#most of us are much more comfortable being referred to by titles - especially Shadow

[neuromantis]

i love responding to "what's your name" with "you may call me *something*" and to "what's your pronouns" with "you may use whatever you want"

i am giving you a permission to call me something. you will never know if it's my actual name probably. but you may use that.

[cerastes]

Ouuugh, continuing to knock it out of the park with these characters. Always loved characters who are solely referred to as a title or epithet, and god the replacement of ones eyes like Istesas rules.

Did she have much inspiration from concepts or characters from Arthurian legends, or did the fey connections and "lady of the lake" thing just happen to be a fun coincidence?

Looking forward as always for where everything you're setting up goes, an effective god like character who just exists to hand out weapons that always lead to greater tragedy or destabilization of things absolutely slaps.

Thank you! I'm happy to hear you enjoy these, haha.

Istesa does in fact have a lot of Arthurian influence, yes. It's one of my favorite mythos, and the Fae have always been fascinating to me, especially when you consider the complete whiplash anyone would have when going from the modern, incredibly infantilized views on the Fae, to their old, outright brutal and callous origins. It always seemed fun to me to think that even back then, our ancestors were coming up with stuff like "yeah there's these very theatric and whimsy creatures that will try to prank you with such knee-slappers as enslaving you forever or turning you into a sentient bush".

The Lady of the Lake angle is sort of an evolution of a concept I've always wanted to play with: For the longest time, I had this idea of the Lady of the Lake being just one of the many titles of the Lady, and that she's more or less a weapons merchant that spends her time managing her business in the shadows as usual, until a great hero is in need of her. So she'll set out and deliver the legendary weapon to its rightful hero, by hand, so that they may mete our their destiny. If you're not a great hero and you come across her, you may get your hands on one of her formidable wares... For a very, VERY high price, and not necessarily one that involves money. Can't be handing out Caladbolgs and Tyrfings out like candy, you know?

Imagine you're an adventurer and you meet this woman in sunglasses and a suit, she's carrying a big case, she looks at you, and goes "hey, I'm in a bit of a bind, help me out here", and you're like, sure, so you go on a small adventure through dangerous lands into the territory of a despot. Throughout the quest, she never once opens the case, but is formidable nonetheless. Then, when you finally make it close to the despot's fortress, and you get ready for the fight of your life, the climax of this quest, she simply says "alright, we're here", and points at a crappy hut by the side of the river. You're confused, but you follow her as she opens the rickety door. Inside is a poor, young child wearing rags. She slams the case in front of the child and opens up the locks, revealing the most wonderful longsword you've laid eyes upon. She hands the sword to the kid, and then signals the way out.

"We're not going to topple the despot?", you ask.

"Nope," she says as she lights a cigarette, "Not our villain to defeat. Just came here on a delivery."

"And why didn't you use the sword throughout our battles?"

"Not my sword to swing. That's his."

Then she refuses to elaborate on anything else, thanks you curtly, and disappears the first chance she gets. Six months later, you're in the middle of the wilderness, the morning sun wakes you up, you step out of your tent, and notice a familiar case waiting for you outside. It has a letter attached. "Thanks for the help back then. For you." Inside the case is the single best weapon you've seen in all of your travels, it feels comfortable and natural, it fits your style of combat perfectly, there is no weapon in this world that could be more closely customized to you, specifically you. This is your weapon.

That sort of concept. Then, I thought, "damn, if someone or something could actually do things like this, it would be scary if they did that, but for villains", but it wasn't really a breakthrough of a thought, since a lot of villains... Do have that kind of service or advantage, some sort of scientist or wizard. Then came the follow-up thought:

"What if the Lady of the Lake straight up had no sides, she just made incredibly powerful, history-changing weapons and artifacts for the express purpose of shaping history to be 'interesting', to be 'chaotic', because in the future history books, it will be incredibly interesting, maybe even entertaining, to read about these chaotic times. What if the Lady of the Lake wasn't good or evil, she solely sided with whoever side made history look more interesting in the future, so she could, one day, sit down with a nice drink, on a comfy couch, and read the most wonderful tragedies and upheavals, content with the knowledge that she had a hand in the penning of these stories?"

I thought that would be terrifying and I loved it, so Istesa was born.

[baya-ni]

SHADOW’s Queer Coding

I first started exploring this idea of Sk8′s implicit queer rep (as in stuff other than explicit same sex intimacy) in this post.

I know we like to joke that Hiromi is the Token Straight of the protag gang, but I argue that he’s as much an example of queer rep as any of our main characters, albeit in a less conventional and fanservicey way.

So that’s what this post is gonna be, an analysis of Hiromi/SHADOW as a queer figure, how his character fits the Jekyll/Hyde archetype as a metaphor for queerness and The Closet, the similarities between SHADOW as a skatesona and early drag, and how his character represents a larger problem of exclusion within queer fandom spaces.

The 1886 Gothic novella The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson is the origin of the phrase “Jekyll and Hyde”. What I’m calling the Jekyll/Hyde archetype, refers to the same thing; it refers to duality, to a character who is “outwardly good but sometimes shockingly evil” (as described from the novella’s wiki page).

And the Jekyll/Hyde dynamic has also long been associated with Queerness. The antagonism between Jekyll and Hyde as two sides of the same person resonates with many people as similar to the experience being in the closet, and many many scholars have written about this queer reading of Jekyll and Hyde. Do a quick google search if you don’t believe me.

Hiromi experiences his own Jekyll/Hyde duality through his SHADOW persona, which seems to entirely contradict with Hiromi’s day to day personality.

Whilst Hiromi is sweet, romantic, and generally very cutesy, SHADOW is mean-spirited, sadistic, described as “the anti-hero of the S community.”  And though these two personalities seem entirely at odds, SHADOW doesn’t exist in a vacuum, he’s very much a part of Hiromi. In the show, this manifests as SHADOW’s sabotage moves being all flower themed, as Hiromi works in a flower shop, and how he’ll “step out” of character when playing babysitter to the kids.

Below is passage from an essay titled, “The Homoerotic Architectures of Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde” which reminds me a lot of Hiromi’s character, such that I think his character arc can be read as an allegory for coming out and self acceptance.

The closet, here, is a space not only for secrecy and repression, but also for becoming; it is the space in which queer identities build themselves up from “disused pieces” and attempt to discover the strength needed for presentation to the world. The closet is both a space of profound fear and profound courage—of potentiality and actualization. (Prologue)

Unlike the kid/teen characters, the show’s adult characters all lead double lives. When they aren’t skating, they have day jobs. Kaoru is a calligrapher, Kojiro is a restaurant owner, Ainosuke is a politician/businessman (but tbh his job is just being some rich dude), and Hiromi works in a flower shop.

But of the adult protagonists (so not Ainosuke), Hiromi compartmentalizes the most.

Kojiro leaves his face totally exposed such that he can be recognized both on and off the skate scene. Kaoru at least covers his face, but his trademark pink hair and constant use of Carla doesn’t make it very hard to connect the dots between him and CHERRY. He’s also always with Kojiro in the evenings, so if you don’t recognize him as CHERRY when he’s on his own, you certainly will when you see him interacting with Kojiro/JOE.

Next to these two, Hiromi seems the more adamant at separating his Work from Play.

Even when he’s been clearly found it, he still tries to deny that he and SHADOW are the same person. Miya even uses this to coerce Hiromi into helping him and the boys:

I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the separation between Hiromi and SHADOW can be interpreted as a metaphor for being in The Closet. As SHADOW, he leads a secret life, one characterized by an tight-knit underground community with a vibrant night scene, where he behaves in ways typically frowned upon by larger society. He worries about being found out and judged by the people close to him.

But in Ep 4, the walls of his Closet begins to come down, or in this case is literally imposed upon by other members of his community, by its younger members, who don’t feel the same need to hide their passion for skateboarding or lead the same kind of double life.

We then see the line between Hiromi and SHADOW begin to blur.

He becomes less of an antagonist, and instead the audience sees him become a mentor and “mother hen” figure for the younger skaters. Later on in Ep 4, we see him casually interacting with the other protags in full SHADOW mode, not as an “anti-hero” but as a friend.  In Ep 6, he acts as a babysitter for the kids, and we see him totally comfortable appearing both in an out of his SHADOW persona throughout their vacation.

And I think that this gradual convergence of Hiromi and SHADOW will culminate in this tournament arc.

There’s something more personal that’s driving SHADOW to do well in this tournament. It’s not just for bragging rights or his pride as a skater, but the results of this tournament is going to have some kind of greater impact on Hiromi’s personal life. Personally, my theory is that Hiromi is using this tournament to prove to himself that he’s worthy enough to ask his manager out on a date.

Hiromi is no longer compartmentalizing, his two lives are overlapping and influencing each other. Recall the essay quote I cited earlier:

The closet... is the space in which queer identities build themselves up from “disused pieces” and attempt to discover the strength needed for presentation to the world... of potentiality and actualization.

This is exactly the case for Hiromi. Through skating, he is piecing together the disparate parts of him such that he can present himself to the world as a more unified and confident being.

And the show presents the very skating community that Hiromi has been working so hard to keep separated from his personal life- Reki, Langa, Miya, Kaoru, and Kojiro- as the catalyst for that becoming.

That, my dear readers, is queer coding if I ever saw it.

But there’s probably gonna be people claiming something along the lines of “But SHADOW can’t be queer rep because he’s Straight!” And I assume that’s because he shows romantic interest in his female manager.

First of all, Bisexuality. Also Ace/aro-spec people. And second of all, SHADOW is Hiromi’s drag persona.

And before anyone can say anything about how Hiromi can’t do drag because he’s straight (assumption) and cis (also an assumption) uhhhh no, fuck you.

Drag didn’t start with RuPaul’s Drag Race, that’s just how it got mainstream. And it’s also how it got so gentrified and transphobic. You heard me. But anyway.

Drag is, and has always been, first and foremost about exaggerated, and oftentimes satirical, gender presentation and performance. It’s about playing with gender norms through artistic dress and theater, not so much to do with sexuality or gender identity.

Literally, what’s the difference here?

SHADOW is a persona of exaggerated masculinity with a punk aesthetic. Regardless of his sexuality or gender identity, Hiromi’s gender performance as SHADOW is drag- that makes him queer representation, change my fucking mind.

Queerness is more than same-sex romance, and by extension, good queer representation is not limited to canonized gay ships. The very word Queer, in it’s ambiguity, is meant to encompass the richly unique experiences of everyone within the LGBTQ+ community.

In my opinion, Queer =/= Gay. I mean, they’re colloquially the same yes and even I use them interchangeably. But for the purpose of this post, they’re not the same, and that’s to argue that Hiromi/SHADOW’s lack of acknowledgement as queer rep illustrates a larger issue of exclusion within fandom.

I mean, this is something we all kinda been knew, but in the case of Sk8 specifically, there are a two main reasons why I think Hiromi is rarely acknowledged as queer rep.

1. He’s not shippable with another male character

Fandom favors mlm ships when it comes to what’s considered good queer rep. And the ultimate mark of good queer rep is explicit acts of romance or intimacy between two male characters. Unlike with any of the other characters in the show, we can’t point to Hiromi and automatically clock him as gay, especially because he expresses romantic interest in a woman.

So by default, he’s less popular, because “Ew Straight People” amirite /s.

2. He’s not attractive

This is really interesting, because like JOE, Hiromi is a beefcake.

But fans don’t thirst over him the same way they do over JOE. Granted, the show really plays up JOE’s muscles in a very strip-teasey way that literally encourages viewers to find him attractive. By contrast, Hiromi is pretty much covered head to toe and he paints his face in theatrical makeup- the point is to look scary, not attractive.

In essence, even though Hiromi engages in “queer behavior” through his SHADOW persona, his queerness isn’t palatable.

But I also think there’s some pretty insidious undercurrents of fetishization going on here, of both Asian people AND gay men. Which is... a whole other thing I really don’t have the capacity to unpack completely.

But basically, Hiromi doesn’t fit into any of the popular BL archetypes so he’s less likely to recognized as Queer. Relatedly, he’s also less often subjected to a fetishistic gaze as other characters. I mean...

So again, fans just don’t find him as appealing. Attractive characters are always more popular than ugly ones.

And I’m sure there are a lot of people who just don’t care for Hiromi’s personality, that’s fine, he does act like an asshole sometimes. But this post is meant to illustrate that queer rep takes multiple forms, and unfortunately I think a lot of media just tends to fall back on stereotypical portrayals of queer people for the sake of broader appeal. And by consequence, the fandom’s idea of what constitutes queer rep narrows to same-sex romance, usually between two cis gay men.

With the release of Ep 9, I know a lot of people queer people are going to find representation in the Kojiro’s whole “unrequited love” thing. But personally, I feel more represented by Hiromi, his journey of self-acceptance and subversive relationship with gender- that’s what resonates with me as a trans person.

And I think it’s important to see that kind of less palatable type of queer representation more acknowledged in fandom, and in Sk8′s fandom especially, because I know the demographics of this fandom lean heavily queer.

But that’s all for now, lemme know what you guys think :)

[velkynkarma]

Big List of FMA Parental Roy Mustang Fic Recs

Recently a family member of mine has been enjoying Fullmetal Alchemist for the first time. I’ve been revisiting it too for fun. While I was at it, I decided to poke through the fandom, revisit old fic favorites, and see if there were any good new ones. 

Turns out: there are!

I was always a big fan of Roy Mustang, and especially fics where he acts as a surrogate parental figure for Ed and Al, accidentally or intentionally. It was hard to find good ones though, so I thought I’d throw together a list of fic recs. 

Everything here is platonic, and does not focus on romantic relationships. Fics can be from the 2003 anime, Brotherhood, or the manga. 

To the Night Sky by Ranowa 

Summary: They tell him he lost his mind. He doesn't remember anything else, so he believes them. But if that's the case, then why does he sometimes feel like he doesn't belong here... and neither does that little, annoying, blond kid named Ed? 

Comments: In the author’s words, ‘not a traditional amnesia fic,’ and it sure isn’t. Long, eventful, has a ton of hurt/comfort but also a great background plot that ends up becoming more important the farther you go. This author also has a few other great FMA fics that are worth checking out, but this one stuck out to me the most. 

War Heroes by Akarii

Summary: Drawn by rumors of a Philosopher's Stone, Edward travels to North City along with Roy and the soldiers of Eastern Command who plan to compete in the North vs. East Training Exercises. However, Ed and Roy find their lives at risk when they get captured by a rebellion group who aim for the end of all State Alchemists and the entire Amestrian government.

Comments: Great adventure fic with some good hurt/comfort, but also plenty of Roy and Ed both kicking ass and taking names. This author also has some other FMA fics that are definitely worth checking out as well, but this was again the stand-out for me. 

Number Twenty Eight by Sevlow

Summary: As of today, Edward Elric had been missing for four months, two weeks, and five days.

Comments: An oldie but still a goodie. Ed goes missing, and when he’s found again, he’s a Nina-esque dog chimera in bad shape. With Al on the other side of the country chasing down another lead on his missing brother, it’s up to Roy to try and fix Ed, and take care of him in the interim. Chimera!fic was a dime a dozen back in the days of the 2003 anime fandom, but this was one of the ones that delivered on the premise. Years later, it still holds up and remains a personal favorite, with plenty of hurt/comfort and dark humor moments. Sevlow has a lot of other Roy-centric fics that are equally good, though not necessarily parental!Roy.

Warning: Parts of this fic do get super dark, with references to suicide, gore, and implied sexual abuse during Ed’s missing months. 

Bookwrm389: This author had some of my favorite FMA fics back in the day. Imagine my shock when I discovered their FF.net account has been completely deleted within the past year. Thankfully, they only orphaned their stories on AO3, so they’re still available. Since it is an orphaned account now, I can’t link to it for people to browse at their leisure, so here’s individual links to all my favorites:

Gold from Lead ~ There were whispers. There was absolutely no way to stop them. Ed would rip out his spleen if he knew what all those people were insinuating about the two of them.

Comments: Ed gets kidnapped by insurgents to be used as ransom against his father. The problem? Thanks to the rumor mill, everyone thinks his father is Colonel Roy Mustang. 

Your Son ~ "I'm not your father. It's not fair that you can affect me this much." A military function becomes a nightmare when Ed accidentally takes a poisoned drink meant for Roy.

Comments: Exactly what it says on the tin. Somebody tries to assassinate Roy, and Ed gets caught in the crossfire. Excellent hurt-comfort. Also features Maes Hughes being awesome, and Roy having an existential oh my god am I a dad????? moment. 

Tempest ~ Ed is adamant that he doesn't need a father. And it's only when he's about to lose the closest thing he has to one that he understands how very wrong he is.

Comments: Has a solid dose of both action-adventure and hurt/comfort and found family moments. It’s the full package. 

Shadow of a Doubt ~ It was meant to be a simple inspection, but a disturbing dream makes Ed uneasy and fearful. His anxiety intensifies when the mission takes a dangerous turn, putting his and Mustang's lives at risk. Can he hold it together long enough to save them both?

Comments: Another nice, long fic with a good combination of action, hurt/comfort, and family moments. One of my favorites.

Likeness ~ One morning mere hours before an inspection, Roy is amazed to receive absolute proof that his young subordinate is growing up.

Comments: A surprisingly adorable fic in which Roy ends up being the one to teach Ed how to shave. 

Bonus fics that aren’t specifically parental Roy but do still have some hilarious Roy and Ed interaction: 

Military Courtesy ~ Ed learns how to do a proper military salute and promptly drives the Colonel absolutely insane (or not)

Who’s the Alchemist? ~ A Who’s on First parody that goes exactly like how you’d expect but still had me cracking up

Name Calling by Lost_And_Longing

Summary: From the start, Roy Mustang had always believed in Edward Elric. Even after he'd learned the horrific story of their attempt at human transmutation, Mustang had just looked at Ed and offered him a chance. He'd come when Ed was despondent, weak, and helpless...and offered him a way out. Maybe that was why, out of all the men Ed knew, Roy was the closest thing he'd ever had to a father.

Comments: A 5+1 based on all the different names and titles Ed uses for Roy. Has a nice dollop of humor, hurt/comfort, and parental moments. 

Of Hospitals and Health by ReminiscentRevelry

Summary: Al is still recovering after the Promised Day, so Colonel Mustang pays him a visit.

Comments: Post-series (although not by much). A nice fic where Al actually gets a little moment with Mustang. Most parental Roy fics are with Ed, so this was a nice change of pace as well as as sweet little fic in which Roy shows he cares about both of the Elrics, even if only one is technically his subordinate.

Twelve Cups of Coffee by BeyondtheClouds777

Summary: Roy finds a sleep-deprived Edward in his office.

Comments: Just a cute little one shot in which a freshly appointed State Alchemist Edward Elric overworks himself trying to find the solutions to his and Al’s problem, and Roy makes sure he knows not to push himself too hard.

Point of Exhaustion by Took-Baggins

Summary: Roy never thought he'd be the one to be there when Edward finally pushed himself too far, but when the Fullmetal Alchemist suddenly collapses there's no one else to hold him down until he can stand again.

