the bus but he could still see some stuff would have to be spelled out.

It wasn’t Haymitch’s fault. There weren’t a lotof couples in the Village and none of them were as powerful as Haymitch andEffie were. His friend probably didn’t even realize.

So when the buzzingreceded, Chaff took himself by the hand, gathered his courage and crossed thestreet. He hammered on the door until Haymitch wretched it open, sporting anirritated look and only wearing a pair of checkered sweatpants that seemed tohang low on his hips.

“What?” Haymitch barked, gruff. His grey eyesdarted behind Chaff to several specific points down the street where, no doubt,people were spying on them.

“We need to have a talk.” Chaff declared,crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Do we?” he growled, flashing fangs, clearlynot liking the authoritative attitude.

Chaff held on as long as he could but in theend, he licked his lips and forced his shoulders to relax, forced himself notto appear too confrontational. “Yeah, we do.Maybe Effie could quit eavesdropping and go visit Peeta or whatever.”

As if on cue, Effie emerged from theliving-room in a ridiculous pink dress and disheveled hair. He wasn’t angrywith her, unlike Jo he had nothing against her per se, but he was still annoyed to have to do this and he supposed it showed.She hissed because she felt threatened and then winced, shaking her head.

“My apologies.” she sighed. “I still havetroubles controlling… Well.. This…”

“It’s fine, love.” he dismissed.

“Not sure it is.” Haymitch growled, his eyes still staring at something behindhis shoulder. “The fuck is Jo lurkingaround for? ‘Cause if she’s got it in her head to attack my girl…”

“Nobody’s gonna attack Effie.” Chaff stated,loud enough to be heard three streets away by sensitive ears. It was an orderthat everyone would respect or regret defying.

“Better not.” he retorted. “Cause if they do,they won’t walk away from it.”

“Enough nonsense, Haymitch.” she chided,slipping past him, letting out a small purring sound as she did so. “I will beat Peeta’s.”

Haymitch watched her go and then stepped asideto let Chaff in, slamming the door shut almost pointedly. “What’s this allabout, then? ‘Cause if you all think you’re subtle…”

“Get an old friend a drink, yeah?” he snorted,clapping his shoulder. “Whiskey will do.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes but led the way to theliving-room, seemed to think better of it and then steered him toward thekitchen. Probably because the proofs of what had just happened with Effie were all over the living-room.

“I ain’t letting her go.” Haymitch snapped.

“Not asking you to.” Chaff shrugged.

“Theyare.” he spat, glaring at whatever – or whoever – he could sense beyond thewindow. “I get it. She’s a pain in the ass and I hate her most days. But if shegoes, I go. She’s never been to Paris, I might take her there.”

“You hate Paris.” he pointed out, taking a sip ofthe whiskey Haymitch had just poured him.

“Didn’t say I would stay there.” his friend scoffed. “She’s all fancy and shit. Might like a tour of Europe. It’sbeen a while since I did that.”

“You would never leave us for good. Not for Europe anyway.” he chuckled. “Stopplaying at being an old grumpy vampire.”

Haymitch smirked, amused, but it was short-lived.He soon grew serious. “I ain’t kidding. She goes, I go.”

“Nobody’s asking her to go.” Chaff temporized.“But it’d be good if you could keep it…. Low.Buddy, I’m all for you pleasing the lady but I really don’t need to hear asmuch as I do. Or feel, for thatmatter. Maybe you don’t need to… show offabout being an old powerful vampire that much or that often, yeah? I’m sure she’sgot the drift by now.”

Haymitch had the good grace to look embarrassed.He finally sat down and poured himself a glass, rubbing the back of his neck ashe did so. “She’s young, she’s still getting used to the vampire thing… And…”

“And?” he prompted.

His friend made the whiskey twirl twice in hisglass before downing it. “She challenges my authority. All the fucking time. I’m her bloody sire – pun intended – doesn’tthat go with instinctive respect or whatever? I can’t help myself. She defiesme and I just… You know. Show off, likeyou say. She’s such a pain in theass, I swear…”

Chaff sighed, snatched the bottle and refilledtheir glasses. “She’s powerful.”

“That too.” Haymitch admitted with a snort. Hedidn’t look sad or disappointed about it though. If anything, he looked happyto have find someone feisty. A good match.

“Teach her to keep herself under control, yeah?Work on that…” he advised. “She’s still feeding of you?”

“No.” Haymitch shook his head. “Well, yeah,sometimes. But I’m feeding of her too, so… It’s less about feeding than…” He waved that away. “She’s on blood bags now. She’snot big on it but she’s doing fine. I was thinking about taking her into townin a week or so, test how she does around humans.”

“We could take Peeta too.” he agreed. “He’s hada hard time with keeping off live human blood. We can’t keep him secluded hereforever.”

“Works for me.” Haymitch approved. “We can takeKatniss, Finnick and Beetee with us. Between the five of us we should be ableto control them if they lose it.”

“Alright. Good. That’s settled.” he nodded. “Now, back to the matter at hands…You’re my best friend and I love you but I swear I’m gonna walk outside indaylight if you don’t get your house soundproofed.”

Haymitch rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on…”

“No.” he cut him off. “We can’t do much aboutthe power thing until she learns to control herself but I won’t listen to youscreaming at each other or fucking each other senseless if I don’t have to. Forone thing, it’s giving me a hard on every time and I don’t have any pretty chick to take care of it. You’re gettingthis house soundproofed.”

His friend pursed his lips in displeasure buteventually gave him a brief nod, cheeks and tips of his ears a nice shade ofcrimson. “Fine. Alright. I’ll talk to Beetee about it, see what he can come upwith.”

Chaff almost rubbed it in but then he decidedhis friend had been embarrassed enough for the day. He nodded to the collectionsof vampire hickeys on his throat. “Jo thinks she uses you as a chew toy.”

“I’m hers and she’s mine.” Haymitch growled,almost defensively.

Chaff drummed his fingers on the rim of hisglass, choosing his next words cautiously. “You wanna be careful with all that yours and mine business when you’re biting each other… Wouldn’t do toaccidentally claim her. Eternity’s an awfully long time.”

Not that you could claim someone accidentally. It was very much like amarriage and only worked with the full consent of each party involved. It wasall in the blood after all.

A shadow passed on Haymitch’s face.

“Wouldn’t be that bad.” his friend muttered.

Chaff was surprised and didn’t bother hidingit. Yes, it was the first time he had seen Haymitch willingly enter a seriousrelationship and, yes, he had talked about that possibility with Johanna but…He hadn’t thought he was thinking about it yet.

“You’ve known her a month.” he pointed out.

Haymitch awkwardly shifted on his chair anddowned his glass. “The moment I saw her in that club I…” His friend stopped andshrugged. “Look, I know it’s stupid, won’t blame you for laughing at me, but… Ifeel like I’ve known her forever. Like… Like I was waiting for her or some shit.I don’t know if it’s because I sired her. I don’t know if it’s because she’s sodamn powerful it’s intoxicating. Ijust know I can’t lose her, alright?”

There was a hint of a growl in there, achallenge or a dare Chaff wasn’t sure.

“Still fuckingearly to think about forever.” he pressed all the same.  “Give it a decade or two.”

It wasn’t like Haymitch to rush into that kindof things.

“Ain’t saying I’m gonna ask her tomorrow.” hisfriend grumbled. “Just saying… I’m serious about keeping her here. And if theothers have got a problem with it…”

“The others have a problem with hearing youhaving sex and shouting at each other all the time.” Chaff insisted. “Get thatout of the way, it will go a long way into smoothing things over. They’ll fallin line.”

“Even Jo?” Haymitch mocked.

“Jo needs her ass kicked once in a while.” hechuckled good naturedly. “You know she doesn’t deal well with new women. Shefeels threatened easily. And she likes it even less when the newbies get allyour attention. It was the same when you brought Katniss in.”

She was jealous, in short, but he wasn’t goingto say that aloud. It wasn’t that her crush was much more than that but Johannawas insecure. She kept people at arm length but she was desperate to belong andwas terrified of finding herself on her own again. She was afraid of beingreplaced.

Haymitch had a gift to find strays who neededhelp. He also had a gift for finding kids who had a temper. Katniss hadn’t immediatelyfit in and she and Jo had butted heads more than once before they had becomefriends.

“She better get used to it.” his frienddeclared. “Effie’s mine and she’s here to stay.”

Which made her Haymitch’s official consort.

Which put her above Johanna in the food chain.

Which wouldn’t go down well.

With the Careers using their back yard as theirhunting ground, it wasn’t the right time for that sort of power struggle.

“Just get that house soundproofed.” Chaffbegged and then he couldn’t help himself, he laughed. “What the fuck did you break that last time?”

