#i love him so dearly ill draw him soon!!

[the-midnight-blooms]

ꜱɪɴᴄᴇʀᴇʟʏ, ʏᴏᴜʀꜱ

pairing: husband!jeong yunho x wife!reader

AU: hanahaki au

word count: 2.4k

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Unrequited Love

Dear Yunho,

I hope this letter find you well, whether you open it now or decades later when you sit at my grave. Perhaps you’ve married again, and another child sits in your arms- I'll never truly know how much I mean to you.

Whoever had said falling in love was a blessing had clearly never fallen in love with the wrong person in their life. Such an astute claim that was. Falling in love was one the worst things that could have ever happened to me, especially since the deadly case of Hanahaki was up for grabs.

I will not sugar-coat it, I love you as dearly as if you are mine. I love you as if I can have you. I love you as if I am entitled to you. I always have, and will until I am torn apart by this wretched illness.

Perhaps she had acted too resistant in the face of love. Acting like it was a sin for women on a dark path, yet at night she dreamed that in the dead of a void her lover would crawl to her and ensnare her in his arms. Pepper her with gentle kisses and unbroken stares. Perhaps that was the reason why Yunho had first been warded away from her, taking on many lovers. Always rushing back to her to tell her how perfect each woman was, how he cherished them, fixing onto their smile, their eyes, their beauty unparalleled. There was something about them that made his heart swoon and something about her that rebuked him.

“Then who will hold you at night, when you are so lonely that you cannot even comfort yourself?” He asked her one evening, sat under a great oak tree heads on each other shoulders; the action itself burning her heart- how she wished he wanted her the same way she wanted him. You. Will you not hold me? Will you not shield from the terrors of this world that I am so frightened against?

He had come to her in the torpidity of the night, finally, heart yearning as he realised that where he should have spoken aloud his lovers name, he said hers. Where his lover should have been soaring through his dreams, carrying his child, plastering kisses all over his face, running down the sand on the crust of the roaring sea; it was her.

"Yunho? What's wrong?" With watery eyes he stared down at her, body wracking with sobs.

"It's you. You're all I have ever wanted."

Who should I blame for being so devoted to you? I can’t blame myself, I’m sorry. It hurts too much and already the bronchi of my lungs have been replaced with the sturdy branches of a willow tree. Flowers now bloom on the membrane of cells, tissues all compressed between saccharine petals. You may laugh at my poetry but you adored it once. After all, once our souls were bound in holy matrimony, did I not gift you a poem every anniversary? Did you not read those words aloud me under the cover of the night, as if it was your soul speaking to me and not I?

An ecru, vintage radio sat perched upon the wooden worktop, in an equally old kitchen on the outskirts of the country. Just two miles below, down the grassy hilltop lead to the sea-the rush of the tides blanketing the sand, drawing it towards the deep. Delicate waves enveloped each other, producing a cacophony of sounds that drowned out the hum of the radio. The humidity of the kitchen suffocated her, as the flames of the oven whispered to the baked good blemishing it with a golden-brown that would soon prompt her to pull it from the rack. Wandering to the front porch, she followed her lover's figure saunter up the hill-his pace increasing as she opened her arms out for him. Swooping her up from the ground, he spun her around in the air-his tight grip central around her waist. A shriek escaped from her lips as he did so. Gently, he put her down, the couple laughing synchronously as she dragged him into the kitchen. Flopping down onto the chair, Yunho went straight to the radio-sitting on top of the worktop, fiddling with its button an array of tunes inbounding the pale kitchen walls. Settling upon a popular Latin song, he got off the countertop- beginning to sway his hips to the music. When his movements became much more faster and fluid, she could not help but erupt in a fit of laughter. He reached out for her hands, enamouring her hands within his.

"You know I can't dance." He laughed, recalling the memory where she almost tripped on her wedding dress in front of a crowd of people gawking at them during the first dance. Turning the dial, he rested his hands on her waist gazing down at her. Resting her chin on his chest she peered up at him with her own doe eyes. Remaining in each other arms as the world swept by, wind rushing in from the window lace curtain fluttering in the breeze. A sweet smell drove out from the oven, she hastily pried herself from his embrace grabbing the tea towel.

"What have you got in the oven?" he pondered, as she went to her knees opening the oven door. A small smirk formed on her lips. He looked over her shoulder. "Buns?" Holding back giggles, she composed herself before looking up at him with a deadpan face nodding dubiously.

"Interesting choice. I thought you were baking a cake. Never mind, these are nice." He rambled as she flipped over the buns onto the wire rack, leaving them to cool. "How long were they in the oven for?" He winced slightly as he tried to reach for one, sharply retracting his hand away as the hot surface lacerated his finger.

"About four-five weeks." He gave her a confused look, as she turned around meandering to the living room. Five weeks? He looked back at the buns. He knew croissants often took three days to make, but five weeks for buns? As if a switch had flicked in his head, he stuck his head in the living room doorway.

"We have a bun in the oven?" Nodding, he swept her off the floor like a bride, spinning her around in his arms as if she weighed nothing to him. "WE HAVE A BUN IN THE OVEN!"

You may have once told me you adored me, but you no longer do now.

She recalled staring down at the loose petal of a bright pink dicentra flower in her fingers, blood splattered across the crystal white sink in her bathroom. A strangling sensation fulfilled her throat, slumping onto the lid of the toilet seat. Beads of sweat formed across her forehead, the cogs in her brain stopping for a split second as fatigue gnawed at her. The pounding on the bathroom door startled her, shoving the pink petal in her pocket- she opened the tap using her fingers to scrub away the splatter of her blood that remained on the sink. Looking down she found her niece peering up at her with her wide eyes and an innocent face, her little lips lightly gaped as she took in her auntie's dishevelled state. Lifting up her niece in her arms, she pecked her chubby cheeks a giggle eructed from her as she walked into her bedroom. Yunho sat on the edge of the bed, taking off his work tie a sheepish smile of his face. Nari's short arms held out for her uncle, in a disinterested manner Yunho took her from his wife's hold, lazily entertaining his niece.

"You could at least pretend to be happy when you play with Nari." His wife taunted, late at night in a hushed tone as her niece fell into a deep slumber.

"She's not my child, I don't see why." A loud thud echoed in the room as he dropped his phone onto the night stand.

"Yunho." she snapped, eyebrows furrowed in anger. He never was like this, something had happened after her miscarriage. Like a lever had been pulled, refiguring his kind-hearted nature into a malicious monster. It struck her heart with fear, that now that she could not give him a child-he longer wanted her. "She is still a baby, how would you like it if someone did that to your child?"

"I wouldn't know. I don't have one, do I?" As if a blow had been struck against her, she rolled her body in the opposite direction, in the bed, holding back the tears that threatened to fall. Why are you holding it against me? She wanted to say. A deep sigh escaped from his lips, he indolently patted his wife's shoulder as if it would compensate for the damage ensued by his apathy. Erupting in a harsh fit of coughs, a current of petals flew from her mouth blessing the earth beneath.

To ask me stop loving you is like asking for the earth to stop orbiting the sun. To ask me is to tell me to stop breathing. Oh my darling, my lover divine, I wish I could. No matter what I do, you won’t love me back. So I plead of you to acknowledge my suffering. To know that others may blame you for the way you taunted me. Because I never meant anything more to you than someone to fill your lonely nights when nobody else wanted you.

Over the subsequent months, her health had deteriorated significantly which had not gone unnoticed by her husband. Her eyes had sunken into its pockets, painted by dark circles highlighting the restless nights where the pain denied her sleep.

"You never told me what the doctor said." Nailing her eyes to the chopping board, the knife cut fluently down at the fruit sweeping it up in a plastic container. She hadn't told Yunho, it was Hanahaki. Neither could she forget the pitying look in the doctor's eyes when she revealed it to her. A married woman suffering from Hanahaki? Just how cruel could the world get?

"They're just running some blood tests. They haven't got back to me on the results, it's probably nothing. If it was important they would have called me." Yunho frowned, as he put his lunchbox in his bag. Walking with him to the foyer, he kissed her forehead before leaving to walk to his car parked on the drive way. The pain in her chest alleviated but not so much that she did not sink to knees when the car pulled out from the driveway heaving for air as she felt her lungs being pierced by the abrasive bark of a tree.

Where petals had drifted out of her mouth, flowers now bloomed. For one evening, Yunho came back home from work finding his wife draped over their shared bed- lips shrouded with petals. flowers at her neck. Concerned he shook her awake, with bleary eyes she sat up fingers pressing into her temples. Lifting up the petals with his slender fingers, he stared at her with a questioning look he only hoped she'd catch. Though no words had left her, she did not know what to say. He was not supposed to find out like this.

"I have Hanahaki disease, Yunho." she breathed out, her coarse voice prescient. An spectral silence befell amongst the couple, what else was there to say? The situation spoke for itself. "I just want to know, at what point in our lives did you stop loving me?"

“I didn’t know that I had fallen out of in love with you, because I still feel comfort when you’re there." He spoke slowly, a desperate attempt at piecing together the right words as he tried to come to terms with the fact he was the one who had caused her poor condition. "Sometimes I only feel myself entitled to breath when I look at you.” As if that was the cure, a declaration of love-those menial words that had put her in this position in the first place.

“Then why am I dying? Why is this disease tearing me apart? You’re killing me, Yunho.”

“Don’t say that.” He shook his head profusely, tears brimming at the front of his perfect eyes. "Don't say that, please." Her husband begged, pressing his palm to his lips to prevent the grievous dissonance of his sobbing.

“What else would you like me to say? That I am the disloyal one? And I am in love with another who cannot love me back? Be fucking realistic, I have been in love with you a lot longer than you have been in love with me.” Her body trembled with the cold, her own tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't try to hold back the distressing sound as he had. Leaning her head back on the headboard. "What about me disgusted you? What about me made me so unworthy of your love?"

"I wanted a child." Grabbing the pillow, she plundered it against his head as hard as she could. Lunging at him, the collar of his shirt balled up into fists, his slender body oscillating back and forth as she screamed out her soul.

"It's not my fault I cannot conceive! If you had known that before marriage would you have never married me? Would you have never loved me? Is that all a woman means to you? A machine to give birth, or an object to satisfy your desires?" Letting go off his shirt, she subsided into the silk pillows bawling to her heart's content. "Leave Yunho." His breath hitched in his throat. Soundlessly, he got up from the bed trudging towards the doorway, glistening pearls dropping from his porcelain face. He stopped, turning around with a pleading look.

"Leave and if you come back to me- tell me it is because you love me. So much so that it is the ailment to this disease.”

When you did not come back to tell me you loved me, it almost certified the fact that you really had fallen out of in love with me. Perhaps it is better to die than to live a life of solitude, for every day I live I can feel my heart rupturing at the mere sight of you. I wish you find someone to love as much as I love you.

So, one last time before the Angel of Death takes my breath away and draws my soul out of my body: I love you, Jeong Yunho. I love you so much that I have died in your name. I love you so much that if I was given a choice to relive this life again, I would. No matter the pain, no matter the heartache, I would live this life again. All for you.

Sincerely, Yours.

•••

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

A/N: i feel like yunho + unrequited love is such a fitting trope for him? Yunho doing the salsa literally came from me and @n0v4t33z talking about how his hips don't lie. ALSO AS A BRIT BUNS ARE CUPCAKES!! when i first heard about 'bun in the oven' i didn't know it was a teacake (burger bun), but i made it one for this fic.

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

[anonymouscheeses]

so…

about this human verse you got…

how does Al fit into all of this? Is that where Vaggie got the spell or is the gang she’s a part of also a monster hunter org?

This is Alastor's human design! I wanted him to give off a old money rich vibe. I didn't look up a reference for old money attire 😭 i jjst looked at some randim char from a show i watched that kinda gave off Alastor vibes. This may change but tbh I kinda like it the way it is. Altho one day I may change my mind <3 lore drops under cut!!

(Sorry if he doesn't look like Alastor, these human designs are mostly based on my redesigns so they look even MORE different than usual ill get better hopefulllyyyy)

Husk(left) is Vaggie/Valerie's dad in this au cuz I said so unfortunately. Sorry i dont make the rules! Husk is Salvadoran like Valerie cuz ofc, like he's 100% black but I wanted him to be Valerie's dad soo I was like.... yeah win sum lose sum. But dw I have SO much black characters on the way. It's kind of terrifying!!

Alastor tries to be like a dad to Valerie but she resents him. Her mom died to a sickness, and Valerie has no room in her for another parent figure in her life except Husk.

Also, Al is gay aroace, so when he fell in love with Husk he was SO surprised likeee how??? He was his first love ever and Al just loves him dearly despite never loving anyone ever before. He's still a girls girl ofc but brutha is gay u can't tell me otherwise 😍

Charlie gave him the headband with the antlers that she cheaply made herself. Alastor loves them genuinely. (If Alastor cares abt Valerie or Charlie is purely up to viewer, but if you want to see him care for orr like be toxic to them send a request fr fr imma draw that shi 😍🙏). Alastor is the only one who knows that Charlie is a demon because he's the one that taught Valerie how to summon a demon(YOU'RE SPOT ON. HOW??).

(Also I forgor the stripes. Sorry I was so sleepy drawing this you can probably telll.😭)

Alastor is still a cannibal, his husband and step daughter just doesn't know it yet, and NO he will probably never tell them unless forced to or he feels like he can. This man is the friend the smiley bro 😭

I'll maybe soon draw what happened between Valerie, Lute, and Adam during the fight, since ALOT happened. But it may be a bit before I get to that

Alastor taught the kids young how to summon demons the WRONG way. Because obviously he didn't want literal immature kids to end the world completely. The trio spent years finding ways to summon just one demon. Adam did it to create chaos, Lute just followed, and Valerie just loved having fun with her friends.

Now that they aren't childhood best friends. And that whole fight happened. Valerie doesn't know what to do. Alastor suggests she gets a bodyguard from hell, any demon at all(Demons are devoted to you as long as you keep a part of your deal with them or you break the contract of summoning one). Aaaaand that's how Charlie came to be summoned! Valerie got her eye stabbed out, Alastor was being silly and taught his kid how to summon a demon, Valerie was like "aight ig", then summoned her future wife.

(WILL ALSO ONE DAY DRAW THE FIRST TIME CHARLIE AND VALERIE MET.... ONE DAY....)

Fun fact: Alastor has a radio station of his own that he plays 1920's music in. Although most people would rather NOT listen to old times music, somehow he makes it work that people always listen to his radio. Maybe a deal with a demon of some sorts...? Perhaps... :>

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

Arthur Morgan Headcannons

I just wanted to write some headcannons, about Arthur, literally anything, I don't care what it is exactly so that's what you're getting.