Comments: Another fic in which Teenagers Are Just Bad At Knowing How To Take Care Of Themselves, so the adults step in to make sure they do. Ed’s not eating or sleeping properly when he’s so obsessed with getting Al’s body back and makes himself sick. Features both a parental Roy and a parental Hawkeye, because both of them are fed up with the smallest youngest member of their team not properly taking care of himself and are not gonna let that stand. 

When the Rain Falls by Marcellebelle

Summary: Colonel Roy Mustang has two problems: Edward and Alphonse Elric.

Comments: Still a WIP, but the first two chapters are definitely promising. A sickly Ed calls Roy asking for help when his brother is kidnapped, and now Roy has to find one and make sure the other is taken care of. Really looking forward to seeing where this one goes.

As always, if you take the time to check any of these out, try to leave a comment or kudos for the writers and their hard work!

[mari-beau]

GIVE ME A REASON: PART FIVE -A Rogue One fanfic

I honestly don’t know this was going to take the detour it did, but hey, that’s fine. Anyway, Jyn is very confused about her attachment to Cassian, and his own messy feelings.

Also on AO3

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Title: Give Me A Reason: Part Five

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Characters: Jyn Erso POV, Cassian Andor

Pairing: Cassian/Jyn (mostly pre-ship?)

Spoilers: Rogue One; Episode IV A New Hope

Setting: Post-Rogue One AU (Cassian & Jyn live); Also during/post A New Hope

Warnings: Implied Bi!Cassian; References to Naked Times in the Shower; Characters being hot messes and confused about Feelings

Words: 3,226

Story Summary: Jyn’s entire universe has been turned on its head, so maybe she’s clinging a little too hard to the one thing she feels certain of (strangely enough) as she tries to figure out her place in the galaxy. And maybe she’s being a little overprotective of a wounded captain.

Also can be found on AO3.

The energy level in the large mess hall was an incongruous mix of highs and lows. Quite a number of people were congregated at various tables, but it wasn’t at capacity. Some groups were chattering away, with a happiness and lightness Jyn honestly couldn’t recall witnessing in anyone in a long, long time, on any planet or moon. But there were other groups, and individuals, that were quiet, lethargic, mostly just nursing cups of restorative drinks and pushing bland food around their plates. Hungover.

Jyn supposed that made sense. Either way, no one was really in a down mood. They were either still excited about the Great Victory, or suffering the consequences from being too excited about it the previous night.

Why did she feel like Cassian and herself were the mopiest pair in the entire mess hall? Yes, it was really gratifying to know that their suicide mission hadn’t been entirely in vain. They had more than succeeded, the plans had been transmitted to the rebels, and the rebels had used them to destroy the Death Star. But still… The feeling of loss weighed heavily on Jyn. And she sensed it was yet another burden laid on Cassian’s shoulders. In a vulnerable, pained moment, he’d told her that maybe it would’ve been better if she’d left him on Scarif when they’d miraculously been spared from the blastwave. And perhaps near the end there (what should’ve been the end), he’d embraced the release from his conscience as hard as he’d embraced her.

She understood. She’d felt the peace there on that beach, as well.

The thing was, she still felt it, with him. Even when filled with other confusing emotions, some of which he was the cause of, she still felt… content… even happy? Was this what happy felt like?

Well, no, maybe not this, not still half-mourning a father she’d lost decades ago but then lost again, mourning the loss of the friends she’d made in just a matter of a day but who had been truer than any others in her life, coming to terms with the guilt of leading so many on a suicide mission, which she then survived.

And Cassian had survived.

“I’ll get the food,” Jyn said after they’d found a table tucked in a corner and Cassian claimed the seat that allowed him to put his back to the wall. (Of course). Jyn would’ve chosen it herself, but she didn’t protest that she would be forced to sit with her back to the entire mess hall. He was rubbing at his leg. The memory of the surgical scars running down his hip and thigh, barely a week old, a fresh pink against olive skin, popped abruptly into her mind. She shoved them aside. “Is there anything specific you want?”

“No.” He was smiling even as he shook his head. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I’m not picky.”

“Me, neither.” Force, sometimes they were so much the same, their lives filled with the same sort of deprivation, that it hurt. It hurt to think of the little boy Cassian had been, not having a favorite food, because having food at all was something to be grateful for. Something Jyn had known herself, still knew, and would never unlearn her associated habits of eating too much (if given the opportunity) and too fast.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and headed towards the serving line.

A couple people stared as she added more than two helpings of everything to her tray, but she thought it was more out of shock over the disproportionate amount of food to her size than anger that she was maybe taking more than her share. By the time she’d collected enough to feed an entire unit of Wookies and headed back to Cassian, two humans in non-uniforms (which wasn’t uncommon for the rebels) had sat down at the table.

They were the type of people who took up more space than they needed. An amateurish attempt at intimidating others through establishing dominance. Jyn had learned to be more wary of those who drew no attention, who lurked in the shadows, who had unassuming appearances disguising a lethality the brazen could never hope to possess.

So it was really just instinct that had her assessing gaze passing over the two trying-too-hard-to-have-swagger rebels to the slight man sitting quietly in the corner. He was a killer, undeniably. But not by choice. And Jyn knew something she thought most didn’t remotely suspect; Cassian Andor was soft deep down inside. And every terrible thing he’d done tortured him. Which made him even more dangerous, especially to Jyn, who she feared may be the only one to have ever seen his vulnerability, his humanity. To everyone else, he was just some Rebel super-spy-assassin, a good little soldier.

He’d locked eyes with her, but neither of his companions had seemed to notice, instead going on about some miraculous feats of badassery during some mission or other.

“You’re in my seat,” Jyn said, interrupting the bigger of the pair mid-sentence.

The man who was easily twice her size froze, puffing himself up when he looked at her, not that he needed to with that bulk of muscle, but his first instinct was obviously to meet her firm tone with aggression. She knew the response of those who’d survived on the streets well. And even if this was no seedy back alley or dive, this was her territory. And she wasn’t going to be the one to back down.

“Am I?” Big man said.

Before Jyn could respond, Cassian’s quiet voice cut in.

“You are.”

The big man looked at the wounded captain and his entire demeanor changed. Apparently, the soldier knew Cassian for the dangerous creature he was.

After a brief moment in which the expression on Cassian’s face gave nothing away, Big Man’s attention returned to Jyn.

“Uh, sorry,” he said, vacating the chair. Setting the heavily-laden tray down, Jyn plopped into the spot opposite Casian as the big guy lumbered off to find another chair, seemingly to rejoin them. Ugh.

Jyn slid the tray across the table in front of Cassian, then dragged her chair to sit directly beside him. There was no way to lift any of the dishes off the tray without losing some of the impressive pile of food. They could share.

She reached across Cassian and grabbed some sort of bread roll and- oh, force, he smelled good, like the cleanser from the shower and freshly washed skin that was silky smooth except for the scars and- she shoved the roll in her mouth before she did something embarrassing like hop onto his lap and bury her face in his neck.

The very large rebel’s companion had remained at the table, and was staring. Yes, at Jyn, but also at Cassian, at the pair of them, at the pile of food she’d torn into but Casian was contemplating eating with an actual utensil like some sort of civilized person. And the man’s gaze dropped, but Jyn knew it wasn’t to assess her attributes, none were visible beneath the loose-fitting clothes she was wearing, Cassian’s clothes. Oh. Right.

“You must be Jyn Erso,” he said and held out a hand, which was surprisingly clean, so Jyn shoved the last bite of roll into her mouth and shook it. Firm but not too firm, and his dark brown eyes were surprisingly soft as they met her gaze, a little guarded and very curious. This one was obviously the more intelligent of the pair.

“That I am,” she said after swallowing the large piece of bread that threatened to lodge in her throat. “And you are…?”

“Oh,” he laughed self-consciously. He had a nice, easy going smile. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m Tarrek Zin.” His large friend returned with a chair. “And this is Utto.”

The giant known as Utto nodded, grunted in response, before sitting down in the chair that was obviously ill-equipped to handle his bulk. A man of even less words than the spy.

“And you’re… friends of Cassian?” she asked, trying not to appear too interested. Who were these people? Cassian didn’t have friends. Not that she’d known him all that long, but she was pretty certain the man was a resolute loner. Aside from K-2SO, who was lost to him now.

“Yes,” Tarrek said at the same time Cassian said, “No.”

She withheld her laughter because Tarrek Zin seemed genuinely a little hurt by the terse captain’s response.

“We’ve worked together before,” Cassian gave as further explanation. “They’re…”

“Freelance,” Tarrek said.

Cassian gave a little snort of laughter. “That’s one way to put it.” He took a larger bite of the mystery protein.

“Oh, what does that mean?” Now, Jyn was intrigued. They were an odd sort to find on a military base, even amongst the ragtag collection of rebels that formed the Alliance. They were both human, Jyn thought, although there could be a bit of something else in the big man, who was surprisingly not unattractive for a bruiser type, with thick brown hair and a symmetrical face with a square jaw and only a small crescent scar on one cheek. The smaller man was by no means small, taller than Cassian, well built with flawless brown skin and a friendly, appealing face with just a hint of scruff neatly trimmed into a goatee. And a charmer’s grin, which he turned on Jyn.

“We find things.”

Again, that ironic little half-laugh from Cassian, who finally looked up from the pile of food.

“They steal things,” he said, pointing his fork at them. “Don’t let Tarrek try to pretty it up. They’re nothing more than thieves.”

“So’s your girl, from what I hear,” Tarrek said. “Didn’t you all find her in Wobani, serving time for forgery and assault amongst many other crimes?”

“She’s not my girl,” Cassian said, not denying her criminal record. And Jyn would be lying if she claimed the denial that she was his girl didn’t hurt a little. Even though it shouldn’t. She wasn’t a possession. And neither was Cassian, so she could stop feeling possessive of him, as well, really-

“Then you’re a free agent?” Tarrek flashed that charming grin of his again, with an edge of mischievousness. And a bit of something else in his eyes as he lookd at Cassian. “Because with the Empire scrambling after the destruction of their favorite new toy, no one’s going to notice if some stray things get found. We could use your skills on at least a dozen different jobs I can think of…” Tarrek shot a brief glance to Jyn before returning his attention to Cassian. “And Not Your Girl for that matter.”

“I think I’ve made it very clear I will not be going on any jobs with you,” Cassian said. “Even if the Alliance thought we’d need someone with your skillset again for some reason, I’d find someone else.”

Oh, wow. That seemed a little harsh, even from the jaded captain. The hurt on Tarrek’s face was blatant, and he looked away. Jyn couldn’t help but think there was some sort of complicated history at play.

“May I…?” Utto asked, indicating the crispy poultry leg sitting near the edge of the tray, the big man oblivious to the undercurrents of the conversation.

“Uh… be my guest,” Jyn said and large, burly fingers snatched it right up. Unsurprisingly, the whole drumstick fit in the man’s mouth. He ate even faster than Jyn, chewing a bit then pulling the bare bone out, picked absolutely clean in less time than it took Cassian to cut another bite off the brick of vegetable-thing or whatever it was. Food. That’s all Jyn needed to know.

“Well, we better get going if we want to get a good seat at the ceremony, seeing as we’re not guests of honor,” Tarrek said, seeming to have recovered from the hurt feelings enough to tease. Cassian made a displeased noise but said nothing as Tarrek got to his feet and locked eyes with the rebel captain. Some sort of weird exchange passed between them, that seemed almost- “The offer always stands if you change your mind.”

“I won’t,” Cassian said, then went back to studiously eating.

Tarrek rolled his eyes but then gave Jyn a broad grin, leaning over to whisper loudly, “You think about it, too, Jyn Erso. Maybe you can convince the captain here not to throw his life away for the rebellion.”

Jyn just gave him a nod, disconcerted about the man’s extremely accurate knowledge of Cassian. Or maybe his unwavering loyalty was just that obvious.

“Let’s get out of here,” Tarrek said to his large companion, who appeared about Wookie-size when he stood up, only beefier.

Utto lingered a moment as his friend walked away, and Cassian frowned at him, that furrow forming between his brows. Jyn’s curiosity was also piqued as the moment stretched out awkwardly long, Utto’s fierce blue-grey gaze scouring Cassian’s face.

Cassian broke first, dropping his fork onto the tray with a clatter and sighing loudly.

“You have something you want to say, Utto?” he asked.

“You hurt Tarrek,” he said. “Don’t change your mind about joining us. Unless you mean it.”

“Understood,” Cassian said. “Is that all?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Utto glanced at Jyn, then gave Cassian another assessing look before grunting and shaking his head, then stalked off after his partner.

Cassian returned his attention to the food in front of him, like nothing had happened at all.

“What was that?” Jyn asked, her mind racing, trying to put everything she’d just witnessed into some sort of context.

“Nothing,” Cassian said. “Just two of many I’ve pissed off.”

“But they’re angry because they want you.” Jyn was pretty sure about what she’d just witnessed, albeit confusing.

“The Alliance used them to break into an Imperial facility. We were after intelligence stored there. Tarrek and Utto made out like the bandits they are by stealing the tech stored there and selling it on the black market. It was their most lucrative job ever. They still pick up odd smuggling tasks for the rebellion, but they want me to help them with more heist like that again.”

His face was closed off, but Jyn needed to know if she was right, needed for Cassian to continue to let her in, needed his trust and confidence.

“I get that,” she said, “but they want you… like physically. At least, Tarrek does.”

Cassian met her gaze, slowly closed his eyes, sighed and shook his head.

“I never should’ve kissed him.”

“Oh.” Well, that explained both the heat and the chill in Tarrek’s gaze when he looked at Cassian. Apparently, it hadn’t been just one-sided. And maybe she’d been reading Cassian’s looks, the way he touched her, all wrong. Maybe the intimacy they’d shared in the shower, naked but not uncomfortable, washing one another with tender caresses, had only held sexual undertones on her side. Maybe he wasn’t attracted to her in the same way she was to him. Maybe he- “You er… kiss males?”

“Sometimes,” he shrugged. “When it’s necessary to complete a mission.” He licked his lips. “Sometimes just because I want to.”

Jyn stared at the pile of green puree of what she hoped was a vegetable of some sort, trying to swallow down the stupid feelings clashing inside of her; jealousy and possessiveness, hurt, and even a little bit of titillation contemplating Cassian’s sexual history.

Long fingers skimmed the back of her hand and curled around hers, squeezing gently until she met those rich, dark eyes of his.

“Sometimes I kiss females, too.” He held her gaze so she resisted the urge to stare at his mouth.

“When it’s necessary to complete a mission?”

“And just because I want to.”

Did he want to? Jyn felt like he did, thought everything in the way he looked at her indicated a deep affection and need for her. But at the same time, she knew he wouldn’t, not here in a public place, not when he hadn’t even kissed her when they were alone. Not even when they were naked, standing under the spray of water, his hands buried in her hair, rinsing out the cleanser, her hands wrapped around his waist, helping to support his weight, her skin prickling with the closeness of his body, the caress of his fingers on her scalp, the feeling of his-

“We should get moving,” he said, releasing her hand to push his chair back and stand, looking only a little unsteady on his feet. “We need to find you some clothes that fit.”

“Why?” Jyn said, standing as well and brushing her hand over the front of the loose shirt. At least Cassian wasn’t an extremely large man, or else his clothes would fall right off her. As it was, she’d had to roll up the sleeves of his shirt and tuck as much as possible into the fatigues that she’d belted to cinch in at the waist, which would’ve been entirely hopeless if he wasn’t a lean man. She’d also had to roll up the hems to her ankles. She had no other option than the infirmary shoes. Okay, she looked ridiculous. But she didn’t care. The clothes smelled like Cassian and made her feel perpetually wrapped up in him.

“It’s not exactly fit for being presented to a princess.”

Cassian reached to pick up the tray, which Jyn felt a little bit of guilt for not having completely cleaned of its contents and wasting food, but there had been unforeseen interruptions. She grabbed it before he could, doubting his ability to walk and carry a laden tray a few days after major surgeries and with bones still healing. But had he said,

“Princess?! What princess?”

“Princess Leia will be hosting the ceremony.”

“Oh.” Jyn headed across the mess hall to bus the remains of their meal, perhaps moving a little too quickly for her wounded companion, a sort of panicky nervousness fluttering in her stomach as their potentially being the center of attention approached. It would be brief if they were, she tried to tell herself. The last time she’d been the center of the Alliance’s attention hadn’t gone well. Had, in point of fact, ended in a rogue suicide mission.

“You’ll be fine. She’s Bail Organa’s daughter. Sensible woman. Fierce.”

Jyn shoved the tray into the reclamation unit a little harder than necessary. “And how do you know her?”

Cassian laughed, light and genuine.

“I don’t know her, not personally.” His hand went to her shoulder, seemingly to guide her but she knew the request inherent in it and snaked her arm around his waist to let him lean a little of his weight on her. “Let’s see if we can track down your missing clothes.”

Jyn didn’t care if they couldn’t. Let the princess see her in Cassian’s clothes, let everyone think they were together. Because whether or not he kissed her, whether or not it was romantic, Cassian Andor was hers. Even if he sent her away and she never saw him again while she lived, he would always be hers.

Force, she needed to get a handle on this possessiveness. Because it owned her. He owned her.

His palm came to rest on the back of her neck as they left the mess and headed towards the storage and supply wing of the base. His thumb stroked along her nape and she leaned into him, relaxed as a Savarian cat being petted.

Dank farrik, did she ever belong to him.

[honeyandbloodpoetry]

Gender Thoughts Pt 1 and 2

The first time I put a binder on, a little under a week ago, I felt euphoric. Ever since I hit puberty very early on, I felt uncomfortable with my breasts. They never felt right on me, and even though I’ve come to love them sometimes, they still don’t always feel like they match up. I hated how people always looked at them, pointed out how much they showed in low cut shirts when I never even noticed they were--or even wanted them to. They were just there. I liked the way low cut shirts feel and look on me, I just can’t help these giant sacks of flesh that sit on my chest. 

Except...now I can! I ran my hands over my smooth chest, feeling bright. I looked into the mirror, and felt something warm wash over me. I put on my new masculine clothes, letting my partner clip on my new suspenders. I realized that I was shaking as I looked at myself again… I looked like a boy. I felt like a boy. Like a man. And I liked it. I wanted it. Admitting that to myself was like coming home. 

I remember being in sixth grade, walking around the track for my civil air patrol class. I had been slotted in with the rest of the girls, the boys walking ahead of us. I remember feeling uncomfortable being shoved in with only girls, and looking at the gaggle of boys ahead. The exact thought that whispered in my brain was “I wish I was a boy. I want to be like them, with them.” I never forgot that moment, and how strange it made me feel. How it was easier to shake that thought away, and dismiss those feelings. Except they never really left, did they? 

I remember sitting on my bed, crying with my best friend kneeling in front of me. I remember telling her how I didn’t like feeling like a woman all the time. That I wished I could be a black shadow, monstrous, androdynous. Specifically like Venom. She took my hand, did my makeup all in black and helped me pick out the perfect black outfit to achieve that dark, gothic look. I was so incredibly happy and validated. But I still felt like something was missing. 

