#grief? she speaks it fluently.

[eclipsecrowned]

on the other hand though....

'i was going to give her my child (…) she said she'd raise it, teach it magic, take care of it.'

[a party tank must get a firm grasp on hel lest she explode bigger than netherese magic]

[jedimayukidaawesome]

I’ve been seeing a lot of posts of people wondering how Janai is not completely fluent in KSL or doesn’t “know as much as she should”, and I wonder how many of them have actually tried to learn any languages later in life, especially with a high profile job, and when they may not be language inclined. So buckle up, because do I have a rant/explanation for you.

First of all, she’s a queen after watching her sister get murder, and her home become unliveable. She has had to find a place to stay, build that city of tents, figure out food and supplies, maintain peace between two formerly opposing races in order to rebuild, write peace treaties etc. All the while having to deal with the grief of losing her sister. It’s a miracle that she has time for herself and Amaya, especially when you also consider that Amaya is a General of a different kingdom and has duties of her own to achieve.

If you say “Well Kazi is there to teach Janai whenever Amaya isn’t there”, it’s true, yet you don’t think Kazi has other duties outside of teaching KSL? It also doesn’t change Janai’s need for sleep either. Kazi still must’ve taught her much of KSL, since Janai is able to read it fluently.

Which leads to my next point: reading KSL and “speaking” KSL are two different things, and both are difficult to do. There are plenty of people that can understand a language but have little to no capability to speak it. KSL is no different, and is arguably harder. We are conditioned to speak with gestures and facial expressions unique to our culture and personal quirks. To consistently and consciously break that habit to speak KSL is hard to do - just like it is to speak another language. You have to decide what the other person has said, think of your own response, and then translate that response into that language, and speak it. On top of that, languages, including KSL, have verb structures which determines what order you speak in. Japanese is V3 (Verb 3), which means that they end a sentence with the verb. An example: in English, we would say “I walked to the shops.” In Japanese, that sentence would be “To the shops I walked.” when translated back into English. And all languages have exemptions and quirks and are a pain in the arse to remember.

Janai, despite her busy schedule, has managed to successfully learn what Amaya is saying to her, allowing them to communicate via KSL reading by Janai and lip reading via Amaya. Janai is also shown to utilise KSL whenever she can, including during moments where she was going through strong feelings, which is hard because she, naturally, vents through words and reactionary gestures rather than KSL. That was my initial annoyance to; with Janai looking down or away when talking, however that’s how people naturally talk and when she did that in an emotional state, it’s just her reverting back to instinct, which is okay. It’s like speaking a sentence in one language and using your native language to say a word you don’t remember in the initial language. Also, Janai has three fingers and a thumb, and can’t sign specific words like usual because of it, yet she still manages to work around it. That alone proves her devotion, and she won’t stop learning.

Also, take into consideration on how Janai learns. She may be more inclined to learn by observation than by doing, or she focused on reading Amaya first because it was more important to understand Amaya first instead of being able to speak it. Amaya has managed most of her life by lip reading others, because KSL isn’t common, so she can understand Janai. That’s why it was more important to Janai at the time to understand Amaya. Then, when she could, she focused on learning to talk to Amaya in her language, in KSL.

I learnt Japanese in high school for five years, and even then, I could only speak rudimentary Japanese, sounding similar to a child. I could understand what I read more than what I could hear, picking up only key words and trying to understand what they were saying. If you think it’s so easy to learn a language inside and out in two years on top of a high power job, then by all means give it a try. Some may even be successful at it if they’re wired that way. Yet even then, it’s extremely hard to do.

My biggest gripe about these comments though is that most of the complainers more than likely have seven year old unfinished fanfics on their computers that haven’t been even touched in as long (no hate here - I have the same except even older), and think that they can talk shit about a woman that managed to put all her time and effort into understanding and communicating with her fiancé into two years and still produce more of a result. They manage to communicate in their own way every day, and through that, they still found love and happiness. And that is most important.

I’d rather talk about their overall cuteness, especially the “two cakes” talk - I kept screaming from the adorableness of it all

[theodorequartz]

Here you go ma boy @alexy2000

Undertale x Nezuko Male Reader

Part 5: Meeting Sans

M/n walked to the long hallway, limping and tired. Without both of them knowing, Toriel had hit him with her fireball in his left stomach.

He probably didn't realize he was hit because he was so focused on thinking ways to calm Toriel down. As for Toriel, she probably didn't realize she hurt him that badly due to her grief.

It's ok tho. He's used to this. He can't die anyway. No matter how hard he tried.

All he needs is rest. Right. A good little nap. It always does the trick!

Ow ...it really hurts...

M/n whimpered.

No matter how much he got hurt. He doesn't really get used to it. But all he can do is endure.

M/n stumbled to the end of the hallway. It was dark. Except for the spot in front of him, the only spot where the light beams through.

Suddenly-

" So you think that you really smart, huh?"

Flowey popped out the ground.

Just as he was about to say another word, M/n fell on the ground landing just right in front of Flowey.

Flowey flinched in surprise. He stuttered.

" H-hey, what's wrong with you?"

M/n wasn't able to answer as he started coughing up blood.

Flowey stared blankly at him, leaves and vines twitching. He stared blankly as if he was seeing someone else instead.

" I- I'll get something to help -----"

The rest of his words was a blur as M/n started to black out.

In M/n's blury sight, he saw flowey- no... Rokuta?

.

.

.

.

" Oni-chan, I'm scared..."

.

.

" Oni-chan....he..lp..."

.

.

.

.

It's going to be alright....your Oni-chan's here...

Slowly, M/n reached out to the panicking Flowey and pet his pettals gently.

Flowey flinched, surprised, he stared at M/n.

M/n opened his mouth.

" It's....okay.......you..r...o..kay..."

He smiled softly at the flower, eyes just slightly cloudy. As if he's seeing someone else. Those eyes closed just as his hand fell to the ground beside Flowey.

Flowey, still surprised, stared at the passed out male dazzely. Something inside him stuttered. It felt... warm. His voice was so soft...so gentle...

__________

( Author's note: I will put 'you' instead of 'him' or 'm/n' to not mix up things. )

__________

You wake up in a vast dark space. It was so empty. So... void..

You stoop up and walked forward.

.....

You don't know how long you've been walking, but it's getting you sleepy again.

You huffed and sat on the .... floor? Ground? Whatever it is your walking on.

You looked up to see nothing but infinite darkness. This place looks very sad... and lonely...

On instinct, you opened your mouth..

You started to sing. Soft voice echoing to the empty space.

The struggle to speak nowhere to be seen as each word rang melodically and flew fluently on your lips. Strong emotions getting carried with it.

It was heard by an entity in the darkness. It was swayed by the beautiful voice. It's as if it was sang by a siren. Alluring and soft. The voice was filled with love.

You sang the final note. After a few seconds, you heard clapping.

You perked up and looked towards the direction it came from.

It was a tall dark figure. He had floating hands in each of his sides, it had holes in the palms. The man has a wide smile. He's right eye is closed, a crack is seen splitting from up his forehead. His other eye is wide open, it was black with a white dot focusing straight to you. He also has a crack on his left eye going downwards just beside the corner of his mouth or is it a crack? It looks more of a black strip of black liquid. The rest of him is just a black... goo?

He looks cool!

You stood up and slowly walked towards him. He stopped clapping and looked at you, expecting you to come nearer. You did. Walking until your in front of him.

Wow... He's really tall!

You have to crank your neck up to look at him. You huffed. He seems like he noticed your struggles because he made low chuckling sounds, his eye glinting in amusement.

He lowered himself and looked directly at your eyes. You looked back at him and slowly raised your hand to his cheek. You tried to softly brush away on what you think is a black strip of liquid falling on his left cheek but it stayed there. You hummed.

The man reached for your face to, cupping your cheek. You nuzzled in it. You felt him tremble.

You feel it. The maddening loneliness he's feeling. You felt it too, once. You hugged the man.

The man flinched, but slowly hugged back, his hands on you back as he pullud you close in his chest.

You soon felt his grip tighten and he pulled you further in his chest. It didn't hurt. And you really don't mind.

You know how it feels like to be left in isolation for a long time. He needs this. You buried yourself in his chest. You purred.

You feel yourself lose consciousness and the man noticed this. His hug lossened and let your eyes close. He muttered a name.

G@$7€r

_______

.

.

You opened your eyes...to close them again. It was so bright! Ah!

You rubbed your eyes to adjust to the light and see that you're still in the place where you encounterd Flowey. You were in the middle of the room where the light is beaming through, well that explains it.

You yawned and then noticed the bandage's wrapped around your stomach. You traced your fingers on it. It actually feel comfortable.

You look beside you to see a little plate! On top of the plate was a donut! A purple donut! Woah!

You took the donut and stuffed it somewhere in your green checkered haori.

You stood up and walked towards the large door and opened it.

Light beamed through.

You opened your eyes and looked behind to see the door closed. You hummed. You looked forward again and your eyes sparkled in joy.

It was snow!

Oh, how you love snow!

You jumped eagerly and ran through the snowy ground.

Oh, how you love the soft crunchy sounds it makes when you step on them!

You stop as you saw a large tree trunk in your way. You blinked and approached it. It layed neatly on the ground, in the middle of the path, as if it's been put there on purpose.

Thinking about it, you also saw a camera hidden in the bush just outside the door from the ruins. It's placed there purposely as if someone was expecting you to walk out of it.

You shruged and looked at the tree trunk again.

You huffed. What if someone passes by and have trouble because of this? Like someone carrying a child!

You put your hands in the sides of the trunk and swiftly carried it to the side of the road and put it back down again.

You keen hearing was able to hear the sound of a sudden shuffle from behind the trees, as if surprised. You payed no attention to it. Whoever that person is, they don't release a threatening aura so you're fine with it.