Some of the headcannons might be a bit more oriented towards a female reader, but not all, I myself am a woman, so, I'll more than likely put some in.

Arthur Morgan is a man who will gladly enjoy any person, regardless of size, but let's be real, I think he has a bit of a soft spot for bigger women. Chunky or thicc, he likes 'em

He thinks that with more there, there's more for him to grab and less of a chance that he'll break something when he's with you, whether it's in a bit more intimate situation, or even when he's just giving you a small hug or kiss.

Arthur is extremely observant. He pays attention to the things you like, and he is literally always on top of doing the things you like or buying you whatever will make you smile. 

If he finds out how much you like his voice? Uses it against you, because he doesn’t want to torture you, but he does want to see you riled up. 

You like how warm he is? He’ll always be watching to see when you get cold, and the moment you do he’s right behind you with his arms around your waist. 

Arthur has a SEVERE gambling addiction. You thought his smoking was bad? He plays poker almost every single night that he’s in camp, and sometimes it’s a blessing and others it’s a curse. He can go rounds at a time, winning each one, but as soon as he has one bad round, they all go bad, but he’s never willing to give up until you make him, and by the end of the ordeal he’s lost more money than made. 

He also has a huge ego problem, obviously he’s mentally ill and he’s depressed with who he is as a person, and he doesn’t think very highly of himself, but the moment you manage to boost his ego, that little swagger walk of his that you so dearly love grows more confident. 

Hell, sometimes even you just saying good morning can change his whole mood, and he’ll even be nice to other people in camp when he usually only tolerates them.

Arthur has this thing, that when he leaves camp for a certain amount of time, anything that’ll be longer than a day really, but usually when its about a week of being away. He’ll come back to camp, make a beeline for you, and whisper only loud enough for you to hear “Can you be quiet for me while I fuck you or do I have to take you outta camp?” 

And thus, you are prepared, obviously.

He’s like a dog in heat, mainly because he hadn’t been with anyone in so long and after a while he’d stopped going after working girls. No one had really made his body react like you did, so it never became a problem until he got with you. 

He draws you all the time, obviously he draws, he’s got a whole sketchbook dedicated to it, but he draws you almost any chance he can. Not because he’s some corny “I love you more than life itself” kind of person, which, he is, but because he thinks that out of everyone in camp you are the most fun to draw, your features are just more entertaining and enjoyable to make out with a pencil.

Arthur loves to eat good food, and while Pearson does a decent job it’s not exactly what he would consider gourmet food, so whenever he gets the chance to try new food, or get good food at least, he’ll splurge the money. The only reason he hasn’t gotten completely fat, though he is a little on the chubbier side, which you absolutely love, and think is hot as hell, is because of all the work he does for the gang.

He calls you all kinds of nicknames and pays attention to the ones that get the biggest reaction out of you. 

He’s found that Princess does a particularly great job at getting a rouse out of you, but he’s also found that if he says it in his normal tone it doesn’t have the same effect, he has to lower his voice for it to work the way he wants it too. 

Darlin’ and Sweetheart have about the same effect, although Darlin’ seems to make you feel a little more for him in serious situations. 

Sugar makes you go beet red in the face, and he’s figured out that one is another one he can lower his voice for. 

Honey is one that he thinks you like, but he also thinks you’re a little neutral on it. Sometimes it works, other times you just don’t seem to care that much. You’ll answer to it, but that’s about all.

Good Girl, or My Girl, regardless of tone, but especially when lowered, always gets you messed up and he knows it, which is exactly why he waits until you’re at the fire surrounded by the gang to whisper it in your ear. 

On the other hand, you have only a few nicknames for him.

Cowboy, it’s tried and true, describes him, basically to a Tee, although Outlaw works better. 

Honey, again, a neutral one. 

You are the only person, and I mean, only person he allows to call him Pretty Boy, if anyone else tries it they’re liable to find a knife beneath their neck.

Big Boy will send him skyrocketing, his face will flare so hard his ears will turn red and he’ll start stuttering over his words like a newborn calf stumbling on its legs. 

Good Boy will really get him motivated and usually if you say it to him in public, he has to excuse himself until he gets rid of his problem. 

You hate to admit it, because you know it’s bad for him, but you think that when he smokes cigarettes, he’s at one of his hottest points. When he finds this out, he makes it his goal to smoke more around you.

Occasionally he’ll wait until you wake up and walk out of his tent shirtless and lean against the wooden poles to smoke, and he’ll send a smirk your way, that he knows you like. 

When you start to share his tent together, he does the same thing, however, rather than getting up he just simply leans over you and grabs the smokes, he’ll light a match against the wagon and puff away with his hands behind his head. 

His absolute favorite thing to do is smack you on the ass and run away, he thinks it’s the absolute funniest thing ever to watch you chase him, he’s got longer legs, so it’s easier to stay away from you. 

He also loves it when you wear his hat, however, if you do, he’s going to use it as an excuse to take you to the tent. 

If you get him drunk, first off, I’m sorry, second off, you better have a leash. He’s a lot happier drunk, he likes to sing and talk, and he compliments everyone, but he also likes to stumble around and go adventure, and if you don’t keep a good eye on him he’s liable to mount up on his horse, albeit slowly, and then make his way into the nearest town to cause mayhem.

Do not let him drink with John, because rather than being a fun loving drunk he will start trying to fight John and then the night is ruined for everyone. 

He also gets more handsy when he drinks, he was already handsy before, but now, when he’s drunk and he couldn’t care less about what people thought about him, he was going to touch wherever he wanted on you. 

Your stomach? He’s got his arms around it.

Your ass? Being grabbed any time he’s walking, or stumbling rather, with you. 

Tits? Regardless of gender? They have been honked at least twice. 

He will kiss you, if it’s on the lips or on the neck, that is anyone’s gamble. 

He’ll even talk dirty to you, and not quietly like he would if he was sober, he’ll do it for everyone in camp to hear, and the only way to shut him up is to either kiss him or somehow drag all two hundred and forty pounds of him into his tent. 

All in all Arthur Morgan is Arthur Morgan and if you make the decision to be his you better be ready to deal with it.

[theobjectofyourire]

Being Daemon's Daughter Would Include (Part III)

a/n: hi hi hi! once again, I'm so in my feels and absolutely blown away by all the love on this series! I definitely plan to continue this well into the reader's adulthood, I'm just enjoying the baby/pregnancy stuff so much! I got a little carried away again, so you get lots of daemon/wife goodness in this one, too! lmk if you wanna be added to the taglist for future parts!

Part I / Part II

summary: Daemon has always gone to any lengths to protect you, even before you were born. And oh, what gifts he will bestow...