I remember going into an Adam and Eve for laugh, not expecting much since I am an asexual with a low libido. I remember seeing packers and feeling my chest tighten. I never liked my genitalia--I had wished for a cloaca or something akin to that, but since that was biologically impossible for a human… I sometimes wished I had the opposite of a vagina. I frequently imagined what it would be like to have a penis. I frequently lamented the fact that I didn’t have one. I took the box up to the counter to ask some questions, my dress swishing as I went. The cashier told me it was for trans people only, and a girl like me couldn’t have it. She didn’t know what asexuality was, and had tried polyamory once but decided it was bad when her girlfriend kissed her boyfriend. I was upset, disheartened, and left the store empty handed feeling frustrated and lost.

I remember finally cutting the long, curly locks that had frustrated and imprisoned me for so long. Seeing all of my hair fall to the floor, staring into the mirror as the barber buzzed the back of my head… It made me want to cry tears of joy. It was the first time in my entire life that I had looked at my hair and was happy. The first time I could look in the mirror and feel like myself. Then I remember wanting to go shorter, and my barber encouraging me to keep it a little longer so I didn’t look manly, so I could still be soft and feminine. The way my stomach dropped and the sick feeling in my chest only increased when he began to make fun of the gay men who came down the street near his favorite restaurant. I never saw that barber again. I instead found a nice local place down the road from my apartment, where the kind lady cut it all off without question, other than “Why?” and accepted my warm “It makes me happy. It makes me feel beautiful.” 

But wearing that binder for the first time? It was as if a beam of light had funneled its way directly into my heart. I felt like a handsome man, with just a little bit of striking man boob, and it felt so right. My partner called me a dashing boy and my heart began to race. I still feel his hand tracing my jawline as he called me handsome, and the butterflies it sent up through my belly, even after more than eleven years. 

I love my partner--he identifies as agender and primarily masculine, and has been on the lookout for a good pair of size thirteen shoes to wear with a dress. They also wear joggers and flip flops and graphic tees and can’t seem to stop talking about the ocean and outer space. They’re probably one of my biggest inspirations for finding myself, and being authentically me. 

I’m not super sure who or what I am right now. I’m still figuring that out, but I’m pretty sure I’m somewhere between agender and genderfluid. I feel like me more than anything else, but all pronouns make me feel good. I feel like all of them and none of them at once, but I swing between wanting to be feminine and masculine pretty strongly, though I enjoy being masculine most of all--even when I’m wearing dresses and pink. I feel like a beautiful person in a dress or a button down, no matter what gender I feel like today or tomorrow. 

I am me. And I am one dashing boy, and one beautiful girl. 

4 July 2021

XXX

Since first writing this little essay, I’ve been doing a lot more examination of my gender. I have come to the conclusion that I am transmasc and nonbinary, and am shaky on the title of genderfluid. I am feeling less and less like a woman--if anything, occasionally adjacent to a woman rather than actually being one. I love feeling like and presenting as a man. I have my first appointment with a gender services doctor at my local community clinic for consultation on starting hrt testosterone. I am planning to start with low dose first, and see how I feel. 

I am still unsure of my exact identity, but I have found great euphoria with being and presenting as a man. I love being a man and everything that entails. I have loved myself like never before. Being with my partner is amazing, and he has been endlessly supportive--even recounting little things they had noticed throughout the years. One of the funniest being that I only ever referred to my body parts--my belly, hands, hair, genitalia--with masculine pronouns. I always seemed to see my body as male even if I had a certain sort of dissonance from it. 

Coming out has been difficult. I have had both positive and negative experiences from it. I have been told going on testosterone would be self harm, and that I can’t be something I’m not. I’ve had coworkers I trusted out me without my permission. But I have also had positive affirmation, polite questions, and discussions. I am terrified to tell my mother and her boyfriend--I have no idea how they will react and am terrified that I will be disrespected and disowned. 

But I am prepared to do whatever it takes to be my happiest and most authentic self. 

I have been binding a lot more often, wearing sports bras for long shifts at work, and occasionally going without either when I feel like letting my man boobs hang free. I’ve had the delightful experience of going to a men’s big and tall store and finally wearing pants. I grew up as a fat girl and felt as if I had to perform high femininity to be taken seriously and be treated well--and had been told by someone I trusted that I was too fat to wear pants, which I heavily internalized. So I had completely cast them away in favor of dresses and skirts, bows and gaudy jewelry. Realizing that I could wear pants was...totally wild. That I could be comfortable and look good in pants and shorts, and that it didn’t matter what people did or thought of me was life changing. Maybe I’ll feel like being feminine again someday, but right now this masculinity and masculine clothing, with perhaps the added spice of funky earrings, feels like home. 

I also grew up autistic and with PCOS, both which I think have affected my gender identity. Being autistic, I truly struggled to connect to others socially, and especially to understand societal norms. Being a proper woman felt like I was making up for everything else I was lacking--I may have been awkward, semi-verbal and weird with no friends, but at least I was cute and girlish. I never connected to womanhood though, and always felt out of place no matter how hard I tried. With PCOS, I had heightened testosterone, which meant wider breasts and shoulders, a lack of periods, and excessive body hair. I recall the endocrinologist asking high school age me if I had excessive body hair around my stomach, breasts, etc. and my mother jumping to say no I didn’t...even though I did. I remember suddenly feeling very self aware and ashamed of something completely natural, and even something I started to enjoy. I started shaving my entire body then. 

I even remember being in middle school, and thinking nothing of my hairy legs. In fact, I loved my body hair and how it felt. A rude girl began making fun of me though, tutting her tongue as she cooed, “Aw, does your mommy not let you shave?” Among other things, all throughout many years of severe bullying and abuse. I remember feeling ashamed, but not knowing why, and immediately shaving my legs, covering them in nicks from my shaky and unsteady hands, that same night. 

So many things set me back in my gender expression. So many things contributed to me willful ignorance and denial. I remember wanting to be butch, and everyone in my life laughing at me and saying I was too soft for that. That sweet, sharp ache in my chest. I remember going to a salad bar with my mother, wearing a button up and telling her I wanted to wear some more boyish clothes around that same time--I had already told her that I was bi sometime earlier. I remember her lip curling, looking uncomfortable, and telling me that I better not become one of those boy girls. My late father was very vocal in denouncing homosexuality and specifically men loving men--something which always sat horribly wrong with me on a deeper level. 

I think I might ending up being a trans man. I am still unsure and figuring myself out, but I struggle greatly with the autistic need for sameness vs. the trans need for change. My sapphic love of women has always been very important to me, and fully becoming a man rather than genderfluid is scary for that very reason. I am still navigating my identity and what it means to me and my reality--but no matter what, being a man, being masculine is integral to who I am. 

I was called a “sir” at a job interview for the first time the other day, and nearly began to bawl from sheer joy. The gender euphoria from that and so many moments is worth so much more to me than the years of suffering and ignorance and my ongoing struggles with dysphoria. I finally got a packer and have had help from my partner in learning to position it properly--I am thinking of cutting my hair even shorter. I have almost perfected a pretty basic tie tying skill. Okay, not really, but I’m getting there. I feel deep inside that even though my father loved me, he would not like who and what I am. Still, I wear the last watch he ever wore, and hope to be a good man like him--and to learn from the toxic parts of him to be an even better man. 

I am very excited to start hrt. I am terrified of hair loss and vaginal atrophy, but I look forward to so much more. I cannot wait for bottom growth and body hair, for the voice drop that will hopefully get me misgendered less. I have always felt disconnected from my voice and look forward to getting to know it better as it changes with me. I look forward to meeting with new facial hair. Working out and growing muscle. I just look forward to my second puberty and becoming more like myself. I look forward to navigating and exploring my gender even further, both with loved ones, support groups, and myself. 

More than anything, I am just happy to be me. 

25 August 2021

[writefandoms]

YOU ARE SO SWEET! So as for my request Can I have a one-shot with Alucard from Castlevania and Phoenix reader? She was great friends with Belmont family but went into a very deep sleep and then the tria found and awakened her before they went to figgt with Dracula. After that she devoted herself to Alucard and stays with him. It's obvious they have feelings, like they hold hands, kiss each others forehead etc. Then Sumi and Taka comes, she senses somerhing evil from them and tries to warn him mulriple times and then he snaps and breaks her heart so she leaves. At that rime The other two prays for help to her, Alucard understand his mistake and prays for her as well before... you know the scene.

So she chooses Alu and literally comes througg the window with her wings and they fight but she gets terribly hurt especially her wings and they stabbed ger heart. But she comes back to life and tease him like "I don't die, remember?"

Something angst and fluffy would be appreciated. I'm sending you big bear hugs and hope that you will be able to write my request soon, because there is almost no one who writes for my baby! 🥰🤧

This took a long ass time to write lol I changed some things but I really like how it came out! Enjoy❤️❤️

My Angel

Summary: You and Adrian have an disagreement about two new guest residing in the castle.

Word Count: 1.9k

His beauty was almost intimidating. Silky blonde hair, that you love to gently run your fingers through. Golden eyes that have seen so much pain and suffering. His skin was pale and flawless, long faded scar across his chest only adding to his perfection.

Adrian likes to lie and say that your beauty goes beyond his. In his eyes, you’re an earthbound angel sent to him as a gift. Not only just referring to your perfect face or body, but the large wings that sprout from your back.

White wings with light brown roots, that usually lay folded on your back when you aren’t using them. There’s been some embarrassing incidents between you and Adrain, mainly dealing with your feathers. Sometimes they’ll get ruffled and need to be smoothed in a place you can’t reach, leading you to drag yourself to his doorstep, desperately trying to avoid eye contact as you ask him for help.

Choosing to live with Adrian after he was forced to kill his father, you two have been through a lot together. So the switch from constantly moving to a domestic lifestyle was an odd but welcomed change.

Sitting at the kitchen table watching him gracefully move through the kitchen was always so entertaining. His hair fell in soft waves over his shoulder, but never seemed to get in his way.

“You could always help you know.” He spoke with his back to you, as he bent over peeking at the fish in the oven.

“I would only get in your way,” You threw back, a perverse smirking finding its way onto your face. “Besides, the view is much more appealing from over here.”

He snaps upright, casting a playful glare your way. “Go clear the table, and your filthy mind.”

Standing to gather the books you had on the table, you pile them on the counter. The research materials from the Belmont Hold was always so fascinating, you constantly found yourself entranced with the knowledge contained in the pages.

Adrian doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s a bit jealous of your admiration for Trevor Belmont’s Hold rather than the vast scientific knowledge his father has collected. You try not to acknowledge the petty rivalry, but think it’s sort of endearing.

Opening the cabinet to get the plates and silverware. He moves behind you, gently pushing past your wings. His presence stays near you, and you feel his fingers run across the middle of your right wing.

“Adrian!” Letting out a loud giggle as you push yourself further into the counter, trying to escape his attack. He laughs at your wiggling, and the way you unconsciously flap your wings.

He seized his attack, his hands finding their way around your waist. He rests his chin on your neck and pulls you back so your wings are flush against his back. Leaving a soft kiss on your neck, you run your hand down his cheek caressing the soft skin.

Comfortable silence fills the room as you both basking in each other's presence.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

Those twins were up to something, you just had this bad feeling in your gut.

Taka and Sumi were their name, and their story was heartbreaking. And you felt sorry for the suffering that they were forced to go through. It was easy to see that they were extremely desperate, and you know all too well how desperate people can do awful things.

Adrian, on the other hand, welcomed the two into his home with open arms. Cooking for them, training with them, and even brought them into the Belmont Hold.

They constantly asked about moving the castle, making you even more suspicious of their true nature.

Adrian didn’t want to listen to any of your concerns though. “You’re simply overreacting.”

“Overreacting? Adrian you just met these people, you don’t know them!” He rolled his eyes brushing past you.

“I will not listen to you if you’re going to yell.”

Reaching out you grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving, “Please Adrian. I know you feel like this is what your mother would have wanted.”

“I just don’t want you to place your trust into people who will only end up hurting you in the end.” You trail off, eyes searching his for a hint of understanding.

He yanks his arm out of your grasp, “I think I already have.” His words hit you harder than you thought they would.

“What?” Is all you manage to say, his glare hurting you as much as his venomous words.

“I am passing down the knowledge of the world to two people who want to use it to help others.” He pauses, looking away. “If you can’t want to accept that, then maybe you should go.”

The tense silence that fills the room weighs heavily between you two.

An eternity passes and you manage to hold your tears back, straightening your back and put on a strong face.

“Fine.”

Your feet feel heavy as you walk past him, pausing at the door for a moment. You prayed that he would pull you away from the door, tell you how much you mean to him and how he needed you to stay.

When that moment never came, you yanked the door open and left the blonde alone with his thoughts. “Goodbye, Alucard.” He visibly flinched at the use of his other title.

If he wanted to push you away to act like the people’s hero, then so be it.

Packing a small sack of clothing, food, and money that would last you at least a week. But the nearest town was only a three days flight away, so it should be enough. You didn’t know where you were going to go, but you didn’t really think that far. Pride tended to lead you to make rather drastic decisions without thinking.

You couldn’t see Adrian standing by any of the windows, giving you even more initiative to open your wings and take flight, leaving the man alone with his new friends.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—

A few hours of flying gave you some time to think and maybe you had overreacted. If he felt he was doing his dead mother justice by helping strangers in need, then who were you to stop him.

He needed some sort of closure after all the trauma he had suffered, and perhaps passing down this knowledge would help him mentally.

‘I really hate my big mouth sometimes.’ You thought mentally slapping yourself for all the awful accusations you made about the twins.

If you turned around right now, you could make it back before the sun rises. Swallow your pride and apologize to Adrian for being awful, and try to help him in any way you can. He’s been through enough and needs someone to help him.

“Shit!” You growled out, wings fluttering to a holt before spinning around and flying back.

It’s been a few months since you’ve flown this long, obvious from the slight ache coming from your wings. But despite your cramping muscles you still pushed through, moving faster through the air.

Two hours of flying south, turned into only an hour back north. It didn’t take much longer til you could see the trail leading up to the castle through the trees. A feeling of dread used to wash over you at its sight, but now filled your heart with joy.

Adrian’s three bedroom windows sat on the top floor, and despite his vampire blood he slept at night. The sun was full set now, meaning that he was most likely in his room. Only a few more minutes flying until you reached the castle.

This was a perfect opportunity for a dramatic entrance. Like something you’ve read in one of those romance novels in the library. Land on his window seal, large wings casting a dark shadow across his room waking him from his slumber. He would rush to open his window and you would collapse into his arms, sorrow filled words as you apologized for your cruelty. He would have one of his witty comebacks and embrace you in return.

Your daydream was ruined when you caught sight of multiple bodies on his bed. Instantly recognizing the two naked bodies as the twins.

Abruptly, you seized your flying choosing to not get any closer. Wings flapping to keep you in the air as you stared in horror at the imagery in front of you. Bodies entwining together with a sheen layer of sweat. The light skin woman moves to the side, exposing the naked pale beauty beneath her.

Your heart pounded in your ears, brain and heart struggling to agree on what to do. Part of you wanted to fly away, continue your journey. But another part of you wanted to throw a fit, scream at the half vampire for hurting you like this.

The pale body made a fast movement, his torso jerking off the bed slightly. But something about it didn’t seem right, the twins were sitting upright looking down at Adrian. The jerks at first appeared to be fits of pleasure, are clearly out of distress.

The twins pulled out daggers, exposing their true motives. Without think you flew towards the window, there was no time to run up to his room. Moving to enter through the window on the left of his bed, you prayed you would be fast enough.

“Adrian!” Your screams were dorwned out by the crashing of bokeh glass. Landing on the burgundy carpet, you groan in pain, thick drops of blood stained the ground around you. Shards of glass fall from your wings, some stuck withing the muscle.

Running over to the bed, the twins no longer sit above the half blood. Instead the two lay flat on there backs, pool of red spilling from their twitching lips. A floating swords with a thin trail of blood leers above the bed.

Despite the pain you staggered over to Adrians still form. His head turned to the side, splatter of blood across his cheek. Blonde hair spills over his eyes blocking his true expression.

“Dear God! Adrian…” There were heavy silver wires wrapped around him that must have been tying him down to the bed.

Loosened drastically by the twins losing control of the magic weapon, you were able to peel them away from the man. Carefully trying to avoid having the silver coming in contact with his skin, but based on the scarred tissue it probably didn’t matter.

“I shouldn’t have left,” your voice wavered at the empty look in his eyes. Hollow like a corpse, a broken doll.

He layed limply, allowing you to move him around. You move onto the bed, feeling him flinch at your close proximity. Moving back slightly, you pull his white sheet over his body. There’s a moment of silence before you hear a soft exhale of breath leave his body. Followed by another, then another. Soon he’s shaking besides you, tears flow freely down his cheeks.

Turning on his side, he reaches out to grip your sleeve bringing your hand closer to his face. As much as you long to hold him, you know he needs time so you allow him to touch you however he's comfortable with. He clutches your hand close to his face, you feel the wetness of his cheeks.

The moon shines down on both of you.

Sobs fill the icy night air, making it clear that God has long since abandoned this castle.

[dai-ou-sama]

Wrote a thing for AlbetherWeek2021!! Has themes of Day 1 and 3 (warmth and dreams), but it’s mostly just Albedo detailing how (and how much) he loves Aether.

—Please they‘re the epitome of a comfort ship I MEAN, WHICH OTHER SHIP HAS A STRING OF REPRESENTATIVE EMOJIS LIKE THIS: ☀️💫✨

Read on AO3 or down below!

Albedo woke to the sight of Aether curled against his chest, what, he decided, must have been his favourite sight in the world.

He was breathing in soft, gentle puffs, his shoulders rising and falling feather-like, nearly imperceptible. The sun had just barely risen. Its rays filtered through the curtains and set the room aglow with a soft golden light.

A draft of wind rustled past the curtains, parted them, stirred the dust in the air and illuminated them so they resembled snowflakes falling from the sky of their ceiling. Stray petals, all in different shades of yellow, drifted from the bundle of flowers hanging by their window onto their bed. They landed around Aether’s sleeping figure. Albedo laughed quietly to himself. It looked like a scene straight out of a fairytale.

For a while, he simply watched. Being in a sleep-tinged daze did not keep him from marveling at the sight of Aether; at his presence. It didn’t matter that this was a scene he woke to everyday. It hadn’t yet failed to steal his breath away and fill his heart with so much pure, unadulterated joy, that he thought it might burst.

Albedo watched him breathe; counted the seconds between each inhale and exhale. He mapped out the freckled constellations dusted over his cheeks and nose. Memorised them. He started combing through his hair, gingerly smoothing out the long locks with his fingers so Aether wouldn’t stir. He wondered at the way mornings casted Aether’s hair in light. Transformed them into strands of liquid gold solidified.

When all the knots in his hair were untangled, and all the stars across his face were found, he settled back into watching Aether breathe once more. It was a simple routine he repeated daily; one he fell more and more in love with with each passing day.