You continued walking to the snow. Loving the sounds it makes when you heard a more loud crunching sound that surely didn't come from the snow.

You turned around and saw the large tree trunk you moved a while ago now broken. Like someone had stepped on it.

Oh goodness. How huge was the person following you was like to step on the huge trunk like that as if it were a mere twig?

Talking about hight, it seems like monsters really are quite tall. Toriel was like twelve apples taller than you .

As you were questioning your own hight while walking, you stopped at a small bridge with... Bars?

A footstep was heard just a distance behing you.

A low chuckle and a deep voice.

" Human. Don't you know how to greet a new pal?"

Wow.. his voice was so beautiful! You love it!

" *Turn around and shake my hand..."

You turned around and took the person's hand.

* PFFFFTTttttrttrrttt... Frtt.

Your eyes turn into dots.

The monster chuckled and put his hand back in the pockets of his blue hoodie.

" hehe... the old whoopee cushion in the hand trick. it's ALWAYS funny. "

You studied the monster in front of you. He was a tubby skeleton. He's two heads shorter than you.

He wears a blue coat with a grey hood. A white shirt that exposed his collar bone. He also had black pants, a pair of socks and a pair of pink fluffy slippers.

He lets out an aura of integrity and ... Justice.

It reminds you of ...

You look at the skeleton who introduced himself as Sans. Your hand reached up and-

Pat the top of his skull.

*Pat * pat

...

Your hand was warm in his skull, it was calming. It made him sleepy.

Sans went silent for a second, blinking his sleepiness away, then shruged and continued to talk.

" I'm actually supposed to be on watch for humans right now. But... y'know... I don't really care about capturing anybody.... and besides...."

"...you're not really human.. are you?"

You blink and looked at him, hand still on top of his skull. His eyes went completely black, it reminded you of the void you were in. You gave him a closed eyed smile and nodded.

His lights became visible again as he chuckled. You continued patting his head.

" Really curious... But you're not a monster either... Huh.. what a mistery you are."

You opened your eyes to look at hi's and he looked back.

" welp... You do look human enough."

You hummed and giggle.

" now you see my brother, papyrus... He's a human-hunting FANATIC. Hey, actually, I think that's him over there."

Your heart tingled at the word brother.

You removed your hand in his skull to turn around and look. Sans missing the warmth.

" I have an idea. Go through this gate thingy. "

You blinked and look at the wooden bars. This was a gate?

" Yeah, go right through. My bro made the bars too wide to stop anyone. "

You both go through the gate and towards a post with a strangely shaped lamp just a bit further away from it.

" Quick, behind that conveniently-"

Sans stopped his words and looked at the lamp then at you then at the lamp again. You followed his eyes and looked at the lamp to then look towards him. You tilted your head.

"... go hide behind my post."

You nodded you head and pat his skull one more time before hidding behind the post.

You heard quick footsteps.

" sup, bro?" Sans said.

" YOU KNOW WHATS 'SUP, ' BROTHER!" a different voice yelled.

You peeked through the post and saw a much taller skeleton monster. Probably a head taller than you. You loved his red scarf!

"ITS BEEN EIGHT DAYS AND YOU STILL HAVEN'T... RECALIBRATED. YOUR. PUZZLES! YOU JUST HANG AROUND OUTSIDE YOUR STATION! WHAT ARE YOU EVEN DOING?!? "

the voice said. This must be papyrus! He's really loud. It reminded you of 43ñgók7-ßàñ.

" Staring at my station, it's really cool. Wanna take a look? " sans said.

Your eyes turned to dots. You look at sans, pouting. Was he trying to get you seen? You huffed.

Sans smile twitch in amusement as he caught you pouting at him.

" NO I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THAT! WHAT IF A HUMAN COMES THROUGH HERE!?! "

You awe'd as Papyrus stomped his feet cutely.

" I WANT TO BE READY! I WILL BE THE ONE! I MUST BE THE ONE! I WILL CAPTURE A HUMAN! THEN, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS... WILL GET ALL THE THINGS I UTTERLY DESERVE! REPECT... RECOGNITION... I FINALLY ABLE TO JOIN THE ROYAL GUARD! PEOPLE WILL ASK TO BE MY, ' FRIEND? ' I WILL BATHE IN A SHOWER OF KISSES EVERY MORNING. "

You silently clap at his monologue. He's so cool! Being so serious and hardworking to achieve his goal... You admire his determination!

Your eyes shined with awe and respect.

" Hmm... Maybe my station will help you." Sans said.

You look at him again with an angry pout.

Sans merely grinned wider in response.

" SANS!! YOU ARE NOT HELPING!! YOU LAZY BONES!! AL YOU DO IS SIT AND BOONDOGGLE! YOU GET LAZIER AND LAZIER EVERY DAY!!!" papyrus said, stomping his feet again.

" hey take it easy. I've got a ton of work today. A skele-ton.

Sans looks at the readers and winked.

" SANS!!!"

" come on. You're smiling."

" I AM AND I HATE IT! SIGH... WHY DOES SOMEONE AS GREAT AS ME... HAVE TO DO SO MUCH TO GET SOME RECOGNITION..."

" wow.. looks like you're really working yourself... Down to the bone."

Sans looked at the readers again and shrug.

" UGH!!! I WILL ATTEND TO MY PUZZLE... AS FOR YOUR WORK? PUT A LITTLE MORE,"BACKBONE " TO IT!!!! NYEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!"

he walked away.

...

He popped back.

" HEH! "

...

" ok, you can come out now."

You walked out and towards him. You gave him a cute angry look. He chuckled.

" you ougtha get going. He might come back. And if he does...... you'll have to sit through more of my hilarious jokes." He winked.

You huffed a breath and pat his head one more time before walking ahead.

" actually, hey... Hate to bother ya, but can you do me a favor?"

You looked back at him and tilted your head.

" I was thinking... My brother's been kind of down lately... He's never seen a human before... Even if you aren't one, you sure do look similar. And seeing you might make his day. Don't worry he's not dangerous, even if tries to be. "

You didn't even think twice before nodding your head with a smile.

" Thanks a million. I'll be up ahead. "

And then he walks back. Huh... Okay!

You were about to proceed but then he came back.

" Oh, I didn't catch your name. "

You looked at him and smiled brightly.

" M/n! " you said. Almost without a struggle.

Your voice was... Sans bones shivered so did his soul.

" Nice to meet ya, M/n."

Author:

You finally met sans! And his brother!

And another monster.

Wonder who could it be?

[criminalmindsgonewrong]

omg hii i just wanted ur page makes me giggle and ur literally so real but i also wanted to ask what are some of ur favorite rentiss headcanons?

ur so bloody cute <3

ok i assume u mean platonically, so that's how im gonna respond to this.

✨emily wasn't lying when she said her russian was 'passable' - it wasn't as strong as her other languages. reid, however, speaks it fluently and perfectly and during her few months on the team, the two of them would have russian lessons on the jet to improve emily's fluency. being a polyglot already, and with a base knowledge of the language, it didn't take her very long at all to master it with reid's help. in return, she taught him italian, which he learned annoyingly fast. ✨

✨ following on from the previous, reid and emily sometimes speak russian around derek when he's annoying them, because they know it drives him crazy with paranoia when he can't understand what they're saying. most of the time they're not even talking about him, just continuing their discussion about the case or whatever small talk they'd been making, but it's fun to see derek grow more and more annoyed.✨

✨ they bond over tea - reid would rather drink tea than coffee most of the time and emily has a taste for it, having lived many years in europe. elizabeth occasionally sends her care packages from her postings, all of them including teas, and whenever she does, emily usually gives it to reid who appreciated it much more than she does. ✨

✨they both have only-child syndrome, each of them lacking siblings and having to grow up much too quickly, and find it difficult to trust others. it doesn't take emily long at all after she joins the team to start seeing spencer as her little brother - they all do, honestly, but at the same time, the others all have (or had) siblings. she and spencer are the definition of found family.✨

✨emily's death hit reid the hardest. penelope and derek had each other to lean on, the others were all in on the secret. for seven months not only was he grief-stricken, but he also had the sense that something wasn't quite right, that he was alone in his grief - it was that isolation that he blamed them for when she came back, not the secret. no, he understood the secret, but the loneliness of his grief was the worst part. ✨

✨when he got help for his addiction and started following the AA program, emily was one of the people reid knew he had to apologise to for the way he treated her - looking back, he saw that she was the only one who reached out with the intention of helping him, and it took years, but eventually he thanked her for that. she just smiled and told him "that's what family does."✨

[meltedgoldscars]

i find it weird how writing poems and love letters these days has become "pretentious". i don't find it "pretentious", how people are spilling those unsaid words and thoughts through an outlet. i mean, it's called spilled ink for a reason. it's strange how in some near future john is being scrutinized for writing his dear, beloved whitney a love letter by his friends. i may only be 14, and god forbid a child have views on how our generation has evolved over the years, because it's just oh so ironic for a teenager full of angst with a pizza face express his opinion like some pretentious hipster but stay with me here. i find it absolutely delightful how the written word can so beautifully express your longing, your love, your grief, your anger and everything alike. it's like a package full of letters and charm that feels so personal. we praise great minds like kafka and snicket for writing the most mind-boggling, gut wrenching, most lovesick poems ever that grab you by the jaw and force you to look. but as soon as ol' julia from high school who enjoys warm, sunny days and how they remind her of her lovers eyes does the same, it's somehow different, angsty. mind you, those poems they wrote weren't so sickeningly beautiful and personal because they were written all those years ago, but because they held a certain affection, a powerful devotion to them. and little julia is just a teenager going through puppy love. she's being told to not try so hard. she is being told, "don't love as you do, it's embarrassing." love is love, no matter what stage of life you're in. love is real. no matter if you're a teenager with a deep sense of devotion that feels so weird to confront because you're just a kid, you don't know what you're feeling! or if you're a man well beyond your prime who enjoys sunday communion and going out with his guy pals for a good friday fishing session. so don't you dare let anyone dim that light of infatuation that grows within you with every smile shared and with every gentle caress. i am so clumsy with my words. i can't speak fluently in any of the languages i know without ever tripping over my words or searching a beat too long for the right words. i don't want my beloved to hear a half assed, stuttering version of how i feel whenever i am around him because he makes me float. he makes me swoon and he makes me feel over the moon when he smiles at me. i rely on the written word so i can come clean about all my thoughts, all my feelings, and all my love. because this is real. and this, my dear, is love.