cw: I actually don't think there are any warnings for this one! Daemon threatens violence?? other than that, it's just fluff. inspired by the scene in ep8.

~~~~~~~

A Dragon's Custom

-In the very heart of Dragonmont, amidst sulfur and brimstone, Daemon Targaryen felt a true hero as he retrieved the dragon egg that would soon rest in his child's cradle.

-The day of your birth drawing ever nearer, your mother's belly greatly swelled. Growing larger by the day, he had teased, a comment which had been received by his lady wife with both a chuckle and a threat of violence upon his person. He expected no less from such a woman, his eyes sparkling as he knelt before her, pressing his forehead against her stomach as he whispered to you.

-"You must be brave, little one. I will soon need you to defend me from your mother's temper."

-His words earned him what was, admittedly, a rather playful slap to the back of the head. "You truly are a scoundrel, dear husband," she sighed, weaving her fingers through his silver hair.

-He merely smiled as he kissed her belly, her hands, her wrists, finally rising to meet her lips. "Your scoundrel, my love."

-She melted in the arms of her dragon, who murmured sweet nothings into her hair as he slowly ran his fingers up and down her spine, soothing her aches with his warm touch. She all but whined when he pulled away with a gentle farewell.

-"Must you go?"

-"Aye," he mumbled, lips against hers in one final kiss, "but I promise you'll be happier for it."

-"I disagree. I'd much prefer you by my side."

-"As would I, my love, but our child deserves a gift only I can bestow, and I daren't wait any longer to retrieve it." Her brows furrowed at his words, uncertain of their meaning as he caressed her belly with the back of his hand. "The child of the Rogue Prince deserves a dragon egg, do they not?"

-Your mother's eyes filled with tears. She was, of course, familiar with the Targaryen customs and had dearly hoped they would be passed to you, but she had worried, as of late, whether such a thing would be encouraged.

-Though cherished by many, not all in Viserys' court approved of your mother. The Hightowers, in particular, had been averse to the match, for while her bloodline was undeniably strong, she herself could not be considered a tame woman.

-She was well-versed in the graces, it was true, and a delight to all she entertained. In such matters, the nobles could not find an ill word to speak against her, but nor could they deny the indocility, even rakishness cast in her shadow. She had not known Daemon a fortnight when the King's own Hand had discovered them in the Dragonpit, having just returned from a moonlit ride atop Caraxes, and in the midst of acts unbefitting a woman of her station.

-Ser Otto, in fairness, was not wrong in his judgement. In their youth, your mother did little to quell Daemon's chaos. If anything, she encouraged it, thriving alongside him in his adventures. He had pleaded with the King to deny the marriage, and Viserys had half a mind to listen until he saw his brother's smile. As one, they seemed something out of Valyria itself, in all its glory, and he could not bring himself to tear them apart. He gladly consented to their union, going so far as to allow a Valyrian ceremony with only a handful of guests and the stars standing witness.

-In the months that followed, they retreated to your father's ancestral seat at Dragonstone, preferring to avoid the politics and scheming of King's Landing at all possible costs. The gods, it seemed, were not so easily satisfied.

-A raven was flown to the Red Keep shortly after your mother fell pregnant, and the news was met with no small amount of excitement. Your father's first marriage had left him without an heir, and many had presumed the Rogue Prince had little interest in furthering the line. Viserys requested his presence at court, if only to determine his brother's true thoughts about the babe.

-Daemon arrived on dragonback a few days later, descending with the impish smile well-known to him, and something warm, almost kind stirring in his eyes. There was no doubt of his happiness, a great relief to his elder brother.

-Viserys was, indeed, gladdened by the fact that they had found peace on Dragonstone, but he was eager to see them return to the Red Keep before your mother gave birth. This much, the King had insisted upon, for the Maesters and midwives of the great castle were said to be the most skillful in the realm. Daemon could deny many things, but his brother's summons was not among them.

-"We shall return, brother," he had said with a cold smile. "Upon your command, my child will be born in this nest of vipers, but never will I allow a single drop of venom to so much as graze their skin."

-"Daemon, you needn't-"

-Your father would not hear it, paying no mind that interrupting his King was easily a punishable offense. "They will have a dragon of mine own choosing," he declared, "and shall be raised as their mother and I see fit, in accordance with the customs of our ancestors."

-"As is your right." Viserys maintained the stoicism expected of him as King, but a genuine joy shone through the façade. "Your child shall want for nothing," he promised.

-"Nor shall my wife." Daemon's eyes narrowed as he lowered his voice, ensuring that none but his brother would hear his solemn vow. "Should any in your court speak so much as a word against either of them, I shall gladly cut out their tongue." Without thought, he found his fingers dancing upon the hilt of Dark Sister, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "If your dear Hand is anything less than welcoming, I will take great pleasure in relieving him of his duties by way of beheading."

-Were it anyone else, such a threat would have been followed by severe consequence, but Viserys had a soft spot for his younger brother, whose fire so much reminded him of their mother. Daemon climbed atop Caraxes, returned to Dragonstone, and no more was said on the matter.

-He did not tell your mother what was spoken, nor did she wish to hear of it. She knew well what your father's temper could do, coupled with his unyielding loyalty. Upon his heated word, you would have a dragon. She did not care for anything else. She brought his hands to her lips, kissing each knuckle before releasing him to his task, wondering which egg he would choose. In his mind, however, there was no question.

-His cousin, the Princess Rhaenys, had recently departed with her children after an extended stay on Dragonstone. Her own dragon, Meleys, had accompanied them and laid a clutch of eggs in the island's volcano, Dragonmont. It seemed the greatest of all omens, for years before his cousin had claimed Meleys, when he himself was just a babe, Daemon's mother was her dragonrider.

-Though he could scarcely remember her, he had been told by all that he was, undoubtedly, his mother's son. In her arms, to the dismay of the Maesters, she had taken him upon the back of her dragon for his first flight not a fortnight after his birth. A creature of scarlet scales and copper claws, she was one of the swiftest dragons in the realm, even after so many years of comfort. He could not think of a better gift for you than an egg from his own mother's dragon.

-The descent was not an easy one. Many had tried and failed, the slightest misstep resulting in the most fatal fall, but your father was not afraid. He relished in the danger of it. He was not halfway to the bottom when he felt the mass shift, crumbling under his boot and echoing throughout the volcano as hunks of rock hit the ground. Any other man might catch his breath or clutch his heart. Your father only chuckled as he continued to maneuver himself masterfully. Going to such lengths for a child not yet born to him, smirking in the face of risk and finding no fear in his heart, it made him feel a good man. He did not know if his talents were well-suited to fatherhood, but of this, he was certain: you would always be protected.

-Leaping to the ground, he imagined spending the rest of his days defending you, willing at every moment to vanquish any enemy with a single stroke of his sword. Though your mother was a rogue in her own right in her earlier years, she had, as of late, preferred comfort and calm to the uncertainty she had once craved. Of course, he hoped your life would be peaceful, but he wondered if that's truly what you would want, or if you would take after him, forever trying to satisfy your own impulsivity.

-There were seven eggs in Meleys' clutch. Seven eggs for seven kingdoms, Daemon could not help but think, smiling as he gathered them with care. Each were unique unto themselves, though they bore the mark of their mother. One had golden flecks reminiscent of his brother's crown. Another was as pink as a maiden's blush, but it was the seventh egg that most caught your father's eye.

-As crimson as Caraxes' scales, with dapples of a spring rose and shadows of the purest black, there was no gift so befitting the child of the Rogue Prince. He held it dearly in his hands, admiring the way it shimmered in the slight streak of sunlight. They would place it in the warming chambers until your mother gave birth, where it would then reside in your cradle until it hatched. The thought of you flying alongside him on a dragon of such striking beauty stirred in him a giddiness he had never before felt. He wondered if this was fatherhood. Could he really be so lucky?

-He returned to your mother somewhat filthy, ash smeared across his cheeks while his leathers retained the scent of the volcanic rock.

-"You stink of dragon," she said, crinkling her nose as he drew nearer.

-He gave her a wry smile as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "My darling wife," he murmured, "I know very well that you love it."

-She giggled as she brushed her lips against his, hands tangling in his hair. He smelled of adventure. Danger. Power. He was a Targaryen, through and through, and she secretly hoped you would be the same.

-She pulled away and this time, it was Daemon who moaned in protest. She merely chuckled in response. "Shall I have a bath drawn for you, husband?"

-His fingers danced across the small of her back as his eyes twinkled. "Only, my love, if you'll join me."

taglist: @rosaryos @justaproudslytherpuff @sirlovel @fulla02

[risetherivermoon]

a kiddads poster type thingy i drew :))

i love them dearly (i hate them fully) this is my first time properly drawing grant and nick so i was kinda getting my designs down for them, idk if i like how grant turned out just bc his pose is kinda awkward here 😭😭 nicks hair was very fun to color tho :)) ill probably draw him again but actually facing the camera soon, but him not facing the others was intentional obviously.

throwing in my heavily tattooed sparrow agenda as well as giving lark a gold lip ring, bc im gay (this was the only reason for these design choices that i could come up with)

also terry is a wizard and anthony burch can pry that hc from my cold dead hands!!!

(diff versions & closeups beneath cut)

[hetchdrive]

I think we’re reading May We Be Spared to Meet on Earth at roughly the same time and are currently at roughly the same parts. I just wanted to say I think that’s very cool of us 😌 Do you have any favorite letters so far?

You're right that is very cool of us! Let me just uhhh look through my notes...

So far my favorite letters have been Goodsir's letter to his dad which I reblogged from you, for the reasons in the post. Goodsir is so bluntly endearing, somehow. He seems very young. Oh I've just looked up how old Goodsir was when the expedition vanished and he was 28. Oh alright then. I'm emotional about this.

Other favorite letter so far was unexpectedly one of John Irving's, to his sister-in-law Catherine. This paragraph really hit me as like, a premonition of the upcoming disaster:

"I intended to write something to amuse you, but I find I cannot help being serious. Everything around me, and every duty I am engaged in, tend at present to make me so-- I mean all keep me so much alive the feeling of a long separation from those near and dear to me. Even in writing I am reminded that a terrible long pause of anxious suspense is before me, when I can only hope, without the prospect of tidings of good or ill. So, my dear Katie, do not blame me that you should have been, whilst reading the mass of scribbling, obliged to banish your usual smiles. I will write you yet again, so I shall not take a very formal farewell of you at this time. My most brotherly love to my dear Lewis. --Yours very affectionately, John Irving."

Irving also sent back to England a number of drawings. Several men did but Irving's seem to be the best of the ones included in the book. Also, of two skeletons returned to England at the time of the McClintock expedition, one of them was identified as Irving by the presence of a maths medal next to the body, which I find deeply endearing. This book has made me a big Irving fan, honestly. Didn't have any strong feelings about him before starting reading this and now I'm like ough... my guy.

My other observation so far is that it seems like Franklin was unfairly characterized in the show, as his letters so far paint a picture of a fairly cautious man.

It is Fitzjames who is the king of hubris.

There are multiple letters where the endnotes make note of how the things he is saying shows he does not have a good understanding of the Arctic and that's really interesting to me from the perspective of seeing show!Crozier and Fitzjames' relationship conflict early on as coming from a place of Crozier's experience vs Fitzjames' support of Franklin's dismissal of him, with the idea (I had always thought) being that Franklin thinks his feelings of optimism and belief God will see them through are substitutes for dealing with the material realities of that place. And like, no! Actually that should have been Fitzjames, going off these letters! But it makes sense from a character writing perspective. Foolish, foolish man. Excited to see how my opinion of this evolves as I continue to read.

Also, Fitzjames' aggressive confidence in repeatedly pestering John Barrow Jr. about whether he's gotten the position or not is honestly kind of inspiring in a "if this man from the 1840s can speak like he knows anything when he clearly doesn't I myself should step up game in these job interviews". There's one particular letter that absolutely floored me, and it was the 11th of February one:

"In case of Crozier's appointment I send you a letter to Beaufort asking him to try for Le Vesconte which pray send at once as soon as you know I am not to go-- if I am appointed tear it up-- .... Mind I am in confident expectations of the Second Ship in Franklin's expedition nothing else is worth having." [I have used italics where there were underlines]

Nothing else is worth having. Absolutely awful, vainglorious man. This has made me dearly want to write my own version of my headcanon first meeting of "Fitzjames puffs himself up, fails to impress Crozier, feels rejected about it and forms a grudge" because holy shit, he is actually so much worse than I already thought. Also because "nothing else is worth having" would be a banger title.

I do appreciate that Fitzjames seems to have been a man who is eager to lift other men up, as this is not the only time he makes suggestions to Barrow Jr. about appointments and promotions-- if he was obsessed with status for himself he was at least trying to lift his friends up, as well. Pity this doesn't extend to Crozier! Would have been a very different expedition if it did!

Wow, long post which I took so long to write, my bad. What are your own favorite letters so far?

[ankhisms]

have surprised myself with how much ive been able to get done today altho i know ill be hit with exhuastion soon enough, rambling under the cut about things having mixed emotions but not all bad really

so my room in our house isnt really exactly my own room, its the room with the eletric box, water heater/softener closet, furnace filters, and the washer and dryer. its always been this way so im used to like not really ever having a space thats mine and mine alone but i wont get into that. anyway any time the seasons change (or often on my parents whim and never without any warning) we have to get to the water heater closet and the furnace filter so my room has to be torn apart to get to them. my bed is pushed up against the water heater closet so its like i sleep right next to a door so the bed has to be moved. anyway this is usually a very jarring and upsetting thing since it usually happens without warning or telling me and i have everything i own just moved without being told or warned. but today i decided to take agency in this and i was the one who moved the bed and moved all my things so my dad could get in and turn on the water so we can use the outside hose to water things.

ive been meaning to really deeply clean and sort like, everything i have and everything in my room for probably half a year now and to see what i might want to give away/keep and reorrange things and just like take stock of things for the HOPEFUL future where i can move out and be having my real own space yknow. i finally started this process and it felt good to get everything down and to really deeply dust, ive also been meaning to properly wash old stuffed animals of mine bc i love my stuffed animals dearly but some of the ones i had when i was younger are very clearly showing their age so i looked up tips and instructions on hand washing old stuffed animals and i tested it out on two ones that dont mean as much to me to see if it goes ok before trying to wash ones that i absolutely dont want to ruin and it went well! i definitely can feel myself starting to get tired and having more pain as i write this but im still happy with how much i cleaned and sorted along with washing my sheets/pillows/blankets

the thing that makes me have mixed emotions is that what ive also been meaning to do is.... take down and get rid of the things that were drawn by/given to me by the old long term friend who just suddenly cut me off with no warning or explanation and then only messaged me one more to weirdly say "well im hanging out with my new friends and theyre so cool and great" and not responding to me begging him to tell me what was going on or if i had done anything wrong and wanting to talk things out. we were long distance internet friends for over 10 years so i have a lot of drawings and books hed given me and i didnt really get to taking down a lot of drawings but i sorted through one book in particular, he used to do this thing where hed give me a comic book and hed put in sticky notes in a lot of pages with his thoughts on them. so i went through the pages and took out all the sticky notes one at a time since i want to give the comic book to someone i know will like it. and it was a very... weird feeling. taking them all out. i had read the notes and the book when he first gave it to me but now reading them it felt like.. more bitter than sweet but there was still sweetness there. i recognize looking back that i had rose tinted glasses on for the majority of our relationship and it was probably more toxic than i realized and i often blamed myself for harmful things he did. not at all saying hes a bad person or anything btw i just think we both were very damaged kids from abusive homes and i was probably toxic in ways i didnt realize as well im not without blame here but its weird to realize that our friendship wasnt as healthy as i thought it was. but reading those notes as i took them out it was like... he wrote these at a time where i know he loved me and considered me his close friend and i felt the same. and i still love him. the love i have for anyone, especially a close friend, does not just disappear. it stays within me and is not wasted. but it certainly feels like a weight on my chest in this moment.. i keep thinking, what happened? what changed? he didnt even give me this book that many years ago, maybe three or four at the longest. what happened to make him decide to cut me off like that? i dont know, and i know im not going to get closure. so i just have to hold the love i still have and let it ache but then i have to let go and continue trying to live