There hadbeen the sound of collapsing furniture.

“Coffee table.” His friend admitted.

“She likes it wild.” he taunted.

“She doesn’t like her sex life discussed andshe’s coming back.” Haymitch warned, about thirty seconds before they heard thefront door opening and closing. Surely enough, Effie walked in the kitchen,looking very much subdued. Haymitch frowned. “What’s wrong with you? Someonebothered you?”

Haymitch was very good at controlling himselfbut Chaff saw a flash of his fangs.

Effie was flushed and didn’t seem to be able tomeet their eyes.

“Peeta mentioned a few… problems.” sheexplained before pursing her lip petulantly. “Haymitch, why didn’t you mentionthe enhanced hearing? Are you aware everyonecan hear us when we… And… And what is this about feeling us?” Haymitch winced and Chaff burst out laughing to herclear irritation. “I fail to see whatis amusing! Truly, if I had known…Oh… I am never having sex again.”

“What?” Haymitch’s head snapped up so fastsomething must have snapped in his neck.

Chaff wiped tears of hilarity from his eyes buttook pity on her. She looked mortified.

“You know the buzzing you feel when you’re nearanother vampire?” he asked.

“Yes.” she nodded, half glaring at Haymitch andhalf squirming in embarrassment.

“It’s stronger or weaker depending on who it is,right?” he continued.

She nodded. “You are strong but less thanHaymitch.”

“Yeah, well… You’re not exactly weak yourself.”he snorted. “So when you and Haymitch get into a fight and you try to get theupper hand, you power throbs and the buzzing increase. You need me to explainwhat happens when you’re into that othersort of fighting or…”

“No, I understand.” she said quickly, flushingever redder. She cleared her throat. “We are very sorry for any inconvenience we have caused. Please, assure everyone it won’t happen again. Now, if you willexcuse me, I will go hide upstairs and not come out until a year or so.”

Chaff burst out laughing, shaking his head ather back.

Haymitch made a face and propped himself on thetable to stand up. “I need to go see Beetee. Now.”

He walked to Beetee’s house with him, planningon going to the woods to hunt himself something afterwards.

“For what it’s worth… I like her.” he told hisfriend.

Haymitch didn’t acknowledge that but hisshoulder bumped against his.

They didn’t need to talk to understand eachother.

[fictioninmyblood]

Protector of Her Heart

Chapter One

Note: I am new to writing fanfic (this is my first one). I welcome constructive criticism as well as pointers and tips for bettering my blog. Thank you for reading :)

Summary: Elinora is an empath’s version of Professor X, only a lot more powerful. She is an enhanced human with the ability to read the world’s emotions. Nick Fury has welcomed her into the fold, but with a fear of herself she has been quite reserved. A forced bonding night with the newly discovered Wakandan royalty brings her out of the shadows of fear and into the light of lust.

Unkulunkulukazi wam omncinci - my little goddess

Intyatyambo yam - my flower

Warning: language

——————–

Natasha was up and getting ready to go for her morning run, when the smell of garlic goodness wafting through the house led her to the source. She found the newest member to the team quietly putting away the ingredients she had used.

“Why are you still sneaking around at 4 in the morning?”

“Fuck you scared me!”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Well, I don’t want to wake anybody up and I was hungry.”

“It smells delicious, care to share?”

“Uh sure, I don’t need to eat all this by myself anyway.”

She cut the garlic and chicken grilled cheese into 2 triangles and slides Natasha one on a napkin avoiding all physical contact. Natasha leans against the counter and looks at her with a puzzling look.

“Why don’t you like physical or eye contact?”

“Mr. Fury didn’t tell you why I’m here, did he?”

“Not really, he said that was your story to tell, but to keep our emotions in check.”

“Oh, well that explains why you are all so eager to get to know me.”

She was so nervous here, but she knew this was the safest place for her and everybody normal in the world. Natasha was the last person she wanted to talk about her powers with, especially with how desirable she is considered in society. Elinora wanted to be desired like that, but being a plus size African American young woman pushed her to the bottom of that list.

“You gonna explain or should I just go on my run?”

“Oh yea, sorry, got caught up in my head, I do that a lot.”

“People make you nervous?”

“Very. It’s cause I’m an empath, the strongest in history as far as anybody knows. At least that’s what Professor X told Mr. Fury”

“That doesn’t sound too threatening.”

“Well wait for it, it will momentarily… I can feel the emotions of the whole world past or present…without any type of assistance, unlike Professor X… and if I choose so, I can direct the pain of every person living or dead onto someone, it usually ends in the person writhing in indescribable agonizing pain and either dying or becoming insane.”

Natasha now looked at her with appreciation and understanding. She was afraid of herself and her power. That much was evident, but she was also shy and introverted. She knew how lonely that could be and she also knew she had to do something about it. Thankfully the perfect scenario was already available.

“Okay so you have a kickass power and you’re afraid of human contact, that’s understandable. Obviously Fury trusts you or he wouldn’t have brought you here. And I hate that you have been avoiding the world and us, so here is what we’re gonna do. Tonight we are welcoming the Wakandan king and his entourage, we’re going clubbing and you’re coming with.”

“But-”

“I will take you shopping later.”

“But-”

“And I think we can figure out a hairstyle with some help from F.R.I.D.A.Y. and our guests.”

“But-”

“And I’m not taking no for an answer. Come on! You’re the only other woman besides Wanda and me on the team. We need to bond and stuff. It’ll be fun.”

“I doubt that.”

Elinora knew she was not getting out of this, at least not right now. Sighing she shook her head figuring that it would be easier to agree now and back out later.

“Fine, but this is a bad idea”

Elinora was glad for Natasha’s workout schedule as it gave her a few more hours of sleep and preparation. She needed the perfect back out excuse because she was sure Natasha would drug her and bring her if it wasn’t delivered properly. 

———————————————-

Before she knew it, the afternoon had come, along with the guests. She was in the middle of cleaning up as quickly and efficiently as she could in order to escape socializing, but for the first time in weeks she had failed to hide in time. Everyone followed the scent of her ziti and even with her music blasting in her ears, she knew when they entered the kitchen. Foolishly hoping they would ignore her and move along, she ignored them which probably wasn’t a great idea because Natasha was not having her bullshit anymore. She was officially done babying her now that she knew that she was just hiding behind her power.

“I know you can sense us here, you can stop pretending.”

Elinora sighed and turned around to a confused group of Wakandans and Avengers, and a pissed off Natasha.

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I couldn’t hear, headphones and all.”

Natasha’s annoyance was strong so she focused on it and changed it to the calmness that Vision always carried with him. Natasha noticed and tried to ignore her need to shake the girl out of her shell recognizing that her emotions needed to be kept in check.

“Were you trying to leave a food offering and back out of tonight?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I was just cleaning up my mess.”

“You were doing what you have done since you got here. You were avoiding us!”

“I was not. Just making myself scarce. This is probably not a great time to mention this, but I don’t think I can participate in the…festivities.”

“Oh no you don’t!”

Tony knew about Elinora’s abilities and figured that Natasha found out and was now trying to force the poor girl to socialize despite the Elinora’s insistence that she was a threat. Sensing the tension and knowing it needed to be broken he did the only thing he could.

“You speak? I swore you were mute. It’s about damn time.”

“As entertaining as this encounter is, does anybody want to clue us in?” Shuri asked.

Natasha and Elinora spoke at the same time.

“Sure” “Not particularly”

M’Baku was the only one not interested in whatever drama was occurring, but rather the beauty of a goddess tat he somehow felt connected to. He suddenly wanted know her, her secrets, her fears, her love. If only she would stop looking at the ground. Natasha butt into his wandering mind..

“Elinora here, finally told me why she’s been ignoring us and I got her to agree to come out, but now she is clearly trying to bribe and run by cooking and disappearing and I am not allowing her to run…again.”

“I’m not running, just trying to keep people safe”

“Tony, you have brought the king and future queen into a house where it is not safe?!” Okoye accused.

Natasha glared at the warrior, urging her to shut up.

“I assure you, everyone is safe.”

Okoye spoke in their native tongue of Xhosa, “If it is so safe, then what is the girl protecting us from?”

It was quickly becoming too much for Elinora with everyone’s emotions bombarding her. She tried to breath, but it wasn’t helping. She couldn’t do it,  she couldn’t be a normal 22 year old and at that moment she just wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear, so she did the only thing she could. She ran, breathing in the varying emotions she breathed out sleep on all of them. Her rash decision gave her just enough time to turn off the oven and run to her room, locking herself in. 

I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this.