He reveled in the way warmth bloomed where their skin met skin. The way he could feel the soft thumps of Aether’s heart against his own even through the layers of fabric that lay between them. Thump, thump, thump. A steady, constant beat of life, heart to heart, that made him feel, more than anything, alive and corporeal and human.

There had been a time when Albedo had believed that he was an outsider living in a realm that he didn’t belong to. He was a hoax, an imposter, playing at human life in a masquerade.

He had doubted the very basis of his existence. Had questioned if his death would have amounted to anything more than an insignificant end to an artificial life. Like a porcelain doll falling to the ground, shattering out of existence.

From the faded memories of his youth, the written words of his old master had haunted him: Show me the true meaning of life and this world. Her final task to him before she had vanished into thin air.

Albedo hadn’t had an answer then. All he’d known were the laws of alchemy, the art of creation. Earth was the cumulative memory of time and being; soil was the origin of alchemy, the basis of all life; and chalk was the substance from which primal life was molded. There, written in words of fact. Simple, scientific. This he had understood. But what true meaning could have possibly been referring to had been lost on him.

No, he hadn’t had an answer. Not even then, when he would have given everything to see his master once more. When he’d been standing in the suddenly-too-empty halls of his old home, and wondering what the gnawing sense of absence inside him was. When he’d sat at the dining table that used to feed two people and eaten a dinner he hadn’t realised had long turned cold.

His master’s disappearance severed the only tether he’d had to the human world. The concept of meaning given to life and earthly existence became entirely foreign to him. He had found it laughably ironic that his talents lay in fabricating life.

Suddenly, it had felt like he was living in the margins of life. He was barred behind an invisible line, separated from everyone else around him. The depth of loss that had affected him had surprised him. He wondered if his master had somehow carved a part of him out and taken it with her when she’d left. Or perhaps, that that had been an entirely false hypothesis, and it was simply that he’d always been hollow. An empty shell, a facade of life — now simply made aware of it.

The more time passed, the more Albedo had been inclined to believe in the latter.

At least, meeting Alice and Klee in Mondstadt had helped quieten the clamouring in his head. Living with them was chaotic. It was a flurry of action and noise and laughter and warmth – so completely different from the efficient, systematic way he had lived with his master. Yet, somehow, their presence had still managed to feel familiar.

Their presence kept his anxiety at bay. Or at least, it kept his mind off of it. Klee’s hopeless antics and explosions staved him off from falling too far into a pit of wondering, wondering, wondering what having no answer suggested. No answer. No particular purpose or hope harboured in his being. What did that make of him?

It was a question that clung to him like a shadow that matched his every step and turn. Black matter, uncontrollable, that widened and stretched and grew at the back of his mind, eating away at more and more of him until it threatened to swallow him whole.

Life became a blur of passing interests before he had even realised it. A process of finding new creations and lifeforms that piqued his interest, before getting bored and moving on to find another. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

And then came word of the Honorary Knight. The rumoured traveler who didn’t seem to have come from Mondstadt — or anywhere in Teyvat for that matter. Who had been bestowed his title from the Knights of Favonius because of his contributions to the crisis with Stormterror. Whose name continued to be whispered around town because he, despite his grand title, continued to help with the average Mondstadtian’s most mundane of worries.

‘Aether’, they called him.

Aether. Albedo knew that word, he’d seen it in his alchemical texts before. The fifth element of alchemy; the purest form of air that the gods breathed. The personification of the upper sky, and the primordial god of light.

The boy who wore strange clothes and did kind things.

Albedo had been intrigued. Questions began wandering through his mind before he’d even become fully aware of them.

Where did this stranger come from? How did he control the elements? Why was he helping all those people? Wasn’t he tired? What did he look like? Was his hair as golden as the rumours said they were? Were his smiles truly as sweet as honey? Who was this mysterious person he was looking for?

...Is he like me?

And, somehow, just as his curiosity had reached its peak, they’d ended up meeting in his camp in Dragonspine. The traveler himself had come to find him.

Even now, Albedo still wasn’t sure if it had been this fact that had made his stomach flip in a peculiar way he hadn’t ever experienced before, or if it had simply been the sight of him.

The rumours had been true. Of his hair. His sunshine smiles.

More than that. How had the rumours managed to neglect how long his eyelashes were? Or how his skin resembled warmed marble? His lips to the soft curve of a waning moon?

And before Albedo had even had the chance to try and stop himself, he’d already thrown out a wild request for Aether to assist him with his experiments regarding the peculiar seed from another world. It had been made up on the spot and haphazardly hidden behind the excuse of ‘research’. Albedo still hardly believed that Aether had agreed.

In retrospect, Albedo often reflected on that moment. The same conclusion was always reached: he must have simply lost his mind in that moment. He was just glad that Aether never noticed a thing.

They spent the following weeks together, conducting experiments that confirmed Aether’s origins from a world beyond this one; that tested which laws of the Teyvat applied to him and which didn’t. Albedo’s initial questions about Aether were answered one by one. He easily formed more at a speed that far outpaced his answers. Questioning was, after all, in his nature as a scientist.

Questions like: What does he like to eat? Does he get cold easily? What would make him laugh? If I brought him flowers, would he smile? Is he as happy as I am when we are together?

Utterly scientific.

It had been weeks into their friendship by the time Albedo had noticed just how comfortable he felt around Aether. He was surprised by how often smiles broke onto his face, how at peace he felt. The worries that seemed to have plagued his mind permanently had been dimmed down, momentarily muted, and in their place was the thought of Aether.

They had found out early on that Aether was immune to poison and corruption. Evil did not affect his soul. He had the ability to purify corrupted objects with his touch. Albedo often wondered if that magic applied to him too.

But then, of course, that was impossible. Because, as much as Albedo wanted to believe in magic, he knew that problems did not go away by themselves, unaddressed. Problems demanded responsive action. This was so in experiments, and just as much in himself.

And so, one night in Dragonspine, when the snowstorm had been especially harsh, and the biting cold of winter seemed to seep deeper into him than usual, he’d confessed to Aether, in a fleeting whisper, all the thoughts and fears that clamoured in his head.

About the fact that he wasn’t, and wouldn’t ever be, truly human; that there was nobody else in this world quite like him; that it created an inexplicably jarring sense of isolation that he didn’t think anyone would ever understand. He confessed that he could not see purpose in his own existence.

He knew everything about the creation of life, but nothing about life itself.

His words had been uttered so quietly they had nearly been lost to the howling winds outside their tent. One could have pretended they were simply sounds of the storm imagined into words. The dwindling fire light between them could have been the only thing that heard him at all.

It was the first time Albedo had ever tried to vocalise the thoughts he rarely even let himself think. To speak into existence his emotions was to concretise them, and that had always been something he had instinctively turned away from.

That night, Albedo witnessed Aether’s smile drop from his face completely. For the first time since their meeting, he watched all familiar forms of joy and ease fade away from his expression and he immediately regretted ever saying a word because he could hardly bear with the fact that he was the reason why Aether looked like that.

A suffocating silence had settled over them like a blanket of snow. A sound too loud might have begun an avalanche. And then, like a shotgun, Aether had asked, “Do you love me?” His eyes had not left Albedo’s; his words had been steady. Albedo had failed to notice these things.

His breath escaped him in a heavy rush. Love? The question stumped him. The same way his master’s question had. What was the real meaning of life and this world? And suddenly, the same feelings of loss and confusion began welling up inside him again, amplified tenfold. A black hole ripped open beneath his feet, dragging him in, threatening to drown him.

His own silence crushed him. He fumbled for an answer, choked on his words. Looked away.

“...I don’t know,” he’d said. He had found himself incapable of explaining that he did not understand what being in love meant either.

Silence. It had been short, no longer than a few seconds, but Albedo had never experienced silence quite as loud. The world had begun caving in. He had been crumbling at his feet.

But Aether had not faltered. He’d gotten up and walked over to Albedo. He’d taken his face into his hands. His palms had been so, so warm against Albedo’s cheeks. So solid. “Then answer this instead: does your heart race when you see me?”

It was strange. Aether’s voice had been so quiet, so calm, yet it had managed to drown out the storms from the outside. He became an anchor. The world around them seemed to fall away. Suddenly, they were at the centre of the universe.

Albedo swallowed. Then nodded.

“Do you feel warm when I touch you?” Another nod.

“Do you fall asleep with thoughts of me? Wake from dreams about me?” And yet another nod.

“Good. Then you’re just like me,” Aether said. “Because when I see you, my heart races. When I’m by your side, I’m warm. I’m always thinking about you, and when I can think no longer, you visit me in my dreams.”

Aether’s voice had become fiercer and fiercer with every word he had spoken. There had been no joy reflected in his eyes in that moment, but there had been fire. A blazing flame that chased away – burned away – the shadows clinging onto Albedo.

“If you don’t know if you love me, that’s fine. You just need to know that I love you.” And then Aether had taken his hands and placed them over their hearts. One hand against each of their own. Albedo had felt two beats, identical, pound beneath his palms. “There, you see. Your heart is beating just the same as mine. Doesn’t that make you human enough?”

That was the night Albedo had found his answer to his master’s question. What was the true meaning of life and this world?

He hypothesised that the universal answer might have been love. The ability to love; the gift of being loved. But his personal truth could have only been one person.

That night had been years ago now. It nearly seemed like memories from another lifetime. Now, Albedo laughed when he thought about that night, because his present worries were so vastly different.

His present, most-pressing concern involved the fact that they had a list of a dozen-some chores that they needed to complete by the end of today, and Aether was still deeply asleep. And that was beside the fact that Albedo still had not figured out what flowers they were going to be using to decorate their home in preparation for this year's Windblume.

He’d decided that they would definitely be yellow flowers months ago, but he hadn’t settled on which ones he liked best. Marigolds, daffodils, dahlias, freesias, buttercups, primroses – each of them were a sentiment of his affection. Each unique in the type of love he felt for Aether.

There were so many things he needed to do…

Albedo watched Aether’s nose twitch. He felt him shift against his chest, then nuzzle closer to his neck.

…Later, Albedo decided.

Later, he would wake Aether up with a gentle flick against his nose so he could watch the way it scrunched in annoyance. Later, he would nag at him to get up so that they could go about finishing the chores they had listed out the day before. Later, he would indulge him with kisses all across his face when he began to complain.

Later, later, later. There were so many moments of the future waiting for them. An eternity’s worth, Albedo was sure. After all, they were beings that transcended time. Kreideprinz, the prince of chalk, birthed from soil, and the Honorary Knight, the boy made of sunlight and stars. It wouldn’t hurt to lay in bed for another hour longer.

[xsugarysweetsx]

ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 7

A/N; stated in previous chapter(s) reader is 21 and Iwa is 22!

Warnings; SMUT AHEAD!; fluff; proceed with cation; I will mark where it starts & ends(❗️)!  long!

Contains; first time for reader, gentle intimacy, slight dirty talk, oral (f reviving), consensual, detail, some cursing, fluff!,

Rating; 18+ (bc. Smut)

Previous Next

°°°° °°°° °°°°

Minor time skip

It’s now been 5 months since your marriage. Making it 4 1/2 months since you had actually established your relationship. Hajime had confessed to you his true feelings and things have been better. He was more vulnerable around you, but kept his attitude toward his kingdom. In other words he was only a soft husband for you and you alone.

Only you saw him smile in the early morning, only you heard his sweet laughter. It was you who was wrapped in his arms at night and who helped him dress in the morning. You could say you were starting to like your married life with Hajime. You could say it was starting really feel like a fairy tale.

Especially when he made you feel as though only you existed. His once cold and sharp glare now turned soft and affectionate for you. Don’t be fooled this was something only you saw, and Oikawa on some occasions. The way he would look at you always made your heart flutter.

Like you were a mythical being who he had the luck of seeing everyday. When he touched you, it was as if you were made from the most delicate glass. In all honesty he was who every girl dreamed of meeting one day. Despite still being cold towards others, his heart had now belonged to you.

There are many perks that came with being married to Hajime but, there was one thing that had come to mind recently....

One day while doing some paperwork it had hit you. Of course you knew he was handsome but the more you gazed at him the more it stood out. He just may have been a walking sin. Despite being busy running a kingdom he always had time to care for himself. His body was beautifully sculpted with a toned and muscular build.

You would sometimes get a feeling whenever he would change or lay next to you. It was almost like an urge. An urge to explore his body to your hearts content. Even at night as he held you close, his body made you feel hot with shivers coursing through you. You were never sure exactly what to do since, you had no experience...

You had very tense moments where thing seemed to get heated. Like in the mornings when you freshen up. He would usually place a kiss on your shoulder before you got dressed. Or how he’d strip to nothing right in front of you for his bath. There were even times he invited you to share a bath as well.

You both had intense session of nothing but passionate kissing and touching. Just kissing alone made you dizzy, his soft lips caressing yours to the point that they swell. How his large hand would roam and hold your body against his, but this was as far as you would go. He even told you

“I will only go as far as you tell me. I will only touch and kiss what you want me to”

You appreciated him greatly for respecting your boundaries. Most men would just pounce on a woman but he was a gentleman and wanted you to feel ready first. After what you have both gone through, you felt ready.

In such a short time, you’ve learned so much about it him and how your relationship functions. You knew what triggered him, and how to calm him. Same for you, at this point he made it his job to know you for you. You were husband and wife after all. You knew he loved, he got that point across but....you also wanted to explore the unspoken apart of marriage. 

You didn’t know the first thing to it. Not even how to bring it up to him. If anything you became flustered just by the mere thought of it. So you did the only thing you knew what to do in this situation, read. Walking into the large library you tart your  sear for books. Anything at this point would help, stories, explanation, anything to help you understand.

You come across a book with the title ‘With Heart and Soul’ with the silhouette of a couple in the background. Your cheeks heat up just gazing at the shadow of the couple wrapped in each others embrace. You waste no time and start to read.

The start was a simple story of a newly wed couple, but it had gotten heated very quickly. The erotic writing about how the man had made love to his wife almost each night had you feeling hot. You place the book back and walk out of the library.

You kept our gaze down trying to cool your heated face only to run into someone. Looking up it was Hajime with a questioning look on his face

“Hey you alright there dove?“ ugh that nickname, it always made your heart race

“I-I um y-yeah I’m alright you startled me is all“ you giggle

“You sure? You’re all red and sweaty? Did something happen?“ he asked leaning in

“I-I uhh...“ you were never this intimidated before which only raised his suspicion. He leans back up and takes your hand and leads you down a hall with only you two. He has you against the wall with one hand on each side of your head blocking an escape

“My wife isn’t one to stutter around me because she’s a tough little queen“ he smirks “Come on, talk to your king~“ he teased coming closer to nudge your cheek with his nose, a little habit he picked up whenever you were upset with him.

“Hajime..I...“ he could feel you were nervous, his hands cup your jaw and his lips kiss your forehead 

“You can tell me anything..“ he comforted you as he eyes come down to yours. Out of no where you blurt out 

“I want to make love!“

“Huh?“ he was completely caught off guard by what you said and stood there with the straightest face. It was a bit taboo to talk about this outside of the privacy of your bedroom. He chuckled a bit and said

“Y/N, dear, we should speak about this in private and..are you...really sure about this? I mean I can only assume you haven’t-“

“You’re my husband and...I love you, this is the next step I want to take“ you said with a determined face. If anything that was his favorite face, always so tough, so fierce. He loved it

“Alright how about this? After we get done with the day after dinner we can talk more about it and decide. I’ll even finish early so we have time.“ he proposed and you nod in agreement “Alright, come on you’re helping with paperwork.”

He takes your hand and leads you off to do your duties. He leads you into his office, which you both now shared. He replaced his desk with a longer one so you each can have an end to use. At times you can catch him off in thought, or simply gazing at you. You would giggle and tell him to get back to his duties. 

Or he’d pass by you and graze a hand over your arm or lay a kiss to your lips. At one point Oikawa came in to get the finished work and Hajime pulled him down to his level. He whispered something in his ear and Oikawa gave a firm nod.

Just what was he up to. Eventually the sun had come down a bit and it was time for dinner. It was a little earlier than usual, but you knew it was his doing. With a sigh you set down your work and stretch upwards. Hajime came to you, took your hand and off to the dinning room you went.

On the way there you hand simple banter talking over your day and such, but once you had your dinner in front of you it was quiet. Hajime had asked everyone to leave and shut the door. 

“Y/N, I always say I would never go past what you tell me is alright, and I want to go over this with you before things...happen“ he always did this. Talking over things before they even came but, you liked it. He always made you feel secure about what would happen

“Right, I want to go all the way with you“ you take his hand in your own “and I know you’ll take care of me so I’m not worried about it“ you smile.

It was true, after that day you let your trust sink into your relationship. He had your trust and always proved to be true to his word. He was honest and clear with you which you liked as well, but you had one question...

“Hajime?“

“Yes love?“

“Have you....done it...before?“ you ask as you hands become just a bit sweaty, nervous about the question 

“W-well yes I have...I think I was 18 or 19. During my battles we would set for the night near a brothel. Of course it wasn’t my choice but I thought, to hell with war and enjoyed a night. I think my men convinced me after getting me drunk enough“ he explained trying to remember how the story went. 

“oh..“

“Hey, that didn’t matter you’re my wife aren’t you?“ he asks with a smile “But I will say, it may hurt the first time. But I’ll make sure you only feel good tonight. Come on, I’ve got something planned “

Pain? You heard that it can hurt but would it? How bad would it be? Will I really like it?

Damn it, where were you getting nervous? This was your husband, the man you came to love, if he says he’ll make you feel good...you should trust him, and you did. He takes your hand and thanks the cook for the meal. The closer you got to your room the more your heart raced. Coming inside your room, a pleasant soft smell filled your nose. 

Hajime closes the door with a click and wraps his arms around you from behind. He’s done this more often, but it still gave you butterflies. Staying behind you he walks to the bathroom connected to your room. Inside was a bath full of warm water, flower petals and a lovely scent.

“Do you like it?“ he whispered into your ear “I thought we can relax first with a bath...together”

“Really?...Can we?“ You ask turning your head to look at him. He smiles and kissed your forehead 

“If you want to do so, yes“

“Can you...help me please?“ you asked him referring to your dress.

He nods and strips from his shirt first as you let down your hair from all the pins and accessories. His hands gently came to your corset and loosens the strings from around your frame.The fabric falling from your shoulders and hanging on your elbows. You let out a sigh as you gaze up into the mirror to only see Hajime completely bare naked. 

You can practically feel your cheeks go red as you look down once again. Hajime had planed to say something and tease you but, not now, not in this moment. He wanted this to be special for you. He gets into the water and settles into the warm water leaned on the back of the tub.

“Come on, before the water gets cold,“ he coxed you “I’ll even close me eyes until you’re in“ he said closing his eyes and turned the other way. You bite your lip and do things quickly. You let your dress drop to the floor and get into the warm water, escaping from the cool air. You hesitantly let you body rest against his. 