i dont know how soon im going to have the opportunity and resources to be able to leave my home situation, its become increasingly obvious to me that its not something i can achieve on my own for a multitude of reasons, i know ill need help and i try to remind myself that im not alone in it and that its not impossible for me to get to a safe environment where i dont feel scared and like a cornered animal. for now i feel good about my decision to try and make my living space feel nicer for myself, although im aware that it never really feels like my own space nor does it ever fully feel safe i still am trying to make jt more comfortable for myself while im here and i feel proud of myself for that

anyway thanks if you read this all, i hope youre doing well mwah

[tehuti88-art]

7/5/24: r/SketchDaily theme, "Free Draw Friday." This week's characters from my anthro WWII storyline are Hermine Cranz and Claudia Detzer.

Frau Cranz is Andreas Cranz's nervous, chronically ill mother; he takes a job as the commandant's chauffeur to provide for her care, yet also makes money eavesdropping on his passengers for the resistance. Frau Detzer is Trudi Detzer's mother; she's fiercely protective and supportive of her daughter, who is recruited as a double agent for the resistance. Both mothers wish their children had much less dangerous jobs but it is what it is. There'll be more about them later in my art Tumblr and Toyhou.se.

TUMBLR EDIT: Frau Cranz and Frau Detzer finally have first names! They didn't really need them (I've never given any to more important characters like Frau Bitterlich, or Schavitz...I wonder what Schavitz's name would be...?), but...well, here we are.

The rest of this entry will be written individually to avoid repetition.

Much of Frau Cranz's part of the story is told already in her son Andreas's entry. I don't know much about her individually, except that the family is quite poor, and her husband dies (or leaves?) when Andreas is still young. Frau Cranz works hard at whatever menial job it is she has (likely maid or servant of some kind), but grows ill and is forced to take to her bed. (What illness this is is never specified; it has symptoms like tuberculosis--Frau Cranz is weak, thin, and coughs frequently--yet I'm not sure this is it, as she never receives proper treatment for that, and whatever it is it doesn't seem contagious as Andreas never catches it. Ah right, her lungs are sensitive as well, as Andreas, a chain smoker, always leaves the apartment to go smoke. Maybe she had TB in the past and this is the result? Dunno.) Frau Cranz is left no longer able to work.

With no breadwinner left, Andreas starts working various street jobs while still a child, vowing to someday save up enough money to move them both out of the city and to a country cottage where Frau Cranz can breathe the fresh air. Frau Cranz is crushed by this--she loves Andreas dearly and feels she should be the one supporting him--yet can't do anything else. Andreas is scrappy and resourceful; he shines shoes, delivers messages, runs errands, washes windows, and is especially skilled at guiding newcomers to whatever area of the city they need to find. He knows the streets, buildings, and alleys like the back of his hand, and can always find the exact out-of-the-way spot anyone is looking for. Not only that, but he hears everything--there are no secrets around Andreas, except those he wants to keep. He's paid off more than once by people who really don't want anyone to know where they are or where certain meetings are taking place. He soon catches on that members of the new Nazi Party are especially good marks (he gets pretty good at blackmailing them without them even realizing he's doing so), and it isn't long before he pretty much knows where all the bodies are buried--metaphorically speaking.

When he's old enough, Andreas somehow gains access to an old taxicab, and starts ferrying passengers around the city. He finds that a local brothel does pretty decent business, and suggests a work arrangement with the madam, Frau Bitterlich, whereby he'll recommend the place to inquiring passengers and receive a cut of Frau Bitterlich's earnings, a finder's fee of a sort. Like him, Frau Bitterlich has figured out that the Nazis, despite their publicly proclaimed honor and family values, are the most profitable clients, so she flips around what likely started out as another blackmail attempt on Andreas's part, and the two become business partners.

Frau Cranz is already anxious enough about her son needing to work; all the blackmailing and involvement in shady jobs just makes that worse. When he returns to their tiny miserable flat one evening, all excited--"Ma! Ma! You won't believe the luck, Ma!"--and shows her the uniform he's been given to wear for his new job as chauffeur--pristine, all black from cap to boots--she immediately notices the tiny pin on the breast, adorned with the twin lightning bolts. Frau Cranz claps her hands to her face, aghast.

Frau Cranz: "My Andreas! What have you gotten into??"

Andreas: "A new job, Ma. Better than the last one! Lots better pay! You'll see."

Frau Cranz: "But, how--?"

Andreas: "Some Nazi a**hole hailed me the other day. You know, the 'Sieg Heil!' type with the stupid boots. Needed a ride, his broke down. I got him there. See him again today and he offers me a full-time job. You think this monkey suit is nice, you should see the car! Big black Mercedes! Swanky! And these Nazi a**holes are drowning in money, Ma, how else they afford all those kids. This guy's some important f**k, just tosses money at me if I get him places fast. I can save up for that house in no time, just see."

Frau Cranz: "Ah mein Gott, my boy! Don't tell me you're joining them! What if they send you off to the front? The Red Army will take you and I'll never see you again..."

Andreas: "Maaaaa...I ain't joining 'em! Um Himmels willen! What do you think of me?? Pretty sure I don't even qualify, they check your family tree back like a hundred generations and you gotta be Teutonic to the dawn of time, persnickety f**ks."

Frau Cranz: "But, the pin..." *looks out the window down at the limo parked on the street, SS flags flying* "And that CAR!!--ah, mein Gott!!"

Andreas: "Ma, I gotta wear the pin so they know I work for 'em! Don't mean I'm one of 'em! They have, it's a fancy word...aux...aux...something. Means you work with but aren't one. I wear a tiny little pin and a monkey suit and drive their car and that's it, nothing else's changed, except the pay, Ma!--you'll see, stop worrying. I work long enough to save up, get us that nice little house in no time! Fresh country air!"

Frau Cranz: "Who...who is this man you work for, now...? You say he's important...?"

Andreas: "Ja, some bigwig, runs the camp. Kommandant-something."

Frau Cranz: *claps hands to face* "Dannecker der Teufel?? Ah, my Andreas!!" *breaks down sobbing*

Even an uneducated shut-in like Frau Cranz knows who Commandant Dannecker is, you'd have to be living under a rock otherwise. He has a shady reputation even among his fellow SS-Totenkopfverbände members. Andreas tries to reassure her that seriously, all he has to do is drive the guy (and occasionally, his guards) around, nothing more, he won't get involved in any nasty business, swear. Poor Frau Cranz isn't consoled. She'd really rather her good sweet (blackmailing) boy have nothing whatsoever to do with a monster like Dannecker...but it's true, the pay is really good, the work is much more reliable and much less strenuous (as a permanent auxiliary, he gets paid by the SS whether he gives any rides or not, and he gets to keep all the passenger fees), so she gets to sit down to supper with her son much more often. ("These Nazi a**holes really like family sticking together, at least they say," Andreas says.) And now with Dannecker employing him personally, it's pretty much ensured that he won't be drafted and sent off to the Soviets. Frau Cranz eventually learns to swallow her revulsion and fear, and accept Andreas's new job. If it means they can get out of this place and away from these people all the sooner.

This arrangement goes on for a while--over the tiny dinner table Andreas shares all the juiciest details of the day, including frowning over Dannecker's habit of bringing one of his stepdaughters, Gret, to visit the camp with him, and the odd way he puts his arm around her and whispers in her ear as if Andreas isn't even there ("Ugh!" Frau Cranz shudders, "Awful horrible man!")--until one day, Frau Cranz nearly drops the dishes she's carrying to the sink as an awful wailing sound comes from the distance. She hurries to peer out the window, sees everyone else within earshot looking in the same direction. At the edge of the city, just visible from here, are the looming watchtowers and perpetually smoking chimney of the labor camp; electric fences and a wall block the interior of it from view, though most citygoers are at least somewhat aware of what goes on there. That's where the wailing is coming from; nobody's ever heard the camp alarm before, so Frau Cranz starts gnawing her fingers, agonizing over her son. When he arrives home some time after, she throws her arms around him and weeps. "Andreas, Andreas! My boy! I was so worried! What's happening?--do you know...?"

Turns out Andreas is just as confused as she is; he was at the SS garage nearby, taking a smoking break in between calls. He tried to return to the camp to figure out what was going on, only to find it in lockdown--no one out, no one in. So he came home to let her know he's all right, but no, has no idea what happened. He says he's going to step out to see if he can get any info; she pleads with him to stay, yet he leaves. Returns not too long after. He'd managed to find a couple of SS-TV guards who'd also been locked out of the camp; on seeing him they'd expressed condolences for him having to get a new job. When he asked WTF that meant, they replied that Commandant Dannecker was dead--killed in a prisoner escape. Frau Cranz is terror stricken at this--"What if they come for us??"--but Andreas shushes her--"Ma, I think they got bigger things on their mind than coming after a limo driver! I bet they're long gone by now." Still, he advises that they stay there until they get official word of what's going on; he imagines the SS will want to question them, simply as a matter of course. "I knew it, I wish you'd never taken this awful job," Frau Cranz weeps as Andreas rubs her shoulder consolingly.

As expected, a couple of days later a pair of officers arrives: The Allgemeine-SS has opened an investigation and needs to question anyone even tangentially involved. Andreas is truthful, telling them what he told his mother; when pressed, he says yes, he'd seen Dannecker that day, when he drove him and his stepdaughter to the camp. This detail piques their interest; did Fräulein Gret often accompany Dannecker to camp? Andreas shrugs and says she often went, maybe once or twice a week, nothing unusual about her visiting that day. Did he notice anything that was unusual? A few camp inmates looked at her as she and Dannecker walked past, but then again, there wasn't anything too odd about that: "Her hair, her boots, her dress, she kinda sticks out, you know?" The officers inquire whether he spends a lot of time observing Fräulein Gret's appearance. Andreas frowns and says, "I ain't into little girls, if that's what you're asking. You looking for anything inappropriate, maybe you look at Herr Dannecker, ja--?" The officers then ask if he's making some sort of accusation and Frau Cranz fights not to panic, hastening to try to defuse this line of questioning. The officers purse their lips a little to learn that Andreas has described Dannecker's creepy behavior to her, but they don't belabor the point; if anything, they seem to find the observation credible, at least, they don't defend Dannecker over it. They say they'll need to confirm Andreas was at the garage, but aside from that, they should be set, and they depart. Frau Cranz and Andreas are both left perplexed, but relieved that interest seems to have been taken off of them.

Andreas doesn't need to seek a new job after all; the camp acquires a new commandant, Hasso Reinhardt, and he quickly appoints a new adjutant and sets about "reforming" the camp, which Dannecker had left in a particularly miserable state. (Reinhardt is an enlightened sort who believes prisoners can be reformed through work, which is much more productive and much less wasteful than extermination. I. e., he's pro-slave labor. The result of this is the chimney smokes a lot less, though the camp also turns away more prisoners, who go to camps where the chimneys DO smoke profusely.) Commandant Reinhardt needs a driver too, so Andreas keeps his position. The Allgemeine-SS concludes their investigation into the incident, and it's even worse than initially believed: Although only a handful of prisoners escaped, one of them shot Dannecker, and Gret Dannecker went missing along with them. It's assumed she was kidnapped; yet eventually, the posters declaring Gret MISSING are switched with ones that declare her WANTED, and grant permission to shoot her on sight. Gret is now believed to have aided the prisoners in their escape, and to have had a hand in her own stepfather's murder. Andreas admits he's not too surprised, considering all the signs he saw, in retrospect. Frau Cranz doesn't know what to believe; "Poor girl," she murmurs, because whatever the story is, it didn't turn out well for Gret. As for the prisoner who escaped with her, no known photos of him exist, so the authorities can't even print a proper wanted poster.

Life goes on, Andreas keeps working, Frau Cranz keeps to their apartment, cleaning, cooking, coughing, dreaming of that little cottage in the countryside. They continue their little supper chats with him filling her in on all the latest scandals. She kisses Andreas goodbye one day, putters around the flat (she never leaves on her own, barely ever leaves at all), hears a knock at the door. Wary--it's a bit early for Andreas to be home yet, maybe it's a neighbor?--she unlocks the door and peers out. Then nearly swallows her own heart when it crowds into her throat. A tall man in a greatcoat over an SS uniform is standing there.

SS Officer: "Frau Cranz?"

Frau Cranz: *meekly* "Ja...?"

SS Officer: "I'm with the SS-Totenkopfverbände, is your son Andreas at home...?"

Frau Cranz: "Nein, he's still out."

SS Officer: "I'd really like to speak with him, if possible. Will he be back soon...?"

Frau Cranz: "Should be soon." *takes in a breath, hurries to open the door wider* "I'm--I'm sorry, bitte, do come in." *officer enters, she waves him toward the little table* "I...I haven't any coffee ready, you'd like some water maybe...?"

SS Officer: "Water would be good, danke."

Frau Cranz: *fetches & pours him some water, trying not to shake* "I...what did you say your name is...?"

SS Officer: *smiles slightly & accepts the water* "Doesn't matter, you'd probably forget it soon anyway."

Frau Cranz just makes a small noise of agreement and stands there as he sips at the water for a few moments. When another knock comes she nearly jumps out of her skin--"That--that'll be Andreas, let me fetch him," she says, and hurries to the door. Opens it and pulls Andreas close before he can make his way to the kitchen, and whispers to him, warning him of their guest: "He's dressed SS, but I don't think he's one of 'em! I don't know what he is!" For she's just about positive that guy is not with the SS--for one thing, he's not nearly pushy enough, and for another, he didn't knock on the door NEARLY loudly enough, the SS always knocks in the same way, and that wasn't it. And for a third thing, this is just subjective, she hasn't gotten out much in the world, but for some reason, to her, he looks like a Jew.

Andreas's look grows darker as she talks; he has her stand aside, and pulls out a pistol he has concealed on his person--Frau Cranz covers her face, suppressing a whimper. They step into the kitchen and the officer glances at them.

SS Officer: "Herr Cranz...?"

Andreas: "What d'you want?"

SS Officer: "If you're Herr Cranz, I'm here to talk to you."

Andreas: "Ja, well, get it out and go on."

SS Officer: "You talk to all your superiors like this?"

Andreas: "I know you ain't SS no matter what you're dressed like. And I don't appreciate you spooking my ma, so spit it out and go on."

SS Officer: "I hadn't meant to frighten your mother, so I apologize. But how do you know I'm not who I say I am?"

Andreas: "You don't carry yourself right. SS guys carry 'emselves like a**holes. Now what d'you want?"

Frau Cranz is petrified that the stranger will be angry with Andreas's insolence...yet his mouth merely twitches, and he removes his cap. He has a dark complexion, dark hair, dark eyes. "I know you, don't I...?" Andreas says, furrowing his brow; seeing Frau Cranz's confusion, the stranger lowers his head just briefly in a nod, and says, "Josef. Diamant." She doesn't know the name, but Andreas reacts by sucking in a breath through his teeth, and moves a little to put himself more in front of his mother. "That's the guy done shot Herr Dannecker," he whispers loudly, and Frau Cranz whimpers and hides behind him further.

"I'm not interested in harming either of you two," Diamant says, to which Frau Cranz retorts, "J-ja--? Funny way you have of showing it! Just like your sort to lie, isn't it--?" And "Ma, hush!" Andreas scolds. Frau Cranz knows it's foolish and cowers when Diamant looks at her but he just says, "All right, I deserved that," and turns his attention back to Andreas. "I'm here because I have a job offer for you." "Already got a job," Andreas says, to which Diamant replies, "Exactly, and that's why I'm here."