But she was still there as everyone argued around her, their varying negative emotions being magnified by her inability to block them out. She slowly moved to the corner of the kitchen, making herself as small as possible crying unknowingly. Letting the pain of the world in and her pain of always being the ugly awkward fat girl who couldn’t even socialize mix until she was no longer emotionally there. M’Baku could not stand to witness his beautiful flower wilt before his very eyes and grunted like a gorilla in the intimidating way that only he could achieve, getting everyone’s attention. Vision knew what he was trying to get across and spoke for them both.

“I think, what the gentleman is trying to make clear is that your negative emotions and energy are effecting the girl, so please reign them in.

They all simultaneously turned to see Elinora curled in the corner of the kitchen crying into her arms, making herself as small as possible. M’Baku shoved them out of the way and crouched in front of her and tried to get her to look at him. He knew that if she would just look at him, she would be fine, he had no clue how he knew that, but he did.

“Intyatyambo yam, look at me precious, it’s okay. The idiots are sorry.”

“How dare you-”

Okoye was silenced with a potent glare from him that told him he would kill her just to shut her up. Everyone was surprised to see this giant of a man behaving so gently towards this girl that had barely spoken to anyone, especially him, everyone except T’Challa. He knew that look, for he shared it with Nakia.

“Unkulunkulukazi wam omncinci look at me. Just look at me, focus on me, not the negative emotions you’re feeling right now.”

She finally looked up into those understanding brown eyes and she couldn’t deny that even though she just met him, she knew him and he knew her. She breathed and for the first time in her life, all the emotions of the world were gone except for her own and his. It was the most relaxed she had ever felt. The peace she now felt funneled outward and everyone relaxed as one.

“So can we eat now because all this arguing has left me famished. I’m starving and that smells delicious for American cooking.” 

“Shuri! Do not insult our hosts.”

T’Challa shook his head at his sister’s sense of humor.

“Fine brother, I was just trying to lighten the mood…and the hunger pangs in my stomach.”

Shuri moved to get a plate. Everyone laughed and followed her lead. Taking this moment to not dwell on what just happened.

Elinora looked at M’Baku and whispered…

“How?”

Chapter Two

Tags: @skysynclair19 @biglipsandafropicks

[notsotastefulthoughts-blog]

Summary: Reader is staying for an extra lesson after school since their depression is making them fall behind in school. When they are leaving the room to answer their phone they accidentally leave their computer with their online journal open.

Pairing: teacher!Dean x depressed!reader

Word count: 1100ish

Warnings: Reader is thinking some negative thoughts about themselves, depression is mentioned. Other than that it’s pretty fluffy.

A/N: So... this is my first fanfic EVER so please be nice. Also, my english won’t be perfect because english is not my first language. Since I’m very new to this, feel free to message me some constructive criticism.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With a deep breath you entered Mr. Winchester’s classroom. You actually didn’t want to stay at school. You just wanted to go home and lie down in bed and never get up again. Your depression was more present some days, and this was one of those days. Trying to stay focused had been very difficult today and that was the reason you stayed after school hours to do some work you didn’t finish during the day. After all, your english literature teacher was one of your favorite teachers. If he could not make you feel inspired to work, something was very wrong. It was very nice of him to stay after school was over to help students who had a tough time with assignments, and even if some students needed help with subjects he knew nothing about, he would still do his very best to help them.

You were a bit early and Mr. Winchester probably wouldn’t be there for another 15 minutes, but you sat down at a desk and opened your computer. Everything was right where you had left it, and the last thing you had done on your computer was writing in your online journal. It was kind of like a blog, but it was private, so only you could see the posts. You continued writing the post you had begun but didn’t have time to finish in your last class. The journal was a good way to get all the bad thoughts in your head out so that they were somewhere else than in your head, distracting you. Since today was a bad day, there were a lot of bad thoughts coming with it. Mostly about yourself. You were a failure. How could you even have friends? You were so boring, and you sucked at everything. You didn’t deserve to take up Mr. Winchester’s time. He had more important things to do than helping you, it wasn’t like he actually liked talking to you anyway. He probably just pretended because he had to. Because you were his student. The things you wrote about yourself weren’t nice. You had to get them out somehow though, and you had found that this was the best way.

When 5 minutes had passed since you first entered the classroom and your entry was done your phone started ringing. It was your dad. You left the classroom and walked around the corner since you wanted some privacy and some other student could walk in any moment.

“Hi dad!” You answered, sounding happy even though you really weren’t. You didn’t want him to know something was wrong.

“Where are you, Y/N?” he asked, sounding rather serious.

Fuck. he couldn’t know that you weren’t keeping up with your classes and that you had to stay behind to get extra help. You told him a quick lie, something about hanging out at a friends house and that you would be home in a few hours, and started walking back to the classroom. You realised that you had left the page with your journal entry open, but it should be fine, right? No one else was probably in the classroom yet. Just as you were making your way into the classroom you froze in the doorframe. Mr. Winchester was standing by your desk, staring at your computer screen with a concerned look on his face. He looked up and his green eyes met yours.

“Y/N. Care to explain what this is?” He asked, and you could have sworn that he for some reason almost sounded...Angry?

“Um… Well… It’s kind of like my journal.” You answered, and you were starting to get a bit flustered.

“You mean that you wrote these things about yourself? That you are ugly, worthless and that you don’t deserve to have people who care about you?”

You looked down at the ground, and a piece of hair you had put behind your ear fell down so that it covered your face. Your eyes started tearing up. Why were you so weak? When someone other than yourself read the things you thought about yourself out loud they sounded pretty harsh. You took a shaky breath before you let out a quiet “Yes.”

When Mr. Winchester replied his voice was much softer.

“Why?” He asked, and now he both sounded and looked really worried.

“Because that’s how I feel about myself.” You said, still looking down at the ground, avoiding eye contact.

In what felt like 0.5 seconds he went from standing on the other side of the classroom to standing only a foot or two away from you. He reached out and put the piece of hair that had fallen down back in its place behind your ear. He lifted your chin so that your eyes once again met his. He looked so worried and so kind that you felt like you could really trust him.

“It’s my dad…” You whispered. “He puts so much pressure on me, and I can’t live up to it, no matter how hard I tr-”

“Y/N, look at me. Not a single one of the things you wrote about yourself in your journal is true. You are not ugly, you are not worthless and you are such a talented, kind and funny person. When it comes to your dad, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter. What matters is that there are people who care about you and who love you, and I really want you to believe me when I say that you are not a waste of my time.”

As he said those things to you, tears started rolling down your face. “Mr. Winchester, I don’t know how I will ever be able to thank you for everything that you do for me. I don’t know how I would be able to get through this without you”

He pulled you in for a hug. His chin resting on the top of your head and his strong arms wrapped around you made you feel safe. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/N. You just have to believe what I’m saying and know that I will always be here for you, no matter what it is you need me for.”

You pulled away from the hug, wiped your tears and smiled at him. A few seconds later some other students who were also attending Mr. Winchester’s lesson entered the classroom. You walked over to your desk, sat down and smiled a little bit to yourself. You closed the tab with your online journal and looked up at Mr. Winchester. As this lesson began, maybe your recovery from all the thoughts that had haunted you for so long did too.

​

[cheshiresense]

What if: Regulus survived his horcrux hunt, turned himself in, served out his sentence, left for America, and then doesn't hear from his home country again until years later when a snowy owl finds him at Ilvermorny?

Regulus likes Ilvermorny. It’s a castle too of course but constructed of beach-white stone and elegant palatial towers instead of the bulkier grey masonry of Hogwarts, and even at the height of winter, the weather never gets quite as dreary as the Scottish highlands are capable of.  Hogwarts had its own charm, he knows, bright lights and enchantments to breathe warmth and life into the place, but if Regulus ever felt any kind of wonder or fondness for his alma mater, it’s long since been overshadowed by the powerplays and prejudice that ran rampant through all his years there.

Here in Ilvermorny, nobody gives a damn what his bloodline is, whether he’s a pureblood or a Black or even a former Death Eater.  Well, they care a little bit, but not in the way Gryffindors or Order members or Slytherins or fellow purebloods back in Britain would.

Back at the beginning, after he served his five-year sentence in Azkaban for assorted crimes committed during his two years of service under Voldemort, he couldn’t leave the country fast enough, malnourished and weak and wanting nothing more than to get away from both the Light faction who looked at him like he was scum as well as the Dark faction who muttered amongst themselves about his cowardice and his betrayal to their cause, especially since – only a year after Regulus turned himself in – news of the Dark Lord’s demise spread like wildfire, even to the darkest, filthiest corners of Azkaban.  Regulus witnessed himself as Death Eater after Death Eater was marched past his cell and shoved into empty ones of their own.