[ikbehn]

Hello Allah,

This is something I often do not talk about. And right now I do not have a lot of readers.

My family, mostly christians and one or two lovers of meditation will probably understand the following words.

Back in 2010 or so, I met a boy in my english class, he was wearing what is called a "buddhist mala". He, a bit afraid to say he is buddhist just told us it was a present.

My dad and mom never educated me in any particular religion. But I got interested, I discovered along with my mom that we were really good in meditation, so I started calling myself tibetan buddhist. But I needed something, a mala.

One day in a street market near Germany, I was in a hunt for antique things and I came across this woman who was selling malas. My sister bought it for me. The first thing I noticed, was the incredible smell of the wood.

In buddhism and hinduism the number 108 is very important. However my mala had 99 beads instead of 108, so I just counted more and never asked myself why 99.

I finished my undergraduate degree, started a graduate degree and every single day I meditated. Sometimes mantras, but mostly single words like "health" as I have a lot of problems with it.

My mala became part of my wall decoration as I used it so much that the string was too loose.

I went to internet and now I got a 108 beads mala.

My mom passed away almost 6 years ago and again my mala got broken. Grief was intense, as my family and me didn't know how sick she was. My health problems increased and with that my love for anthropology went down.

I looked on amazon for a new mala, it was pretty cheap and it looked amazing. It was sold to me as a meditation bracelet.

Guess what? 33 beads now.

I speak a bit arabic, or at least enough to undertand the word Allah and Muhammed (pbuh).

Did a logical anthropological/religious research and yes. I found it.

Allah has been by my side a long time. My meditations were prayers to him. My health is now good, not perfect because we are not perfect.

I went to Jordan to do some research related to archeology, a predominant muslim place.

Yesterday I asked on a tiktok video if a non muslim could visit the Kaaba, because as a history lover I know the story behind that beautiful place, I mean... the Kaaba! 🕋

I got a weird answer. "No darling, it is a holy place only for believers, not tourists"

It confused me a lot. I firmly believe that Allah found me, I speak to him and I see amazing answers. However, I do not have a shahada, I do not speak arabic fluently, but I recite dhikr, I use my tasbih (the proper name of the beads). So what am I?

I ask with so much respect to every muslim reading this.

Did Allah found me? Is that possible?

Thank you.

van Behn.

[kurayami-no-ko]

Translation of Sannan’s short story from Tsukikage no Sho booklet

Notes: The Japanese version of this short story was provided to me by @kumoriyami-xiuzhen​.

The name of the booklet in Japanese is　薄桜鬼　真改　月影ノ抄　限定版特典　小冊子, which is Hakuouki Shinkai Tsukikage no Shou Genteiban Tokuten Shousasshi. Sannan’s short story is included in the booklet.

I want to thank some friends who have helped me with this short story’s translation. 

Sannan’s short story

The secretary-general of the Shinsengumi, Sannan Keisuke.

The time that I had been called that had been very short.

After I had die as a human, I took on the new responsibility of being the captain of the Rasetsu corps.

So, for my current self, how should I properly call myself?

“Keisuke-san.”

“…Ah, I am sorry. Did I wake you up?”

“No, that is fine but what are you…?”

“I am just writing something. I am writing something like a memorandum…”

I had neglected to have proper sleep. She frowned her eyebrows and gazed at me worriedly, so I avoided that look by putting away the notebook and the fountain pen nearby.

“I am fine. I am already done so I will rest immediately.”

“Yesterday, you also said so.”

“…Yes, I did.”

Leaving the motherland far behind, they had been travelling in Europe for a long time.

Travelling in Europe where the languages and the cultures were both different was not in the least a pleasant business and securing a place to rest their bodies was something that they struggled over daily. Frequently, they had to sleep outdoors in the forest.

Tonight, luckily, they were able to borrow the stable of a house. They hadn’t had a roof over their head and a bed for a long time…

“A while ago, Keisuke-san was the one who told me that if something happens and makes me wake up, I should not be bothered about it and continue on resting as long as I can.”

…Which meant that no matter how I thought about it, it was obvious that I was the one that brought this on myself.

“Though it isn’t bad to listen to your scolding, this is a rare night that we can pass the time peacefully. I am now about to rest, Chizuru, so please, don’t be worried and sleep,”

“…If Keisuke-san sleep next to me, I can sleep immediately.”

Good grief, she was truly not letting me go.

She waited for me without wavering and as a response to that, I smiled bitterly and took off my glasses.

Only until I had restfully lied down on the top of the prepared straw did she finally breath out a sigh of relief.

“Are you finally satisfied?”

“Yes… I am sorry for only saying stuffs that are not cute to you.”

“I do not mind. If the words are said out of thoughts for my own sake, whatever you say will be cute to me.”

“Is, is that so…”

Because I had the eyesight of a rasetsu, even when I had taken off my glasses, I could still see clearly her reddening cheeks.

In order to make those lovely cheeks relax, I stroked her hair a few times.

“It is fine. Until morning come, I will keep on staying by your side. Tomorrow, we will also have to walk, so you should make sure you recover your strength sufficiently.”

“Okay… Sleep tight.”

When she closed her eyes peacefully, it did not take long for her breaths to settle down into those of one who was asleep.

“She must be tired…”

Even though that she had tried very hard, until now she still had not been able to speak the language of this place fluently.

Even so, in order to understand, she tried to focus all her mental power during their travel, and because of that, she became mentally exhausted beyond imagination.

“…Nonetheless, at this point, I cannot imagine letting go of you. I really have changed a lot.”

It was not that I did not understand the feelings of love but I felt nostalgic remembering the time when I pretended to be ignorant, acting as if love was something completely unrelated to myself.

To accompany comrades to strive towards the same aspiration and chase after a dream they built, back then I thought that I could not desert those gentle feelings…

Now, when I thought back, after turning into a demon, I could not have imaged that what was supposed to be good for myself could cause so much pain, and the tether that held me down in the human world had been her.

Back during those days, when I became a rasetsu and was able to hold a sword and fight again, I was glad but along with that, facing the fact that I was losing myself and becoming a monster, I was suffering from both confusion and distress. 

She had held this hand and said. 

“Sannan-san’s hand is warm. There is still blood flowing normally inside you.”

Somehow, hearing it said like that, there was something changing inside me and I understood that life was still life. Those earnest eyes were saying those things. 

…I thought it was a temporary consolation.

Even though that I knew that she was once more distressed over her demon heritage, inside, she was just a truly normal girl. 

I, who had chosen the path of a rasetsu without understanding my resolution entirely, found those gratingly positive words that she said at length to be foolish and let myself be overcome by misery. However, it felt like that foolishness brought light to me and the warmth from those hands on top of my own was transferred to me. 

I am still alive.

I can still do something.

Back then, I did not know it but in truth, back then, her words had lit up a small light for me.

And that light had shaken the heart of me back then and had made me determined to pursue my unfulfilled dream. So, I now understood how that had reverberated in my heart though only for a little bit.

(Even though I am an intelligent person, ultimately, am I not a foolish person yearning for my dream?)

In the attempt to become a shining light by myself, my nature proved a hindrance. I soon saw that there was I lacked the ability to accomplish it. However, for the sake of making that light shine brighter, I believed that by becoming a phantom, I could work towards it better than anyone else.

To stand with Kondou Isami and also Hijikata Toshizo.

To support those men who chased after that dream, I became a phantom. I thought that it was a suitable role for me to take.

However, it was true that it was a very harsh path in order to pursue that dream. Many times the light had beguiled me, I started feel my wavering.

To take on the form of a corpse would be to suffer, but even then, I began to see that I was still looking back at the past.

I, once again, waver.

Even when I kept on wavering, I could not pause my struggling footsteps, I clung on, even deciding on my own death as a human.

It was probable that everyone vaguely knew that to follow this dream was to follow their own destruction. Nevertheless, they could not stop in this path, simply so that they could live… It was simply just that.

In that place, not one of those who gathered there did not have their own past to bury and in order to shout out that they themselves were in this place, they were absolutely desperate.

Even if they did not turn into a rasetsu, they were undeniably turning mad. However, the fact that a leader such as myself being the first to turn into a rasetsu and then losing my sanity calmed my impulses. 

I started to ponder about how hiding in the shadows, I would struggle to follow after the light, unable to leave the darkness.

I burned my life away, became a rasetsu without a future in order to earn the power to keep fighting.

I would not have time to look at the result of my dream.

So, at least this would be the proof.

Even when I would be reduced to a disgusting monster and get shunned, even when I might turn into ash, becoming nothing but mere dust, it would be fine. I wanted to do something for those men which I could take pride in my life.

My own self again sought for that.

Even when she was shaking from worry, she did not avert her eyes from my form.

So, when she was facing my bloodstained form, it seemed like she could question me normally and honestly.

That blood was for a good reason.

Furthermore,

(Because of that, until the end, I did not go mad.)

Even when I was covered in blood, I did not indulge myself at all and control myself.

I absolutely would not betray the woman who foolishly, earnestly believed in me even when she was shaking from worry, whose eyes held such light.

It was likely that it was the last remnants of the dignity that I had lost.

“Chizuru…”

As the sleeping woman did not open her eyes, I whispered very quietly,

“You are my light, my dream. Because of that, I will absolutely not give up. If something happens…”

One time, I tried to throw away my dream.