He asks Andreas about something that apparently occurred some time back; Andreas never mentioned it to his mother, so she has no idea what they're talking about, but she catches on fast. While visiting a street market for some fresh fruit to bring home to her, Andreas happened to look up, and spotted a young woman right across from him, looking back; although she wore a hooded coat that helped conceal her, there was no mistaking that face, that hair, that dress and boots. "Fräulein Gret--?" Andreas had blurted out without thinking; in response Gret Dannecker had gone white as a sheet, turned, and hurried away. He admits he considered following her, yet refrained; obviously she was fearful and in hiding. "Andreas! Why did you not tell me this?" Frau Cranz asks, and he shrugs and sullenly retorts, "Didn't see the point! And didn't want you getting in trouble too in case those a**holes came back looking again."

"And that's why I'm here," Diamant cuts in, drawing their attention back. He explains that Gret has been in hiding with him and a couple of other prisoners since the escape; she tried getting back in touch with her family, but it didn't go well. Diamant and the others have been furtively contacting old acquaintances and allies they know they can trust, and are slowly building a resistance network to aid others being persecuted by the Nazis. "You don't need all the details," he says; "the less you and your mother know, the safer. But I have a business proposal. You're still chauffeur to the commandant, ja?--they still pay you?" When Andreas nods, Diamant says, "How would you like to make twice as much?"

Andreas and his mother blink. Diamant explains: Previous to his imprisonment by the SS, he was a well-known jeweler--and document forger--and so still has a lot of contacts willing to help him out; similar with his companions, an accountant and a thief. They have access to money, and are willing to pay Andreas to work for them. All he has to do is what he's already doing--driving Nazis around--while listening in on their conversations, and later, reporting any info he's learned to a network contact. In effect, become a spy for them. "Why you ask me this, how you know you can trust me?" Andreas asks, to which Diamant responds, "Simple. Fräulein Gret is still free, and here you are, calling your bosses 'a**holes.'"

Andreas bites his lip and Frau Cranz knows he's wavering; "Andreas!" she hisses, "you ain't actually thinking about it, are you--?" "It's a lot of money, Ma," he retorts, "we could really use it." Frau Cranz pulls him out of the kitchen--really, just to the side a little, yet still within plain sight and hearing of Diamant, as the flat is so small--and the two start whisper-arguing while Diamant pretends not to hear.

Frau Cranz: "How you know you can trust this man come off the street? He already lied! He impersonates an officer! Who knows what else he does? This brings only trouble! You want the real SS knocking down our door...?"

Andreas: "Ma! You worry so much! I'm grown up now, ja? It's twice the money, means I get you out of this hole twice as soon, ja? It's not like I ain't doing it already, huh...?"

Frau Cranz: "Ah I knew I'd regret letting you take up this line of work with these horrible people!"

Andreas: "You didn't let me do nothing, Ma, I decided for myself..."

Frau Cranz: "If only your father was still here! No one should have to do so much so young. I should be looking after you, not you after me."

Andreas: *exasperated* "Ma..."

Frau Cranz: "If only I wasn't so sick, you wouldn't have to do such awful things!"

Andreas: "I drive a f**king car, Ma. Ain't like I'm out knifing folks under bridges."

Frau Cranz: "How long till you are--? Working with these people! What's the saying, lying...lying with dogs...fleas...anyway, what next? First you're a spy, then you're running a camp, then you're giving those awful speeches and people are saluting you--"

Andreas: "Ma! I ain't becoming Führer, for Christ's sake."

Frau Cranz: "You never know! The path you're taking! First that, then this! Look at this, a Jew in an SS suit! You ever see anything so mad? Just think a minute, Andreas--"

Andreas: *sharp wave* "Is settled, Ma, stop your fussing."

Andreas takes Diamant up on his offer, despite poor Frau Cranz's wishes, and becomes a spy for the budding Diamond Network. It isn't especially glamorous...it's just driving Nazis around, and eavesdropping. Something he'd already grown good at. And if there's anything he's learned from it all, it's that the SS talks a big game about honor and loyalty and all that jazz, but really, they constantly backstab each other, and can't stop themselves from trash talking their comrades while they assume the driver isn't listening. Andreas knows how to be so bland and unnoticeable that his passengers often forget he's even there. He doesn't pass on the rumors and gossip they share (well, except to his mother), so they assume he's trustworthy. Diamant just happens to be the first person to ask what they're saying to and about and out of earshot of each other. Once a week, Andreas stops by an assigned meeting spot--different each time--and shares what he's learned. He's then handed his pay--the same amount he's paid by the SS. On the first drop, he even brings home an extra bill, along with a playing card--the jack of diamonds--with a note scribbled on it, FOR YOUR MA--JD.

"See, Ma...?" Andreas says as she marvels over the money, "I told you I'd find us a way out of this place, now we'll get there sooner, just you see." Frau Cranz just wipes her damp eyes--"I'm going to put it away where nobody finds it, just in case"--and deposits the Reichsmarks in a small box and then under a loose floorboard beneath her bed. Then kisses Andreas and hugs him hard: "My boy! Why do I ever doubt!"

That isn't to say she never worries again, though; it's just second nature to her. Especially as the war comes to a head and the advance of the Allied troops is imminent; Andreas calls his mother on the phone the SS installed in their flat for him to receive calls when off duty, and urges her to fetch the most important stuff she can carry on her person--he's coming to pick her up, and get them out of the city. Frau Cranz rushes to and fro, panicky and indecisive, but it's not like they own much to begin with; she grabs a few pieces of clothing, a cherished family photo, her rosary, and of course, the little box from under the bed. Then waits for her Andreas. When there's a knock she nearly jumps out of her skin again, imagining slavering Red Army soldiers ready to do horrible things, yet--"Open, is me, Ma!"--she flings the door open and hugs Andreas hard. "I thought you were one of those awful Communists come to do me in!" she cries, to which he retorts, "Ma, why would the Communists knock--? You got our things?" She holds up the box and he takes her arm. "C'mon, then. No time to waste," and they exit--though Frau Cranz takes an irrational moment against Andreas's protests to lock the door behind her.

They speed through the city, as best they're able since the streets are crowded with other fleeing citizens and--Andreas gasps and slams his foot on the gas--a blockade appears ahead. "Sh*t," he mutters, goes in reverse, and takes a turn. "That was our own folks, wasn't it--?" Frau Cranz asks, confused--the men at the blockade were in SS uniforms. "Exactly," Andreas says, "they're shutting us in! Not letting anyone out! If the Red Army's coming, we're fish in a barrel." Frau Cranz quails, then Andreas frowns, looking perplexed. "What the..." he mutters, then starts honking the horn, and pulls abruptly to the curb. "Andreas! What you doing--?" Frau Cranz cries, to which he replies, "I know that guy," and opens his door, standing up.

Frau Cranz cranes her neck. An SS-Totenkopfverbände officer appears, breathless as if he's been running; "Need a lift?" Andreas asks. "Where you headed--?" the officer asks; "The f**k out of here," Andreas says, to which the officer replies, "If you can stop by Frau Bitterlich's along the way, I'd appreciate it." Andreas makes an odd face but waves him to get in; he does so, and they speed off. Frau Cranz leans toward her son and whispers, "Andreas...der Puff??" Andreas just shrugs and shakes his head: "Don't ask, Ma," and swerves to avoid some people.

Cranz's and his mother's escape from the city is described here: Jan Delbrück; Mirjam Zweifel; Andreas Cranz.

Cranz keeps his promise to his mother: He gets her the f**k out of the city, and manages to find a small cottage at the edge of a smaller, neighboring city. Cranz's role as a snitch on the SS is never discovered and the Allies have no cause to pester them, so they're left in peace. Frau Cranz never quite overcomes either her cough or her anxiety, but both improve considerably in the months following the Reich's fall; Cranz resumes his old job of taxi driver, though he doesn't have to work nearly as hard anymore, as they have a comfortable enough life. She even visits the old city with him, to stare wistfully at the places they once knew; while they're walking arm in arm, she's startled by a shout--"Cranberry!"--and gasps when a tall, slender woman comes rushing at Cranz, blond hair bobbing and eyes alight, and throws her arms around him, hugging him tight. Cranz hugs her back, then the two part and start exclaiming over each other. Frau Cranz notices another woman in spectacles step up warily behind the exuberant young woman and assumes from their similar appearance that they're mother and daughter. Cranz and the young woman seem to realize they're being watched; "Mama, this is Andreas Cranz, I've told you about him," the young woman says to the older one, and "Ma, this is Trudi Detzer, we worked together a few times in the war," Cranz says to his mother. The two women politely say hallo--then, to their offspring: "Trudi, you and this boy--?" "Andreas, you and this girl--?"--like any mothers, feeling a twinge of hope for the possibilities.

Cranz and Trudi immediately dash that twinge: "Nein, nein, Mama, not like that!" "Nein, Ma, she's like my sister!" They start chattering enthusiastically, catching up, Trudi grasping Cranz's arm--"Be back in a little while, Mama, I want to show him around!" and Cranz calling back, "Won't be gone long, Ma, promise--why don't you two talk?"--and like that, the two jog off down the sidewalk, laughing like two kids. Frau Cranz and Frau Detzer are left alone, watching them disappear; after a moment they turn and peer at each other awkwardly.

Frau Cranz: *small shrug* "...Children, ja?"

Frau Detzer: *small snort* "Ja. Children."

Frau Cranz: "Still...would've been nice, having some grandbabies running around, ja...?"

Frau Detzer: *pursing lips* "Trudi's...never been the sort to want kids. But ja...it'd be nice, wouldn't it?"

Frau Cranz: "Hermine." *holds out hand* "I'm glad Andreas has a good friend, at least. "

Frau Detzer: "Claudia." *takes her hand* "And the same."

Frau Cranz and Frau Detzer are about as different as night and day: Dirt poor and comfortably middle class, quite uneducated and quite well read on all the latest subjects, anxiously skittish and defiantly determined. They're both mothers, though, and they both want only what's best for their children. That's plenty over which to commiserate. Frau Cranz slips her arm around Frau Detzer's and, like Cranz and Trudi, they head down the sidewalk, getting to know each other.

Please now check out Claudia Detzer's entry.

[Hermine Cranz 2024 [‎Friday, ‎July ‎5, ‎2024, ‏‎12:00:08 AM]]

[c0rpseparts]

i love him sm

[imnotusedtobeingloved]

A/B/C/D/E/F/G/H/I/J/K/L/M/N/O/P/Q/R/S/T/U/V/W/X/Y/Z

 FROM THE CHARACTER ALPHABET WITH IVAR RAGNARSSON.

REQUESTED BY: @witch-of-letters

A - affection (how affectionate are they? what do they enjoy?)

At first? Not at all.

The only person he is used to getting affection from is Aslaug, so naturally you might earn a few sceptical looks from him if you try to get close.

Nevertheless he quickly learns how pleasant the attention of someone else can be, but tries to be subtle about it. He wouldn’t want to tell you upfront that he enjoys having you close or that he likes your touch, because he fears the rejection that might come with it.

In time, he would alert you with a little nudge here and there whenever he requires your tenderness.

Slowly but surely Ivar would get more daring, trying to innitiate the soft touches himself. If you don’t pull back, he’ll get more sure of himself and as soon as it is clear to him that you are serious about him, you’ll be the only person in Kattegat to recieve affectionate touches from Ivar without any deadly concequences.

What he loves most is either having his head placed on your chest or stomach, feeling you breathe and with your hands in his hair, or laying on the side, with you wrapped around his back.

B - bodypart (what’s their favorite bodypart on their partner and them?)

His arms.

His arms have been a replacement for his legs for all his life. Since he has to crawl everywhere until he has his crutches, they are well built and knowing that you love being wrapped inside them, makes Ivar love them even more.

Your legs.

He likes your legs because they are what he cannot have. He likes them because his are so flawed, and yet you choose to love them anyways. And he likes them due to their shape, the softness of your skin and how they look when you move around.

C - commitment (how quick are they to commit?)

Not that quick.

Ivar is reluctant, to say the least.

He needs to be 100% sure that you are commited to him, before he will make any kind of promises to you. It would be a long process full of selfdoubt, selfdeprication and fear of betrayal.

Ivar would also visit the seer and ask about a future with you by his side. The seers answers would be, as always, very vague (if he says something at all).

In addition to all those troubles, his brothers are in the midst of it. Ubbe and Hvitserk might be the only positive voices of reason at times (apart from Aslaug), while Bjorn would not really concern himself with it. Sigurd on the other hand would throw salt at Ivars mental wounds, saying you were only with him out of pity.

So the viking has no real option but to rely on you reassurance and your loving words. You’d probably have to spend months proving that you are serious about him, because he has been hurt and rediculed so many times before, but in the end it’s all worth it.

Once Ivar chooses to fully commit to you, he’s there to stay.

D - dates (what would dates with them look like? what would they plan?)

Ivar is usually not that much of a planner when it comes to dates.

Normally he is content with finding a secluded place to spend time with you, away from the crowds and far, far away from his relatives.

But if, for any reason, a special occassion should arise, he would definetely ask his brothers for help as much as he hates it.

He would send Hvitserk to distract you with requests and tasks all day, while Ubbe helps him set everything up in a little cabin in the woods. Ivar would ask Aslaug to have some thralls bring plates of food as well.

E - experience (how many relationships have they had before?)

Close to nothing, really.

Ivar did not have any experience with real love and he was very sceptical of it.

The few kisses and cuddles he may have had, have all come from the thralls his family owns.

Apart from that, he has not been interested in anybody, other than finding some attractive on the outside. Too often he had to find out the hard way that the insides of people where much more ugly than the exterior.

So in response to that Ivar mainly focused on his training and on becoming a better viking, until you came along.

F - family (do they want to start a family?)

Ivar would love to start a family.

At first, he is actually astounded that you’d bring it up.

For a long time, he could’ve never imagined someone wanting to have a family with him. To have a child with him (no matter if it’s your own or adopted). So when you suggest it, he is mindblown for a second, before he cups your face, telling you that it is what he longed for all along.

He would be ecstatic upon the idea of having an heir. Or two. Or more. But at least one is fair.

For him, it feels like everything is finally falling into the right place.

G - generosity (do they give their partner a lot of presents? if so, what?)

Exceptionally generous.

And you don’t even have to ask for them.

Ivar brings tons of goods and riches home from every raid, where you can pick whatever you like. He makes sure to safe the best pieces for you and keeps an eye out for suvenirs he knows you might love.

Should you require anything else Ivar has enough resources to get you everything you want from the market. Since Aslaugs rule in Ragnars absence, Kattegat has also transformed into an important trading center, will all kinds of diverse products.

Ivar sees to it, that you have anything you could possible require, even in his absence.

He spoils you, not gonna lie.

H - heaven (how would they react if they lost their partner?)

Ivar would never recover from the loss.

After everything that happened to his family, all the betrayals and the lies and the fights, you were the one thing to keep him going. You had been there for him everytime, no matter how hard it was. No matter how dangerous it got, no matter how exhausted you were.

But now?

There was nothing.

No one.

And no way to bring you back.

One of the things that scares Ivar most is how numb everything feels. There was nobody to be angry at. Nobody to blame, except for the illness that took you away. And against something like that, not even Ivar the Boneless could seek revenge.

He should have known when you confessed you love, that you were just another thing he had to lose. First it was his father, then his mother, then Helga and Floki and now... there was nothing left of him.

Still your face, your smell, you presence would follow him everywhere he goes.

And he’d beg you to haunt him.

I - i love you (who says the three magic words first and why?)

It depends.

The only way Ivar would say it first is if he is frantic. Either in a screaming match, or when you are close to leaving him.

When neither of those are likely though, this viking would most definetely wait until you’ve said it first. For a long time he does not even dare to hope that you will. He is still a cripple after all, no amout of love could ever change that and he fears the day you realize it. Ivar is so used to rejection that he tells himself it wouldn’t hurt if you left. But deep down he knows it would. That’s why he always hesitates in the very last second, drawing back. 

He leaves the first ‘i love you’ to you. But when it comes, you’ve never seen him smile that big. He can’t believe his luck. Can’t believe that you truly choose him over anyone else.

Ivar will rarely outright tell you that he loves you and only chooses particular moments for it.

But that just makes it all the more special.

J - journey (how did they first meet their partner?)

Unfortunately, you met Ivar while his men were preparing for a raid.

You stumbled upon their camp and he questioned you, demanding informations. This way he could gather when the best time for an attack might be. But not only that. You captured his interest in a way he would not have expected.

There was something in the way you spoke and the way you carried yourself that made him hesitate. He supposed that was what it must have felt like for his father with that unlucky priest Floki killed in the end. But then again, in time, he discovered it wasn’t quite the same. There was something more that drew him to you, apart from curiosity.