They spat vitriolic insults at him as soon as they saw him, and none of them appreciated the fact that Regulus received a ‘lighter’ sentence due to his voluntary admission of guilt.  Not to mention turning himself in before the war ended and the Light side gained the power to come down hard on anything and anyone remotely connected to the Dark.

Not that it helped even after his prison sentence ended.  Aurors still shadowed him more often than not, Light witches and wizards viewed him with superior disdain, and more than one former Death Eater or Dark supporter were no doubt already planning an AK at his back the first opportunity they got.  Regulus simply couldn’t live like that.  Oh, he probably could’ve holed himself up in Grimmauld Place or some other Black property, but who was to say Sirius wouldn’t hunt him down and reap further payment of his own? Regulus didn’t have anything to do with the Dark Lord setting his sights on the Potter family, but he knew his own brother well enough to realize there would be little difference to Sirius. Slytherin meant Dark, Dark meant evil, and evil didn’t change.

So Regulus left.  Visited his parents’ graves briefly, put his affairs in order, withdrew every last bit of gold that hadn’t gone towards the fine he’d had to pay along with five years of his life, and picked a place as far away from Britain as logically possible.  America felt almost far enough, and so to the United States he went after rushing an international portkey through.  The authorities were still suspicious of him, but Regulus had paid for his mistakes, he wasn’t doing anything illegal, and if nothing else, he was Lord Black, and prison or no, that still carried some weight in pureblood circles, Light or Dark.

He spent the two months after that living out of a tiny room above a bookshop owned by a stern old squib, alternating between trying to decide how much his status as a former convict would work against him if he tried to look for a job and drinking himself into oblivion in an attempt to drown out the rotted corpses and rattling breaths of inferi and dementors in his nightmares.

He was probably luckier than he deserved when a fight between a group of aurors and their runaway target confronted each other on the street right outside.  The resulting spell damage destroyed a part of the bookshop, and Regulus – in a fit of charitable insanity – offered to fix it for her.  And then, just so he won’t have to do it again, he adds a few runes to the building, and by the time a team from MACUSA came by to sort out the rubble, the bookshop was the only place that looked as good as new.  Two weeks later, when the shop selling potions two doors down exploded in a spectacular fashion due to a brewing mishap that thankfully didn’t kill anyone but did start a fire that damaged all the buildings around it, Miriam’s bookshop remained pristine and entirely unsinged.

So of course, people noticed.  His neighbours, for one, started enquiring about him, and they even offered to pay him for his services if he could do the same for their homes and establishments. And in Regulus’ opinion, you can never have too much money, and it wasn’t even that much out of his way, so he agreed.

A week after he warded every building on his block, a man came by the bookshop, caught Regulus coming in through the door, and promptly introduced himself as Agilbert Fontaine, the headmaster of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  He’d heard – from a friend of a friend – about a wizard talented with runes, and it just so happened that there was an opening at his school.

The rest was history. Regulus had never taught anyone in his life and was all set to refuse, but – as he’d soon learned – Fontaine was not a man willing to give up on any goal he’d set his sights on, and that included the teaching position he had to fill before the term began in September.

Regulus told him that he was British.  Fontaine raised an eyebrow as if to say yes, I figured that out myself, thank you.

So Regulus told him he might as well have just graduated because he’d been in jail for the past five years and only left Hogwarts less than two years before that.  He told him he’d been a Death Eater.

Fontaine proceeded to whip out a file with all of Regulus’ records and credentials – that he’d gotten from a friend of a friend, of course – and assured him he already knew and didn’t care.  Well he did care, but mostly only about the bit on Regulus’ final exam scores.  All NEWTs, straight O’s, a glowing recommendation from both his Runes professor and the examiner because Regulus invented a whole new ward just for his exam, and apparently, Ilvermorny could use someone like that on the roster.

“You’re that Black, aren’t you?”  Fontaine had said afterwards, studying Regulus thoughtfully. “The one who turned himself in?  Yeah, we heard about that.  Anyone with any sense kept an ear on that war, and word has it you were the only one who walked away from that crazy dark lord.  It made papers for a while.  So it’s fine.  I can respect a man who can own up to his mistakes, and you’ve been here three months and done nothing but help out a bunch of strangers practically for free – I heard from a friend of a friend.”

Regulus really wanted to know what kind of friends Fontaine had but he felt it wasn’t his place to ask. He would’ve needed to hand over the files that the American wizard already had on him anyway if he’d applied for the post.

Still, Regulus tried to refuse.  Fontaine didn’t care.  He came back every day to nag until Regulus finally gave in, because it was so annoying. It helped that Fontaine wasn’t at all like Dumbledore.  The American was manipulative and dogged in his pursuit, but he lacked the puppet-master air that Dumbledore always tried to hide behind twinkly eyes and wise-man persona.

Also, between the nosy arsehole’s visits and his warding jobs around the neighbourhood, he had no time to drink himself into a stupor anymore.

Ilvermorny was different from the beginning.  The students were perhaps the most disarming, or rather, how they interacted.  They were separated into four Houses as well, just like Hogwarts’ students, but while there was rivalry and typical teenage arguments and petty falling-outs, nobody hurt or humiliated each other because of their blood status or surname or even House.  The term muggleborn didn’t even exist in their vocabulary.

The staff itself was welcoming enough, some friendlier than others, and if they knew Regulus was a former Death Eater, none of them mentioned it.  They didn’t seem particularly prejudiced, nor did they treat him differently when they heard his last name.  There was even a muggle – a no-maj – teaching No-Maj Studies.  Regulus had no idea how to react to that when he first realized, so he didn’t react at all.  His mother’s more… painful lessons certainly came in handy more than once.  He’d never talked to a muggle in his entire life, and suddenly, he was expected to work beside one.

But eventually, he adapted. The years passed, Regulus learned more about American customs and way of life, their jargon and beliefs, and even though he was planning on teaching for perhaps a year or two, he ended up staying. No thanks to Fontaine of course, who kept piling work on him whenever Regulus thought about bringing up the termination of his teaching contract with the blasted man.  But he also gained favourite students and even friendly acquaintances amongst the professors, and somewhere along the way, Regulus stopped wanting to leave.

He found peace here, sometime between lessons and grading and grabbing a round of drinks with a few of his friends who’ve seen the ugly mark on his arm but don’t hold it against him.

Nine years down the road, Regulus is still at Ilvermorny, currently sitting on his usual perch on one of the tower roofs, waiting for the first light of dawn.  He’s always been an early riser, and once he found out how beautiful the sunrises are in these mountains, it’s become tradition to come up here and enjoy a few hours alone with the brightening sky.

And that’s where the owl finds him.  It appears on the pale orange horizon, a dot at first, then a vaguely bird-like shape, then finally Regulus makes out the powerful curve of its wings and the snow white feathers with black markings on its front.

He thinks, at first, that it’s carrying post for one of the students, or even one of the other professors, but the owl circles once around the castle, banks down, and heads straight towards him.

Reflexively, Regulus extends an arm, barely feeling its claws through the sleeve of his robes as it lands with a hoot.  A letter is attached to its leg, and Regulus sees his name on the envelope, written in black ink, the penmanship more chicken scratch than anything Regulus has seen in years.

There’s nothing that indicates what it might contain, and yet, something about the thick parchment makes him tense in a way he hasn’t been since he made a new life for himself in Ilvermorny.  Nobody sends him mail unless it’s school- or ministry-related.  His home is here now – Fontaine even allows him to stay over the summer – and his friends all have other means to contact him that are quicker than owl-post.

Slowly, he detaches it from the owl, who – job done for the moment – hops off his arm and onto the roof, clearly awaiting a reply.  For a minute, Regulus debates setting the letter on fire and never reading it.  Then he decides that that response is definitely too dramatic, and his paranoia is probably getting the better of him again.

He runs a thumb along the sealed edge of the envelope before slipping it into his robes and returning his attention to the surrounding mountain range.

Maybe it really is just paranoia.  But his instincts tell him that he’s not going to like the contents, and he’s not about to ruin his morning routine by opening it now.  There’s plenty of time for that later.

[muinaru-novel-blog]

Chapter Twelve - The Girl from the Mirror

A strong, cool breeze blew over a large balcony and swept through a set of open glass doors. The breeze caught the curtains draped on either side and drew out the thin veil underlining. The veil whipped into the air and around the shoulders of a young girl about the aged between fourteen and fifteen.

The girl was dressed strangely; She wore a leather tricorn hat, which was a little too big for her, but enforced a snug fit with the help of a bandanna. Her body was wrapped tightly in an nineteenth century military coat, complete tails and an elaborate floral golden trim. Her legs were kept warm in a pair of thick light brown trousers and lastly her feet were protected with a pair of knee-high boots.