“How’s the bath?“ he asked opening his eyes looking down at the top of your head

“It’s warm and smells good.....Hajime I have a request” you turn slightly to look him in the eyes

“What is it?” His arms come around you to pull you closer

“I want you to take the lead. You’re the experienced one here”

“But I-“

“I know. You always ask me but, I trust you and I trust whatever you do.” You peck his lips “Please.”

“Whatever my queen wants but you tell me whenever you want to stop” you nod sharply and let him lead you into the night.

❗️❗️

The first thing you felt was a tender kiss laid on to your shoulder. Only it lingered much longer than his usual ones. Now his lips travel from the edge of your shoulder up to the junction of your neck. He abandons the spot and goes to the other side just below your ear. The light sensation making gasp and shiver, his calloused hands roam your body, caressing and gently squeezing. He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t think of this.

Your skin was soft to the touch and he wanted to explore every inch of it. His large hands come up to cup your breasts in a gentle squeeze. Damn, you were like a goddess in his hands

“Is this-“

“Yes.“ you cut him off. 

How could this feel so good already? Your breathing was uneven and your heart was pulsing. You can feel a slight throb between your legs, following a slick feeling. You slept against him but now he was bare against you and it made your heart flutter. You could feel something warm and stiff on your ass, while you leaned against him. Feelings and lust overcome you as you quickly turn in the water to straddle him. He was surprised but his eyes had no idea where to look first.

“You’re so beautiful” he huffed as you crash your lips on his. In a heated flurry of kisses he wraps your legs around his waist and stands from the tub. He carefully steps out from the tub and pins you against the wall. The cold wall in contrast to your warm skin made you arch against him. You subconsciously grind against him and he grinds back 

“Hajime...“

“You feel good?“ you nod with your eyes closed as he moved you to the bed. He gently lies you down and kisses down your body. From you collarbone, to the valley of your breasts to your hip bone, finally to your waiting core. You could feel his breath on your slickness and you let out a shaky breath 

“I’m going to get you ready now“ he announced. He dove his tongue into you making your eyes shoot open. You’ve never felt anything like this before, it was warm and soft and it felt so good. Almost as if you had to pee but you didn’t. He then gently pushes your legs apart and over top his shoulders and eats like a hungry man. His lips wide open as his tongue works up and down your slit 

“Oh Hajime~“ you moan out. Gods above this was more than you expected. It was so erotic, but it felt so good, it was one of those things that shouldn’t be done but couldn’t be helped.

“You taste like paradise“ he said dropping lower and giving a long lick from your entrance, dipping in and coming out, up to your bundle of nerves. He latches on gently and sucks in a pattern, not wanting to overwhelm you too much. Hard, soft, hard, soft

“Shit!“ to hear you curse he knows you’re really getting there. You could feel something forming, building up, strong and stronger! Until you felt relief and euphoria.

“Oooh!~” you moan out loudly arching off the bed and fall back down. You legs shook and your body jerked from the feeling. Hajime comes back up wiping his mouth with a smirk. He was very satisfied to get that reaction from you.

“That is what you call an orgasm, dove” he chuckled slightly kissing your nose “how was it?”

“S-so...good” you said catching your breath. His lips crash on to yours and you can just faintly taste yourself on his lips. Then you realized this was it. The part where you give yourself completely to him. He sat in front of you and that was the first time you had seen it.

Without realizing your gaze fell down to his stiff manhood. You’d never even seen one and wow...it was big. He was gifted in length and width, just enough of both to look appealing.

“You can touch it it you like“ he offered, your cheeks heat from him catching you looking. You nervously reach and wrap your hand around him, he sucked in some air making you panic but from the look on his face, it must have felt good. You remember from the book you read the woman had made the man feel pleasure by stroking it. So you gave it a try, pumping him slowly and gently. His head fell back with a light moan but then he stopped you

“No, no. We can do that later, tonight is about you. Are you ready? We can still just go to bed“ he asked you searching for a trace of doubt but found none. 

“I’m a little nervous but...I’m ready.” You assure him. He takes both of your hands and kisses your fingers. Gently he lays you down on to the soft pillows behind you. He sat between your legs and gazed down at you, you were so surreal. He couldn’t believe you were real and his. Your hands come up and cover your chest feeling a bit shy. He moved your arms laying a kiss to each breast, one being right where your heart was. 

“You’re beautiful, don’t hide,“ he brings your legs to each of his hips and scoots a bit closer. “This might hurt, so tell me if it’s too much and I’ll stop”

“O-okay..” he lines himself up and slowly pushes into you. You thought there would be pain but found pressure instead. At first it wasn’t too bad but then a sting came making you wince

“Do you want me to stop?“ he asked frantically 

“N-no just...give me a second“ he wasn’t even fully in and it was hurting, damn. A small tear fell from your eye, his hand came up and wiped it from your cheek laying a kiss to lips. He whispered sweet words to you waiting for a minute to pass. After a few seconds pass he then continues to push into you slowly. Finally he had bottomed out making you both sigh

“How are you doing dove?“ damn you were tight, he was keeping himself under control for your sake. 

“I-I’m okay..“ this feeling was so foreign but you felt okay...you felt different, good different. He was making you feel this way and you wanted no one but him in this moment. “You can move.“ he gives a firm nod.

He pulls out all the way and goes back in. He begins to thrust in and out, slowly. You start to feel good in a way, not so much pleasure but good. Yet something about his strong form over you made butterflies flutter all through out your body. 

“Damn.. you’re tight..can I go faster?“ you nod and let him lift one of your legs above his shoulder. He give a specific thrust that makes an uncontrolled moan escape

“Oooh~!“

“Oh is it there?“ he smirked “There’s a special spot inside this little pussy of yours dove, and if I-“ he thrusts into the spot again “You feel good.“ he chuckled.

The words he spoke may have been taboo but it made you want him more. And that spot he just hit made you feel like never before 

“Hajime..“ you open your arms for him to come into “make me feel your love...“ you said in a whisper. At that moment he kept his gaze on yours and thrusts in a steady rhythm. You pant as he fills you making love to your body. His lips kiss sloppy kisses across your collarbone to your lips. He then began to thrust harder and faster into you  “Oh...H-hajime..right there“ now you were really feeling it. This was nothing but bliss colliding with euphoria. You nails claw at the skin of his back as he began to pound into you. He went fast and hard, then gentle and smooth, mixing the two made you see stars 

“Are you...feeling good..my queen“ he groans huskily into your ear and you swore shivers ran through your whole being. The sound of your skin slapping against each other only made you more slick 

Your back arches from the bed against him. Feeling him so close sent your nerves into shock. The way your breasts press against him chest

“Oh gods you feel glorious...that’s right, take me...just like that.“

”Ha-hajime I-I..“ you could feel the same knot building only more intense. This one felt like heat pent up inside about to burst. He then picked you up completely staying kneeling on the bed with you in his lap. He bounced and thrusted up and into you. This position only made him go deeper within you and your eyes rolled upwards

“Cum...cum over your kings cock my queen“ almost on command you come undone and feel yourself release over him and he into you. You head lays son his shoulder and his on yours. He spilled himself into you, your orgasms combining in a lustful manner. You felt so warm, and tired, yet happy. Your pants fill the room as you ride and come down from your highs.

“Y/N...how was it?“ he asked kissing the skin his head laid on

“It was...“

“Good? Amazing? Godly“ he suggested and you chuckled lifting your head from his shoulder 

❗️

“All of that and more“ you kissed his lips. His gaze was so filled with love and adoration. Were you really the one to alter such cruel, broken soul into the man you loved? He carefully pulls out of you, it left you feeling empty and a bit sore. He laid you down and pulled you close, the warmth of his body encasing you from the cool air in the room.

“Thank you“ he said 

“For what?“ you asked looking up at him 

“For trusting me with the most precious thing you could give to me.“ he kisses your forehead “When I said that I would change I meant it....well for you.“

“I know you did, and thank you“ you kiss his chin (a place he loved) “for making tonight so special, I loved it.“ you truly did. Everything only happened when you were ready and when he got an okay from you. You snuggle into his side and breath in his scent. It was a musky, clean smell that had a hint of pine.

His arm held you close, his heart full from what he had experienced. He made love to his wife for the first time and it was like nothing he’s felt before. Laying with other women felt like nothing compared to being intimate with someone he loved. He loved the way he made you feel, the way you cried out from the pleasure he gave you. It was perfect.

“Good night, my king“ you yawn 

“Good night, my love...sweet dreams“ this was the life he had never wished for, but the one he would never give away.

and let’s just say, Oikawa will like to moved his room down the hall after today...

°°°° °°°° °°°°

Taglist; @vanilla-beanzz @hp-hogwartsexpress @sugarysweets-appreciation-blog @sophie-duck @mysteriousmagicx @toutorii @mystic-starlove @leviiiiiiiii @heavenly-warlord @birdiewolf @bakarinnie @postsfromthe6 @yatoatyourservice @lola2001 @kameko-ko @chewymoustachio

[ask-them-bois]

The Scorpion’s Web, part 1/3

TW: ask to tag

TLDR: Musrio finally gets some answers.

.

Musrio stood in the livingblock of the Arcanaeum, staring out the window and into the rainy night as he downed the last of his coffee.

Drayco was seated on the loungeplank, watching him with concern.

“You okay?” They asked gently, slinking their ferret from one hand to the other.

Musrio swallowed his mouthful of bitter, poisoned brew and sighed. “No.” He said, deadpan, as he set the mug on the counter. He stared down at it, taking a deep breath. “I’m terrified, Dee.” He confessed, “This is all almost over.”

“That’s why you called this meeting, right?”

“Right. But…” He looked out the window again, reaching up to touch the scar slashed across his nose.

“But?” Drayco prompted.

Musrio shook his head; there was something pressing on his thinkpan, a concern that had been building for nights on end, but now wasn’t the time. It wasn’t something he wanted to speak into existence. “Forget it. Let’s go see the others. Ribbit.” He turned away from the window, holding a hand out to the bronzeblood.

Drayco got to their feet and took his hand, shouldering their backpack.

Musrio led Drayco out of the block, and they stepped into the main area of the ancient bookhive.

Musrio had spent hours, nights, restoring it, and had protected it with heavy magic to keep it undetected and left alone, deep in the forests around his hive. The only frequent visitors were himself and the spirits; but now, six others- plus Drayco- had gathered in one of the many areas meant for lounging.

He could hear them chatting amongst themselves as he approached, and they all fell silent as he stepped out from between the shelves.

Makeno Faslet, Corden Blalit, and Vornik Gorsin- the three descendants of the three ancestors this insanity seemed to weirdly center around.

Gehero Urfath, Rufuss Wacoba, and Ashhur Jaybez- the descendant of a murderer, the descendant of the murderer’s caretaker, and the murderer’s apprentice, descendant of a monster. The three related to the fourth.

Finally, there was Musrio and Drayco themselves- the descendant of a thief, and a pirate. The outcasts, once murdered and twice lived.

The rustblood was far removed from calling the others friends; he knew a handful of them didn’t like him, and he’d barely spoken to the others. But now, for better or worse, he needed them.

“Thank you all for coming.” He began, releasing Drayco’s hand so they could take a seat. He reached up with one hand and fiddled with his necklace. “I apologize for the suddenness of the summons, and the difficulty reaching this location, but I had to be sure we wouldn’t be disturbed. Ribbit.”

“What’s all this about, Almawt?” Makeno asked; despite the animosity between them, the seadweller seemed relaxed- more concerned than upset- with an arm looped around his morail.

“It’s about a lot of things.” Musrio sighed, “It’s about our ancestors, about the Black Hand, about Neviserrath- and how they’re all connected.”

That roused some attention and surprise.

“What do our ancestors have to do with it?” Vornik asked, tipping his head to the side.

Musrio closed his eyes for a moment, silently wishing he’d drank the rest of the coffee in the pot.

“Here’s what I know,” He began, “Oliver is trying to bring an eldritch entity known as Neviserrath Apocriyna into our world. She intends to bring about an “age of nonsuffering,” heralded by a “chosen child, brought on a wave of blood.” I don’t know where those ideas came from, but that’s what Drayco told me. Ribbit.” Musrio nodded to the bronzeblood, who nodded.

“Oliver found an old book about the Black Hand that mentioned those things.” Drayco explained, “He interpreted its texts as… a prophecy, I guess.”

“But that’s not what it means?” Corden guessed.

“We don’t think so. From what I’ve come to understand, this “wave of blood,” or whatever, is referring to our bloodlines- our ancestors, and the way they are all connected. I’ve collected samples from eight of our ancestors, but tests are… inconclusive. Ribbit.”

“Why though?” Gehero spoke up, “Why do you need their blood?”

“I don’t know.” Musrio admitted. He dropped his hands, before spreading them helplessly, “I don’t know why I was told to bring back the ancestors, or why I’m doing what I am doing.”

“I believe I can help with that.” A new voice suddenly spoke behind them.

Musrio whirled around, instantly alert, as magic sprang into his hands. The others jumped to their feet, too, as a figure emerged from between the bookshelves, followed by curious shadows.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Musrio Almawt, second Harbinger of Neviserrath.” The Hierophant said, coming to a stop before them. For the first time in his life, he deferred to a lowblood by bowing his head.

“What are you doing here?” Musrio demanded, clearly not enjoying the same pleasure, “Aren’t you Bohwie’s ancestor? Why would you-”

“My descendant’s loyalties are to the new Black Hand. Mine are to the old.” Dmitri said briskly, raising his head. He looked forlorn for a flickering moment, before it passed, “Please, allow me to explain myself, and all of this nonsense. Our god-”

“Your god.” Musrio snapped, bristling.

“… my god, has kept you in the dark long enough.” Hierophant finished.

Musrio searched the old cerulean’s face for a long moment; he was hesitant to trust anyone, ever, and especially not the ancestor of one of his enemies. But…

But the Hierophant had just offered the one thing Musrio had been desperate for, for so long now:

Answers.

Slowly, he let the magic dissipate from his hands, and he eased his guard. “… Fine.” He said at last.

He stepped aside, allowing Hierophant to pass. The older cerulean stepped into the center of the ring of loungeplanks and chairs, turning in a slow circle to observe the group as they sat down again. “I see, I see… Very interesting.” He murmured to himself, before he turned to face Musrio. “Well then, where should I start?”

“How about the beginning? Ribbit?” The rustblood suggested, rolling his eyes.

Hierophant smiled. “Ah, but with many things, my dear Almawt, the beginning is… muddled. I suppose it started with me, didn’t it? I, who was once so confident in myself that I thought I might ascend the realms of reality, to face off against the Messiahs themselves.”

“You tried to meet the Messiahs?” Gehero repeated, surprised.

Hierophant looked over at the purpleblood, a momentary flicker of disgust passing over his expression. “I did.” He held up his left hand, where his pointer finger had been sliced off, “The Messiah’s worshippers were none too kind to me, and I believed the gods themselves should be punished.”

“You cannot punish gods.” Ashhur spoke up for the first time; the mutant was sitting upside down in his chair, all four eyes boring into Hierophant, “Gods punish us, when we kill one another. In turn for our beatings, we kill gods.” He made several clicks and chirps after that, which no one understood.

Hierophant blinked. “Erm… yes. Well, regardless, my attempt failed. Mind control abilities can only get a troll so far, I’m afraid. In the end, I made it well past whatever realm the Messiahs inhabit, and met… it.”

“Neviserrath.” Musrio said.

“Neviserrath.” Hierophant agreed, “Neviserrath Apocriyna, the God of Nothingness and Oblivion, Keeper of the Primordial, The Many Named and Yet Faceless.” He prattled off the title almost whimsically, like it were the lyrics to his favorite song.

“I was the first mortal thing to ever contact it, it said. When I explained my plight, it thought of me as amusing, and imbued me with powers. The powers you yourself now possess.” He nodded to Musrio, sweeping a hand down to indicate their similar robes, “In thanks, I established the Black Hand, as a place of worship for my new lord. We feasted, drank, partied, and I hosted bucket festivities in its name. It was, oh…” he sighed longingly, “the best sweeps of my life.”

Musrio looked down at the robes he wore, suddenly disgusted; he wanted them off, he wanted to tear the cloth from his back and burn it. He knew they were a gift from Neviserrath, but the thought of sharing so much with the founder of the Black Hand made him sick.

“So how does that explain the chosen child? Ribbit?” He asked at last, fidgeting with his necklace for the time being.

“Patience, my dear Harbinger. You see, the “chosen child”… was a joke. It was what I was referred to as, by my followers, much like how Oliver is revered as the Blind Phoenix. There was no chosen child, other than myself. The “age of blood” was an inside joke we passed around after our lewd festivities. Not everything would end up in a bucket, floors would get messy, and it would look like… well, like a wave of blood. It was all for fun, you see. We were a cult, after all, everything had to be dramatic and theatric.” He shook his head, chuckling, before his good humor vanished.

“However… I do believe that has changed, thanks to Oliver. Because of his desperation to find this nonexistent child- or create on, as he’d attempted-” Dmitri nodded to Drayco, “I believe Neviserrath… made one for her. The Unholy Blight only wishes for amusement. If a chosen child is what its most devout seeks, then it will provide one, to see what they do with it. Much like how a grub gives a bark-beast a ball, to see if it will fetch.”

“So… there wasn’t a chosen child, but now there is?” Drayco repeated slowly, bewilderment growing on their face, before they dropped their head into their hands, “I died for nothing?”

Musrio’s blood-pumper squeezed violently with sympathy. He ran a hand through Drayco’s hair, attempting to comfort them.

“Thousands of trolls die for nothing, Afasia.” Hierophant said, unbothered, “But yes. Oliver could not make you into the child, because the child already existed. They just do not exist here.”

“Where are they, then?” Musrio frowned, looking up.

“No clue!” Hierophant smiled, “This chosen child nonsense is after my time. But this time around, the “wave of blood,” as you correctly guessed, refers to the bloodlines. I’m afraid I do not know why they’re all needed, but my guess is a ritual, to bring this chosen child to us. You have gathered the blood of those here?”

“From their ancestors, plus Oliver’s.” Musrio nodded. “But I thought that I needed the ancestors themselves, too. Ribbit.”

Hierophant hummed. “It’s possible, you may need them. Would that be a problem?”

“Yes.” Musrio nodded to Rufuss and pointed to Drayco, “Their ancestors have died once again. I can’t risk returning Forsaken again, and Bluegill... has told me he’d rather not suffer a third time. Ribbit.”

“He told ya?” Rufuss repeated, looking up.

“Yeah. He’s still around, just- not physically. He flickers in and out, between my hive, Arrach’s, and yours. Ribbit.” Musrio shrugged.

Rufuss stared at him, then reached up and took his hat off, a dawning look of disbelief on his face. “... That’s mighty comfortin’, Mr. Almawt.” He murmured.

“Well, then.” Hierophant continued briskly, “Let’s hope you just need their blood and not the bodies. So, if I’m not mistaken, you still need the fuchsia, teal, and jade ancestors, then.” Hierophant twitched his fingers as he counted in his head, “I believe Oliver is on a fast track to bringing the teal back, and finding the fuchsia, which takes care of the first part of that problem. However, we still need to find the jade.”