When I recognized the change in her gazes towards me, no, it was exactly because of having recognized it that I decided I had to sever our ties. The burden was too great of a baggage.

“Living people should not love those who are dead… That is the rule of this world.”

The words that I said to her sleeping form were also the words I said to myself. The dream had ended.

Like a dead person, when I left, I departed without making a mistake.

However, she once again ruin my determination and resignation.

“Sannan-san, please bring me along with you in the path that you plan on walking.”

“Please don’t leave me a second time.”

“…Please don’t be alone.”

Now, I thought about that it would be better for me not to reach out my hand. However, I could not do such thing as resisting it.

I was still living.

I was still dreaming.

Because of this, no matter foolish or fleeting this might seem, as long as she was still walking by my side, there was still value in continuing on chasing the dream.

“Chizuru.”

This woman who had accompanied me on this harsh and difficult path, knowing what it could entail, could only appear dear to me.

“…I love you.”

This gentle kiss on the forehead was a secret engraving ritual of mine.

The secretary-general of the Shinsengumi.

The captain of the Rasetsu Corps.

And now, the companion of this dear person.

As an ordinary man, I was now living.

I did not know when the end would come but I engraved the resolution that until that day, I would live protect this beloved person.

This time, I would do it until the very last of moment.

I would absolutely not give up.

As she was breathing softly in her sleep and her eyes were closed, I made that vow to myself.

The end.

[musecraft]

🪐 — HEADCANONS / ola's mother & sister :

●  ola's mother was named caimile, & she was originally born in ghana. ●  caimile had a natural talent for languages, & spoke six fluently. in fact, she moved to sweden at age 18 to study linguistics at university. ●  caimile was in her final year at university when she discovered she was pregnant. ola's sister, eva, was born just months after caimile graduated. ●  eva is 4 years older than ola. they were both born in sweden. ●  at home, caimile & jakob spoke mostly swedish, but caimile spoke english & ewe to her daughters. they were both raised knowing all three languages. ● as children, eva was always the more analytical "left-brained" child who loved engineering, with ola drawn to art, dance, & interpersonal pursuits — though both girls were always very high achieving, academically speaking. ●  when ola was 5, caimile was offered her dream job as a professional translator in the united kingdom, & the family relocated to moordale. ●  during her youngest years, ola was closer to jakob than caimile because her mother was usually away working, leaving jakob to raise his daughters. ●   ola & eva were never told about their mother's affair, or that their parents had planned to divorce before caimile's cancer diagnosis, not even after her death. ●   caimile was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer when ola was 12. because of the unspoken tension between her & jakob, & the fact that eva was just entering college, it fell largely to ola to care for her mother. ● ola & caimile bonded strongly during her treatment, with ola getting the chance to learn much more about her mother's side of the family & their history. ● caimile died when ola was fifteen. at first, ola refused to go to therapy. but when her always high grades started slipping, her doctor recommended she be enrolled in grief counseling. her therapist saved ola's life. & ever since, it has been ola's dream to be a grief counselor herself to help other struggling kids.

[sa-characters]

Prince Philokratis Akrisios

GENDER - Male

AGE - Child

Prince of Selinódasos

ASPIRATION - Artistic Prodigy

TRAITS: Sensitive, Language Savant

SIGN: Sagittarius

PARENTS - Laonome Amphytriona and King Akrisios I

PARTNER - None

CHILDREN - None

Download: Not available

Story: Once Upon A Time - The first ones

Family tree: The first ones

CHILD: He has the mind of an artist. He observes, he transforms, he recreate. Instinctively he processes his grief and loneliness to art. After the death of his mother he is a bit more silent, but a wonderful personality, he really is.

TODDLER: He still prefer his mother before anybody else, but then, she IS his mother, right? He already speaks two languages fluently which is amazing. And there seem to be quite a personality behind those innocent blue eyes.

INFANT: He is very attached to his mother, and he is a bit fearful of strangers. Hopefully it will change with time, because otherwise he will have a hard time as a royal person.

[youareunbearable]

Headcannon that Celebrimbor and Thranduil were childhood Frenemies because I don't like how the Mirkwood Elves were left out of everything that happened so pls enjoy this fliclet

---

Once the Feanorians touched down in Hithlum, Thingol sent his younger brother's brother in law Oropher to be his ambassador. Oropher, of course, brings his son Thranduil along because this is a great chance for diplomatic training

Maedhros, this is during the time Morgoth is sending his own persistent ambassadors, thinks it would also be a great time to start Celebrimbor on diplomatic training, because before this he was just in the forge with Curufin and Feanor. And it doesn't look like the rest of the Sons of Feanor are going to have kids so he'll be inheriting the crown one day.

So Celebrimbor and Thranduil are pushed together on children "play dates"

They hate it, they always fight with each other and have competitions and as soon as they see each other they will throw down and scream new insults they learned since the last time they met. Sometimes they spent entire visits only speaking to each other in their own native tounges and mock the other for not properly understanding what they are saying. This particular game didn't last long, but Tyelpe did become the first of the Noldor to speak Sindarin fluently with no accent and Thranduil enjoys the annoyed tick in Galadriel's typical serene expression when she hears him speak flawless Quenya with a Feanorian lisp

Oropher is concerned, being the youngest of 4 he never had an antagonistic relationship with any of them. But Maglor (the new depressed Noldor High King) just gives a small smile and shrugs. He grew up with 6 brothers and even more half cousins. Little Tyelpe and Thrandy are just playing like boys and future best friends do

And they keep up this frenenimes relationship even after Curufin moves them to Himland. When it gets sacked during Dagor Bragollach and Curufin, Celegorm, and Celebrimbor all flee south to their cousins home, Thranduil sends them some relief supplies. When Celebrimbor disown his father, Thranduil comes to visit and generally be annoying until Celebrimbor can stop feeling like shit

When Thranduil, his parents, and their people leave eastward after Thingol's death but before the second Kinslaying (for Oropher is older then the Sun and Moon, he is not about to be led by a boy not even in his 30th year, Maiar blood or not, and many Sindar agree with him) Celebrimbor travels with them and secures them safe passage through the Blue Mountains.

They both grieve when they hear of the Second Kinslaying, then the Third, and then when the East sinks under the waves. Not many in Lindon support Celebrimbor wearing the eight pointed star again, but Thranduil just rolls his eyes and tells him red looks dreadful with his complexion

During the Second Age when Thranduil gets married, Celebrimbor is invited to the wedding and vis versa when Celebrimbor marries Narvi

(Both marriages involve lots of teasing over their partners of choice. Thranduil laughs over the fact that of course a Noldor would marry a Dwarf, they are basically the same, what with their love of rocks and metal work. Celebrimbor rolls his eyes and snorts that he's surprised Thranduil didn't end up marrying an Ent, what with his love of trees, but he supposes that marrying a lady named "tree maid" is close enough. What next? Will he name his children "sapling" or "twig" or "leaf"? Thranduil shoves him off his chair, spilling wine all over the table and floor and growls that at least his children will have original names, and not share a name with two of his forefathers like Men)

They visit each other a lot during the second age, and Thranduil tries to help him as best he can during the fallout of Narvi's death, and when Celebrimbor is designing his rings of Power with that suspicious Maiar of his (who Celebrimbor SWEARS is helping him craft to work through the grief he has no other intentions) he had Thranduil (or Oropher) in mind when he created Vilya

When Thranduil heard about what happened to his friend and his land during the War of Elves and Sauron he grieved deeply. The only thing he had to remember his friend by was some forgotten blueprints of unfinished jewelry, an Age worth of letters (mostly written in Quenya, he of course had replied in proper Sindarin), a clumsy eight pointed star he laughingly embroidered onto the breast of Thranduil's favourite robe, a set of Sindarin long knives overly embellished with Noldorian swirls, and a box of white gems Celebrimbor hand crafted and left with a promise to come back once he finished his rings and use them to make a matching crown set for Thranduil and his wife to wear whenever he inherited the crown

("There may be even enough left over for a third crown. For your 'little leaf' to grow into whenever you two get around making one." Thranduil's wife laughed with Celebrimbor and sent her husband a leer that set his ears ablaze and Tyelpe's laughter began anew)

And enough regrets to haunt him for Ages. It seemed like bad things always came in three. Celebrimbor, his father, his new homeland. Thranduil led his people north, away from everything he had loved, and kept what remained close to his chest. After his wife was slain shortly after the birth of his son, he refused to lose anyone else. Greenwood the Great began to mirror his grief and became Mirkwood

It was almost another another Age before he decided to commission the Dwarves of Erebor to turn those precious white gems into the crowns Celebrimbor intended. Not for him and his now dead wife, but maybe for Legolas and his future partner. (His little leaf, he could hear Celebrimbor's laughter every time Legolas calls himself "Legolas Greenleaf" with that cheeky grin of his) And if Celebrimbor couldn't make them himself, he would be happy to let his Dwarven friends do the job for him

Thranduil almost burned down the mountain himself when they withheld those gems and one of the last pieces of his dear friend from him

Under the bone deep fear of watching a dragon from his nightmares sack the kingdom, he was a little pleased. Jewel thieves get their due

(He knows that Celebrimbor never swore his grandfather's Oath, but sometimes late at night he wonders if he still carried the curse of it. If that Oath and the Curse of Feanor are the reason his dearest friend died that awful way he did)

It was the beginning of a forth age when those sparking white gems were finally turned into the crowns they were destined to be. And Thranduil could almost hear Celebrimbor's delighted laughter as he watched his only son and heir, his little leaf, marry a dwarf.