And he intended to find out what exactly it was.

Who knows after all?

Maybe it was fate.

K - kisses (what are their kisses like?)

Ivars kisses are desperate.

Desperate for warmth, desperate for acceptance, desperate for belonging.

He puts his emotions into every kiss and there is no such thing as ‘just a peck’ with him. Ivar likes to feel needed. He likes showing you how much he loves you, rather than expressing it with words.

He’s also not ashamed to kiss you in front of an audience, frankly he does not care who sees it, because you’re the only one that counts (but he will stop should it make you uncomfortable). He does not fear that it might make him seem weak, that thought is pretty ridiculous to him.

If anything, he’s even more proud to be the one you want.

L - love language (what’s their love language?)

Ivars love language is physical touch closely followed by words of affirmation.

Ivar feels loved the most if he recieves physical touch. He senses that most people around him are too intimidated to get close, or are simply put off by his condition. As a result of that, he rarely gets affectionate touches or attention, which he craves dearly. Even more so since Aslaug is dead and Floki and Helga are both gone. It’s important to Ivar that his partner makes him feel appreciated this way, even if it’s just a hand on his arm at the table, or your fingers laced with his. Every little touch counts.

The second best way to make him happy is through words of affirmation. Words have great meaning to Ivar, so beware of saying anything hurtful to him, for it might stay with him for a lifetime. In time you may notice that especially Ragnars last words “happiness means nothing” are stuck in Ivars head. Words impact him greatly, and you may have to undo some of the damage others have caused in his mind, with a few well-placed strikes. Ivar will appreciate it if you reassure him of your love with the right words at the right time.

M - memory (what’s their favorite memory of the relationship?)

The morning after the first night spend together.

Back then he had no idea how it happened or how you did it.

You were still snoring next to him when he came to realize he didn’t just like you. He loved you. And while you moved around, hugging the fur close to your chest a thousand emotions had swirled in his head. He was confused, surprised and completely thrown aback about what you did to him. About how you made his heart beat faster and his limbs tingle with the need to draw you closer. He watched, until the sun tickled your skin, rousing you from your sleep and when you opened your eyes to look at him with that smile... you knocked the breath out of his lungs.

Whenever he thinks back to that morning now, you catch him with an absent-minded smile on his lips.

N - newborn (how would they react to expecting a child? how would they deal with the pregnancy?)

Ivar would be shocked.

First of all, he would question if the child is truly his, as it seemed impossible before. He wouldn’t have thought that he would ever get the chance to have an heir. So, once you’ve settled his doubts, he would be the proudest father-to-be in all of Kattegat.

But also the most anxious.

He heavily questions his ability to raise a child. Even he knows his father was not a really good example to look up to when it comes to raising children, or to being a husband.

So he seeks the not really helpful advice of his brothers, who all seem to go in completely different directions when it comes to kids. Hvitserk is clearly letting his nephews and nieces walk all over him, while Ubbe is acting like an overprotective hen. Bjorn seems deadset on training them and sending them out in the wild. And Sigurd? Ivar is not quite sure the man is a grown-up himself.

In conclusion: they all started fighting amost themselves while Ivar watched the mess unfold.

Clearly, his mother Aslaug would have been a much better option.

But if she is no longer around, Ivar will instead turn to Floki and Helga where he finally finds some words of wisdom and support.

Without a doubt the woman carrying his child will be protected at all times. This is a literal miracle to him and he would be devastated if anything went wrong with the mother, or the child.

Other than that Ivar finds great joy in the pregnancy. He loves seeing the mother grow with his child and he would be truly proud of his child for carrying on his legacy. Ivar’s love grows during this incredible months, even during all the moods and cravings.

Both, the mother and the baby will be incredibly spoiled.

O - oasis (what’s their favorite place to spent time?)

The pier.

He enjoys the location, especially on warm summer days.

He has many memories stored in his mind, of sitting out on the docks. It’s a place where he can clear his head and it also gives him an overview of everything that is happening around him.

Ivar also likes the calm view of the ocean, even though he’s terrified of the sea. He likes to imagine all the lands that await him on the next raid. The atmosphere helps him to resume his strategies and to gather his thoughts.

It helps him to visualize the terrain the next war will be fought on and the techniques his enemies might use.

You will find him there often, sitting and staring out to the sea until the sun fades away.

P - petnames (what petname would they give their partner?)

“My love.”

The words tasted absolutely ridiculous on his tongue, when he first said them. Almost pathetic. That is also what he threw at your head, when you first said it, but not in anger. It was... something else. Some thing you had to figure out first.

The way he put you off was so reluctant, that it didn’t fit. He liked it. You knew he did. And he knew you knew he did. And he hated it.

This, in turn, made you use the petname whenever you could, with a smirk on your face. Eventually he not only gave in, but started using it himself.

The first time he did you probably spit out your drink in shock tbh.

He’d grumble out of embarassement, until you’d reassure him. When he knows for sure that you actually love it, it’s settled.

It would become a habit.

Q - quiet (what do undisturbed moments look like?)

Peaceful.

In quiet moments Ivar can take a breath and let go of all that troubles him.

He likes taking you down to the beach on those rare days, lying next to you in the sand and relaxing for hours. In those moments all the fights, the wars and the arguments truly fade away. Sometimes they might creep into his mind, which you scold him for when he shares those thoughs absent-mindedly.

Apart from that, it is in those quiet times that you can truly find joy in the company of each other. There don’t need to be many words or actions to keep you happy, just the two of you alone will do.

R - rivals (how do they handle jealousy?)

Not too well.

If there is anyone making advances towards you, Ivar will be the first one to notice. Probably even before you.

He knows very well that you would not appreciate a bloodbath. And further than that, there are political figures that are better kept alive during those stressful times of war. So, no matter how much it bugs him, he would keep still for the time being, trusting you to tell them off (but you may notice the tick of his jaw, or the whitened knuckles when his fingers clench around the armrests of his chair).

If you don’t notice, Ivar will be sure to inform you and ask you to do something about it. He doesn’t voice his concerns about it very clearly, but he is afraid of you leaving him for another.

Though, should a situation get critical, even after you have made clear that Ivar is the one for you, you can be sure that Ivar wont let it slide.

Even if he has to make it look like an accident.

S - song (what song is a reminder of them?)

OCEAN EYES - BILLIE EILISH

I've been watchin' you for some time

Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes

Burning cities and napalm skies

Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes

Your ocean eyes

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

I've been walkin' through a world gone blind

Can't stop thinkin' of your diamond mind

Careful creature made friends with time

He left her lonely with a diamond mind

And those ocean eyes

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

Da, da-da, da-da

Da-da-da, da, da

Da, da, da, da, da-da-da-da

Mm

Mm

Mm

No fair

You really know how to make me cry

When you gimme those ocean eyes

I'm scared

I've never fallen from quite this high

Fallin' into your ocean eyes

Those ocean eyes

T - token (what kind of object would be the proof of their love? a ring? a necklace? something completely different?)

Ivar can, as a prince and as a king, buy you anything you want.

So he goes a completely different way.

He would try and make you something himself. Something that wouldn’t bother you during the day while tending to your tasks, but also something that would show everyone around you that you are taken.

And something that would remind you of him.

Ivar has noticed you fiddle with the pendant of his necklace often enough.

The viking takes is upon himself to make a twin to the mjolnir hanging from his throat. He would spend ages drawing out the form and details of the hammer, making sure everything looks perfect. He would also use much more expensive material than his own was made of and would insert fitting gemstones if possible.

Ivar works through days and nights to complete his work and smiles like a child when he can finally hand it to you.

It would turn out so beautiful that you would never want to take it off.

U - unique (why did they choose their partner? what first attracted them?)

The thing that first drew him to you was your personality.

Ivar likes looking at pretty features and bodies, yes. But in a way, doesn’t everyone?

Physical attributes don’t mean that much to him. That he may find a body pleasing to look at has nothing to do with feelings. It is more about an aesthitic. About a facade.

What really interests him is your behavior and your mannerisms. How you talk and behave when nobody sees you and how you move when the great hall is filled with people.

Ivar is first attracted to you because of your habits and your character. The unique tells when he catches you lying, or the characteristic twitch of your mouth, when Bjorn shares a story around the dinner table.

V - vulnerable (how vulnerable do they allow themselves to get?)

He is a tough nut to crack.

Ivar is not the type to be vulnerable around others.

He is not always proud of it when he loses his temper, but he absolutely hates it when he has to cry. Not particularily because he sees it as a weakness, but because he despises the whole feeling of it. He hates the helplessness that settles in and the pityful looks everyone carries on their faces when tears are shed.

He does not like to cry in front of you, even when you are close. You will often have to force him to lean on you and let you comfort him. At the beginning he dislikes doing so, but quickly notices that it helps.

He starts to appreciate your help and your knowledge when you assist him to get his mind back on track and give him a perspective he might not have thought of (though there is rarely a way he does not come up with).

X - xfactor (what’s one of their special talents they try to impress with?)

His mind.

While his brothers might be honest in saying that they consider him their equal despite his disability (which he is already sceptical of), Ivar is very aware that that does not count for everyone else around him.

Not even for you.

So he tries to impress you with what he does best. Ivar is intelligent and an incredible strategist on all fields. He will use his smarts and his witt to catch you attention (and maybe even aks you for advice, even though he already has the perfect solution).

Y - yin & yang (how does having their partner around change their behavior?)

It changes quite a bit.

Ivar becomes calmer when you’re around. More patient and less heated. Apart from that he puts great value on your opinions, even of you are not familiar with all of his strategies.

The times of war are stressful even on a bright mind such as his. It makes him agitated when you’re parted and he trends to get nervous when he can’t keep an eye on you.

Since what happened to his mother while he was not around, he fears that the same fate might come for you if he is not on guard at all times. That, in turn gets him easily frustrated when you can’t join him where he is going.

Needless to say, his men are glad when you are present.

Ivar becomes more relaxed, witty and even pleasant at times as soon as you are near.

Z- zen (how calm are they during arguments?)

Not very calm, even though he tries to keep his cool.

He tends to let his frustrations out, wether that be through screaming or trashing something.

This viking does not hold back.

And we all know Ivar is already intimidating enough when he is not in a bad mood.

But usually, all of that doesn’t happen around you. Between the both of you arguments rarely arise. You are pretty much on the same page and definetely act as a team.

Though, of course, it can’t be that easy all the time. When an argument between the two of you arises Ivat tries to reason with you. The man is used to things going his way, so it might be quite a struggle to go against him at first. He tends to get louder, as a way to emphasize his reasoning, but will quickly try to shut it down if you tell him that it upsets you.

He’ll try to explain his situation and get a grip on your view at the same time, until you reach an agreement both of you are happy with, which he does not do with anyone but you.

[rotshop]

SORRRRYYYY i promise ill get 2 reqs soon,,,,it is just one of those times,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,fuxzzy brain momense

n e way here s this bc i am also haing another catperson moment. ill proof read this later maybe . who knows.

tw for one illusion to smoking / nicotine

-

You barely even heard your own growling. It was a lower and quieter one, you were sure it could be mistaken for purring if someone only took a quick glance at you. Though, the pinned back ears and light 'thump' your tail made against the floor was probably a definite indicator that wasn't right. To say that the frustration and irritation was clearly written on your figure was a complete lie.

You were a little too lost in your thoughts to really pay attention to anything else that was going on. Staring at the mess of cloth and fluff that was currently your bed, you allowed yourself to zone out. It'd all started with you tossing and turning for a little longer than liked. Sure, while you were out like a light most nights, there were some where you would stay up a bit longer.

This though? It'd been a little over two hours since you first dropped down, leaving your patience all too thin. At first, you'd deemed it was just you thinking too hard, shifting your thoughts to some lighter little story. Then, it was simply that you needed a drink of water. Then, it was some other thing. At some point, you'd figured that you were just uncomfortable ; either too cold or too hot, feeling bare and exposed or suffocated under the weight of your blankets, this or that endlessly.

With a little sigh you pried yourself from the depths of your subconscious, dragging yourself forward to try and fix things again. You knew all too well that you weren't going to accomplish much of anything, you'd likely just irritate yourself further and you'd end up just laying and staring at the ceiling all night. It definitely beat sitting there and listening to Sanford's snoring though, so it was something to do at least. Begrudgingly, you found your hands dragging blankets and pillows around once again.

Deimos was no stranger to waking up in the middle of the night, if anything he was more surprised if it didn't happen. It wasn't anything too bad, most times he'd just get up for a bit, get a drink or walk around, lay back down and conk out again. It was oddly peaceful in its own way, seeing and hearing just how quiet and still the base could be in the dead of night. He'd been able to train himself to pick up even the smallest of sounds on nights like this, so it wasn't difficult to pick up on all the shuffling.

He'd found himself padding over to your room quietly, just in case you really were just asleep. He'd learned the hard way just how spiteful cats can be when you wake them up before they'd like. Very quickly, he'd realized you were in fact awake, fidgeting endlessly and uncomfortably. He'd paused in the doorway for a moment before carefully drawing closer, you not taking any notice despite the little flicks your ears made at the sound.

With a grin, he'd leaned over you, placing his hands on your shoulders firmly.

"What'cha doin?"

You'd startled immediately, the beginnings of a louder-than-either-of-you-would-like yowl starting in your throat before he'd slapped a hand over your mouth.

"Hey- Chill out, 's just me!"

You'd glared back at him briefly, pushing his hand away from your mouth roughly as you ducked away.

"Yeah, thanks, I never would've guessed from the dusty-ass bandages. When was the last time you changed those?"

With a little frown at your response he leaned onto the bed, giving you a bit of space. "An 'Oh, hey my dearly loved friend, how are you doing on this wonderful night?' or something would'a been nice."

You'd scoffed a bit and rolled your eyes at that, turning back you attention to the tangle of your sheets. "Riight right, why exactly are you bothering me again?"

"Dunno, why aren't you asleep at the lord's hour of 3am?" He'd hummed, cynicism lacing into his voice.

You'd sighed, harsher than he'd expected, "Well- I would be asleep if it weren't for dumb luck deciding no! I don't get to get a wink of rest on some random night for no reason even though my survival kinda hinges on me, y'know, not being so tired I fatally fuck up."

He'd blinked a bit at your response, falling into silence temporarily. While most interactions between the two of you kept up a playfully argumentative and rough angle, there were times you both let that slip for a while. It was obvious this whole thing was getting to you a little more than you'd like to admit or at least more than you could without getting loud. So, with a glimmer of anxiety, he'd spoken up once more.

"You want me to help you?"

You'd paused briefly in your motions before looking back to him, "Huh? I..What do you mean by that? I swear, if this is some dumb shit now is not the time-"

"'M being serious!" He'd retorted, "Look, it's clear you're pissed and you aren't making much progress in here. So, why not just cut your losses and try and sleep in my room?"

You'd stared at him for a moment blankly, looking for something in his expression. He'd looked right back at you, ignoring that little bit of nervousness that'd tempted to make him waver in his ministrations. Eventually though, you decided you hadn't found it as you broke your gaze.