The girl walked gently out onto the balcony into the warmth of the sunrise. She held her hat down firmly as she leant over the wooden banister. The balcony was fixed upon a side of the building made from sandy coloured bricks and hung over the edge of a cliff. It leered high above a great expanse of rainforest, which stretched out into the horizon and faded into the morning mist.

Far across to the side of the balcony roared a great avalanche of water, which gushed out of large dam built across the edge of the cliff. The dam blocked an old river to form behind it a vast lake, which was contained within the walls of the mountainous landscape, where, within, a few sailboats floated gently over the soft ripples.

A few towns were built around the lake, from which roads wound out, down to the lake and finished a marina, where many sailboats laid anchor.

The dam itself looked old; it was stained with brown grime streaking down the pale brickwork, the bolts oozed a rusty composite and thick moss grew around the spouts that released the water. But, despite the dam’s aged appearance, it looked very sturdy and merged seamlessly into the rockfaces around it.

Built much farther across the cliff face were more homes, which stretched back into the rainforest behind. The houses were tall, reaching several storeys high. They were constructed from large sandy-coloured bricks and were reinforced with thick wooden beams, which criss-crossed over the exterior and were bolted in place. The houses by the cliff also were given large balconies that leered over the forest below.

 Suddenly, a tired groan mumbled from back inside and the girl quickly abandoned the balcony. She walked inside and stopped at the doorway, where she leant against the frame. There she remained still and gazed upon Erik, who was sitting up from the sofa in the centre of the room.

Erik rubbed his face, oblivious of the girl, and stretched his body up off from the sofa. The room was very spacious and the ceiling was very high. The walls were decorated with floral wallpaper and were segregated from the ceiling by an elaborate golden floral trimming. Painted upon the ceiling was a lavish fresco of a beautiful landscape that contained bustling scene of birds and insects.

The room clearly once belonged to someone of high status, however, this was obviously no longer the case, as the place was very tired and extremely unkempt; the wallpaper was pealing, the fresco was cracked and faded; the furniture was scratched, torn and stained; the floor was scarred by the stomping of many heavy boots; and the tall windows were soiled by the soot from the nearby fireplace and grit from the spray of past raining days.

Sitting by the fireplace was a rather grand table and chairs, but it no longer served to entertain fine dining but was a place to gamble and drink, as indicated by the playing cards scattered across the surface and the nearby empty bottles of liquor.

Erik approached door in front of him, still oblivious to the girl, and gently pulled down the brass handle, but it seized. He took a firmer grip and vigorously yanked the handle down, but still it refused to move.

Erik huffed in defeat and slowly rested his head on the door. Gently, he tapped the wood with one hand before, suddenly, striking the bottom of the door with a forceful kick.

The girl smirked and slowly moved across the room, being careful not to make a sound until she reached the piano, where she struck the keys hard, playing an ominous melody: dah duh dah, duuuuuuh. Erik swiftly swivelled and pressed his back to the door. The girl smirked and explained, “The door’s locked.”

Erik’s mouth dropped as he stared at the girl’s hat. He murmured, “It’s you.”

The girl removed her hat and unravelled the bandanna, releasing her shiny hair, which glinted with a tint of violet. As she stuffed the bandanna into her hat, she asked, “What did you say? You need to speak up.”

Erik smiled and repeated, “It’s you,” and further elaborated, “I’ve seen you before.”

The girl scoffed, “I’ve never seen you before.” She walked to the fruit bowl, perusing the selection, as she added, “I never forget a face.” She placed her hat down and picked a strange looking yellow-spotted green fruit from the bowl.

Erik explained whilst rubbing his neck, “Well, you see, you couldn’t see me. You might think it’s strange … well, actually, after what I’ve seen, maybe you won’t … but anyway, I saw you in a mirror.”

The girl smirked, “You saw me through the mirror? That means,” she put on a demeaning baby voice, “you were scared, aww.” She quickly took a bite out of the yellow-spotted green fruit.

Erik protested, “What? No. Why?”

The girl explained with a cheek full of fruit, “Because when you look at those mirrors afraid, you can see through to the other world.”

Erik clenched his jaw and compressed his lips before confessing, “I was only a little afraid. There were noises … coming from the room.” He sighed and quickly asked, “Anyway, what were you doing? I saw you take something.” The girl nodded but said nothing. Erik further enquired, “So … what was in the box?”

The girl smirked, “Something I needed.”

“What did you need it for?”

“Doesn’t matter, I no longer can get it.”

“Because you got caught by that … beast?”

The girl laughed and answered loudly, “That’s Groke. He’s definitely ugly enough to be called a beast and stupid enough.”

“So, he’s not a beast? What is he?”

She smirked and explained more softly, “He’s a guard. He caught me twice and arrested me, now I’m here.”

“What were you arrested for?”

“Entering Earth without permission,” The girl grabbed a piece of fruit and tossed it over to Erik. She encouraged as Erik examined the fruit, “It’s nice, you’ll like it.”

Erik critiqued, “It looks a little weird.”

The girl rolled her eyes, ignoring his comment, and proceeded to introduced herself, “I’m Zelesa, by the way.”

“Erik,” Erik replied just before he bit into the fruit.

Zelesa sat at the table by the fireplace, making herself comfortable, placing her feet up on another chair, before she asked, “Well, what were you arrested for then?”

Erik looked at her with confusion, “I’m arrested?”

Zelesa explained, “You’re in here with me, so I guess you’ve done something.”

Erik shrugged, “I don’t know.” Suddenly, he winced in pain. The juice of the fruit had drippled down his hand and forearm, stinging his many cuts and grazes. He sat at the table and began wiping and licking his wounds clean of the juice, trying to stop the stinging.”

Zelesa shook her head as she removed a decanter and passed it to Erik, “It’s just water,” she explained, “use it to wash yourself. You look like an animal, licking yourself.”

Erik thanked her and took the decanter. As he washed his forearm, he noticed his clothes were strange to him. No longer was he wearing his jeans, trainers and polo-t-shirt but a pair of thick, brown trousers; leather boots and a thick cotton shirt, rolled up at the sleeves.

Zelesa asked, “Where’d you get the cuts?”

Erik answered, whilst tugging at his shirt, “I fell down a hill and nearly off a cliff,” then quickly asked, “What happened to my clothes?”

Zelesa answered, “I guess they were dirty,” and quickly she reverted back to the original conversation, “so, whoa, close one then?”

“Huh? Oh, the cliff, yeah, I just caught a branch on the way down. I was dangling there, but I managed to pull myself up and get back.”

“Where were you going?”

Erik gazed at her for a second and his eyes narrowed. He gazed about the room for a second but eventually he confessed, “I was looking for a lake.”

“One of those red-amber lakes?”

Erik’s eyes shot open and one of his eyebrows rose, “You know about them?”

“Of course.”

He grinned, “I didn’t think I’d find anything. But, after the mirror thing, well, I thought it was possibly there. When I was there though, for some reason, a bunch of birds attacked me ─ viciously, and gave me a load of scratches.”

Zelesa chuckled, “Hah, attacked by birds. What’d you do to upset them?”

Erik smiled, “I’m not sure, I think they didn’t like me going across the lake. When I tried to get back they just swooped down at me and my dog.”

Zelesa asked, “You have a dog?”

“Yeah, well, I found her in the house; she was the thing making noises, it turned out.”

Zelesa smiled, “Okay, so what happened at the lake then, with your dog?”

“Well, Twilight.”

“Twilight?”

“Sorry, I called the dog Twilight.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Well, Twilight fell in whilst the birds were swooping down at us. They were bloody aggressive; they’d scratched her badly, the dog, Twilight.”

Zelesa shook her head and smirked, “You shouldn’t have taken the red-amber then.”

“I didn’t, I─”

Zelesa interrupted, “Those birds don’t attack unless you took some amber.”

“How would you know?”

“Because they’re at every red-amber tree. I don’t know why they’re protective of the tree. I was just told about it.” She stopped and waited for Erik to confess but he said nothing. She sighed and asked, “So, why were you taking the red-amber?  

Erik Shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Zelesa frowned as she stared at him intensely, “You must have a reason. You don’t go all that way for no reason at all.”

Erik rubbed his neck and explained, “I saw you in the house, when … Groke? … the hairy thing, grabbed you. I thought maybe I could help if I could get through the mirror, just like how it … Groke … did.”

Zelesa grinned, “You wanted to recuse me?”

Erik shrugged and cringed, “Sort of, yeah. Sounds stupid now.”

Zelesa looked away with a big grin and teased, “Well, that some recuse. I’m still here.”

Erik smiled and shook his head and apologised, “Sorry,” before asking, “so, how long have you been in this room?”

“Only Few hours, Groke put me in here with you for some reason. He said he’d be right back.” Suddenly, Zelesa hummed, “Wait, if you got the red-amber, why didn’t go through the mirror in the end?”