When it came time to sail, Thranduil stayed with his people, he has coveted them for so long he now refused to leave unless he was forced too. Legolas, who had somehow made a small boat that could barely withhold the waves of the Western Sea, was greeted with a welcoming and joyful embrace by the Elf he only heard stories about

"Hail Celebrimbor, Lord of Eregion, Crafter of the Rings Of Power, Husband of Narvi son of Vilarvi of Durin's Folk, and most importantly, the dearest friend of my father!" Legolas greeted in flawless Quenya with a very noticeable Feanorian lisp. The gathered crowd twitched a little and Elrond (who was hoping of news of his sons) gave a sigh. "I have much to say, and so does my husband Gimli, but first I must give you my father's message!"

Legolas cleared his throat, and then with mock superior expression, one that made him look just like Thranduil, he said: "Celebrimbor you Spider Spawn of the Shadow, if you worked on my crown instead of those thrice damned Rings like you said, my son would never have married a Dwarf. Once I am reborn you better start running because I am going to burry you in my forest and chop down the tree you become with my anger alone!"

There was a startled gasp of silence on the shores of Valinor, before Celebrimbor burst into peels of joyful laughter. Legolas smiled at his honorary uncle and laughed with him

"As you can see, father missed you very much"

[zep-writings]

Multiverse Madness

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

Summary: The Avengers mission comes to an end, and Steve has to make a choice.

Warnings: Loss, grief, bad words, fear and anger.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x OFC Arlo Stark.

Notes: I do not own any of the characters present in this story, except for Arlo Stark, an original character. This is pure fiction.

This is for part one. I can’t believe it actually came to the end of End Game. I hope your enjoy, please let me know!

Multiverse Madness Masterlist || Main Masterlist.

Chapter twelve

“How did I not know that?” Steve exclaimed as Arlo looked up to him with start.

“Know what?” Arlo frowned.

For the past few days, Arlo and Steve had kept themselves busy, helping the authorities starting to clean up the space where the Avengers compound used to stand. Things had been quiet since Thanos had been defeated and, even if it felt truly nice to have some quiet times, Arlo and Steve couldn’t stay still. They spent their time cleaning up and checking up on Scott, Hope and Bruce who were working on building a small Quantum tunnel as they all knew they had to take the stones back in time.

“Que tu parles français.” (That you speak French) Steve answered in French, his accent kicking through.

Arlo raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Comment tu sais ca?” (How do you know that?)

Steve simply raised the half-burned file he held in his hand. “Apparently it’s in the file Tony made on you when you first landed here. How did he know about it?”

“I told him.” She took the file and looked at a few pages.

The papers didn’t really say much on her. Coming from another universe certainly made Tony’s search on her a lot harder and he had never found anything on internet. Instead, he had to use the old method of questioning and it hadn’t been all that hard, Arlo wasn’t too secretive.

Arlo was sat on a chair desk, by Tony’s IA table as she watched him work on whatever project his mind was building at that time. It had been only a few weeks since she had landed here, but she loved to watch him work.

“So, how’s training going?”

“Pretty well, I suppose. I still get my ass kicked every time, but I don’t think that’ll ever change.” She grinned.

“Yeah, probably not. You know, Romanoff being a trained assassin and all that. You could, however, learn something else, and from the best of course.” Tony smirked, turning to face her, as Arlo understood he was talking about himself.

She chuckled. “By best, you mean you?”

“Well, obviously. Wasn’t it clear? I am the genius after all.”

Arlo rolled her eyes. “What do you want to teach me?”

“First, I need to know what you know. So, let me think.” Tony paused, a little dramatic in his gesture. “Any particular skills?”

“Hmm. I know how to fix Jarvis, or Friday I mean. My dad taught me. I know quite a lot about history, also I guess that no real use as I don’t come from this Earth.” She paused for a second. “I can speak French, fluently.”

“Really? Who taught you?” Tony asked curiously.

“My best friend, and my boyfriend.”

“Interesting. What else?”

Arlo kept on trying to find skills that could be useful, enumerating a few coming through her mind.

That day was the first real step in Tony and Arlo’s relationship as father and daughter. She had kept on giving him information about her, she didn’t have much to hide after all, and her dad had started to teach her all about Friday.

“Arlo? Hello?!” Steve passed his hand in front of her eyes, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Sorry, what were you saying?” Arlo wondered.

“Not important. You okay?” Steve frowned with worry.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I was just thinking back at that conversation with dad.” She smiled softly. “But when did you learn to speak French?”

“World War II. I understand it more than I can speak actually. Buck is the one who can hold conversations.”

“Maybe I should test him on that.” She smirked.

“Oh my God, you’re gonna start speaking French together and I’m gonna be the clueless idiot who doesn’t understand, aren’t I?” Steve groaned.

“Maybe. Then we could talk about you.” She winked at him as she threw the file she still held in her hand into the trash.

“I’ll just pretend you didn’t say that.” Steve rolled his eyes, going back to cleaning up. “I like it when you speak French though, it’s quite sexy.”

Arlo stopped in her movement, a smirk on her face. Did he really just said she found her sexy? When Steve realized what he just said his whole face started to turn red.

“You think I’m sexy.”

“Well, it isn’t… No. I mean yes, you are.” Steve stammered, his hand flying nervous to scratch the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean in a bad way. I mean you… You are a beautiful lady.”

“Oh, so I’m sexy and beautiful?” Arlo teased him, her smirk growing even bigger, biting her lips not to laugh at Steve’s face.

“I… Well…” Steve started nervously, and Arlo felt like he was about to lose it.

The brunette dropped her hand on his forearm and giggled a little. “Steve, relax. I’m just teasing.”

The soldier let out a big sigh and shook his head. “I really get why Buck called you a punk. You really are one.”

“Well, what can I say? It kinda of runs in the family, you know.” Arlo winked at him again and before he could say anything, she was back working in the rubbles.

Steve stared at her for a few seconds, his mind wandering. He liked that she was so natural with him, that she could tease him the way she did. He knew Tony’s death had been really hard on her and seeing her able to laugh and smile a little made him feel slightly less worried about her.

****

For the next few days, Arlo and Steve kept on working on cleaning up the compound area until the Quantum tunnel was finally ready. Scott and Hope left and headed back to San Francisco to their family but Bruce decided to stay until he was sure the stones were returned safely.

Steve was standing by Bruce side, behind the Quantum tunnel’s control panel, already wearing his suit and ready to go. The truth was the soldier didn’t want anyone else to get hurt and he felt like he was the one who had to do it.

“Now, remember.” Bruce said to him, opening the small suitcase in which all the Infinity Stones were placed. “You have to return the stones to the exact moment you got them. Or you're gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

“Don't worry, Bruce.” Steve reassured his friend, looking at the stones before closing the suitcase. “Clip all the branches.”

There was a few seconds of silence. “You know, I tried. When I had the gauntlet, the stones, I really tried to bring her back.” Bruce explained, a sad look on his face. “I miss her, man.”

“Me, too.” Steve admitted, looking up at his friend, knowing immediately who he was talking about.

As Bruce slowly nodded as Steve grabbed the handle of the suitcase and started to make his way to the Quantum tunnel, Sam walking by his side, one hand resting on his belt buckle.

“You know, if you want, I can come with you.” Sam offered.

“You're a good man, Sam. This one's on me, though.” Steve smiled and he turned to face Bucky and Arlo standing a little further from him and Sam. “Don't do anything stupid 'till I get back.” He added looking at his best friend.

“How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you.” Buck chuckled, a soft smile on his lips.

Both men leaned in and pulled each other into a tight hug.

“Gonna miss you, Buddy.” Bucky added as if he almost knew something Arlo didn’t.

“It's gonna be okay, Buck.” Steve reassured him before he turned to face Arlo.

The brunette was nervously biting on her lower lips. She knew the mission would be easier than retrieving the stones, but she also couldn’t stop thinking about who Steve was going to see on this journey. Peggy would be there and a part of her knew Steve could choose to stay with her to live their old days together. And even she didn’t want him to leave because she couldn’t imagine losing him, she also wanted him to be happy, whatever that meant for her.

“Be careful…” She whispered, offering him a small smile.

“Always.” Steve pulled her into his chest, his free arm wrapping around her waist as she put her arms around his neck, closing her eyes. “I’m Captain America remember?” He muttered only for her to hear, and she giggled softly.

After a few seconds, Steve pulled away, glanced at Bucky, nodded and stepped back. He walked over to the middle of the Quantum portal and activated his Quantum suit.

“How long is this gonna take?” Sam wondered.

“For him? As long as he needs. For us? Five seconds.” Bruce explained, pushing a few buttons on the control panel as Steve picked up Mjolnir. “Ready, Cap?” The Hulk asked and Steve looked at him, nodding. “Alright. We'll meet you back here, okay?”

“You bet.” Steve affirmed activating the helmet on his suit, his eyes stopping on Arlo’s face.

“Going quantum. Three, two, one.” Bruce pressed a few buttons.

Steve disappeared into the Quantum portal as Arlo grew more nervous. She started biting her lower lips again which didn’t escape Bucky. The longed-hair soldier slid a reassuring arm around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer as she circled her arms around his waist.

“It’s gonna be okay.” Buck simply said.

****

Steve didn’t encounter any problem returning stones. He first went to Morag and Vormir in 2014, dropping the power and soul stone before stopping by Asgard in 2013 for the reality stone. He then headed to 2012 New York where he gave back the time and mind stones, knowing that after that, he only had one stop left, his last, but yet the hardest one.

SHIELD headquarters, Camp Lehigh, 1970.

When he stepped into the camp Steve was nervous. Dressed in a military outfit just as he did the first time he was there, he took a deep breath and walked past the guards. He quickly headed to the lab, where Tony had retrieved the stone, and placed it back safely without any issues.

Soon, he found himself walking back toward that office. Peggy’s office. He walked into the room as Peggy’s silhouette appeared on the other side of the window facing him. She was gorgeous with her brown hair cut in a bob cut dropping delicately on her shoulders and dressed in a dark blue shirt dress. His hand grabbed the handle on the door that separated the two rooms, but he stopped. If he opened that door there was no going back, no other option but to choose Peggy and to leave everyone he had known since coming out of the ice behind.