"Fine. Just let me grab my things first, you can go try and make sure it isn't a total wreck in there while you wait so I don't burst out laughing at the place and wake everyone else up."

He'd beamed at that, you having to bite back your own smile from the little bit of it you seen.

"Y'got it. Take your time, kitty!" he'd chimed before rushing off, nearly face first into the wall of the hall as he took off.

You'd allowed yourself some indulgence, smiling fondly as you heard his steps fade into the quiet of the night. Shaking your head, you'd turned to pluck a few blankets of yours up off the mattress, tucking them under your arm gingerly. You would never admit to yourself the way that you could feel how much looser you'd gotten after that. You would never truly acknowledge and affirm how you could feel the smile on your lips and the quiet little starts of a purr in the back of your throat.

--[ extra shit kinda maybe a little i GUESS ]

With a last little stretch you finally settled, a sigh prying its way past your lips as you let yourself go limp. You could feel exhaustion way heavy in your limbs and behind your eyes, words and thought beginning to fail you as you focused what little you had left on other things. You'd focused on the smell of nicotine that clung onto the ratted shirt he wore, the beating of his heart and the way he carefully dragged his nails behind your ears in little lines and circles.

"Y'comfy?" He'd asked, half-registering how quiet and gentle his own voice sounded.

You'd nodded lightly, nudging just a touch closer to him as his breath hitched.

"Yeah, thanks Dei."

"'S nothing, goodnight."

"Night, love you."

He couldn't help the grin that broke out onto his face at those words.

[anabsolutetrainwreck]

SECOND PART TO "THROUGH THE WARNING SIGN'S" PLEASE

i’d like to make you mine || h. styles

sequel to ‘through the warning signs’

warnings: swearing, references to masks + covid

word count: 1.5k

summary: a glass of spilt wine leads to slightly different plans...

part one.

Sat at the desk in the spare room of Florence’s house, you listened to Louisa’s ramblings about how rude it was that you’d waited at least two hours to tell her that you were going on a date with Harry Styles. You’d FaceTimed her as soon as you and Florence got home from set, but no, she wasn’t having that as an excuse. “Well, what are you going to wear?” she asked.

You shrugged, rubbing your moisturiser along your face, “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it yet.”

She was tucked up in her bed at home in England. She had her duvet pulled up to her chin, the soft hum of music in the background. She scoffed, “Haven’t really thought about? You are joking, right? You’re going out for dinner with Harry fucking Styles and ‘you haven’t really thought about what you’re gonna wear’?”

“Don’t say it like that,” you sighed.

“Like what?”

“Harry fucking Styles,” you mocked as she grumbled something about not sounding anything like that. “You’re making it sound like a big deal.”

“Uh, Y/N, it kind of is a big deal.”

“No, it’s just like I’m going on a date with any other boy.”

She let out a loud laugh, “Oh, no, Y/N. I didn’t mean it like that. I was talking about the fact that you haven’t been on a date in, like, two years.”

You let out a gasp in mock offence, “Fuck you!”

She chuckled, “No, but I am happy for you.”

“Really? And you’re not jealous?”

“Why would I be jealous?”

“You used to be literally in love with him.”

She gasped, “I was not!”

“Don’t lie, Louisa,” you laughed. “You used to come and sleep at my house when we were, like, seventeen and you’d do nothing but talk about him.”

“You know I was a Liam girl. Besides, I’m just waiting for Robert Pattinson to return my call,” she sighed.

“Robert Pattinson? Jesus, Louisa, weren’t you just nursing a major obsession with Timothée Chalamet?” you laughed. You’d always found her ability to crush on celebrities so easily hilarious.

“That’s besides the point.”

You looked over at the clock hung above your temporary bed. 5:23. “Right, I better go.”

She pouted, “Do you have to?”

“Yes! And shouldn’t you be getting some sleep? Don’t you have work in the morning?”

“Maybe.”

“What time is it over there?”

“Like half one in the morning.”

“Exactly! Go to sleep, Louisa.”

“Fine. I love you, Y/N.”

“Love you too, Louisa,” you smiled gently at her as she hung up. It was nice talking to Louisa again after so long. You did miss her dearly. But now you had a date with Harry to distract you for a little while.

Once you’d carefully concocted an outfit and finished drying your hair from the shower you’d had before you called Louisa (you’d assured her that she’d been your number one priority once you got back from set, but it was really hygiene, especially before a date you’d been waiting for for four years), it was about time for Harry to arrive. So, you sat downstairs with Florence and her boyfriend, Zach. Your knee was bouncing as you waited for him, your stomach full on dread. “Y/N, will you calm down? It’ll be fine,” Florence sighed. “He clearly cares. Fuck, I mean he literally asked about what allergies you had before asking you out to dinner.”

You nodded, and before you had the chance to say anything, a knock at the door only sent you into a complete state of collapse. Florence extended her hand and dragged you towards the door. With every step, you felt more and more sick. “I feel ill, Flo. I might just lie down. Tell Harry I said sorry,” you rushed out quickly, trying to turn and run towards the staircase. But to no avail.

“You’ll regret it if you don’t go on this date,” she said and you knew she was right. You’d only wake up in the morning and scold yourself for not even trying.

As she opened the door, you were met with Harry, dressed in a black tuxedo. It was jazzed up with some pink floral embroidery and it certainly looked more expensive than what you could earn in 10 years. He grinned, “Good evening, Flo.”

“You alright, Harry?” she smirked, her eyes fluttering between your nervous self and the man stood on her doorstep.

“Good, thanks. Do you mind if I steal Y/N away for the evening?”

“Only if you promise to bring them back before midnight,” she joked.

“Of course,” he nodded, smiling. “You coming?”

You nodded, looking back to see Florence’s supportive smile. You followed Harry into his car and, before you knew it, you were on your way to some fancy restaurant he’d booked. In you went, sat down at your table, studied the menu and ordered your selected food. It was only then, as the waiter walked away, that the conversation really started up. Naturally, the conversation prior had just been small talk about what the two of you were thinking about ordering.

Amazingly, and almost to your surprise, the conversation flowed nicely, unlike all of the ones you’d shared at work. You wanted to talk about favourite novels and guilty pleasures and pet peeves and bad habits and embarrassing childhood stories with him. As he sat opposite you, chatting away. You couldn’t help but study his face and the way his eyes never wavered from you. You watched his hand as it reached across to grab your wine glass and pour you a glass of the upscale red wine. Unsure exactly where it all went wrong, you ended up with the staining wine seeping through your white shirt. “Shit, shit, shit. Shit, I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he quickly stood, rubbing one of the napkins across the stain. You almost felt bad for ruining the napkin at how opulent it looked. 

“It’s okay,” you assured him, grabbing his hand to move it away from your torso. A couple of people turned to look at the pair of you, whispering amongst themselves. He sent you an apologetic glance, dropping the wine-stained napkin onto the table. This only further ruined the cloth that coated the table. “Maybe we should leave?” you offered, not feeling up to sitting in a stained shirt for a couple of hours. 

He nodded, sighing, frustrated, “Right, yeah. Of course. Do you want me to take you back to Florence’s?”

You didn’t want this night to end. It had been fun and Harry’s company was one you had a newfound appreciation for. “Just away from everybody,” you whispered.

He nodded, his features brightened slightly. Taking your hand, he walked you out of the lavish restaurant. As the pair of you walked through the streets, illuminated in an orange glow as the sun sat atop the horizon, you knew there’d be pictures in the press the morning to follow. All headlined with something like ‘HARRY STYLES SPOTTED OUT WITH MYSTERY DATE’. They wouldn’t know who you are, half of your faces obscured by masks. But, then eventually, somebody would point out that it looked like you. And then that would get out of control, making all of the headlines for at least an hour look something like ‘HARRY STYLES AND LITTLE WOMEN COSTUME DESIGNER, Y/N Y/L/N OUT FOR EVENING DINNER’. You knew that; he knew that. Both of you knew the consequences of fleeing the restaurant and roaming the streets. Whatever the two of you had going on, whatever you might have in the future, would instantly become public knowledge. 

But, in the moment, you didn’t care. You liked Harry, and you were enjoying yourself. So, do you know what, fuck whatever anybody thought. This was your life, you were going to do whatever you wanted with it. “I am really sorry,” he said quietly as you walked down the quiet streets together.

“Honestly, Harry, it’s okay,” you smiled. It was bold from you, of course it was, but you did it anyway, reaching over to squeeze his hand. He looked over at you, his eyebrows had been knitted together, but at the sight of your warm smile, they softened. Your face was coated in a soft layer of setting sun and, Harry would argue, it made you look ethereal and the most divine thing he’d ever laid his eyes upon. Oh, how he wanted to write so many songs about you. Even the Gods couldn’t compare to you in that moment, he thought. “I didn’t plan for this evening to go like this,” he said, his voice quiet and defeated. 

“Well, I would hope not,” you replied, offering a crappy joke to hopefully lift his spirits. He did, in fact, crack a smile. Now, the two of you were alone. The sun was dipping below the silhouetted horizon and the evening, you feared, was drawing to somewhat of an end. “Harry,” you began, hoping to finally ask all of the little, insignificant things about his life. 

“Yeah?” he replied, turning to glance at you.

And it felt as if you’d waited so long to simply ask, “What’s your favourite novel?”

[honeymilque]

Hey guys!

I know it’s been a HOT minute since I posted here so I just wanna apologize for being gone so long but hopefully I’ll get back into it soon! :) 

     SOooo I’ve been having a rough time lmao the first year of the pandemic I grew distant with some good friends of mine. Which I mean ,it happens, friends come and go but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. I have no ill feelings towards them. I still love them dearly and I hope they are thriving!! Anyways, this is kinda what started my downward spiral. I didn’t have anyone to talk to. Maybe a short interaction every now and then. I also had my dad and step-mom on my ass about going back to college. So in short I felt like a failure for not being in college, and completely alone. Those feelings continued to get worse over the course of 2020-2021. At some point during that time I started to gain quite a few followers here as well as on twitter. I don’t think I ever hit 500 but it was still a lot to me. With the sudden gain of followers, I began to look at my art differently. Suddenly it wasn’t for fun, it was for my followers. My mindset was “If I don’t draw something they like everyone will hate me for not being able to create the content they enjoy” When my art didn’t do as well, it would tear me apart. I felt like I was failing my followers. I began to HATE my art. I completely stopped drawing except for maybe once or twice a year. Art wasn’t fun and I couldn’t think of anything to draw. 

     Aside from my art issues, I had a lot more going on. Early 2021 I met a guy and we hit it off instantly. We spent every second with each other. He helped me a lot during 2021. My manager had quit mid year and the place I work at couldn’t find a manager for months. Since I had open availability and I was a lead key, they threw everything on me. I was beyond stressed, but I always had him to talk to. It was nice having someone to talk to all day. I began to feel happy and loved again. Mid July we had started dating and everything was wonderful. Life got a whole lot brighter, but unfortunately for a very short time. He started to not talk or hang out with me a lot. By the end of September he broke up with me. He was going through a lot and so was I. I didn’t take this well. The slightest bit of sunshine I had left was just ripped from my hands. Once again, I was alone. I won’t lie, it got very dark. I would barely eat or drink and showering was too much work. I was going through a break up, running a store, and I kept buying random stuff to get me that small amount of dopamine I needed to survive. I was living paycheck to paycheck.

     Now since I don’t want to write this anymore lol let’s skip to now! I finally got diagnosed with depression about a month ago, and I’ve been on antidepressants since! Just this week, I’ve started feeling better. I’m finding myself enjoying things again! I’ve started drawing again. I realized that my art doesn’t have to mean anything. It can just be a random doodle of a pretty anime boy standing and that’s okay!! I’m still struggling with enjoying my art BUT I know if I keep trying that my art will eventually be where I want it! We finally got a new manager at work, so I’m not stressed anymore :) Money is still tight since I’m still recovering from my depression purchases and rent went up but it’s a good! I know I can get the money back and I’m not buying as much stuff anymore (except for delivering food...I have spent so much on doordash lmao)

If you read all of this, thank you for listening :) If you didn’t thats okay, I don’t read long posts either lmao

TLDR; Depression sucks but I’m all better now. :) Hope to be posting art again soon!! ♥

[vecnawrites]

ArcAngel, Chapter 2

It’s been just a few days since Joan was born, and already, a circle to protect the newborn Angel is forming.

It was a great shock to the Arc Family that their newest member was an Angel, a quasi-mythical being that was the complete antithesis of the Creatures of Grimm. As it was, Vermilion, Juniper, and Adrianne were running interference, playing off that both Juniper and the newborn Joan were healthy, but needing rest and to be unbothered so no one came and found out the secret until they found a reliable way to hide their newborn’s wings...or the little Angel managed to pull them in.

As it was, they had to hide the youngest of the family’s status from Indaco, Injigo, and Violette, since they were very excitable and might accidentally let their sister’s uniqueness slip when talking about her. Bless them, they were a little too young yet to truly understand about how Angels could be hunted down and abused for their powers.

Crimson, Saphron, Verde, and Bleu knew and understood, and as such were involved in ‘Angel Wrangling’...not that there was much actual work involved. Her species was rather ironic, as Joan was an Angel. She only ever cried when she was hungry or needed a diaper change, usually just content to be cuddled in the arms of whomever was holding her.

~x~x~

Vermilion sighed as he looked through the books Adrianne had lent him. They didn’t say anywhere near as much as he liked. They had the basic powers that she would gain: Flight, Immunity to Human and Faunus Illnesses, Photokinesis, Healing...but not only did it not say when these powers would emerge (he was already having nightmares of a flying baby that would be captured and taken away from the family), and worse, there was mention of powers that each angel had that were completely unique to any other, so the ones mentioned in the book were likely useless.

But that didn’t stop him from taking extensive notes to make sure that he, that Joan, would have the information at her fingertips as she grew up. He wouldn’t allow her to go through childhood wondering why or how she had these abilities if he could help it.

He also refused to let her go through life without knowing the dangers of her power. Not only were the more significant powers draining, leading to to exhaustion if not used carefully, but in several cases they could kill the Angel in question if misused. Beyond that, there had been instances of families killed and the Angels taken and broken, making their golden wings turn pitch black as they were broken and forced to use their powers for the selfish whims of others.

Fire burned within him at the thought of his baby being put through that, the bright light in her eyes reduced to a dead flicker of what it was. “I promise, my daughter…” he vowed, “I will do everything possible to ensure you live your life without fear...and only you will decide what your destiny is…”

~x~x~

“Waaaahhhh!” Juniper jolted out of her doze as she turned to see her baby squirming in her bassinet next to her. Gently leaning over and gathering her baby in her arms, a quick cursory sniff told her that it wasn’t a diaper change, so she gently cradled her daughter in the nook of her arm and rocked her gently. “What’s the matter, sweetie? Let’s try some food…”

Carefully shifting, Juniper opened her robe, revealing one of her heavy breasts and gently twisting her daughter so her lips brushed against her nipple. She released a small laugh as her baby immediately latched on and began nursing, quieting down as she nuzzled closer, her little chubby cheeks moving as she pulled milk into her mouth and devoured it hungrily. “You can slow down, baby girl...mommy’s not going to run away, and she’s not going to run out of milk anytime soon…” she cooed, gently stroking her baby’s head, amazed at how she had so much hair already. They could already pull it into a tiny ponytail on top of her head. But the strands were just as golden as the tiny feathers that were attached to the wings on her back.

“I promise, baby girl...we won’t let anything bad happen to you…” Juniper murmured, gently rocking her baby and slowly beginning to sing, a soft tune that her own mother had sang to her, and her mother before that.

“Hush little child,

wipe your tears away,

you’re safe in my arms,

in the moonlit night~”

She could see her baby’s blue eyes (like the rest of the families, but somehow brighter and even more pure) focusing on her, even as she suckled, making Juniper tear up, this precious little life meant so much, not just to her, her husband, and her daughters, but to Humanity as a whole. “I promise, Joan. For whatever reason you were given to us, we will help you…”

~x~x~

Adrianne Nox never really thought of herself of someone who would do greatness. She was a mere pediatrician and midwife, living in a settlement outside Kingdom walls and ruled by itself. She had honestly thought she would go through her life pretty normally, help mothers give birth to their newborns, and care for those same newborns until she either retired or death took her.

