#rosi's spirit blessed au

[lilacxquartz]

BLESSED WITH BLUE

angel satoru gojo x mortal fem!reader

part 1 of 2 • masterlist • ao3 link • part 2 >>

summary: after making an offering, you catch the attention of a six eyed angel who despite promising you the heavens, leads you into hell instead.

themes: two parts, angels au, yandere, smut (next part), dark, dead dove, described violence, alternate universe

Part 1: Prayer

Initially, you were on your way home.

You were so tired from such exhaustive work for very little gain. The back-breaking labour for mere copper; to just barely afford another day in your uneventful existence.

Then again, this was just how it was for mortals.

To simply just… exist until the end.

You drifted through the radiating vibrancy of the capital adorned by the glowing cherry blossoms that lit up the streets; petals that both bloomed and glowed like rosy lanterns. Every step that you took through the wobbly cobblestone would bruise a soft glow per footprint, making you feel not quite as alone as you would have liked.

Tokyo was more so of a unique settlement in these parts; angels, demons and mortals alike, more or less co-existed although some strayed from their assigned alignments. The cold, silky mist that encased the country was especially strong in this particular region and allowed certain sorts of creatures to exist within the region.

Seeping waves of steam would continuously roll out and bless those who were known as the ‘chosen’, allowing them to harness the power of the gods. The locals called them cursed blessings; gifts from a higher power that nobody could quite describe nor understand. Should a ‘chosen’ abuse their power though, they’d become corrupt and morph into a caricature of their own selfish desires—twisted, disgusting beings, mirroring each and every single negative quality found in their very being.

Ordinary people like you though?

Why, those in particular had nothing truly special going on. That was just the way it was though and for good reason. Just the regular mortals were essential for balance to keep the world in order.

Or however it was that the sacred texts described it. Personally, you didn’t fully get it.

See, the chosen could properly defend themselves against the demons as well as the corrupt beings, however regular mortals could not. Maybe you were just bitter, though. It was against those vile things that you were left orphaned; forced to watch your family be reduced to guts spilled on the blood-soaked floorboards, their life essence stolen to build their power.

(Something about an uncorrupt soul, the texts claimed.)

The demons had a saying, after all:

In order to brew chaos; you had to take away from the balance—and that was exactly what they fed on.

Slowly, as you walked home, you found yourself drifting towards one of the many temples scattered over the city, wanting to test your chances against the order of fate. You heard it all before; angels taking pity on humans who had led tough lives and blessing them with a dosage of their power, not quite ascending them into the likes of the chosen, but close enough.

In some ways, you needed this. Demons ate your family when you were very young, leaving you to fend for yourself ever since then. The locals, while they did try to do their best to assist in your growing up, retired from their responsibility as soon as you were capable enough.

It hurt to grow up so lonely.

There was also the part that by being targeted by demons in the past, attached a negative social stigma towards you. Demons carried a more potent form of cursed energy, making them closer known to cursed spirits and being a survivor of such an attack was often seen as a bad omen.

So before you knew it, you were an outcast by association.

The elders made sure of it, at least.

Pressing on, you weren’t honestly looking for a certain temple in particular. It wasn’t as though you were starved for choice. A lot of temples existed within the city, after all. Different structures supported different things and sometimes not even the angels, even though their proof was highly abundant. Sometimes, people worshipped the simpler deities or just natural disasters as a concept.

You didn’t mind too much wherever you’d ended up. Maybe subconsciously you wanted to be noticed by an angel so that’s why you ended up at one of the flashier temples instead of the simpler ones.

Slowly, you climbed up the stairs; each bricked slab feeling somehow wider and wider with each and every single attempt to pull yourself up. You stared upwards with a certain degree of unease, the distant glow of candles not doing much to warm your worries.

You cautiously padded your way inside, finding that the flames collectively dimmed and were replaced with blue light in a flash. Each step lit up the wicks with a bursting blue flame as you approached the shrine up ahead.

Such a feeling was unsettling.

Almost as if you were being watched.

Gulping the unsettling feeling down and focusing on the shrine, you realised that you didn’t actually have that much to give. This particular temple gave the deity a whole collection of curated blue items from jewels to painted pottery, from woven cloth to scriptures written in colourful ink.

Feeling desperate however, you weren’t about to give up and so, you fell to your knees instead.

With a cautious whisper, you begged the shrine for change, “P-please, I’ll give a-anything, j-just…”

The flames reduced as you spoke; from vibrant blue to a soothing yellow once again.

“I’ll give anything… everything…!”