Arlo. His mind stopped on the other woman, the one he had grown so fond of, and she was excepting to see him come back. He had promised.

As he closed his eyes, Steve’s mind wondered across the memories he had made with her since she had stepped into his life. Barely four months and yet the Stark had taken such a huge place into his life and an even bigger one into his heart. He worried about her, cared for her, but, most of all, he loved her a little more than a simple friend would. He didn’t know what to do.

He opened his eyes, looking back at Peggy. And then it hit him, it was hard, but she was his past, the first woman he ever loved, and she would always have a special place in his heart. However, she wasn’t his future. At least, she wasn’t the one he imagined by his side when he thought about the future, not anymore.

Deep down his decision was made, he knew exactly what he wanted to do. So, he took a deep breath, looked at Peggy a few more seconds before glancing at the GPS attached to his hand.

It was now or never.

****

“And returning in, five, four, three, two, one.” Bruce counted down.

He pushed the button, but nothing happened. Steve wasn’t there and Arlo couldn’t help but feel her stomach twist. He stayed behind; he had chosen Peggy and it hurt. Her eyes filled with water as Bruce looked at the screen on the small computer, confused and pushed a few buttons.

“Where is he?” Sam worried.

“I don't know. He blew right by his time stamp. He should be here.” Bruce pointed out.

Arlo wiped the tear rolling down her cheek as her Bucky pulled her a little closer, dropping a soft kiss to her temple. For a moment, the solider was surprised by his best friend’s choice to stay behind, to be with Peggy. He knew that whatever Steve did, that it wouldn’t be an easy decision for the Captain, but Bucky had deep down truly thought he would come back, for Arlo.

“Well get him back.” Sam pressed, his eyes going back and forth between the Quantum portal and Bruce.

“I'm trying.” Bruce affirmed.

“Get him the hell back!” Sam voice grew louder, getting impatient.

“Hey, I said, I'm trying!” Bruce groaned as, all of a sudden, Steve reappeared on the platform of the Quantum portal.

Arlo sighed loudly in relief as her eyes met the soldier’s. He chose to come back after all. He chose to move forward instead of looking back. Buck smiled at Arlo, and he nodded, almost as he gave her the permission to meet Steve first. She stepped toward the blond soldier who was walking down the three steps of the Quantum portal.

“You came back…” Arlo’s voice betraying her surprise and her emotions.

“I did. I told you I’d be careful.” Steve commented.

Arlo snorted and snuggled against his chest as he wrapped his arms around her.

“Did you do it?” Bruce questioned, closing his laptop.

Arlo pulled away, keeping only one arm around his waist and he kept his around her shoulder. “The stones are back in the right places.” Steve nodded in confirmation.

“Good.” Bruce said as he started to pack his stuff.

Steve exchanged a quick look and nod with Buck and Sam before pulling Arlo with him. They walked away until they reached the lake and then, they stood there for a while, in silence, simply staying close together and enjoying each other’s presence.

“Did you see her? Peggy, I mean.” Arlo broke the silence, curiosity poking through.

“I did.” Steve looked down at her.

“Did you want to stay?”

For a moment, Steve didn’t know what to answer, or at least how to explain to her why he didn’t. “Not really. Not anymore.” He stated with a soft smile on his lips, before he looked down, gazing into Arlo’s eyes. “I couldn’t leave my best girl behind.”

Steve slowly slipped his hand to her cheek, his thumb gently brushing over her cheekbone. Arlo’s mouth curled into a gentle smile; this was all she had wanted to hear. For a second everything seemed to disappear around them, and her eyes glanced quickly at his lips, as his did to hers. She loved him; she had no more doubt about it and neither did Steve.

“I’m really glad you came back.” Arlo confessed.

Then, she turned back to look at the lake, much to Steve disappointment and snuggled a little more against him. He bit his lip and looked up too.

They had time.

They both settled on the grass, enjoying some quiet alone time. Steve laid down and soon enough Arlo’s head found her way to his shoulder as she laid by his side. His left hand settled on her upper arm, his fingers running up and down, gently brushing against her skin, and his right one found Arlo’s, lacing their fingers together as they both closed their eyes.

“Oh, happy late birthday by the way. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me it was your birthday. I didn’t get to buy you a present.” Arlo raised her eyes to look at him, as she pouted.

“Let me guess, Buck told you?” Steve groaned.

Arlo giggled. “Yup. So, how old does that really make you?”

“Old.” Steve grinned.

“Oh, come on, tell me!” Arlo insisted, pushing herself on her elbow, still turned toward him.

“105.” Steve answered closing his eyes and a small silence settled between the two.

When Steve opened his eyes to look back at the brunette, he found her staring at his face, a smirk on her face.

“What?” Steve inquired.

“To be fair, you’re pretty well preserved for a grandpa. I don’t see too many wrinkles yet.” Arlo said keeping on a straight face before bursting into laughter.

“You’re the worst!” Steve rolled his eyes and snorted.

“I know, I know. You still like me though.”

“Lucky for you, I do. A lot.” Steve admitted as their laughter died down and they smiled at each other like two idiots.

Arlo settled back into his chest, her fingers playing with his as his right fingers found their way back to her arm, brushing against her skin.

“What present do you want?” Arlo asked.

“Nothing. I don’t need anything.”

“You’re a party pooper. I’ll still find you something, though.” Arlo grinned.

She felt Steve shrugged but he didn’t argue, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of her head. Steve knew he had made the right choice. He would always miss Peggy, a part of him always will, but Arlo was his home.

****

Chapter fourteen

[tiarnanabhfainni]

i wrote another fic about generational trauma and the winchesters, this time featuring deadbeat mom extraordinaire mary née campbell, displacement, emigration, the american wake and just really missing your mom.

gonna quickly tag a few mutuals who might be interested but also you can find the fic under the cut

@uhuraha @myaimistrue @nonsensegnomes

American Wake

On a mild summer’s day in 1950, a wedding took place in Normal, Illinois. Dressed in a simple white dress that she had inherited from her mother, Millie Walsh looked up at the man who was to be her husband in daze of transcendent happiness. She had good reason to be besotted. His name was Henry Winchester and he was a dashing young academic of the supernatural with a fascinating air of mystery that surrounded him. They had met the previous year when he had come to her home in New York on a fact-finding mission. Millie fell in love after only two minutes of conversation.

With such a buoyant adoration to carry her through, Millie was perfectly happy to relocate to a state far from her family and friends to build a new life with charming debonair Henry. She knew about the supernatural elements of his life. How could she not? But it was a trade she was perfectly willing to make for the opportunity to create a family with him.

And she paid dearly for that decision. Millie lost a husband and was left to raise her four year old son alone.

It was all entirely avoidable of course. The Winchester name was not her inheritance by birth. No Cupid had ever marked her name for Henry. It was by no means a match made in heaven. If not for love, Millie could have lived a life completely divorced from the less-than-natural.

After her husband’s disappearance her heart hardened and she abandoned the Winchester name and any association with the supernatural. Packing her bags for Kansas, she returned instead to the ways of her own people. For Millie’s family had a long history of leaving their pasts behind them.

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

Millie’s maternal line can be traced back to a small town in Limerick, Ireland now known by the name of Patrickswell. The farm where her grandmother was reared would likely have been a fair few miles from the town itself but it’s difficult to be precise about these things since many of the records of the era were destroyed in an explosion during the Civil War of the 1920’s.

Bridget Ó Laochdha lived in a hard place surrounded by tough people. There was no work in the surrounding towns and villages and her family was forced to eke out a living on rented land. Most of the local community spoke little to no English and spent most of their day-to-day lives conversing and working through the medium of the Irish language.

The Ó Laochdha family was no exception to this rule. Bridget - as the sole member of the family with more than a rudimentary grasp on the foreign tongue - had been translating for her father at the market for most of her young life.

The rugged countryside that surrounded them was austere and beautiful but there was darkness around every corner. Violence engulfed the region as the Land War raged around them. The threat of eviction was a constant sword of Damocles over their heads and the precarity of the political situation left a permanent mark on Bridget’s development.

Bridget loved her family, of course she did. She loved the language she spoke with them and the easy rhythm of her life. But she knew that there was a brighter future out there somewhere on the other side of an ocean. Somewhere she wouldn’t hear constant news of Whiteboys, Invincibles and their clashes with the police. Somewhere that was safer, where she might get a job and support her family from afar. All she needed was the means to get there.

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

Mary idolises her dad when she’s young as children are prone to do. Her family are heroes who straddle the line between the known and the unknown and keep the world safe from the evil lurking in the shadows.

As a teenager, she joins the family business and she’s a natural. She excels particularly at getting information out of young witnesses. She sits amongst small groups of girls, nodding along to conversations about music, miniskirts and make-up and nudging the topic of discussion slowly around to the subject of her father’s latest hunt. Mary’s good with the guys too, she finds that a well-placed laugh or look can get her most of what she needs.

But intel is not the only area where she excels. Mary’s a sharpshooter and she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty. Hand her a shovel and she can dig a grave just as fast as the boys. She even knows the best technique for washing blood off her hands.

She’s on a path to be one of the best in the business. And she hates it.

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

Although many people left Ireland to try their luck in the United States in those days, it was still a difficult path to tread. Tickets to get to New York were expensive and hard to come by. Buying a ticket at the harbour was as likely to get you scammed as to get you a place on the boat.

Bridget was fortunate in that her local parish priest was looking to sponsor a few young hopefuls on the trip across the Atlantic and offered her a place. That decision might have been the hardest any in her family had ever had to make. To leave behind everything she knew and understood for the small chance that her life could be better. She made that choice nonetheless.

The tradition of The American Wake was one that dated back to the famine years in Ireland to mourn the departure of a loved one to that far off place across the ocean. There would be no real way to send letters home consistently and economic conditions meant that the emigrants would likely never be able to return home. What do you do when you are setting up to grieve someone who is still alive? You hold a funeral.