“Oh, right, yeah. Urm … well, when Twilight fell into the lake and I jumped in after her─”

Zelesa sniggered, “You jumped in? Didn’t you know what the water in that lake does?”

“Erm, sort of …”

Zelesa leant in and grilled, “You had Kingdom’s book, didn’t you? You read it, right? The bit about the lakes?”

Erik narrowed his eyes, lowered his brow and asked, “Are you ... interrogating me?”

Zelesa looked around the room and remarked, “What?”

“Why’re you asking so many questions?”

Zelesa frown and replied, “You’re right, let’s sit here in silence. Sorry I was interested in someone who stole Kingdom’s book and was taken prisoner by the shades, which normally just drain life out of beings.”

Erik relaxed his face and apologised, “Sorry,” but quickly he objected, “but I didn’t steal the book. I found it in a fireplace. Someone had tried to burn it.”

Zelesa asked, “How’d you know how to repair it?”

“Found out by accident; it’d been raining and my hair dripped on the book and puff, it just healed itself.”

Zelesa smiled and asked, “So, what happened to your piece of red-amber.”

Erik searched his pockets but, alas, they were empty, apart from a scrap of paper, which was crumpled deep in the corner of his pocket. He didn’t remove the paper and simply explained, “I guess it’s with whoever took my watch.”

Zelesa scowled, “You mean Kingdom’s watch.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed, “How’d you know about the watch?”

Zelesa quickly smiled, “Err, you obviously need a compass and a watch to find the lake, so I knew you must’ve had one.”

“But … how’d you know it was Kingdom’s watch?”

“I didn’t, you just told me.”

Erik scowled and turned his gaze to a far corner of the room. Zelesa sighed loudly, “Fine,” and confessed, “I know because Groke told me. He thinks you could possibly be a spy or something.”

“A spy? Do I look like a spy?”

“It’s all been very odd. You just happened to be there as Herax is taking out the old fortress; the shades kept you alive; you have Kingdom’s book and watch-compass-thingy. So, Groke wanted me to talk to you, find out who you are, and to make verify that it really was Kingdom’s book.”

Eric huffed, “I’m clearly not a spy,” and he stood quickly. He marched to the balcony but stopped very suddenly. He stared out at the vast expanse of rainforest before proceeding to, very slowly, ease his foot forward, sliding it across the floor.

Zelesa stood behind him and asked, “What are you doing?”

Eric explained, whilst biting on his lip, “I’m going to find a way out of here.”

Zelesa chuckled, “I don’t think you’ll find a way out, out there. Anyway, I was talking about what you’re doing with your feet. Why are you sliding them like that?”

Erik sighed, “I’m … not good with heights.”

Zelesa chuckled and walked onto the balcony. She reassured, “It’s pretty sturdy,” and jumped, stomping the stone floor. “See. It was built by my people, so you know it will last.”

Erik asked as he slowly moved out, “And who would your people be?”

Zelesa smiled, “Causorians.” She muttered, “They’re the ones who built this place.”

Erik wondered, “Is that what Herax is? Will you grow big ears and nose like him?”

Zelesa laughed, “I hope not. No, he’s a Smulot.”

Eric smirked and continued, “Did your people build the robot animals?”

Zelesa’s brow dropped and eagerly she pressed, “You met Tocks?”

Eric shrugged and answered, “If that’s a talking w─”

Suddenly, the door burst opened and in walked Groke, followed by the very same weasel Erik had seen in the forest on the day he arrived. It walked hurriedly towards Erik on its hindlegs.

The weasel immediately commanded as it approached, “Zelesa, that is enough, no need to carry on. Tocks’ heard that Groke thought you would be of some help, but it is not necessary. This young boy is of course not a spy. Off you go Zelesa. Go learn to jump around and stuff; whatever it is you scavengers do.” The weasel ushered Zelesa into the hands of Groke with a wave of its paws.

Groke remarked with a deep grumbling voice, “I thought it was only wise to investigate the origins of this boy.”

The weasel smiled, baring its fangs and explained, “This is an earthling boy. He is no spy. There are no earthling spies. Now, please leave, Tock’s must talk to the boy.”

“WAIT!” Zelesa yelped, “Tocks, I want my hat.”

Eric enquired, “What’s Tocks mean?”

Sharply, the weasel answered, “That is my name.” Then, quickly he turned addressed Zelesa, “My dear girl, of course, please, Tocks does apologise, gather your hat from beside the fruit bowl. Quickly now.”

Zelesa proceed to collect her hat and Groke followed her closely. As soon as she had gripped the brim of her hat, Groke pushed her out of the room. As Zelesa passed Eric, she smiled and said, “See you later Erik.”

Erik waved and respond, “See ya.”

Once the door clicked Tocks snipped, “No, you will not see her. You are to return immediately back to Hardwick. You have caused more than enough trouble.”

Eric frowned, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean─”

Tocks quickly interrupted, “No matter. We have Kingdom’s book, so it does not matter. Tocks thinks it would be best you leave now. So, will you follow me cordially, or must I call upon your forcible removal?”

Eric hummed, “Urm … cordially.”

Tock smiled, “Good choice, now follow Tocks, quickly now. The daylight is fading fast.”

“Where are we going?”

Tocks turned and explained, “To the marina, my dear boy, we need an airship, it is the only way to Kingdom’s manor now.”

[rafespeaks]

ANYWAY RANDOM HEADCANONS B/C NO ONE ELSE IS ONLINE TONIGHT

< > - means my gf @turbomun typed it

Hau

Imagine bby Hau when his dad first left. Imagine how confused & devastated he must've been. Imagine him sending letter after letter with his mom's help but only getting a few back. Imagine one day the return letters just... stop. Imagine Hau and his mom continuing to write letters until they start coming back as 'return to sender'. Imagine Hau not fully understanding why and continuing to write letters anyway, but just not sending them. Imagine him finally old enough to understand, but he keeps on writing them anyway, just because it's a little therapeutic and it's become a habit by now anyway. < Eventually he just stops sending them and keeps them in a box. He decides to give them to his dad if he ever sees him again. >

I've been thinking about how Hau may have met Nalani over the past few days, and what the circumstances might've been for Hala yelling in front of him, and just general bby Hau stuff. And I came up with some loose headcanons concerning that stuff. Hau used to go out and play with the Pichu around Iki Town all the time, and there was one that always seemed to love hanging around him no matter what, and it just... followed him home one day. Hala never liked Hau going to play with the Pichu because not every wild Pokemon is so friendly. He always lectured Hau about the dangers, especially of overaggressive Pokemon like you see charging at you in the grass and from bushes and shaking trees. Hau never really got it though - he was too young and all the Pokemon he'd met so far were friendly! This led to him getting too close to Hala's Tauros when it was worked up one day. It could've killed him and Hala was so scared for him and angry at his disobedience that he ended up shouting. This resulted in Hau being afraid of pissing off not only Hala but ANY kahuna. This is also why he says he couldn't ride a Tauros once Tauros is registered in your Ride Pager, though he's confident enough by the end of the game to learn to ride from Hala (as seen in the credits picture). (Typed on Feb. 11)

Some Hau headcanons no one asked for: He is gender fluid, tho he usually defaults to he/him. His assigned gender is male, though he would sometimes feel like he was a girl even from a very young age. He'd also get annoyed when people assumed he was just playing and pretending to be a girl. So when he first heard the terminology, he was ecstatic and was like "YES I'm THAT!!!" It was a similar story for him being gay. His first ever crush was on Ilima when he was six. Ofc, Ilima is a little old for him, so he eventually grew out of the crush and is simply Ilima's friend instead. Typically, Hau stays the same gender all day, but he has been known to switch. Especially after he's listened to a song he likes that has self-referencing pronouns. Bonus Hau/Gladion headcanon - if Gladion really DOES teach himself guitar, he'll change the pronouns in any love songs for Hau's current gender. Hau loves him to death for this... (Typed on Feb. 13)

Random headcanon: Typically, when Hau gets tired, he gets more active rather than less so. He turns all giddy and bouncy and it's really hard to get him to sit still unless he's in a bad mood or was sitting still already. So when he was younger and he started bouncing off the walls more than usual, that was his family's signal for 'okay, bedtime'. (Typed on Feb. 1)

Gladion

< ok but would Gladion play the acoustic guitar like a True Edgelord™ > OMG HAU WOULD M E L T < HAU STUMBLES UPON GLADION PLAYING GUITAR AND STOPS TO LISTEN > HE WOULD BE SO FLOORED LIKE "HOLY SHIT I'M SO IN OVER MY HEAD..................." < EVEN IF GLADION WAS A COMPLETE AMATEUR AND COULD ONLY PLAY WONDERWALL > (Typed on Jan. 29)

Red

Valentines Day shenanigans -  Red would probably put a lot of thought into every aspect of anything he got Green, INCLUDING the card. < He would make his own with construction paper and 2/3 a bottle of glitter Glitter is all over the apartment for the next 6 months >  RED U CHEESY BOI................  IMAGINE HIS POKEMON HELPING HIM. GLITTER ALL OVER THEIR CLAWS/PAWS/HANDS. ESPECIALLY HIS SHINY RAI < AND MEWTWO > Lol, Mewtwo would probably use his psychic powers and not even pick up the bottle. ... but then Raichu would smear him with glitter on purpose. GLITTER FIGHT!!!!! By the time it's over Red is just like "... this was a mistake..." < Green comes back like what the FUCK > (Typed on Feb. 12) + extra from another time  IMAGINE RED MAKING A SPECIAL CARD FOR GREEN EVERY YEAR................... BONUS: GREEN DOESN'T EVEN REALIZE HE'S THE ONLY ONE RED MAKES A HAND-MADE CARD FOR & THAT ALL THE OTHER KIDS GET THE STORE-BOUGHT STUFF.