But nothing happened. You weren’t the lucky type of mortal. You weren’t born into riches and you didn’t have anything physical to offer and by the time the temple returned to its deceptive welcoming regular orange glow, all of your remaining hope had burned away.

Sighing as a result, you finally decided it was time to go home.

Not at all noticing the face of who exactly was watching you from the shadows.

His glowing blue eyes should have been a giveaway, but he kept himself very hidden and instead decided to take a chance on the girl who simply wanted an escape from this cruel routine.

However, just because he was an angel, it didn’t mean that he was going to give you a blessing.

No, he had something much, much worse in store for you.

But you did pray for it.

So perhaps you should have been more careful what you wished for.

~~~

The night was oddly calm at home, at least for a while. You had a dreamless sleep until you didn’t, waking up to what you thought initially to be a nightmare until you realised that there was actual movement going on within your home.

With a cautious ear, you listened in as the front door to your house creaked open and as heavy footsteps walked inside.

Demons were otherwise light on their feet so it couldn’t have been one of those, but they weren’t the only wrong in the world.

(Humans could harm too.)

A familiar feeling of being watched from before surfaced as you sank further into your blanket, hoping that the woollen sheet would somehow protect you as a barrier from impending danger.

You just barely managed to peek out from above your blanket, just barely managing to make out the person in your room. You had an oil lantern lit up on a nearby table but it had been steadily dimming all night, so the range of visibility was quite low.

With an almost exploratory approach, a man with a snowy complexion and frosted hair walked inside; his back carried spearing beams of blue crystalline light that resembled wings, similar to his icy blue gaze. If you focused your sights on other parts of his body, more eyes would appear before disappearing as soon as you redirected your focus.

Was this an angel?

As he approached closer, he reached out a hand to pinch your chin and point it towards his stare, “Do you really promise to give me everything?”

His question caught you off guard and you were left unable to form a coherent response just yet.

He reached out his other hand to press over your heart, his voice adopting an almost playful tone, “Worry not, I’ll… ‘bless’ you.”

“R-really?” you finally managed to blurt out, the next question coming out as a mere whisper. “But why?”

The angel smiled, “Because everything is a lot. Besides, you’re so fragile, so human. That's why you need someone like me.”

Within a flash, you woke up the next day in complete daylight wearing a cold sweat that enveloped your body.

Thinking that it was a dream, you tried to move on and continue your life as normal despite something seeming… different.

Somehow, the world seemed somehow more vibrant?

And as weeks continued to pass you by, demons seemed to almost avoid the area entirely. Better harvests were collected by the locals and less crops suffered from drought. Life also improved for you socially, finding that you got on quite well with someone new who moved into your village just under a week ago.

He was quite similar to you as well. A survivor of a cursed attack not too different than the one you had to endure. His personality was kind too and simply put; you both got along.

However just as things progressed, one night, you heard a thud right outside of your door and upon opening it up in the dead of night, you found him freshly massacred, almost as if professionally butchered in fact—precise, almost delicate cuttings against his flesh—bled him clean out on your doorstep.

Stumbling backwards, you cupped a palm over your mouth and almost wretched in a sickening nausea that overfilled your stomach.

However, just like before, a flash sparked before your very eyes and you were back in bed and it was just a regular morning.

Cautiously walking over to your front door, you opened it up hoping that it was just a vivid nightmare and that he was actually alive, safe and sound. Instead however, was a haunting reminder of what you promised was carved into the stone instead.

“Everything,” it reminded you. “Nobody else can compare like I can.”

So if that was real, then what exactly did you offer?

And to who?

(Or what?)

~~~

part 1 of lilac’s bite sized yandere nightmares

[mizunoyouni]

ੈ♡₊˚•. Sugar Drop

➳❥ Pairing - Hwei x gn! Reader

₊˚♡⋆˚ Summary - The summer you first met Hwei, he was just a handsome stranger to you. But after a week, you'd both become so much more than that.

.°˖✧˚ Content - 2.8k words of fluffy sweetness. A modern AU! summer themed meet-cute for all your romantic and heartfelt needs.

What's more charming than a chance encounter by the seaside with a handsome stranger? Or better yet, a heart fluttering meeting with someone you swear you’d only meet in your dreams?

It’s the tail end of summer when you’re working at your auntie’s café– a quaint little shop on a quiet stretch of beach in a small seaside town hidden away from tourists. You’ve been there plenty of times in your childhood on summer breaks between school, so while she’s shorthanded this month, and with an offer of lazy working hours, good pay, and a free room above her café for the two weeks she needs you, who are you to refuse?