On Bridget’s last day in Limerick she cried until her tear ducts ran dry. She sat in the centre of the room and listened to the keening women wail around her. Her father could not speak his sadness but he stood beside her and rested his hand on her shoulder, bowing his head in silent prayer. Her mother held her face in her hands and whispered one last goodbye.

Yet amidst all of the tears and the heartache, a sense of relief made its way into Bridget’s bones and settled in her spine. There was death and loss but a future there too. A brand new life in a brand new land. And while they’d never say it, her family was relieved too, she could see it in their eyes. This was one less mouth to feed, one less person to clothe. The money she will send home in remittances would lighten her father’s load by a considerable degree.

As she boarded the boat in Cobh, she stared at the ticket clutched tightly in her hand and thought not of what it had taken from her but of the life it stood to grant her.

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

When Mary meets John for that second date outside his mother’s house, she knows that this is it. That he is her ticket out.

She clutches his body in her lap and cries and she doesn’t know what to do. With death and destruction all around her, Mary makes the only choice she can.

Deanna’s body still lies abandoned on the kitchen tiles. But isn't it better, in a way, that she never had to face her daughter leaving her behind?

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

The first impression America made on Bridget was not a positive one. No sooner than she arrived at Ellis Island, did they take the last vestiges of her home away from her. Bridget Leahy took her first step onto foreign soil without even her name to console her.

Her first job in New York was that of a kitchen worker in a large airy home in the employ of a family belonging to the upper echelons of East Coast society. Her hours were long and her fingers near scrubbed to the bone. Since her food and board were covered, every penny that she earned was sent home to Patrickswell.

While her English had served her well in local markets of Limerick, she found that they were quite inadequate here among native speakers. She sat around the table in the servants’ quarters with the others who worked in the home and listened as conversations happened all around her. They all spoke so fast and the topic of conversation switched so quickly that she couldn't quite keep track. Bridget simply did not have the vocabulary to contribute and so she stopped speaking entirely.

The longing for home was like a physical wound lodged just under her ribs and sometimes she wondered how she continued to breathe through the pain.

The only times that she could recognise herself was on her rare evenings off when she made her way down to the local Irish dance hall. There she could allow young men from Inchicore, Kilrush and Listowel to spin her around a room to the music of home and forget where she was for just a few hours.

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

It is impossible to overemphasise how little the role of a housewife suits Mary Winchester. The sundresses feel awkward on her form and the kitchen still feels like a foreign land.

The other mothers in the neighbourhood all seem to speak the same language as they switch tracks fluently between complaining good-naturedly about their husbands and swapping recipe cards. Mary has never felt more out of place.

She doesn’t know where she fits or how to contribute. The loss of her mother is like a crater in her chest and she doesn’t know where to lay down all of the grief she holds in her hands. She thinks she would be better at holding her children without it.

When it all gets too much, she sheds the skin of Mary Winchester and leaves her small family behind to retrace the Campbell path. She might not be able to get her family back but she can pretend to be home for just a small while when on a hunt.

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

In a small catholic church on an intersection, Bridget Leahy married Mick Walsh of Tyrone in a small, private ceremony. As a married woman, she left the world of employment behind and started the task of homemaking in their small Manhattan apartment. She did her best to keep the rooms aired out and clean but the grime of the city was ever present.

When she looked out of the window and saw grey dusty streets she couldn't help but compare the view to green fields and the fresh air of the Limerick countryside. Her husband worked in construction, building monuments of steel to the sky that looked towards an American future while she remained stuck in an Irish past.

When Bridget’s pregnancy first became obvious to the couple, they were delighted. This was their chance to build something of their own on American soil. A family.

When her waters broke, the women of the neighbourhood rushed into her room to oversee the birth and refused to let her husband in so he could hold her hand.

In another life maybe Bridget stayed at home and married a local boy in Patrickswell. Maybe she gave birth at home next to her parents’ fireplace with all of the women of her family around her and her mother stroking her hair.

Maybe she was destined to die in childbirth no matter where she was but at least at home the last voice in her ears would have been in a tongue that was her own.

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

Just like Millie Winchester née Walsh before her, Mary Winchester let the supernatural into her home in a desperate grab for the life that she wanted to build.

And just like her mother-in-law before her, a demon crashed through the walls and destroyed every semblance of a family that she had found.

[ryuzakemo128]

The Angel Of Death

Chapter Twenty Six: Last Stage of Grief: Acceptance

<- Previous Chapter / Next Chapter ->

Chapter Summary: Red faces the final three Seven Deadly fathers, embraces her darker side and the version of Red that is to come.

Trigger Warning: Mention of Death and Violence, slight hint at a few sex scenes.

"I don't like announcing a presence it's why it looks the way it does," Red says explaining why it looked plain on the outside, "Besides, with everything that has happened to my previous business partner, I'd rather not make it known outside of you lot."

Alfie became her business partner taking over the Colombian underground fighting arenas. Half of each month's profit went directly to him and him alone. Red gave paid lesson's to those wanting to learn the Russian language, thus the building outside of city limits devoted to learning Russian and English.

"What are you going to do with the multitude of safe houses in Russia?" Thomas asked her.

"Keep them as Safe houses that's what there for Thomas."

Red's connections though-out both Russia and America were getting larger by each passing week. She felt like she up to her ears with more work than she could ever handle. She hired identical twins from Mexico to handle the assassination part of the business. Mainly the training part of things.

Red made sure they were taught English before they started working. She never hired an assassin from Colombia for fear of any of them having a connection to the woman she killed. The spies hired from there never went near any major operation. She even went as far as to hire bodyguards from Russia to protect Masha at all times. Whatever Masha asked for, is exactly what she gets at times. Masha had the best tutors money could buy. Masha's questions weren't unanswered, she told the truth as much as she knew Galina would have wanted her to know. Masha taught me how to play the piano, and how to speak both Russian and English fluently. She knew would have to be better than both Galina and her. "Our future is in the hands of these children and they need to be better than us," Her mother said to her as Red watched Masha play the piano during her lesson. Whenever Masha called Red mother or her fairy godmother it made her feel something, something she never thought she'd feel. Like someone depended on her, even though Red could have given her to the orphanage but Galina made her promise that she'd be there as if she was her own flesh and blood.

Masha needed parental guidance and there wasn't anything anyone could stop Red from making sure she got just that. Masha called Red her fairy godmother when she fixed something, which caused a pang in her heart that only happened with Masha or Charlie.

Charlie and Masha didn't get along at first, one accusing the other of taking up too much of Red's time. Basically running circles around Red's feet the whole time. It amused Thomas more than Red would have liked. Red read them both a story each night or at least one chapter of a story each night. She gave more of her time to both rather than one at a time.

Charlie got along with Masha after a while, they even started playing music together sometimes.

"What about your mother and father?"

"What would like to know about them?"

"What were they like?"

"Smart, dependable, someone you can rely on and they were there for me," Red explained to both Charlie and Masha in ways that they could understand.

"What did they do for work?"

"They helped people in a lot of ways," Red paused thinking about what else to put it so they wouldn't know before they were ready to know.

"Like dad?" Charlie asked.

"Kinda, but not the same way. But incredibly similar,"

Red had accepted that Galina is gone and there wasn't anything she could have done to prevent it from happening. But at the same time, she would have to accept that she needed to focus more on those around her as well as herself.

Thomas saw her more and more during this period of her life. Red had her business focus more on information intake to sell copies off to certain people. She pooled money for Masha and Charlie as their inheritance in the case that anything happened to her.

[west-tokyo-incidents]

While Mount Blanc, The White Mountain, retains its name in the horror AU, saying it brings to mind the home of fae. Urban legend has it that a soldier in the first world war stumbled across the mother of all fae in his den, and that they fell in love. The soldier's death caused the mother so much grief that it affects the whole mountain and the forests below them.

All sorts of magical creatures, from the straight up tiny winged creatures to the grotesque and beautiful fair folk to such things as loups-garous and feu follet have, supposedly, been seen across the barrier of the man-made fence or slipping out from behind the fence.

But there are some creatures born straight from the mountain, and not born of other myths.

After the expansion, the soldiers who guard the mountain are called Chasseurs de la Forêt(hunters of the forest), or Les Chasseurs de Maman(mother's hunters), and while they do communicate with other military branches and cooperate, they do not defer to them nor the French government. They do as they please and after the expansion, both the French and Swiss governments leave well the fuck enough alone. If you go and visit the outpost, offerings aren't required... but gifts of alcohol, meats, and ammunition tend to bring you better luck during your stay there. It's highly discouraged to try and take home a souvenir, though. Everything from bad luck to your death by the very object you stole can be expected to happen. Media, recording devices, and other forms of information gathering are banned vehemently and even joking about taking pictures will get you thrown out of the outpost.

The masked people sometimes seen flitting in between the trees are called Les Honteux(the ashamed), and are said to be the souls of those who trespassed on Mother's land without permission nor respect. Their bodies are said to be twisted like gnarled limbs and their faces covered with bark and ivy. They're often used in local children's tales to keep kids from trespassing and to teach them to respect what belongs to someone else. To drive one away, it's said you must threaten to call Mother on them--in the same childish way one sibling would threaten to call Mom on another.

The third most well known sighting is the Fleurs Mortes(flowering dead) or Amants de la Mère(mother's lovers). These are people that Mère des Pins has called over personally, and the most famous of these is L'oeil(the eye), for whom Mère called for so passionately that he expanded his forest for her in a raging tantrum until she returned to his side. The flowering dead have many different forms, but are always cadavers brought alive by vines. That occasionally leave the perimeter set by the fence to peek on the living. They're said to be violent in the winter, but playful and even joyful and helpful in the summer. If you want to seek out one's help in the warm months or keep your family safe in the winter, offerings of honey, meat, and wine are gleefully taken.