“Hang on a second.” Vornik spoke up, twisting the hem of his cloak through his claws, “I’m a little lost here. Why are we trying to perform this ritual? Isn’t it Oliver that needs this kid?”

Musrio shook his head. “Neviserrath gave me the instructions to revive the ancestors, and find their descendants. My guess is that I’m supposed to be the one who summons the chosen child, while Oliver believes she’s supposed to, too. Does that sound right?” He looked to Hierophant.

“Possibly. The Black Hand- as it is now- believes they are due a chosen child. However, Oliver stole his powers, where yours were given. I do believe Neviserrath has set this up much like... like a chess match. Both of you have the same amount of power, and the same goal. However, your number of pawns, and the way you use them, are vastly different. This is a game that pans across several boards, and Neviserrath is watching to see who wins. Should you win, and you get the child, then this “age” Oliver desires will not come around. If she wins…”

“It means the end of Alternia.” Drayco whispered hoarsely, raising their head.

“It does?” Corden frowned.

““The age of nonsuffering is an era where no troll suffers. The sick, crippled, weak, and mutant are cared for. The hemospectrum can be flipped. The Empire will crumble.”” Drayco intoned, their eyes gazing into memories.

“That sounds… great, though.” Corden shrugged.

Drayco took a deep breath and sat up, staring at their friend. “No one will suffer, and the Empire will crumble, because we’ll all be dead.” They said heavily, slowly, “Oliver intends to use the chosen child to bring Neviserrath to Alternia, and use the god’s power to launch a genocide, until there’s no one left to oppose him.” They laid a hand over their chest, over the scar the knife had left. “They’ll be cared for, by the drones that do away with corpses.”

Hierophant grimaced. “Alternia could certainly uses changes, but the annihilation of our kind is not a way to go. Still, there you have it- the terms of this battle laid out plainly: there is a child both sides are fighting to summon. If Musrio wins, the child can be saved, as can Alternia. If Oliver wins, the child is corrupted, and we all die. The bloodlines are being used as conduits in a ritual to bring the child to us, and it is a race to see who can gather the blood first.”

“Well, that sounds easy, then.” Makeno shrugged, “We outnumber Oliver’s group. We don’t even need to count the Black Hand, since they’re not part of the bloodlines. There’s all of us, against, what, two others? Our ancestors seem to have a grasp on what’s going on, I doubt any of them are just going to hand over their blood to Oliver.”

“That’s true, but we don’t know how much of the blood Oliver has. She’s a crafty liar- if she wants something, she’ll get it by any means.” Drayco sighed, their breath gurgling.

“Hm… So let him.” Hierophant said thoughtfully.

“Let them? What, let them win?”

“Well, no, not in the end.” Hierophant chuckled, “But you can let them do the work for you. They’re already working to find and bring around the fuchsia and teal ancestors, so… let them. Once those two are here, you can step in and take their blood, too. But again… it seems this all comes down the jade. I advise you seek her out, while Oliver does as he will. Or, if you wish, wait until the other two are here- I know Lucina dealt the death of one, perhaps that will draw her out.”

“Yeah… there’s one problem with that.” Musrio scowled, “I can’t. I’ve tried. I’ve spent hours searching for her soul, in every afterlife and realm, but she doesn’t answer. I’ve used Ruthless, their wedding rings, her old weapons- she doesn’t respond to any conduit. Her soul is just… gone.”

“Not gone.” Hierophant corrected, suddenly smiling, “It was never gone. You cannot find it in the afterlife, because it never went there.”

“She’s a spirit, then? I would have still been able to-”

“No, no, my dear Almawt. The jadeblood lives. Lucina is alive- at least, partially. She roams Alternia’s soil.”

“She’s alive?!” Musrio repeated, incredulous, “She can’t be! She lived four hundred sweeps ago, she died in Ruthless’ arms-”

Hierophant only laughed. “Oh, by the Afflicted Ebonblack- are you not a supernatural being yourself, Musrio? Or you, Drayco? Or even some of your friends? You sit in a room with a shifter-beast, and you wish to tell me it’s impossible? The answer is right in front of you!”

Musrio stiffened, staring into a fixed point as he tried to piece that apart.

Then it hit him.

Then he hit himself for being a moron.

“Oh my FUCKING god. You mean she’s-?”

“Yes!” Hierophant laughed.

“What? She’s what?” Makeno asked, sharing bewildered looks with the others.

“She’s a fucking rainbow drinker!” Musrio and Hierophant shouted at the same time. Thunder cracked outside, as if the sky itself was laughing at the rustblood’s stupidity. “She’s been alive this whole time!”

“Exactly, exactly!” Hierophant applauded. “Well, partially. You know how rainbow drinkers are. I’m certain if you find her descendant, you’ll find her. For now, however, I believe we best brace ourselves for the two that will soon grace us with their presence.”

[a-libra-writes]

Imagine Being a Lannister and Sandor & Bronn Fight Over You

Heyyooo, i finally had a chance to write!! so nice. this was requested! hope i did alright.

You were Gerion Lannister’s only trueborn daughter, and you had his same sparkling eyes and easy laugh, even as a young babe. He absolutely adored you. Your mother had died from sickness, so Gerion was determined to be a good father and make sure you never wanted for anything. His siblings scolded him, saying he’d spoil you, but he saw nothing wrong with that. You looked so much like your mother, whom he loved in spite of their brief marriage, and it broke his heart all over again when you were upset about something.

Gerion was reconsidering his quest to Essos, seeing as he’d be away from you for so long, but he deemed it too important to give up. Tywin actually forbade him from taking you, so you had to stand on the shore and watch his boat slowly sail away. Tyrion was the only cousin who bothered to comfort you. 

Your father never came back. Men were sent to look for him, but after a time, no one had much hope. Lord Tywin took you in, although sometimes you spent time with Uncle Kevan and Aunt Genna’s children, too. Genna had always been motherly to you, but now she was especially so. While Cersei often tormented you and Jaime was hit or miss with japes and kindness, you always had a friend in Tyrion. You were just a year younger than him, but he protected you like an older brother. You were both Lannister outsiders.

While you may have laughed less, you were still a sweet girl that held little of the typical Lannister pride. You’d have grown up meek if Genna didn’t insist you speak up and hold your head high. She beamed when she heard you finally stood up against Jaime, and finally told off Cersei when she was doing her usual daily teasing. You grew into an accomplished Lady, one who wasn’t always content to sit in Casterly Rock and be a pretty set piece as your Uncle Tywin would have preferred. He ended up sending you to the Red Keep and yes, he was throwing you into a castle that was inhabited by suitors with the appetites of sharks.

The Red Keep is where you met Gregor Clegane’s fabled brother. You were terrified of Gregor and his reputation, even if Uncle Tywin kept you far away from him. You’d never met Sandor, though, only heard of him, and you were surprised by how … unafraid you were. He only ever formally addressed you - if he did that - but you found yourself trying to make conversation. Even if he was a standoffish and grumpy giant of a man, it was better than dealing with Queen Cersei and a drunk king who often flirted with you. So during feasts and galas, if you noticed him standing off in the shadows, you’d sneak away for a little while and try to talk with him.

It was slow going, but eventually you developed a friendship. Not that the gruff Clegane would ever call it that, but you two found conversation in hallways and more secluded spots in the Keep. It wasn’t secret, because you weren’t technically doing anything wrong, but there was always a silent fear hanging above the two of you - Cersei, even if she’d never said anything to your face about Sandor, you feared even her suspicions. 

At some point he took to calling you “kitten”, because you were “no true lion”. You became comfortable calling him by his first name, and he liked the sound of it on your lips - as if he ever admitted such a thing to you (but you could see the way his brown eyes softened). 

You didn’t join your royal family on the journey to Winterfell, preferring to have some breathing room in the Red Keep for once. You missed Tyrion’s witty humor, but more than that, you missed Sandor’s grumbling and protective presence.  

You were delighted when he came back - but that quickly turned to worry when you heard about Tyrion’s “kidnapping” at the hands of Lady Stark. You didn’t want any harm to come to Lord Stark, but you feared for your brother as well. It all went downhill so quickly; before you could talk any sense into Jaime, he was riding off to attack Lord Stark in the streets. 

When Tyrion finally returned, you hoped some damned sanity would also return to King’s Landing, especially with the people going hungry and anxious. He wasn’t alone, though. There was a tall man with striking blue eyes who immediately looked you up and down and seemed pleased with what he saw. You sharply told him to keep his eyes to himself, and you couldn’t believe the laugh he gave in response. Later you learned that he was hired by Tyrion and helped him get out of the Eyrie, but it was still a strong first impression. When you tried to be diplomatic some days later and thank him for helping your cousin, he had plenty of sauciness to give, so you just told him off again and left.

Right away, Sandor didn’t like the casual way Bronn would refer to you, as if he knew you. When he’d go looking for you, that damned mercenary would be there first, and far too often. He’d be leaning against the wall as if he owned the damned place, grinning and glancing at you while you both talked. What could you possibly have to talk about with that rat? Sandor never actually found out because he’d immediately growl at Bronn to leave “Lady” Y/N alone. You quickly noticed these were the only times he used your proper title, not that Bronn was intimidated by it.

Irksome as he was, sometimes it was amusing to talk to Bronn. He came from a completely different world, and he had plenty of stories to shock your “delicate” lady’s ears. You called bullshit on most of them. He’d enter the Hand’s office expecting to find Tyrion, but you were a far better companion to chat with. Bronn liked how often you visited your cousin, since it was a good excuse to talk to you... and anytime Tyrion took your hand, you’d bend forward and Bronn could get a good look at your backside. 

A few times Bronn would offer to escort you back to your chambers, which was a cheeky offer if you ever heard one, but you’d let him at least take you halfway. Anytime Sandor would come across you both, there was an instant electricity in the air that you could feel as the much taller, scarred man stared down the cool-headed mercenary. 

One time he showed up right when Bronn called you “kitten”. You actually had to step in on that confrontation, you were sure Sandor could kill him - would kill him - and fucking Bronn was welcoming the challenge. Tyrion must’ve had a sign sent from the gods, because he came just in time to order both men away. 

While Bronn liked to try and break your serene expression with a laugh or offended gasp, Sandor liked that calmness you had. It was easy for him to talk to you, even when he was sober, as your steadiness was a contrast to the constant turmoil he was feeling. Bronn preferred your sassiness and rare temper, and tried to get you as riled up as possible. You distinctly noticed him lick his lips when you raised your hand to slap him. You didn’t, and he looked just as disappointed as you expected. 

As you expected him to, Tyrion picked up on all this at some point. While he always thought your “friendship” with the Hound was little more than amusing, he started to see the truth of it when Bronn was thrown into the mix. And after a while, he wasn’t so sure the mercenary was just messing around with you. 

For one thing, anytime Tyrion spoke with you while Bronn was in the room, he’d notice the man’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he’d smirk to himself whenever you said something clever. Instead of just watching your backside, he’d follow your hand as it brushed some of your hair aside. And when he spoke to you, he was far closer and more relaxed than anyone else Tyrion had seen him speak with. When you’d leave the room, he’d try a little too hard to regain his usual bored stance. 

Then, he observed the Hound, who unmistakably was watching you more than he was the future King, and don’t think Tyrion missed how you’d both gradually sneak away from the crowd and find each other. While he trusted your judgement, he also couldn’t help but be a little protective, and silently wondered how the heck his sweet cousin managed to attract two seriously questionable men. Regardless of what choices you made, he wanted to keep you safe from the ears and eyes that reported to Cersei.

The night of the battle for King’s Landing, you were trapped with your dear cousin, the poor Stark girl and several other ladies. While you worried over Tyrion, you kept thinking about Sandor and how he might handle it, and then Tyrion mentioned some special task Bronn had - what could that be?

Sandor was the one whose nerves were biting just as hard as your’s. He knew you were safe in the Red Keep, but how safe was that, really? If Stannis’ army came to storm the castle - if all was lost - you’d be put to the sword like all the rest of the Lannisters, even if you were the only good one. If only he was tasked with guarding you, an invasive thought told him. Then he could ensure your safety. No one would hurt you.

Bronn wasn’t troubled by the upcoming battle, his thoughts were oddly occupied. Normally he liked nothing better than drinks and a girl before a fight (and after), but his mind kept wandering to you. Specifically, how soon after the battle would he see you? The next morning? The next day? For some reason, he didn’t imagine you frightened, and while he didn’t have the gall to imagine you waiting for him, he did hope there was a smile in store for when you next met. 

Bronn was enjoying his drink and women, and it made Sandor burn with anger at how he flirted with the whores just the same as he did with you. Their confrontation at the inn was tense, but the bells rang and the other soldiers hastily filed out. Bronn just laughed. You were still on his mind, so he said, “No use having a dark face. There’s a sweet lady waiting for us, eh?” 

Sandor would have knocked him cold on the ground if Bronn didn’t slip away so quickly. He growled out, “Ladies don’t fucking wait for dogs and rats”, but the damned mercenary was already gone. As much as he wanted to deny it, there was still a part of Sandor that wanted you to pray for the safety of a dog, even a mangy, scarred one. 

[sunshinechildskywalker]

Bonus Dad Piett

“Admiral,” Vader snapped as he stood over an ill-looking Skywalker. The young rebel slowly turned his head towards Piett, and the former Imperial took note of the shadows under the boy's typically vibrant blue eyes. Piett approached the father and son duo semi-cautiously. He eyed his lord with a daring hint of suspicion.

“Yes, milord?” He asked warily.

“Feel his forehead,” Vader commanded. Although an odd order to hear from his Lord, Piett fought an expression of pure confusion that dared to assemble on his face, for he didn’t dare to question Vader. He may no longer have any power in the military, but Piett had no intention of finding out just how keen Vader’s parental instincts were.

Piett stepped toward Skywalker carefully. Luke offered him a half smile, despite his current condition. The admiral hesitantly brought his hand up to rest on the young man’s forehead, a shadow of awkwardness looming close behind.  

“Does the temperature feel unusually warm?” Vader demanded in his deep bass. Piett nodded slowly, bringing his hand down in a semi-awkward fashion.

“It does feel quite warm, milord,” Piett confirmed, trying to sound professional despite this being one of the most informal requests his former commanding officer had given him.

“Luke, you are not well. Piett has confirmed my suspicions.” Now the poor admiral was part of the family drama, whether he liked it or not.

“Father, I am fine ,” the young man insisted, although Piett now noticed his flushed skin tone.

“No, you are not. You are to stay here and rest until you have fully recovered.”

“But today was our flying day. I wanted to go see Coruscant with you,” Skywalker protested.

“We can postpone that until you are well, but now you must rest,” Vader brought down the intensity of his tone a few notches with this. The former Sith Lord turned to Piett. “Admiral, escort my son to his quarters.” Piett supposed he would never get used to hearing his former commanding officer refer to the single individual whose hunt took top priority in the Empire as his son.

“Father, I can handle that myself,” Skywalker said.

“No, Piett will ensure that you are safe in your quarters to get the rest you need and that you do not attend to an alternative agenda. Now go,” Vader shooed the two away with a brisk turn and swirl of black fabric trailing him. Skywalker looked up to Piett, offering him another small smile.

“Well, looks like you get to see my quarters, Admiral,” he offered with a hint of humor. Piett offered the young man what felt like a forced smile, feeling tight across his lips.

“It appears so.” With that, Skywalker rose and the two men left.

Upon reaching the corridor containing his private quarters, Skywalker broke the comfortable silence between the two.

“Thank you for tolerating my Father. I understand he can be difficult to work with, but he’s really very fortunate to have you here. We both are.” Although the young man was evidently drained from his current condition, sincerity was clear in his words. The admiral looked over to Skywalker, who offered him his signature grin. Piett couldn’t resist the small smile that crept across his own lips; this time, it felt real. Even at fractional power, the young man’s smile was still quite infectious.

“Thank you, Commander.”

“Please, call me Luke. I don’t want any reminders of the war,” Luke insisted politely. Piett nodded in understanding, his own title bringing back unfavorable memories as well- especially one leading to his obtaining of the title ‘Admiral’.

“Your father...cares for you a great deal,” Piett supplied to the growing silence. He couldn’t help but pause after the word father, for this relationship still took much getting used to. He couldn’t imagine what Skyw- no, Luke , must have felt like when he began to refer to Darth Vader as such. A small smile sprouted on the young man’s lips, looking to the floor.

“Yes, he does,” he said simply, although Piett could tell so much more meaning hidden behind the few words.

The two reached Luke’s quarters and parted ways once again, preceded with Piett’s admittedly basic well wishes and Luke’s similar to him, not forgetting to thank him once again for handling his father.

As Piett left Luke to his peace, he couldn’t help but think that being under the care of a former Sith Lord may really be as gratifying as the young man described. After all, Piett had no doubt that anyone who had the threat of an idea to harm the protectee would not live to see another standard day.

[laughriot]

How I Envision The Pillowman Act 1, Scene 1

Lighting

When researching interrogation rooms and the interior of police stations (both in media and in real life), many of the images I found show them lit by very cool toned (often blue) light. In media particularly, the main light of the room is often dim, which makes the atmosphere more uncomfortable for the suspect. For example;

Additionally, during interrogation scenes throughout media, it’s very common for the person being questioned to have a light/lamp of some sort pointed directly at them. For example;

These lights are used to make those detained uncomfortable and thus more likely to spill the information they know in order to get the bright light out of their eyes.

This technique seemed like something Detectives Ariel and Tupolski would likely use. They have no issues with physically assaulting/torturing prisoners to get what they want out of them so I believe these lower level discomforts wouldn't be uncommon in their interrogation techniques.

I think the best ways to include this in a production would be by putting a lamp on stage , or by having a white/cool toned spotlight on Katurian's face.

Set

Interrogation rooms are often very bare, usually having no more than a table and chairs inside. I think this is partly for convenience and practicality, but also to make the person being questions uncomfortable in their surroundings as the rooms are very sterile and contain nothing that could have comfortable connotations for the detained. even the furniture which is used in these rooms is very bland and often made of plain wood or steel. this creates tension as there is nothing (such a pillows, warm lamps etc)that can be used to ground or comfort the person being questioned.

I have also noticed that these rooms are often painted cool toned colours such as blue and grey. I believe this is because warm colours have connotations of cosiness, warmth, and comfort - which is the opposite of what detective are often aiming to communicate.

There’s also often viewing windows looking into the rooms (as seen in the picture above). However, I do not think that there would be any of these in the station which Ariel and Tupolski work in. This is because in this play, the police are often extremely violent and treat detainees inhumanly. Thus, they would not want there to be witnesses of this happening because that could cause problems. As long as no one catches them doing it, they are guaranteed to get away with it. (That being said, The Pillowman is set in a fascist totalitarian state so i'm not sure someone seeing it would ake a difference)

With this in mind, i sketched a rough outline of what i believe would be a good set for this scene.