Workdays start in the late morning with the same stream of regulars arriving, and it’s not long before you start putting names to faces and faces to drink and pastry orders. It's never terribly busy, and with the simple orders and small menu available, you feel as if you could do your job in your sleep. Everyone is so friendly too, but there's something about the sparkling sea in the background along with the calm, lazy atmosphere that has you hypnotized, wondering if you should settle down here for good.

When you mention it to your auntie, she only laughs and pats your shoulder as she watches you wipe down the counters after closing time. "Keep talking like that and you might just find a husband while you're here to complete your plans," she teases.

"Oh, I wish."

Your head shook at the playful remark as you quickly dismiss her words, so imagine your surprise when an unfamiliar face appears in the late afternoon a few days later– a tall lanky figure with dark hair and a pair of shimmering eyes unlike any you’ve ever seen before in your life. He’s not dressed like a local, that much is painfully clear to you, but you’re more focused on trying to write down his order while your mind wanders to daydreaming about a future with this handsome stranger you’ve only just laid eyes on.

There's something so alluring about him that you can't quite pinpoint for the life of you. Maybe it's the way his wavy locks of hair fall so effortlessly around his face like he has been blessed by some kind of heavenly spirit, or maybe it's how his lips part slightly before his melodic voice sings to you that has you helplessly at fate's mercy. Either way, it's as if the sea breeze had heard your prayers and pulled open the door of the café to send this stranger of your dreams right to you.

Gulping, you force your eyes to meet his. “Can I get a name for your order?” you ask.

“Hwei,” he says plainly, and it sounds so beautiful falling from his lips that the corners of your mouth curl up immediately as a rosy hue begins to caress your cheeks.

Your smile sends his heart racing as he quickly mirrors it with a shy one of his own. It feels like it’s pulling on your heartstrings, timidly strumming on them before he hastily pulls away nervously to take a seat at a table by the café window overlooking the beach. 

Once his gaze leaves yours, you’re too absorbed in scolding yourself for childishly fantasizing while you’re on the clock that you don’t notice him stealing glances back at you. A visionary he may be, but he can't for the life of him stop the image of you from flooding his mind as he puts his pen to the page of a leather-bound journal cradled in his hands.

It’s the following day at the exact same time when you grin widely at the sight of him again.

Your eyes meet his only briefly, still too shy to even stare at him for more than a few seconds. “Have you just moved to the area?” you ask, hoping that you’d be seeing him more during your short time serving drinks and sweets by the sea.

“I’m just visiting,” comes his simple reply, but it feels like your heart has just shattered into pieces at a mere three words.

You swallow your disappointment as you offer him a small “I see,” trying to distract yourself from your aching heart as you diligently assemble his order of strawberry lemonade and a square of your auntie’s lemon bars. Perhaps the sweetness would help hide the sadness etching its way onto your face from his careful watch.

“... Is there anywhere around town that you’d recommend I visit?” he suddenly asks, and you swear the butterflies in your stomach are threatening to escape through your mouth now.

With all your strength, you swallow them back down roughly, silently praying that they'd finally behave. “I-It’s not a tourist spot, but there’s a retro convenience store a little ways up the road from here. They sell a lot of locally made candies and snacks there,” is what you manage to say.

“I see… Well… I’m not very good with directions…” Hwei’s voice fades away slowly, but his eyes are still trained on you and you can hear him sharply inhale as he lets the last few words die in his throat. For a moment, it feels like he’s giving you a chance to say something, anything, but you can’t tell if it’s just your imagination or your infatuation with this stranger that has poisoned your mind with such sickly sweet thoughts. Maybe it's both.

A quiet stillness hangs in the air above you as you wonder what to say to him. Should you write down the address on a sheet of paper? Or maybe…

“I can show you! I’m actually off soon if you don’t mind waiting!”

You almost want to hide behind the counter and cover your face as the words burst out of your mouth, fluttering around and flailing messily in his face, but his reassuring smile has you choking back your apologies as he nods to your offer.

In a few minutes, you're walking down the street in the golden glow of the afternoon with Hwei by your side while unbeknownst to you, the sea breeze is gently pushing his hand towards yours. He’s a painter, you’ve learned, and he’s taking a week or so off for some inspiration hunting. But just hearing him speak so fondly about art and his passions has you thinking back to the feelings that blossomed in your chest when you had your first schoolyard crush years ago.

Swept off your feet and with rose tinted lenses on, you used to roll around in bed thinking about a special someone, kicking your legs and giggling to yourself as you fed yourself daydreams and musings before bedtime. It's been years since then, and you've long since forgotten the name of that person your child self dreamed of marrying, but now you have a gift from the sea breeze who has reignited those saccharine emotions once more.