< When Red was a baby, he hated feeling like he was alone at any time. He easily fell asleep in just about anyone's arms, but wouldn't sleep in his crib unless he was given a stuffed toy or a soft blanket to cuddle with. Because of this, his parents always referred to him as a "snuggle-bug" > (Typed on Feb. 21)

(Not technically Red but...) -  Btw!!! Plot bunny I forgot to tell you about!!! Imagine Mewtwo helping Raichu out with her newfound Psychic powers. B/c it's tough, he knows. Imagine her accidentally broadcasting her emotions tho it's always way more subtle than Mewtwo b/c she's not nearly as strong as him. Imagine she's so used to life as a Pikachu, she often forgets she even has psychic powers now. Sometimes she rolls onto her tail in the middle of the night and it starts floating and when she wakes up she's so startled she drops herself. IMAGINE PSYCHIC CHOCO CHU PROBLEMS < Mewtwo teaches ChocoChu about controlling her hovering and one day Red comes home to her nyooming around the house > Red just like "Holy heck you can do that now???" < Also Mew decides that ChocoChu is A Friend > ChocoChu is a Friend to Everyone (Typed on Feb. 27)

Lyra

I was looking for Japanese terms of endearment and... "Another common one is to use a suffix based upon some sort of adorable trait, like -rin or -pon, that as far as I can tell is based upon some part of their personality and/or physical appearance--for example, if a child was a particularly chubby baby, -pon might have stuck (used after a vowel sound, like 'Aki-pon', for example)"  LYRA-PON......... < LYRA-PON!! > Also apparently the Japanese don't really use terms of endearment...?? Just... nicknames. But still, that was a good find.

Silver

... Sudden Silver headcanon. He yells a lot ofc but he can't really take too much yelling himself. Especially if it's directed at him from someone he cares about. < ...what if when Silver gets yelled at by someone he cares about, even if they apologize later, he tends to crave some kind of physical affection from them so that he knows they still care about him Not that he'd show it but he wants to be loved > < If u fight with Silver, the best thing to do afterwards is give him a hug > Yep... He'll probably stiffen up, and then cry into ur shoulder for a little while, but it'll have him feeling better a lot faster.

Tbh I can't really see Silver conforming to labels. He was born a boy, that's what he's used to. Call him whatever you want, he doesn't fuckin' care, but he won't go out of his way to correct you. He's just like "whatever". < He alternately describes his gender as "whatever" "who knows" and "yes" > LMAO YES < "What is your gender?" "yes" > X P I just felt like Silver's so confident in who he is as a person, he wouldn't actively ask anyone to change the pronouns they use for him.  < "Are you a boy or a girl?" "I'm a Pokemon trainer" "yeah but what is your gender" "who knows" "but what's in your pants" "my PokeBalls" > (Typed on Feb. 13)

< Random and unexpectedly cute headcanon/idea thing?? Not something we'd ever RP but just something that popped into my head: Giovanni has to teach Silver how to shave >  AHAHAHAHA Y E S Silver still hates cutting ANY of his hair but he hates having facial hair even MORE < Especially because pubescent facial hair is so UGLY AND GROSS LOOKING, finally one day he can't take it anymore and goes "Dad can I borrow your razor" And Giovanni is like "?? you're gonna shave?? well I have an extra razor but not so fast, I'm teaching you how to use it first" > Silver's just "UGH FINE JUST PLZ MAKE IT QUICK - THIS STUFF IS PISSING ME OFF" < You have just saved yourself many scratches down the line, believe me" So Giovanni is teaching him and at one point just comments, "you're lucky you have a safety razor. I had to learn using a straight razor which looks like you're trying to commit suicide every morning" > And Silver's just like "Yeah whatever, as long as I get this shit off, I don't really care what does it." < Father and son bond over complaining about goddamn fucking facial hair and Silver must have inherited his dislike from Gio because Gio is the most clean shaven guy EVER, he shaves every day no matter what "Shaving is what separates us from the cavemen son" > L M A O NO WAIT IMAGINE SILVER TEACHING ETHAN HOW TO SHAVE NOT LONG AFTER THAT < oh my GOD Ethan would grow a Baby's First Mustache and not even notice until Silver and Lyra go "what the fuck is on your face" > H A A A A A < Silver "Ethan I'm gonna show you how to shave. My dad says that this is what separates us from the cavemen." "...but what if I want to be a caveman" > "THEN YOU CAN SAY GOODBYE TO ANY POSSIBILITY OF KISSING ME" < "JUST KIDDING LETS LEARN TO SHAVE" > (Typed on Feb. 26)

... Imagine Silver getting into book repair... Like he finds a really battered book at a thrift store or in a library or smth and he just can't leave it there. So he takes it home and works on it until it looks goddamn beautiful. And if it's a library book he takes it back (even if he was told he could keep it) and the librarian is??? Just??? "How the hell did you do that wtf" < THATS APPROPRIATE I KNOW WAY TOO MUCH ABOUT BOOK REPAIR > and I literally made a book 4 u :P (Typed on Mar. 7)

Giovanni

< Giovanni has a habit of saying "close the light" instead of "turn off the light." This has to do with the expression for turning off the light in the Italian language. >  ... Silver would SO tease him about it... All the time... < "hey dad did you remember to close the TV" "hey dad have you closed your computer yet" "hey dad you left the light open" "HEY DA > (Typed on Feb. 21)

My mom just showed me a picture of a bumper sticker on facebook that said "Proud parent of a great kid that is sometimes an asshole and that's ok". I immediately thought of Giovanni & Silver. < I want them to have one of those knitted cruets that says "God Bless This Asshole Family" > (Typed on Feb. 8)

< ok random thought but I've always had the headcanon that Giovanni drinks -- only in moderation, sometimes he'll have a glass of wine at night or sometimes a shot of something stronger if he's feeling anxious. but he usually doesn't drink in front of Silver and one day Silver walks in the kitchen and sees Giovanni pouring a drink and is immediately horrified "DAD ARE YOU AN ALCOHOLIC DO YOU NEED AN INTERVENTION" >

Lusamine

... What do u think of Lusamine having Lillie take flute lessons < She probably had a strict regimen of Approved Extracirricular Activities for her kids > Yup. Lots of classy instrument lessons probably. No art tho - too messy and you can't really measure art by 'perfection'. Reading fiction was highly discouraged. Lusamine would throw out books she didn't approve of. 'Play time' was allowed with her in-game team of Pokemon, though it was more like sitting quietly while they pet the Pokés. They probs know a decent amount about sciencey shit tho they weren't supposed to go near the labs. Perfect handwriting was stressed and Lillie can and does write in picturesque cursive (it is EXTREMELY rare for her to write in print). You could ask her to do greeting cards. Toys in general were more or less frowned upon, but she allowed them to have some as long as they put them EXACTLY where they go when they're done playing. If not, the toy is thrown away. Gladion has had more toys thrown away than Lillie. No videogames. Ever. No TV either. ... Damn I feel bad just writing this... < I mean, all that would apply only AFTER Mohn fucked off to PokePelago, and we don't know how old they were when that happened. > Y E P It would probably be at least... oh, say... five years? So Lillie would've been about six and Gladion eight. Yeah, I think that fits. Lillie can remember a time her mother was kind, before their father disappeared, so it couldn't have been TOO long ago. But it would've had to have been long enough for Lusamine to gather all the resources she would've needed to execute her plan.