Costume, Hair and Makeup

(imagined for an all female cast)

Ariel

Ariel is very passionate about their job. This often leads to or is expressed through violence and brutality. They are treated as less than Tupolski, as if they exists solely to do the dirty work. Despite having the title of "detective" Tuplski regularly calls them a policeman, and compares them to a police dog. Their main focus is to make sure people who commit crimes suffer for it and guaranteeing they do not get the chance to commit those crimes again. This stems from the lack of justice they got in terms of their childhood abuse. Because of their motives, I believe they are not concerned about vanity, and the way they dress/present themselves is mostly based on practicality.

below are images of a costume i think fits Ariel, as well as how they would do their hair/makeup.

(i don’t own black laces but let’s pretend they’re black)

I paired together a blue short sleeve shirt and black trousers as blue and black are the main colours associated with the police (especially in media). This represents that they are seen as less than tupolski. I chose short sleeves as they are less formal than long sleeves, which I think fits Ariel's character, and they would allow Ariel to attack suspects without ruining their clothes as most of the harm they do is with their fists.

I think Ariel would either have short hair, or would keep their hair tied back at all times because even if it aesthetically would look better down, it would get in the way whilst they were working.

I don't think Ariel would wear makeup. They wouldn’t waste their time on it. However, I think it would be interesting to use makeup unless to give them dark circles to make reference to their monologue in which they say they have nightmares often.

Tupolski

Tupolski acts likes they’re above Ariel, and are much more of a “professional” and sophisticated. This later on is shown to not actually be true as they are the one who in the end performs the execution, and they seem to draw the most genuine pleasure in hurting other people. To me, Tupolski is in this job very much because of the power it provides them rather than a drive to do good or to find justice. This is a direct example of the blatant police brutality and corruption of the totalitarian state the play is set in.

I believe that Tupolski would dress much more put together and polished in order to appear as someone professional and communicate their position of power. below are pictures of a costume I think would work for Tupolski.

I looked into business attire, and clothes worn by women in power. I found that plaid, especially grey based plaid, is very common in this type of clothing. I also found that blazers/coats with lapels were very common too. for this reason I decided to give Tupolski this full length coat as part of their costume. I gave Tupolski heels here because I believe the extra height they give will communicate that they are of a higher status than Ariel, but also because heels are generally seen as a work/business shoe.

As for makeup; I looked at a variety of detectives and professional women across media (e.g. Rachel from suits, Nikki from silent witness) and found that their makeup is usually quite natural, using a lot of neutral tones to enhance the persons features subtlety so as to make them look more polished.

in the image above I used very natural colours to create a soft eyeshadow look and sole subtle bronzer, blush and highlighter to emphasise the structure of my face and give my cheeks a healthy glow. To me this would work well for Tupolski as they are a very nonchalant person so I don’t think they’d want to look as if they’d tried hard to look good, but this makeup would make them appear more professional and put together than Ariel which is something they take great joy in pointing out.

Katurian

Immediately when looking into styles for Katurian, I was drawn to dark academia. In its barest bones the dark academia style revolves around 1930s academia and a love for literature. (and often murder). This style is heavily featured in films such as “Kill Your Darlings” and “Dead Poets Society”.

Katurian is a man who’s life and identity revolves so wholly around his writing and his love for words, and whether he likes it or not there ends up being multiple murders linked to him and his work. Thus, this style seemed perfect to base his costume on.

(ideally i would have put a cream/white blouse under the jumper but i don’t own one)

In this image I’m wearing cigarette pants, which are a very common style of trouser within dark academia. I think the wine red/burgundy of my jumper and shoes fits well to the colour scheme of this style, too. I think making Katurian's costume in this style gives away a lot about their character from the get go, as it’s a style with very distinct connotations.

As well as thinking that this style generally suits Katurian's character very well, I think this works as a costume for them as it is more casual that both Ariel and Tupolski's still. This helps enforce the idea that they both have a higher status than him.

I see Katurian as very scrawny and almost gaunt. They also strike me as someone who spends most of the time in which they should be sleeping or eating, writing instead. They also seem to be a very paranoid person. I based my makeup for this character on these ideas and, where for Tupolski and Ariel makeup was an aesthetic choice (or lack thereof), Katurian's makeup is used to really make them look pathetic and small as I think this will help this scene have maximum affect.

I used heavy amounts of contour to really emphasise the hollows of the cheekbones to make myself look gaunt. I also applied a mix of brown and purple shadow under my eyes to create the appearance of really severe dark circles. this adds to the weak and sickly look when paired with the contour but also suggests he does not get a lot of sleep, which will make more sense later on in the play when we see how paranoid he is.

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link to pinterest board where i’ve collected some inspiration pictures etc; https://pin.it/1tfoS0s

[botwstoriesandsuch]

Just me rambling about Breath of the Wild’s opening cut scene because it is masterfully crafted and just a really good display of fantastic game design and story telling...Welcome to my TED Talk. 

[And spoilers for the end game, of course]

The first five minutes of game is a master class in foreshadowing and developing the tone that is set for the rest of the game. 

The very fist screen that you see, besides the simplistic title screen, which is genius by the way. Having a super unassuming and small logo really puts into perspective how Nintendo doesn’t need to amazing with it’s title right away, the gameplay speaks for itself. Anyhow, the first screen is that of light and darkness. Obviously, it can be interpreted as Zelda’s awakening power, and in a broader sense, the small silver of hope everyone has that the Calamity could be defeated. Most of all, it’s framed in a way similar to how one would open their eyes for the first time, squinting in the light. (Yeah I know all that is kinda obvious...but still, I just think it’s neat) 

[more below the cut]

It also perfectly parallels the end of the game in its framing and lighting. Even the opening hum, is the same sound as the Bow of Light being drawn and Zelda appearing out of Dark Beast Ganon.

Ok back to the opening scene. Now the act of Link actively opening his eyes, we’re greeted with this frame, Zelda now clearly telling Link to open his eyes, and we get this blue shape (which is the glow of the shrine) but it’s in the shape of an eye, mimicking Link’s own blue eyes.

Now I get that most of us are used to it by now, but just imagine, or remember the feeling of waking up in here. Most loz games start you off in a cozy home, a forest, or at the very least somewhere medieval. But waking up in this futuristic bath tub immediately places you completely out of your comfort zone. Whether you played every Zelda game, or this was your first, this setting is completely foreign and you have no idea what’s going on. And that feeling of not understanding or grasping where or when you are, immediately puts you in the same shoes as your playable protagonist, Link. Nintendo has already made you sympathize or at the very least find comfort or familiarity in Link.

Now does this look familiar?

It will...

(Also the parallel with the Great Plateau,overrun with the beauty of nature, vs the complexity of a man made castle. Plus the Calamity being portrayed more as a disease that festers upon Hyrule rather than just some tyrannical guy? *chefs kiss* I love my narrative parallels.)

Anyhow, next we have the Sheikah technology. There are a lot of references to blue in the game. From Link’s blue eyes to the Sheikah slates blue eyes, to the Champions tunics and the royal blue shared by the royal family. Blue is the least common color in nature (other than the sky/water. You don’t see a lot of blue trees, grass, animals, or rocks, do you?) so the rarity of it in the vast natural land of Hyrule, emphasizes it’s importance right away. Blue = power/importance. Through out the game, you’re drawn to the blue glow of shrines and towers (although initially orange, but after they are blue, more explanation later...), along with the blue of the water, in which Nintendo intentionally places civilization/treasure across. Plus, the opposite of blue, is the purplish/red glow of ganon. Mmmmm color coordination. 

The layout of the Shrine of Reserrction is a straight line, leaving no room for player error/distraction. It’s forcing you to go down it’s desired path. (At least initially...*cough cough* speed running and wall clipping *cough cough*) So the straight forwardness emphasizes the artificial nature of the place. 

Now, when exiting the Shrine, the artificial glow of the Sheikah lamps is now replaced with the warm orange sunlight. (See what I did there? Get it? It’s another parallel with the Sheikah technology colors, with the unused technology glowing orange, but when actively used by Link is glows blue? Therefore kinda giving blue an association with technology and power again, and orange with nature and exploration?)

Also more parallels with light/hope

Exiting the Shrine smoothly teaches you how to interact with objects, walk, and climb very naturally. It also teaches you the importance of the Shrine pedestals, an attraction towards chests, and ingraining you with the desire to explore, as the setting give you no information whatsoever. Even Zelda’s dialogue is vague, just saying “long slumber” and not how long, or “that [Sheikah Slate] will show you the way” giving no specifics. And that’s why its all the more satisfying when the vastness and detail of the outside world hits you. You are starved of information, making you more susceptible to the game’s theme of exploration.

The cold, artificial, dark enclosed space of the Shrine, gives way to this shot.

Do I even have to say anything? The way the music swells as Link runs out into the field, and the camera pulls out to really show the vast scope of things. The center piece of a dark castle in the distance, the symmetrical framing of Death Mountain and the Hebra peaks? The lush green shade in the foreground shifting into darker shadows and silhouettes when nearing the horizon hear the Calamity? The way the ridge to the side obstructs the view of Medoh and Naboris, with the natural angles of the mountain ranges hiding Rudania and Ruta? The fact that the sun is just rising, symbolizing a new morning. AND the stark contrast with the artificial, straight line Shrine you just went through, now your new path is more open. Even the path you take to the Old Man is curved, and at a much steeper decline. Also, notice how you’re declining, moving down and out of the Shrine, might not be a stretch to say it’s like you were descending from heaven as the savior of Hyrule. You’ve come back down to the ruins of a fallen kingdom. Although you don’t know that yet. 

The opening shot gives no big signs of civilization, the castle being too far out into the distance, and the trees obstructing any destroyed ruins. So when panning to the much closer and reachable Temple of Time, it really grabs the player’s attention. The framing of the Temple of Time is in such a way where it still looks intact. The gaping hole in it’s side faces in the other direction. All it seems to imply is that it’s old. No ruined guardians, or clear, distinct destruction can be seen yet. Also, the point of the Temple’s tower is in line with the Duel Peaks, almost perfectly. Both have stood the test of time, but it was the construction of man that did not last, where as nature has stood strong. 

Then, pan into the Old Man, a mysterious figure, you don’t know if they are friend or foe. But given your circumstance your eager to explore and investigate. Especially with how he is placed in front of an warm orange fire, because yeah more color coordination. Orange, serves a similar purpose as the color blue for attracting the players attention, but it’s symbolism is different. One, for it’s association with nature as previously state, but now here in the context of familiarity. Throughout the game, when you see a campfire, that either means enemies or people. All the same, it means company and you’re drawn to it. 

The camera zoom and focus of the scene barely shifts at all. When you first exit, Link is at the low center of the screen, even with the pan to the Temple of Time, and the Old Man is also in the low center of the screen. This anchor point allows for a smooth transition with the players attention, and adds to the natural environment and tone of the scene. 

So here you are, heading east, towards the sun, an old man, a camp fire, and the Temple of Time. No coincidence they are all in the same direction. 

Just look how much story and tone you are able to grasp in the first five minutes????? It embeds the feeling of curiosity and the desire to explore by starving you of information and freedom, before punching you in the face with the openness of Hyrule. It foreshadows a conflict with Ganon, a disease that ravage the world of man, and will next take on nature. The themes of technology and civilization, of time moving on. COLOR COORDINATION. And just the overall wonder of opening your eyes to an beautiful world waiting to be discovered. All this is conveyed to you whether subconsciously or unconsciously. 

That’s five or less minutes in to a game you can very well pack hundred of hours into.

Ugh, I love this game.

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Obey Me! Brothers x MC’s Job HC

So this is a headcannon based on each brother’s MC having a job or experience in a field that would be somewhat benefit to them the most in work and play ;). Ya girl just wants to feel useful TT 