So in return, you promise to show him the drink combination you used to love indulging in with your school friends right before summer break– a mixture of slightly sweetened soda and colourful fruit gummies. It used to be your favorite, back when your only worries were your skinned knees and summer reading assignments, but somewhere over the years as your friends drifted away and your summers were no longer spent in this cozy seaside paradise, it had started to fade from your memories.

As you both stroll through the convenience store alongside the ghosts of your childhood and youth long lost, Hwei notices a large assortment of candies quickly making their appearance in your shopping basket. “Oh, you just need to try them all,” comes your sunny declaration, and who is he to deny such a sweet voice?

On the curb outside, he sits by you as you prepare your childhood potion containing the laughter of your old friends and the faded amber sunsets of your teenage years. The brightly coloured candies float slowly in the clear soda, surrounded by flurries of bubbles, and you smile to yourself as you hand over the capped bottle to him, but not before swirling it a few times.

Needless to say, your laughter had his heart racing and his mouth running dry while he was left with his hands sticky with sugar as the only proof of being struck by cupid’s arrow. But all the same, he flashes you a tiny grin as he takes a sip of the sweet concoction and chews on the tiny pieces of gummy candy, his face now growing incredibly warm as you shared such a personal and nostalgic memory with him– a stranger.

You send him home that night with a bag of soda and sweets, a dream come true for the child trapped in his adult body, but he can’t help but want to see you, his summertime faerie, again. The longing look in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed by him either, and it just serves as more fuel for his hungry heart as he nervously asks for the next time you’re free.

The days you spend together in the little seaside town come and go, but not too quickly for either of you to not notice the feelings bubbling up in your chests every time you see each other. The attraction is mutual it seems, but neither of you have the courage to say a word about it in fear of reducing your carefully crafted house of cards to sand swept away by the ocean tide.

So instead, you dance around it, hands grasped together as the ocean waves crash behind you two, urging one of you to take a step closer. But despite the encouragement, you both remain at an arm's length, quietly satisfied with just hints and tiny tastes of a future together.

Now it’s the night before he’s set to leave when you’ve finished a candlelit dinner by the sea. With your feet in the sand, you pull him along for a leisurely walk on the beach, softly murmuring nonsense about the boring world you’ll go back to once your time working for your auntie ends. It's so simple, but your voice has him captivated as he listens, swearing to himself to treasure the little windows into your life you’re opening to him one at a time, little by little, even if he knows this moment won't last long.

Your yawning under the moonlight makes him smile sadly as he realizes it’s finally time to say goodbye to you. The seagulls have turned in for the night, the tide is low, and it's only the two of you left on the dark beach with your fingers intertwined and hidden in the darkness. So with a heavy heart, his hand tugs yours while he guides you back towards the streetlights, back to your auntie’s little café, and up the stairs to the small apartment above where you’ve been staying while working there. 

Neither of you say anything as you push the brass key into the keyhole, but the silence is so loud it might as well be singing acapella in an empty concert hall. Your door swings open with a deafening creak, and with the lights already on inside, Hwei can see small glimpses into your room– small glimpses of you that you haven’t shown him yet, but glimpses that he so desperately wishes to see despite the fact that you’ve both run out of time. 

Half way through the door, the beating in your chest screams for you to turn around, and you’re met with Hwei’s breathless expression as his eyes gaze upon you once more. It’s so soft, so longing, so desperate as he reaches his arm up to scratch the back of his neck from nervousness.

“I didn’t think I’d enjoy this week as much as I did, truthfully,” he whispers hoarsely, quietly begging for a few extra minutes with you.

“I’m glad to have met you,” is all you can say without shattering your own heart. And for a split second, he seems content with just having those little words to walk away with.

Another bout of silence washes over the two of you– this time it’s calmer, more somber as you swallow the lump in your throat and quickly throw a glance behind you into your room that would soon serve as the prison separating you from him. Your mind tells you to finally bid him goodbye and shut the door– anything to quickly close this chapter of your dreamy romance, but your heart says otherwise. Because as you stand there, staring into his shimmering eyes that whisper so sweetly to you, you realize that there’s no way you can let the night end without being completely honest with yourself.