Guzma

I gotta ask tho - what do you think Guzma and Hala's relationship was like when he was young? Because the text after you battle him seems to say they pretty much acted as master/apprentice for a while. ... I kinda wonder if Guzma respected him more as a father figure than his own dad... < ok but Hala has that temper right?? WHAT IF ONE DAY GUZMA DID SOMETHING STUPID AND HALA STARTED YELLING AT HIM AND GUZMA JUST CRINGES AND BACKS AWAY AND SUDDENLY HALA MAKES THE CONNECTION BETWEEN THAT BEHAVIOR AND THE FACT THAT GUZMA ALWAYS SEEMS TO HAVE CUTS AND BRUISES AND WONT SAY WHERE THEY CAME FROM >  OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHH NNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOO < AND HE IMMEDIATELY CALMS DOWN AND COMFORTS GUZMA AND ASSURES HIM THAT HE WOULD NEVER HIT HIM > I LOVE Y E S

< - Guzma and Luna commiserating bc Lillie left and Luna's upset and Guzma is like "ya I feel you there, my boyfriend left me and took up with some broad. I thought we had something special y'know?" > YYYYYEEEEESSSSSS < - Guzma and Kukui were dating after Guzma adopted his loud, brash, thuggish personality, so Guzma was never shy during their relationship...until Kukui broke up with him. Now he's a complete wreck in romantic situations. > S H I T......... POOR BOI......... < - Guzma legit thought that he and Kukui would be together for life, he never anticipated that they'd break up - and Kukui is the hardest person for Guzma to forgive after Team Skull disbands And yeah, it's gotta hurt to see your old flame get MARRIED > Just imagine how shitty Guzma would've felt directly after his first battle with Luna... Not only is Kukui COMPLETELY unfazed by seeing him again, but the man sends a KID who JUST MOVED HERE to beat down HIS EX BOYFRIEND......... < Like JESUS FUCK HE CAN'T EVEN BOTHER TO BATTLE ME HE THINKS THAT LITTLE OF ME?? I think Kukui is just kinda...disappointed that Guzma went down this path? Like he knew he could've been better > HE DOESN'T EVEN RESPECT MY STRENGTH ENOUGH TO FIGHT ME AS A FELLOW ADULT - HE HAS A KID DO IT AND SHE S T I L L BEAT MY ASS < KUKUI WAS PROBABLY TRYING TO SAVE GUZMA SOME HURT GIVEN THE FACT THAT HE COULD WIPE THE FUCKING FLOOR WITH GUZMA > Yeah... Guzma would be too hurt by everything that's happened between them to care that he's 'disappointed'

IMAGINE KUKUI AND SYCAMORE TALKING ABOUT RESEARCH OR SOME SHIT THO AND MAYBE SYCAMORE COMES TO ALOLA FOR SOME REASON AND HE AND GUZMA MEET AND GUZMA'S JUST LIKE "HOLY SHIT AND HERE I THOUGHT KUKUI WAS THE ONLY HOT YOUNG PROFESSOR AROUND" < GUZMA HAS A TYPE Kukui: Guzma, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Professor Sycamore! *close up of Guzma staring while "At Last, My Love" plays in the background* >

Y'know, I was thinking about how Guzma and Plumeria would've met the other day. I 100% bet you it would've been after Guz ran away. He's passing through Ula'ula Island with his Pokemon, trying to find a place to crash for the night. He comes to that trailer park area and ends up bumping into Plumeria. Literally. "Hey, watch it, asshole!" "You watch it, bitch - I'm walkin' here!" "The fuck you just call me?!" "You heard me!" "You wanna go?!" "Bring it on, miss priss!" Long story short, they get into a fist fight. Plumes throws the first punch because Guz has been taught not to hit girls by his mom but he's not opposed to self defense. And by the end they're just... completely winded and beat all to hell... And they just... "... You fight good." "Thanks. You too." "Hey. You wanna swing by my house and grab a soda or something?" "... Got any Tapu Cocoa?" And then next thing you know it's just... "Yo, Grams! This is my new friend, Guzma!"  < Guzma: "hey Plumeria wanna DISMANTLE THE OPPRESSIVE ESTABLISHMENT BY RAPPING AGRESSIVELY AT BUS SIGNS" Plumeria: "sure lemme just grab some popcorn" >

< In game: Faba is a challenger to the championship In RP: Faba is in FUCKING JAIL WHERE HE BELONGS Also Guzma will probably have to do community service at the very least > Yeah I agree... Wouldn't be surprised if he'd be under house arrest, too, which would explain his return to his childhood home. (Imagine him hiding the ankle bracelet from his mother.........) < Actually, I think there's a thing where you're allowed out in the community if you have someone supervising you at all times? Imagine Hala stepping up to be the Guzma Supervisor > I LOVE................... < He probably wouldn't be sentenced as harshly if he could prove that he was manipulated by Lusamine, but still...vandalism and petty theft and all that > Ye. Not to mention, y'know, takING OVER A WHOLE FUCKING TOWN... (How could he have even done that anyway?? Was it already partially deserted and the rumors are just vastly exaggerated, or...???) < I'm gonna take a wild guess here and say: Aether did it They did it to convince Guzma that allying with them could benefit both parties, plus it would give Team Skull a stronghold Which would be good for Aether when they needed Team Skull to do dirty work > Ye, they probably just straight-up bought the whole damn place. < And then sent their own members disguised as Skull grunts to drive everyone out and kick up the rumors. Which would make people avoid the town. > L M A O Hold on wait wait. I just got the greatest mental image. Imagine Guzma leading them RIDING HIS FUCKING GOLISOPOD LIKE A GODDAMN STEED THAT'D MAKE A FUCKING IMPRESSION!! X D < FICKJNG >

Currently RPing this -  Btw... I thought of something of my own... Guzma kinda got off easy with that trip to Ultra Space, right? Well, what if he DIDN'T...? I was thinking about how he was just hangin' out there and how he'd been briefly possessed by the Nihilego... And what if he really wasn't okay mentally - what if he was dissociating? And it becomes, like, a huge problem for him, and that's a big reason that he gave up on Team Skull and went home. B/c if the grunts are mainly teenage kids with nowhere else even remotely healthier to go, why the hell would Guzma give up on them unless he had to? Think about it. His Pokemon = Therapy Bugs... < GOOD!! THERAPY BUGS!!! > ONE OF THE ONLY WAYS HE CAN FEEL BETTER IS BY MAINTAINING CONTACT WITH ONE OF HIS BUG BUDDIES, ESPECIALLY GOLISOPOD......... < Wouldn't he have like...a minor version of what Lusamine has, almost?? His system wouldn't be swamped with neurotoxins but they still would have effected him. And I was reading about someone with dissociation issues and like...sometimes you can't remember what you're supposed to do?? Even if it's something super simple. The person I read about was like...she went to the bank, was gonna write two checks, but then after the first one she literally could not remember what she was supposed to do with the second one. > Yeah, I think he would've. Ofc, that would mean that the doctors that sent him home Fucked Up™ And huh... I'll have to keep that in mind... >:3 < Tru, but the doctors had never encountered something like that before. As someone who's been hospitalized, if you have no symptoms, they won't do extensive tests. And even if he had symptoms he would have been just like I Wanna Get The Fuck Out Of Here™ > Ye, tru. Guz was goin' home and AIN'T NO ONE GONNA STOP 'IM. Straight back to the mansion, plop down with his buggies and some room-temp Tapu Cocoa (b/c who can be assed to warm it up when you just came back from an alternate dimension where you've been dissociating & are now dead tired???), and then straight to sleep b/c fuck the world it can W A I T. < And Guzma doesn't strike me as the type to seek help if he has psychological warning signs. > N O P E... It would take a friend AND his bugs pestering him about it non-stop to get him to go see someone. Tho most of his buggies are nonverbal and he doesn't have a communicator anyway, so it's mostly flat looks and annoyed clicking sounds. < Lmao Luna translating tho "Golisopod thinks you're being a stubborn asshole" > "weLL FUCK YOU TOO, MAN!" >:CCC Imagine after Guzma challenges Luna and says he'll be waiting at the beach, he gets there and... just... "... The fuck was I doing...??" (Also "You tell my mom those 'rumors' are true, I'll kiCK YOUR ASS, KID") < Luna shows up "okay what do you want" ".....I don't....... remember.........." >  That's the first tip-off to anyone other than Plumeria & his parents that something's W R O N G < And at first she thinks he's joking cause "how do you not REMEMBER, you clearly had a good idea of what you wanted five minutes ago" > He just gets super annoyed and stressed out of nowhere "I don't fucKING K N O W, OKAY?!?! I JUST DON'T REMEMBER!!!" < And she just kinda jumps back like "ok Arceus fuck then I'm leaving" > And he just... doesn't know what to do b/c this has been happening a lot and it's NOT STOPPING.........