Warnings: The SLIGHTEST reference of NSFW in some of the HCs

~~~~~~

Lucifer: 

Okay, maybe an elementry school teacher wouldn’t directly help Big Brother Lucifer the most, especially when you were just out of supervised training, but you sure as hell can help keep some of his more troublesome problems at bay. 

Having to deal with overexcitable, emotionally unstable, and honestly frequently hyped-up-on-sugar children just out of infancy has given you a backbone, not to meant a glare that’s strong enough to stop everyone still, but not scare. 

Unless you wanted it to. 

Not to mention that voice. 

The range of your vocal cords could be heard even by Diavolo in his castle. 

You needed it, dealing with crying children and sometimes parents who thought their child couldn’t possibly bully the girl they ‘crushed’ on when you had seen it with your own eyes.

And even after grabbing everyone’s attention in a room full of strong personalities, you’re more than capable of turning it down a bit to explain what the issue is.

“Levi, you can’t chop off Mammon’s hands to stop him from stealing your things.”

“Don’t you laugh, Mammon! You’re not off the hook just yet. Give Levi his figurine back before I put Goldie in the microwave, hm?”

“Asmodeus, you can’t go around stealing my underwear! What would your mother think of this?”

“Beelzebub, you can’t eat other people’s food without asking. How would you feel if I went along and ate all your blackbelly newt legs and your monkey brain pudding?”

“Mammon, this is your last warning. Put the money back where you found it.”

“Belphegor, you need to stop sleeping on the floor. Mamo keeps tripping over you and I don’t think we can afford any more screaming in this house.”

“Mammon! Do I need to send you to the quiet corner again?”

“Satan, clean up your books or they’re going back on the shelf out of order.”

Your use of their full names definitely felt like their were being reprimanded by a teacher.

Even if you sometimes treat the younger brothers like children, which will often cause a few snickers, you can’t really help it when they act the way they do. 

Sometimes you get a little too carried away, on instinct threatening to cancel the end of year pizza party unless they start behaving, but Lucifer appreciates your attempts to restrain them all the same while chuckling along with everyone else. 

You may act before you think, but you’ve brought his family closer together. 

Mamo: 

Being a professional pocker player would be just too easy. 

That’s why it’s your weekend gig.

Besides from your backers and frequent trips to pocker tournements, you spent your nights, and sometimes at day parties, as a mixologist. 

It may not seem like much, but bartending has helped you nuture a skill to read people and help them talk out their problems.

Which is the only reason Mamo hasn’t been thrown into the fiery pits of hell when a revengeful witch comes knocking every now and then. 

You hear out his fraud victim’s troubles and show your understanding, wondering in the back of your head why, in Diavolo’s great Devildom, Mammon would agree to give away some of Satan’s incantations for a credit card that looked similar to Goldie?!

You manage to talk her out of taking his liver as payment and agree to help mix some potions you recently learnt at school, being a mixologist has helped in that regard as well.

A few times you’ve had to play some other demons in a game of cards in order to get Mammon back home safely. 

It was only when you beat Soloman that Mamo first noticed your professional-grade talent. 

You didn’t really want him knowing, you knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself but use you to his advantage, so you first said that it was a natural skill humans had- which no one believed and only made them all curious.

Eventually, you gave in to Mamo’s pestering and it was then you said you weren’t going to give him money. 

At first, he was a little offended you’d think he would use you like that, but, for once, he listened to everyone’s harsh words and understood why you had that idea. 

He was the Avatar of Greed, after all.

Ever since, he’s been working hard to show you he would never use you again.

Unless it was a life or death scenario with that one witch he conned a dragon’s egg from. 

Levi: 

It was impressive when you picked up Ancient Languages so quickly, but the otaku didn’t question it, at that time he didn’t have that much interest in you. 

Then you were able to annunciate those words better than Satan or Lucifer or Diavolo, but maybe you were a quick learner?

It was only when you nonchalantly offered him the latest, unreleased, series of a longer-than-necessary-anime-title did Levi think to ask. 

You were a translator in the human world. 

Had more interest in the words than the story, but that was enough for him to start treating you less of a normie and more of a fellow recluse like him. 

It didn’t take long after that when he realised you were THE MC. 

The MC who had translated most of the anime he watched, even though he didn’t need to read subs, you were stil famous, and not only for translating. 

You had dabbled in voice acting, mainly due to one conference call you had where the client asked you to voice for a minor character that would only be in for a few episodes of TSL. 

It was a disasterous when the character died, having been quite a noble and vicious knight to the Lord of Shadow- who, of which, the lord also liked.

You weren’t going to tell him the character was booted off because you weren’t comfortable voice acting anymore. 

However, he will have you read aloud lines he had found on a certain website where many like-minded fans wrote their own stories about the characters. 

Lucifer caught the skript-like paper when he saw the word ‘master’ printed next to a less than savoury subject the eldest brother would not allow you to be tricked into saying. 

Levi wasn’t too happy about that, ranting and raving how it was unfair and he needed to hear the Shadow Knight confess to the Lord of Shadow the way the fandom, and most of all, he, deserved.

You may have little clue what the animes your translating are about, but you never again reject the offer to have one of your own, walking to Levi’s room the second it reaches you in the mail and you spend practically all night binging on every word you wrote for him.

Satan: 

When you first came to Devildom, you were particularly overly-curious.

Maybe it was because you were in a knew place, surrounded by beings you once thought only existed in stories? 

Maybe you had that same respect for knowledge as Satan did? 

Well, it would be easy to think that if it weren’t for the types of questions you asked each of the brothers, as well as the angels, Soloman, Barbatos and even the Prince of Devildom himself. 

“What do you like to do on your days off?”

“Are you a tits or ass guy?”

“What’s your relationship like with your family?”

“Do you like men, women, or a bit of both?”

Every demon, witch, angel and whoever you met at RAD had the pleasure of being interrogated by you, your gracious smile and genuine concern for their answer coaxing them to tell you more than they would think to like.

When you wrote in that little journal, stock full of flyaway papers, the victim of your inquisitive nature would worry, for some reason, what you thought of them. 

Still, you never let anyone look, not until you had the perfect match for the client.

A matchmaker, that’s what you were in the human world.

You paired couples, looking for marriage or a short term thing, with their perfect better half. 

And you had been struggling to pair Satan with anyone.

“You have no interest in either of the sexes. How am I meant to find a girl for you when all you care about are dusty old books?” You muttered dismissively, speaking directly at the pages of your book, the two-page profile you had on Satan spread across the fine lined sheets. 

You had been so enraptured in you quest for love that you didn’t notice the warmth looming over you. 

“Who’s dusty old books?” The familiar teasing whisper graced your ear, way too close for comfort. 

You turned, slamming the journal shut, but it was too late. 

He had discovered your plan. 

You quickly explained that you were a matchmaker back home and it was hard to hold back. 

Even when you were with your human friends, you got carried away, pairing them with nice guys you met in the bar when you went on your weekly girl’s night. 

Satan laughed at first, who couldn’t find their own mate? 

Until he realised you couldn’t find anyone for him. 

You’ve never seen him combust into flames so quickly. 

You would be scared if you weren’t so annoyed. 

“This is exactly my point! No one will want to be with you if you get this angry all the time!” You pouted, not realising the brothers that had run in at the drop of the proverbial hat, frozen in the doorway as they watched you, a human, talking smack to a demonic Satan.

They had come to save you once they heard him roaring in anger, but you seemed to be coping just fine on your own.

It took both of you a few weeks to realise, the reason you couldn’t find him anyone is because you wanted him.

Asmo: 

You and Asmodeus had surprisingly philosophical conversations when you had only just met.

You would answer his teasing comments with very deep and personal questions, asking about his past relationships and how it made him feel to flirt with everyone he laid eyes on.

You had caught him off-guard a few times with your out of left-field inquiries.

One time, after you asked about any childhood trauma he may have had that could lead to his sexual nature, he actually got a little angry, losing his cool and throwing your question right back in your face.

He usually seemed to enjoy the strange back and forth, so you watched him devole into his demon-form with a startled gaze.

“I-I’m sorry, Asmo, I shouldn’t have asked that. Force of habit.”

You were blunt, distant and sometimes rude with your short questions, but when you told him those questions were something you were so familiar with they were a large part of your vocabularly, he had to know.

“How could that possibly be a habit?”

You were a relationships councillor. 

You spent your days with arguing couples, coworkers who just couldn’t get along, and the odd friendship that had been torn apart thanks to one sleeping with the other’s partner.

You weren’t used to dealing with overly-friendly cilents, most would be crying about how sorry they were or silent with stubbonness, so you wanted to put that professional gap between the two of you.

But you never intended to hurt him or rehash memories you had no right to know.

“I’m meant to help people, but I can’t even treat the people I care about right.”

Before you had arrived in Devildom, you were pretty much a loner.

You were ambitious, pretty much a recluse outside of work, mainly because anyone you talked to would also get your brain shrinking questions. 

“No human likes being asked if they really trust their partner.”

The self-deprecating laugh that left your down-turned lips in that moment pushed Asmo right back down to his usual laidback demeanor, imploring you to explain what you meant by that.

It was only right, you thought, you had been far too invasive for too long.

Asmo respected the work you told him about.

Even if long-term relationships weren’t his thing, or they hadn’t been until he met you, he understand that not everyone could live off the joys of primal lust. 

Most people needed a lifelong partner that understood everything they were, ever the dark, twisted parts of them.

But, he didn’t like you tales of the threats you received when certain couples didn’t make it through your counciling sessions.

One too many times had a brick been thrown through the windshield of your car or had been generously gifted a death threat in the mail.

They never worried you, you were used to people finding you odd and anti-social, but it did hurt.

You had only ever wanted to help.

From then, Asmo learnt the psychologist tricks you had up your sleeve, intending to use them on his brothers if they were being particularly secretive.

Especially when you were the subject of their conversation.

He would often bring you to parties, pointing out couples on the dance floor or groups of people who were meant to be friends, asking you who had sexual tension and who were on their last straw with their other half.

You told him time and time again that it didn’t work like that, that you couldn’t just look at someone’s face and defer they were a serial killer.

But body language is a hell of a thing.

Beel: 

Being a chef, you were often in the kitchen during the day, trying out recipes Mamo, Satan or Asmo had suggested to you.

Of course, they would often be pranks, potion recipes that would literally blow up in your face the moment you added the frog’s leg or eye of newt. 

But, even the smell of the fire place blazing brought the Avatar of Gluttony sniffing around.

At first, he didn’t care what you made, he always cleaned up the mess of your failed experiement made.

When you actually started acting sad when his brothers pranked you again, it was his time to step in.

Instead of leaving you to do your own thing and reap the rewards of your failures, he sat in a wooden chair much too small for him, bearing with the emptiness of his stomach so he could really teach you about the ways of his world.

He told you what you actually needed to make his favourite meal, which he had overheard you ask Mammon one time as you walked to class together. 

It was gross and difficult to learn how to cook with a cauldron and entrails of creatures, but you dealt with it because the look of pure, yet subtle, joy on Beel’s face when he ate what you meant to make was far worth the displeasure you went through to cook it.

When you got a couple days vacation from RAD, you somehow talked Mammon into taking you to the human world so you could buy real ingredients you were used to cooking with.

You wanted to prove to them all you weren’t as useless as you seemed when you first got there.

Of course, you would have to alter the recipes to the demons, but it shouldn’t be too hard. 

You were a trained professional, after all.

And you definitely proved them all wrong.

Plates of fine dining, fresh vegetables, cakes and sweets.

Abundances of foods of varying cultures and spices. 

It took you a whole day to make it all, but the stiffness in your back as you watched the demons, angels and Soloman alike walk into the banquet hall with looks of awe on their faces was enough to ease that pain.

You were exhausted and didn’t want to eat anything yourself, but that went unnoticed by everyone else.

Everyone else but Beelzebub, Avatar of Gluttony.

He pulled his attention away from the amazing food in his mouth long enough to see you sitting in your chair, hugging your legs to your chest and eyes closing a little longer every time you blinked.

You had never looked cuter, but he had never been more worried about you.

“You’re not going you eat anything?” His mouth was full of the fruits of your labour as he leaned over to grab your attention, continuing to shovel food into his mouth as he waited for you to reply.

“The best thing about my job is watching people enjoy it. I’m not hungry.” You yawned through a smile, letting your head rest on his shoulder as your heavy eyelids almost completely restricted your view of the show. 

Everyone finally seemed to be getting along.

Diavolo noted to himself he would have a few words with you once the dinner was over. 

Belphie:

“You’re a barista.” 

Soloman smirked as you two sat together in class, waiting for the ending bell. 

“No, I develop energy enhancers, which does include coffee. I literally make new, healthier products that help boost energy and motivation.”

Sure, your part-time job was in a coffee shop, but that was only to pay yourself through college. 

The course was nutrionism, paired with a course in chemistry. 

You had hoped to use your degree, when you did graduate, to make a product that didn’t cause heart attacks with the sugar content or make people stressed beyond belief on addictive caffeine. 

You were a tired teen and survived high school on coffee, but that didn’t do well with your heart. 

Now you had a medical condition and got even more tired than you did back then. 

Since you couldn’t have coffee anymore, your research was mainly for you.

That’s why, when you hung out with Belphie, sleeping, ironically, you couldn’t be more jealous. 

He slept and slept and slept, not a care to the centuries he was wasting doing so.

When you two got close, closer than he and Beel, you somehow managed to get him to test a prototype you had developed with the help of Solomo. 

Being the only other human, he actually understood your aims, even if no one else did.

The brother teased you about the fagility of man until you told them about your condition, showing them the medication you had to take everyday to keep your heart beating. 

The ones that did bully you, take a lucky guess, first unbelievably guilty, but you got them to pay you back by being your test subjects.

Often, they wouldn’t work, you were still trying to figure out what all these new potions meant and trying to work with the differences between demons and humans. Not to mention the strongest demons there are. 

When Belphie did get tricked into drinking the energy concoctions you made, and when they finally worked, he wouldn’t be off the walls like Mammon and Asmo.

He remains docile, talking for a little longer than usual, actually showing interest in what his brothers, and you, did.

It’s not like he was a completely different person, he was still your Belphie, but he had just that little more energy he needed to seemed interested in life as a whole.

When you did admit to him that you had been esstentially drugging him, he took a moment to compute.

MC, the first human he had trusted in so long, had been tricking him to stay awake longer?

To ignore the sin he repesented?

You quickly explained that you had tested it hundreds of times, several times on yourself, like a true scientist, and that you just wanted to spend more time with him, he managed to calm down, just a little.

He jokingly second guessed every drink you handed him from then on, but, honestly, he was happy you had used him like that.

The reasoning for it, for you two to be able to spend more time together, getting to no each other when he wasn’t half asleep or yawning at your every other word.

Mammon had invested in your business venture, but Belphie would be your top customer.

[fencesandfrogs]

an abridged history/explanation of warrior cats if you didn’t read them as a kid and have questions (a primer)

welcome. i’m going to keep things to the point, this is not a plot summary, just, well, its a pandemic and people are seeking items of childhood comfort and its come to my attention that a lot of people didn’t read these books as kids and then they come up in conversation and they act shocked so! i felt compelled to write this.

[2.5k words, 10min read. section headers, no pictures. not a ton of helpful formatting. i don’t want to say don’t read this because obviously i wrote it and think it’s worth reading, but i’ll be honest, this is a lot.]

section one: about me

i was an avid reader as a child, most of which fits solidly into “stories for another time,” and some of which would necessitate me adding tags onto this post that are, well, not necessary. so i will skip over that backstory but for those aware of lexile scores, i had one that was too high for literally any book that was appropriate to give me. so reading in school was torture and reading for fun was excellent.

now because i was a first-ish grader and my mom was trying to keep the fifth harry potter out of my hands, she looked desperately for something else to pass to me. her friend, who had a daughter a year or two older than me, was into these cat books, and my mom was like “here honey you like cats” without thinking too much about it.

which is good, because as i’ll get into, it was a really good fit for me. but like a dozen books later she asked me about the plot and well. i think at that moment she realized that it might have been better to just let me read harry potter.

but yeah i continued to read them long past the recommended reading ages and still as a Young Adult will return to them for nostalgia, and also as i will get into, some really good books. (see a list of books for “morbidly curious but i don’t want to spend 56 to 168 hours reading this”)

i’m not fully caught up on the series but this is not a plot summary so that should not impact my ability to discuss this

section two: content warnings

these books (not this post) includes the following:

discussion of castration (1.1 series 1, book 1, i’m not including this on every item/discussion because this is a complicated series but i want to demo how up front some of this is)

teenage romance/sex/pregnancy (1.1ish-1.3 or 4, continues throughout the series quite a lot, comes up again in 3.4/5, 4.4-5, and a bit in 5)

death from childbirth (1.can’t remember which book, many others)

unwanted pregnancy (se super edition, or a longer one off novel, discussed in 4&5)

sex/implied, discussed, and very very very heavily hinted but never directly said/shown (1.1-3ish, se, other)

murder (constantly, 1.1, 1.4, literally every book, 3.5, i’m just listing the ones i remember off the top of my head that were particularly graphic)

disability/illness, esp. the debilitating and/or deadly nature of it (1.3-5ish, 3.1, but all of 3, 3.4ish)

dementia (1.3-5, i’ve heard in some of the later series?)

abuse (7/8 this is reported i haven’t read these books but based on what i know it’s def there)

child abandonment (1.4-5, 3.4/5, it’s also all over the place but i think those are the only major character incidents of it)

treason (1.3-5, all over the place)

the horror/tragedy of war (background, but pretty constant)

disagreeing with an integral religion/tradition (3, based on the series title, 8, and generally scattered)

the corrupting influence of power (1.4/5, possibly 7/8, others)

racism (1, 3-5, possibly others)

sexism (se, background)

patriarchal societies (se, seems to be somewhat softened based on what i’ve heard but i’m not entirely sure about this)

and more! but it starts to get stranger and this is enough to prove my point

basically everything that could go wrong does

oh yeah! child abuse also child abuse that’s a very major theme in the first series as well as during other points. and elder abuse in the first series.

okay i’ve made my point.

section three: the appeal

look. so. i think we’re kind of pastel-ify children’s literature based on movies. see, parents have to watch children’s movies with their kids, so they can’t be gritty and intense because a lot of parents will say “not for my nine year old! they can’t deal with treason!” and that seems to be bleeding into children’s literature.

but warriors is not that. it’s intense, it borders on “too gruesome for children,” and it’s from a time where kids books got to be serious and heavy and dark because they were about animals. which was great because i couldn’t find books at my reading level that weren’t too thematically difficult, so i got to read something below my reading level, but thematically too hard, so it kind of balanced out.

and then well. so. the series grows with the audience, but the books don’t grow in terms of like difficulty so new readers start deep into it and it’s a complicated thing, the fandom history is complex, but.

the appeal is that parents don’t usually read the books their kids read and so they see a book about cats and assume it’s fluff, and kids who are starved of complex content get to read hamlet-for-kids.

section four: worldbuilding/lore

oh yeah also there’s some really deep lore to explore. so there’s two bits of appeal.

i’m not doing a full world/plot summary, but i’ll explain some common elements here.

thunder/shadow/wind/riverclan: harry potter houses for cats (gryffindor, slytherin, hufflepuff, ravenclaw, except this doesn’t work for the last two but that’s fine because no one cares about them despite riverclan being pretty important in most of the books)

-kit/-paw/-star: naming conventions. everyone has a two part name. (we’ll use cinder as an example because i like the two cinders we know, even tho neither of them get to be cinderstar.) babies are -kit (cinderkit), then when they’re apprentices, which is like being a student, you know, elementary through high school, you’re paw, so cinderpaw. then you get an Official Name from ur clan leader (cinderheart). if you become clan leader, you get to be -star (cinderstar). i know i haven’t explained clan leaders bear with me. this is kind of important because i have the names burned into my memory so i cannot simply always call firestar firestar if he was firepaw at the time of the events i’m describing. it won’t be ambiguous, cinderheart/cinderpelt are a special case. if this is tricky for you it’s fine just only read the first part of the name.

clan (leader, deputy, medicine cat, elder): roles with in the clan. leaders literally have nine lives. deputies are next in line and chosen by the leader. leaders usually go through several deputies, because deputies don’t have nine lives. medicine cats are doctors. they also have an apprentice. those are all one per clan. elders are just retired cats. they’re not a special category per say, but i wanted to mention them.

warrior: adult.

warrior code: laws.

star clan: dead cats. this ties into the religion which is pretty important to the books but for the most part if you understand that dead cats get to give guidance and send their approval, you have the gist of it.

section five: so um, what the fuck

so we start with a cat named rusty who runs into the woods to join thunderclan and then his name is firepaw and we all forget that he’s named rusty except for like that one time it comes up again. bluestar is a great leader with some corrupt deputies but fireheart eventually takes care of it and becomes clan leader which is a big deal.

then a bunch of other shit happens and suddenly ashfur is possessing brackenstar and being (more) abusive to squirrelflight (who is on the outs with brackenstar anyway for lying about their kits jayfeather, hollyleaf, and lionheart because they’re actually the children of firestar’s other daughter leafpool who had them with crowfeather after she fell in love with him but he’s from windclan and she’s a medicine cat so that’s double illegal and apparently hollyleaf is alive even though she yeeted herself into a pit and died because she killed ashfur when he threatened to reveal this but couldn’t live with being the product of an illegal meeting and then it was all pointless because leafpool stopped being a medicine cat out of guilt anyway and jayfeather is just an ornery bitch about everything but especially all of this)

i’m not explaining any of that.

section six: i repeat: so um, what the fuck

so the thing about these books is they’re soap operas and dramas about cats and that means they get just as strange and chaotic as anything else in the genre. i think a lot of people like me, who read them as children, regard the series we knew as a child (usually either the first three or the first five, plus super editions) as something good and warm and comforting (despite being dark and gruesome) because they made us feel good.

they were also a breeding ground for young fandom because of all the the drama that exists and the nature of the books providing that.

section seven: super editions

the simple answer to what a super edition is has already been given (it’s a novel length one-off about a single character, and its usually either a side character - bluestar, crowfeather - or a event/perspective we don’t get to see - firestar, skyclan, greystripe - and they’re generally more mature)

my favorite super edition is bluestar’s prophecy. i read it at like 16, slinking into the children’s library with a stack of other ya fiction and a “children’s book” which dealt with unwanted pregnancy, grief, forbidden love, and more. still not sure why that’s in the children’s section.

section eight: about the drama

so there’s been a lot of fandom drama about these books. i can’t tell you about the nuances, because i am an old fan, so i watched but didn’t partake. the highlights reel that i can recall goes as follows (please note i will refer to characters by name without explanation. it’s fine. the point of this section is to convey the pettiness of this drama):

tigerstar: did he do anything wrong? (the answer is holy shit yes, this isn’t discourse, it’s okay to like a villain)

scourge: did he do anything wrong, also what color is his collar? (also yes, doesn’t matter)

was the new prophecy (2)/omen of the stars (3)/etc good? (yes, eh, no, yes, no comment, no comment)

should jaypaw or hollypaw be medicine cat apprentice (neither of them, but jaypaw’s employment opportunities are limited because he’s blind, so its gotta b him)

uhh a massive tangle around this parentage drama between squirrelflight, leafpool, brackenfur, and crowfeather, which i used as the crux of humor for how batshit the plots can get, so i’m not even going to pretend i can make it funny, but just know that it’s batshit and the correct opinion is as follows: no one is right, but squirrelflight has done the least wrong, brackenfur is an asshole to her where it’s unwarrented, and hollyleaf is an idiot

and the current drama centers around brackenstar and ashfur and is tied directly to the point above, which is why i’ve kind of given up trying to make jokes about this because this is the culmination of like 35 novels.

section nine: i feel like i need to have some conclusive point to justify writing all of this

but i don’t have one, because this was really an excuse to ramble about an old passion for like half an hour. i mean i guess i can say, like, i think younger fans are sort of embroiled in this drama they don’t really have context for, because i’m not kidding, the current drama centers around the grandchildren of our original cast.

it’s kind of hard to know why, say, mistystar matters if you don’t know that she’s the child of bluefur and oakheart and if you don’t remember the drama that surrounded that when bluestar was dying and tigerstar and leopardstar were ruling a combined shadow/riverclan.

(i really hope that’s intelligible i tried to lay the groundwork for it. basically, there’s a biracial kid in a very segregated society who becomes the leader of one of the clans. which is obviously drama, especially considering that that clan was part of a weird supremacy movement a while back.)

& you know? i really hope one of the new series gets to be like, a soft reboot. just. end the current drama and pick up again with the latest generation. a) we’re starting to run out of names, and b) i think that it’s kind of tipped over the edge of sane.

the series also used to be very low fantasy. the cat societies are reasonably close to feral cat colonies (the biggest detail is that toms don’t all have their own territory, but there’s honestly in-universe discussion of this and it’s basically a culture thing), and while star clan/religion is a real and legitimate thing, there’s also a discussion of its abuse and most of the early books don’t really use star clan/related ideas as a physical force so much as a plot device, barring, like, when a new leader gets their nine lives.

honestly, i’ll always adore these books for serving the role they did, and a lot of the series is fantastically well written. but the fandom surrounding it can be, uh, not great because 9-14 year olds don’t really have good brains to understand this.

also, i’m very sad that i can’t find the flash game that was for the great prophecy. it was not very fun, but i enjoyed playing it, so if anyone knows the url so i can search the internet archive for it, please let me know.

section ten: i’m morbidly curious but there are 56 hours of books to read, assuming a very fast reading pace, so is there something i can start with to experience this without dedicating 4 days to it?

yes, there is.

it’s called bluestar’s prophecy. it’s standalone, and i should have given you enough of a background on the lore that you don’t need to know anything else. i’ve already given away the twist in series 1 that it would spoil, so you’re all good on that front.

if you want more, or want the original experience, the first series is self contained and quite good. i’ve given the broad outlines of the plot, but trust me, there’s a lot of surprises and all sorts of things i skipped over because while i like it, it’s not exactly fandom primer material

i also enjoy firestar’s quest and skyclan’s destiny for super editions, but you’ll need to read the first series to understand FQ and FQ to understand SD, so it’s not exactly a starting point. also, SD especially deals with a very different set of themes as the other books.

also, if you were to, say, search “readwarriorcats” (no spaces) on duckduckgo, and then click on one of the first links, you know, not the official site, the one hosted on one of those free website things, you know, not wix, not wordpress, the other one, you would only find lists of the books with hyperlinks.

;3