She never expected to help a mother in this settlement give birth to an Angel.

Despite preferring healing, she was no slouch when it came to History, either. She knew that Angels were only born when there was an upcoming period of intense change in the world. She also knew that they were gifted with incredible talents and abilities, to help protect humanity from the Grimm.

But she also knew that they needed to be protected in their formative years. While they could instinctively use their powers to defend themselves, that could disable them when they got older. They were extremely vulnerable until the age of five or so. It would be difficult, but they would protect her, until she could protect herself. It would be easier than normal, since she was not only the one who helped birth her, but also the Pediatrician for the Arc Family, it would be pitifully easy to modify her charts to hide what she really was. She wouldn’t let the world’s newest Angel be captured and Fall, she swore on everything she was. “I swear, little one, nothing will harm you if I can stop it...”

~x~x~

The Arc Sisters were worried for their youngest sibling. All of them that were in the know, Crimson, aged seventeen, Saphron, aged fourteen, Verde, aged thirteen, and Bleu, aged twelve, sat in Crimson’s bedroom, books surrounding them. Every reference of Angels they could scrounge up from their family library. They knew that their newest sister was something special, and why Injigo and Indaco, seven years old, and Violette, a mere five, weren’t told.

The Twins weren’t exactly discreet, after all, and it was hard for a five year old to have any ability to keep a secret. They loved their little sisters dearly, but all of them knew that Joan was helpless right now. It was up to the family as a whole to defend her.

So the four were pouring over every tome they had lifted, marking down everything interesting they found, every bit of potentially useful information that they could use to help Joan understand her own roots, in a way.

Crimson was the eldest of the Arc Daughters, and even though she wasn’t a Huntress proper, she was trained by their father in the case of Grimm attacks breaching the walls. It hadn’t happened since before she was born, but it never hurt to make sure to be prepared. ‘I swear, Joan...I will protect you and help you learn what you need…’ she vowed.

Saphron was simultaneously amazed and worried for her baby sister. She had always loved to read those histories, hoping to write something as wonderful as she had read. The stories of Angelic help in the world filled her with hope for the future, and part of her wanted to make sure that her sister’s stories were recorded for the future to help others. ‘I promise, baby sister...I will make sure that everything is written perfectly, so no one can try and cast shadows on your actions…’ she promised.

Verde Arc liked to think herself an adventurer, and had shamefully been jealous for a few moments at the fact that her baby sister would have far many more than she could, until she realized what dangers she would be facing. Grimm would be, surprisingly enough, the least problematic thing she would face her entire life. The largest problem would be humans and faunus, surprisingly enough. For every Angel that helped bring about peace, there was at least two of them that had been forced to use their powers for selfish reasons, by selfish people, breaking them and making them shadows of themselves. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, allow that to happen to her newest sister. She would make sure she learned all the tricks that she had learned, from rock climbing to knot tying! ‘Don’t worry, Joan, big sis Verde will watch over you!’

Bleu Arc knew she wasn’t a fighter. She had never had the instinct for it, nor the stomach. But what she did have was her mind. She was considered arguably the most intelligent of the children, having been drawing prototypes and blueprints as long as she could remember. She adjusted her glasses as her keen eyes roamed the pages of the books around her, not reading the words, but instead looking over the pictures of the angels within them. What they were wearing, what they were wielding, what they were fighting, her mind already coming up with plans on what to design for Joan as she grew older and into the warrior that the world would no doubt make her. ‘I may not be a fighter like daddy or Crimson, but I can help you with my brain! I promise, Joan!’ she swore that her sister would have the best equipment ever!

~x~x~

The seven each continued their different plans as the four youngest of the Arc family rested, all of them working together, albeit in different ways, to ensure the future of the newest member of the family. They all vowed that she would only have to follow her own heart, not anyone’s desires but her own.

[limerental]

for the anonymous prompt: First time Yennefer smiles at him, Jaskier walk full-on into a tree because his brain stops working and his heart takes over and his heart is stupid and only focusing on her 

link on ao3 because this got away from me

---

It is academic coincidence that draws the two of them together. The Oxenfurt professor is drafting a historical epic to be performed at spring commencement and requires the knowledge of an expert on ancient, arcane artifacts. Said expert is a bright-eyed sorcerer fresh from a dig in the south.

The man is dangerously handsome and so enthused to have someone to chatter on about his work with that he pays for a whole pitcher of ale at one of the swankier taverns in town, maps and diagrams and documents and dusty old books spread all over their corner table. The pair laugh and bluster and hotly debate together well into the evening, until work gives way to enjoying a delectable platter of dried fruits and hard cheeses paired with yet more ale.

It is halfway through their second pitcher that both of them go still, blinking at one another, stunned by the realization that they have an unexpected mutual acquaintance.

“You know Yennefer?” asks Istredd, his head tipped in fresh appraisal of the strange professor.

“Of course, I do,” says Jaskier. “I’ve known her for years and years. Mind you, many of those years I wished very dearly not to have known her, but we have reached a truce now. Some may even call us friendly. I’ll have to see about getting us all together the next time she’s in town.”

“No, no,” says the sorcerer, smiling somewhat sadly. “I’m afraid we parted last in less than ideal circumstances.”

“Oh dear, none of that,” Jaskier says and stands to gesture for the barkeep to bring more dried figs and fresh-baked bread and tender slivers of sausage. A bottle of wine for good measure.

“We were in love once,” says Istredd, sighing. “I think so at least. We were very young. And foolish.”

“Mmmm,” hums the poet in understanding as he pours the sorcerer a brimming cup of dark wine.

“I loved her eyes the most,” he says wistfully. “Such bright, clever eyes, despite such darkness in them.”

Jaskier nods in agreement. He can’t say that he has spent long hours peering into Yennefer’s eyes, but he has still seen that flare of hurt that lurks in their violet depths. He has spun that detail into more than one composition. He wonders if Istredd has heard them.

“Oh but her smile. I’ve never known something quite so beautiful. So timid and soft and tender. Full of warmth and light. So genuine and sweet and stunning.”

“That doesn’t sound much like the Yennefer I know,” says Jaskier. Yennefer does not smile. She smirks sometimes or grimaces, but her default state tends to be one of barely-contained irritation. Or maybe that state is only due to his presence. He thinks she surely must smile at the Witcher. Or at Ciri, maybe. But he can’t imagine it.

“If you should ever witness that smile turned your way,” Istredd says, cross-eyed with drunkenness, pointing a sharp finger into Jaskier’s chest. “You will feel like the luckiest man alive. I promise you this. You will be half-ruined for any other. You will wish you could inspire that smile a dozen times over and then some. That she would look at you like that until the end of your days.”

“I will take your word for it,” says Jaskier with a laugh, and they spend the rest of the night in drunken revelry until they stumble back to Jaskier’s rooms together and collapse into sleep.

He half-forgets about the conversation.

Until, that is, the impossible happens.

Yennefer smiles at him.

---

The circumstances that inspire it are not so unusual.

Jaskier has been traveling with Geralt through the summer, and their path crosses with Yennefer in some well-to-do town north of Vizima. She invites them to her well-furnished rooms for drinks and some catching up.

Usually, nights like this end with Jaskier booted from her rooms so that the Witcher and the mage can become reacquainted, but this night, Geralt plans to head out for a contract before the crack of dawn and retires to his own room early, leaving Yennefer and Jaskier alone together well into their cups.

Once upon a time to be left alone with the sorceress would have inspired deep terror in him, but now very little of that unease remains. He still hangs on to some of it, just in case, but beyond some casual bickering with no real edge to the insults flung back and forth, Yennefer has been very tolerant of him recently.

Jaskier is telling her about his last meeting with Ciri, grown into a young woman now and as much a terror as she always has been. She had attended one of his lectures and afterward, strolled at his side through the university grounds and down through the bustling markets of Oxenfurt. On a side street that dipped along a canal, they had encountered a gaggle of rowdy gentlemen who felt the need to whistle and coo at Ciri.

And soon discovered what a horrible, horrible mistake they had made.

“I’ve never seen grown men that size run so fast,” says Jaskier with a bark of laughter. “One of them leapt right into the canal and swam for it!”

Yennefer chuckles into her goblet. “That certainly sounds like Ciri,” she says.

“Oh, you can’t help but love her dearly, our little Ciri. Not so little anymore though, I suppose, but I can’t help but think of her as that wild-eyed young girl still. Oh and remember her hair? What a rat’s nest it would become so easily. So windblown and knotted I could hardly brush it out to braid it. Twigs and burrs caught in it and all.”

“I remember, bard,” says Yennefer.

And.

She smiles.

At him.

Despite the gulp of wine he just swallowed, his mouth goes suddenly dry. It is a small thing, the edges of her mouth quirking upward, her stained lips thinning with it. Her round cheeks dimple slightly, and the faintest breath of wrinkles appear at the corners of her violet eyes. And her eyes echo that tenderness, filled with something that he would describe as affectionate warmth if he did not know who she was looking at.

The smile is for Ciri, he thinks but finds that he doesn’t care. It is warming and wonderful and like nothing he has ever seen on her face. He does not mind that it is not for him. He simply feels awed to have inspired it.

“By the gods,” says Jaskier, foolishly unable to stop the words from falling from his lips. “You have the most beautiful smile.”

And her face shutters at once, that smile forced into a grimace.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” she says. “I’m not one of your comely maidens.”

“I’m not-- Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to blurt that out.” Jaskier flounders, struck by the flood of desperate longing to somehow, some way see her smile like that again. “It’s not nonsense. It’s brutal honesty. I’d never risk lying to you, Yennefer. Or risk flirting with you, for that matter. My bits are much too precious to me.”

“A wise man,” says Yennefer, downing the rest of her drink in one go, and the night ends not long after that, Jaskier passing out in the living area of her rooms rather than risk waking the Witcher.

In the morning, the memory of her smile is crisp and clear in his mind even as the rest of the night blurs into a fog.

Just as Istredd had promised, he aches to inspire it again.

---

The second time it happens, he is so overjoyed and thrilled and relieved to see it again that, looking helplessly back at her as he is, he does not notice his feet stray off the edge of the path as he bodily connects with the solid trunk of a tree.

Geralt is escorting him to Oxenfurt before heading on to Kaer Morhen for the winter, and they encounter Yennefer on the maid road on her way to Novigrad.

Jaskier had been surprised to see her travelling by horse rather than by portal and had made some quip implying laziness, and she had remarked back that she was not surprised at all to see him traveling by foot. Couldn’t he afford a pony after all these years of tenure at the Academy?

He had allowed the back and forth to subside quicker than usual.

Since that night in her rooms, anytime that he happened to encounter her, Jaskier had poured ceaseless energy into attempts to bring that smile once more to her lips. So far, no luck.

He has tried compliments and gifts and more stories of fond memories and self-deprecating humor and commentary on her prestige and power and offerings of food and wine and all manner of things he is sure would have inspired at least a faint smile in anyone else.

But this time, it’s one of his newer compositions that does it. To his surprise, it’s not even a song in her honor but a silly one he wrote at his own expense, the jaunty tale of one of his many ill-advised romantic endeavors that went horribly wrong in potentially exaggerated ways. Sometimes leaning into the role of bumbling fool earns more coin than otherwise.

He has begun the third verse, his voice rising over the dusty road, half dancing a jig alongside the horses, when he looks back and sees Yennefer’s eyes on him.

She’s smiling.

Her dark curls fall loose around her shoulders, and the slanting autumn sunlight gleams on the jewels studded along the bodice of her dress, and there it is, the curve of a soft smile edged with laughter.

A fondness at the edge of it, a gentleness in her eyes.

It’s stunning.

It’s everything he remembers it being.

It’s incredibly, disastrously distracting.

“Oof,” Jaskier says as he bounces off the tree trunk and collapses back on his bottom on the side of the road. Geralt doesn’t even bother pulling up, cursing his clumsiness under his breath, but Yennefer?

Yennefer has collapsed into a fit of helpless laughter as she draws her grey mare to a halt, breathless and wheezing. And she’s still smiling, light and airy, and her laughter is not tainted by cruelty, simply genuine humor at what a sight he must look sprawled on the ground.

Jaskier can’t help laughing along with her, stretching out flat on his back to groan and roll in the dirt. The revelry ends when the Witcher shouts at them from down the road to get a move on, that if they dawdle any longer he’ll never make it to Kaer Morhen before the snows, and Jaskier gets up and wipes the tears from his eyes and pats the dust from his clothing and that’s the end of that.

But now?

Well, now, Jaskier aches to hear Yennefer’s laughter just as terribly as he has ached for her smile.

---

She cottons on to his scheming after a while, because of course she does. Because she’s Yennefer, and Jaskier has never known a woman more astute.

He used to fear that cleverness, tremble under her sharp perception, worry what she would perceive of him. But no longer.

“Jaskier,” she says, as he offers her the slender stem of a rose, its petals so dark burgundy as to appear black. She is visiting Oxenfurt on business. When Jaskier had heard of her presence in town, he had sought out his favorite local florist before stopping by her rooms. “Are you courting me?”

He sputters.

“No! I wouldn’t dare! Simply saw this in the market and thought of you. Simply thought you would admire it,” he says. She quirks a slender brow and reaches to accept the gift in curled fingers.

“No ulterior motives, then?” she asks.

“Ah,” he says. “Well, perhaps there is one.”

“Oh?”

“It’s only--” He knows there is no way to say such a thing without outing himself as an utter imbecile, but she already thinks that of him anyway so no harm done. “Well, I’m quite fond of your smile, is all. I had hoped to inspire more of them.”

She looks at him for a long moment, standing in her doorway. She twirls the stem of the rose in her hand, its dark, upturned petals brushing against her cheek as she lifts it to her nose to catch its fragrance.

And then.

She smiles at him with all the beauty and gentle softness he has come to crave, and he finds his lungs have forgotten how to draw air, standing in perfect rapt stillness before her. Something warm and soaring rises in his breast. His cheeks begin to burn, flushing with the pride and awe at having inspired such a thing and when he thinks on it, when he looks closer, when he examines that swelling warmth in his breast--

His eyes jerk up to meet hers with the sudden realization that he has been staring at her lips for longer than is probably strictly proper, but she hasn’t stopped smiling. She does not jump to chastise him or react in scandalized horror at his blatant ogling.

Instead, she laughs, a bright bubble of a laugh that is almost a giggle, and it thrills through him like a shock of lightning, tightening in his belly.

And she says, “come here, you idiot.”

And pulls him by the front of his doublet into a heated kiss.

And he discovers yet one more gesture of hers that he suddenly aches for.

[fruitsalot]

entry 01.

heya! im trying out a new account back over here. haven’t been here in a while. i’m just on my phone, so i cant do much in the way of forming an about page, but sometime soon i’ll add a txti or somethin. let me introduce myself :]

my name is catcher! full name catcher yimby tempest. i’m 21, 06/05/2000. my pronouns are they/them and he/him, and at the moment i don’t have a preference for which you use for me. i’m also considering using slime neopronouns, so that’s a fun fact about me. i come from twitter!

i also have a onewheel! i have a pint named ganymede, and i love it dearly. i’m a self-taught artist who also does commission work, so i’ll hopefully set up commissions over here. i like napping, true crime, ghost hunting, drawing, animanga, genshin impact (cursed by it), video games, and my ocs!

for flavour text about me, i’m a witch! still somewhat a baby, i work with hedge, kitchen, crystal, candle, divination, moon, elemental, art, music, and tech magick. i love my tarot decks and my pendulum, and i really want dowsing rods. i love astral travel and ghosts/supernatural entities. i adore dreams and storms. i also work with apollo quite often! i do not claim him as my patron or anything, but i have an altar for him and an offering dish.

i have a persona and a fursona. i kin (unfortunately). i’m autistic!!!! and mentally ill. AND TRANS!!!! holy shit i forgot to mention. i’m trans! i’m agender! i’m agender and trans!!!! and bisexual + polyam. uhhh anything else? idk. it’s like 5am i’m sleepy i’m going to bed soon. gn!!!