L'oeil herself is said to be the smartest and most dangerous of the flowering dead, and is known for the bright blue blossom in her right eye. She can still talk fluently and her debates can drive any sane man backwards in their own skull. She is said to be lulled by gifts of bones, black silk, and sugary treats, and you must refer to her as Lieutenant if you ever find yourself entrapped by her. To survive an encounter you have to be entertaining enough that she doesn't kill you, but not so entertaining that she takes you home to Mother. The Chasseurs speak of her with fondness if brought up, and her name can spook the most insistent Honteux... but speaking her name frivolously is said to draw her attention, so don't say it lightly.

[catty-words]

jatp women appreciation week - day 4 - favorite scene: the season’s emotional climax

julie’s relationship with rose is the emotional center of the show — because julie’s grappling with the loss of it, sure, but more importantly because rose is the person who brought music into julie’s life. for these reasons, rose is never far from julie’s mind. there are, however, episodes that focus more heavily on the influence rose exerts on julie even in death. namely, wake up, finally free, stand tall, and unsaid emily. during the latter, mothers are so present in julie’s mind, she folds luke’s relationship with emily into her preoccupation. but where she’s able to effectively open a channel of communication between luke and his mom — with the language she and all the people she cares about most speak most fluently: music — julie doesn’t feel the same closeness with rose. (“i know how hard it is when you want to speak to someone you love and can’t. i feel that way every day.”)

so when she hears that the boys’ only available paths all lead them away from her forever, naturally she feels bomb-that-obliterates-everything upset.

here she was, already feeling sensitive about reaching for someone who can’t be there. of course the likely loss of her phantoms exacerbates her fear that she’s somehow responsible for the fact that no one can fully offer themselves back to her.

or maybe, as the fortuitous entrance of rose’s sunset curve t-shirt suggests, julie’s just been looking for that connection in the wrong places, with too many preconceptions about what it should look like.

take this exchange:  

we know from episode 1.04 that julie’s attached to the idea that rose and her boys have some kind of divine connection since she’s disappointed to find out that they’re tethered to carrie’s dad instead. but here she is, hardly jumping for joy at the prospect that rose could still have had some kind of relationship with the phantoms because she’d been hoping for something more profound than a t-shirt.

flynn, being the supportive friend and insightful person that she is, points out that something as simple as rose being familiar with sunset curve’s music doesn’t have to lack meaning.

this beat in the scene is one of my favorite flynn moments because flynn’s main source of strife for the season was that she wasn’t able to get through julie’s grief to julie’s love of music and inspire her to play again. her enthusiastically giving credit to the phantoms may be an understated act of selflessness, but it’s an act of selflessness nonetheless.

julie’s not quite able to accept the sentiment at face value, though.

she sounds so matter-of-fact, so certain, that if rose wanted her to play music she would have found a way to let julie know. except we can look back at the events of the season and see that rose did leave behind a pretty clear message in the form of “wake up” that sticking with music even after her death was exactly what she wanted for julie. so why does julie feel so strongly that her mom didn’t reach out to her? well, although she’s taken huge steps in dealing with her grief, julie hasn’t fully accepted that her mom cannot be there for her the way she was when she was alive. she’s still looking for the comforts she’s used to (see her alleyway speech in 1.09, “why can’t you just come pick me up and hold me in your arms” etc.) instead of opening herself up to the possibility flynn’s talking about: signs.

that is, until flynn puts julie in her place about mocking such things as absurd.

and we get to see clearly that julie takes the point.

which is what allows flynn to drop her theory and get to the heart of matters:

in the end, whether or not rose has a hand in the phantoms’ presence in julie’s life has no bearing on how julie handles the news that she’s losing them. the choice on how to act from here is up to julie and only julie. does she continue reaching for a connection that’ll slip through her fingers or does she close herself up again and reject that renewed spark for life she’s only just started to feel comfortable with? there’s precedence for her choosing the latter, but like julie helped luke heal old wounds by offering an unexpected way to connect with his mom, flynn is here to help julie find rose though signs. not as straightforward a comfort as a hug, to be sure, but sometimes you have to accept that love doesn’t come to you in the ways you’re expecting. and opening herself to the hope that reaching for something intangible doesn’t necessarily leave her empty-handed is what drives julie out into the studio, nervous for the future but determined to give back to the phantoms the chance at peace they gave her.

[mikkeneko]

Got tagged by @veliseraptor for a writing meme!

How many works do you have on AO3? What’s your total AO3 word count?

193 works over 10 fandoms;  2,591,823 words.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I would count 10 real ones. Dragon Age; Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle; Critical Role; Marvel Cinematic Universe; The Untamed; The Witcher; Cardcaptor Sakura; Fullmetal Alchemist; Gundam Wing; Weiss Kreuz. Some of these pre-date the existence of AO3, and some of them are better off that way.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

A Villain State of Mind; Cover Up the Sun; Laughing As I Pray; I do solemnly swear; The Morning After.  All Loki fandom fics. Not too surprising as that was the most mainstream fandom I wrote for, and they’ve been around for a while now, lots of time to accumulate stats.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do! I have a somewhat complex set of criteria for when I respond and how. 

I will respond to all  comments left on works in my current/active fandom except  for: comments consisting entirely of emojis (mainly because I have no idea what to say to that) comments consisting of single words (same) or comments that seem to be about something other than my fic entirely or focus entirely on negativity (i.e., the commentor is using this box as a space to rant about how much they hate a character, the show, or another author/trope.)

I will usually but not always respond to comments on my next-to-last fandom. On older fandoms I will respond only  to especially long or thoughtful comments, or ones that specifically ask a question that I can answer.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

That would have to be Rise From Ash,  the Loki timeloop fic I wrote in MCU. Since it was intended to lead into Avengers, it naturally had a downer ending since we know how Avengers went for Loki; but the story also ended with him having a major mental health break and resolving to kill himself in order to end the timeloop, so, uh, that was pretty unhappy.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I think that the Never Gonna Tell A Lie series has to qualify for this one by default; two fics of the “characters from wildly different series meet in a bar” format, spanning seven different franchises.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Occasionally. I can’t answer in a lot of detail because I make a conscious policy of thinking about these comments as little as possible, so I tend to forget the details. Off the top of my head I know I received a few comments on my MCU fics of people complaining that the fic was nothing more than a Thor-bashing exercise (it wasn’t intended as such, but you can’t control how the audience will receive, I guess.) And then there was the whole infamous “ableist torture porn of a mentally ill man” episode.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I can recall. It may have happened that I just don’t know about.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Have you ever had a fic translated?

A fair amount! Sometimes people will leave a comment asking permission to translate. I have always granted it. Sometimes they go through with the translation and sometimes not.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes! In Tsubasa Reservoir Chronicle I co-wrote a couple fics with @faux-fires which were a lot of fun. (Which... doesn’t seem to be on AO3, huh. But Not Quite Paradise  is still on ff.net.)  And more recently @cerusee and I have been trading scenes back and forth for each other’s stories.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I don’t know if I have just one. Maybe Kurogane/Fai. They really manage to straddle all my favorite ship dynamics.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Both of my WIPs in Critical Role fandom, Molly’s Moving Castle and Fjord Mustang’s YEEHAW! Fun and Pony Ranch,  are at this point probably never going to be finished. Partly because of Characterization Marches On; the characters that I thought they were when I started writing were not the characters they ended up being in canon. But mostly just because I’m no longer really in the fandom. 

Wonder if it’s worth closing out the WIPs on AO3 with final chapters describing how the fic would have ended?

What are your writing strengths?

I can do humor, I can do horror, I can do heartbreak. I can write a complex outline and stick to it, I have a fair amount of discipline and perseverance. People occasionally compliment my character voice, so I’d say that’s decent. I can spin up a plot for just about any situation. I love  adapting canon to AU. My dialogue is pretty punchy and my action sequences are adequate.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I’m really bad at writing OCs, as I admit to every darn time this comes up. I’ve also recently realized that I have a strong tendency to avoid writing about characters I don’t like, on several fronts.

The first way that manifests is that if there’s a main/good guy character who the fandom likes and I dislike, I will avoid writing about them whenever possible. I don’t do character bashing. (Which means that if I am  writing about a protagonist character, even if they’re being a jerk and the narrative is whacking them for it, that doesn’t mean I hate the character. It just means that the story requires that they get a good whacking, Thor.)

But the second way this manifests is that I will often just... avoid writing about the bad guys, if they’re unpleasant and I dislike them. Which in shorter things is fine! We’re here to read about the characters we like.  But in longer or more plotful things, that means that all of the villain’s bad things happen off screen  if they happen at all, so the audience doesn’t get a chance to really build up anger against them, so their eventual downfall is less satisfying.

I’m also weaker at writing romance than I would like, I’d say. If it’s a story that has a plot, the romance will frequently get shoved in around the corners or at the last minute. If it’s a story that’s supposed to be about romance, the characters will usually sidetrack into having philosophical discussions about moral relativity when they’re supposed to be flirting.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m not sure I understand the question. I don’t think this has ever come up in my fic. I do not speak any other languages fluently enough to have ever tried to write any part of my fics, dialogue or otherwise, in a language other than english. Is this asking my thoughts on other  people doing that? Sure, why not?

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

That would have been Gundam Wing! Gosh, it’s been so long that I barely remember what  that first fic was. But the biggest thing I wrote for that fandom was a ghost story on a space station, which was not very good, objectively, but I look back on it and think it had some seeds of a pretty cool horror/psychological drama going there. 

Was Duo Maxwell really  haunting the space station? Or was Heero Yuy just going mad with grief? Who can say.

Tagging! Well, Lise tagged me, so she’s out. How about... @hollyand-writes (if you have the time to spare,) @curiosity-killed, @thethirdamell, @plotdesigner, and @cerusee ?