And so you step towards him, your legs feeling shaky as your hands rest on his shoulders, gently pulling him towards you. The cool sea breeze glides in to aid you in your endeavor, ruffling your hair and caressing your skin, and before you know it, Hwei’s face is closer to yours than you can ever imagine. His eyes are wide, wondering if he himself was dreaming, but you don’t let him wonder for too long before you press a kiss to his lips, soft and fleeting and warmer than the high noon sun. It’s enough to give him a sunburn, but he’d give anything for the kiss to last just a bit longer. It's intoxicating to the point where he wishes to do nothing more than to greedily feast on it until the sun rises, but before he can reach his hands out to hold you still, you pull away with a red face, and his arms fall to his sides limply as his glimpse of heaven is quickly ripped away.

Between hurried words of goodbye, you stumble backwards into your room and softly shut the door, finally putting an end to your summer romance while you sink to your knees to mourn the loss of the handsome stranger who had so easily captured your heart.

Outside, Hwei stands there, stone still as he stares at the door that has now replaced you. Thousands of jumbled thoughts race through his mind, none of which he can properly decipher after you so easily and beautifully made a home for yourself in his heart, only to vacate it just as quickly. After a moment, he finally shakes his head, his fingertips flying up to his lips that still burn from your touch. And as he painfully makes his way down the stairs away from you, he’s sure, that for better or for worse, even if he’s set to leave this seaside town bright and early tomorrow morning, the memory of you would still be haunting his dreams, just as the taste of your lips plagued his mind– sweeter than sugar and warmer than summer itself.

That night, sleep easily escapes you as you desperately try to chase after it. But no matter how hard you try, it continues to evade you while your thoughts circle around and around and back to the painter who had so gracefully wooed you in a mere seven days. Your mind is restless and your heart pounds in your ears as you lay tucked in bed, wondering if in another life perhaps you’d be waking up next to Hwei's sleeping face and carding your fingers through his messy strands of hair basked in the soft glow of dawn. It pains you, and yet it soothes you, so just as you used to snack on daydreams and sweet nothings in your youth before bedtime, now you let yourself fall asleep to the sound of every sugar coated what-if that enters your mind, until at last, sleep finally finds you.

The next day is bittersweet as you open up the café knowing that it will only be full of strangers now that Hwei is gone. It's almost surreal to you how quickly he had come into your life, stolen your heart, and made a swift, effortless getaway back to whatever life he's been living without you in it. Criminal as it was, you'd never think to press charges, because as silly as it may seem, you feel rather pleased with the heartfelt flowers he planted in your heart, even if they are destined to wither with his departure.

But as you step outside to flip the “closed” sign to “open,” you notice a piece of paper taped securely to it, folded neatly and smelling faintly of brine. Scrawled in black ink is your name, penned to perfection in a way that makes your heart skip a beat and sends your fingers flying as you quickly tear the tape off for an opportunity to quell the aching pain in your chest that screams and wails for the comfort of another.

Beautifully drawn with careful lines is a portrait of yourself staring back at you, inky eyes twinkling up at your shock as adrenaline shoots through your veins and you feel yourself gasping for air. Your eyes scan the page, searching and searching until you come across three words that wink at you, followed by a string of numbers.

“Please call me,” it says. And you've never run to pick up your phone faster.

୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Author's note - I'm in some desperate need for some fluff in my life right now, so enjoy some sugary goodness with this one (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)₊˚⊹♡

[velidewrites]

Lucien has long given up on his crush on Elain Archeron — until she drops by his flower shop to return a bouquet from her now ex-boyfriend.

OR

Elucien Flower Shop AU except that Lucien is the florist.

Notes: This is my contribution for Day 5: Nature of @elucienweekofficial!

Warnings: Graysen, Lucien's slutty apron

Read on AO3

Lucien looked at the clock and sighed. He’d have to close the shop in about ten minutes—something he was actually supposed to do fifteen minutes ago—a sign, if nothing else, that the time for stalling had long passed.

She obviously wasn’t coming, and it had been foolish of Lucien to hold out hope. Catching himself glimpsing at the open glass door every few minutes had become somewhat embarrassing—especially since he was pretty sure the woman in question didn’t even know his name.

Lucien knew hers, though. Elain Archeron. He liked the way it lilted on his tongue the first time he tried it, a sound so sweet it could very well have been a melody. He hadn’t tried since—hadn’t really dared to, fearing she might hear it somehow, even from her bakery a block away.

She dropped by almost every day, though, as if fate was intent on testing Lucien’s will until he cracked. He called her “miss” instead, which—of course—ended up being worse than actually saying her name. This nickname of sorts made Elain’s face light up every time, a small smile curling up the corner of her full, rosy lips, as though being addressed as such by someone so close to her own age amused her. Lucien, frankly, didn’t care if she found it silly—he was simply content to watch that pretty smile of hers and know he was the reason behind it.

Besides her beauty, so breathtaking he still was not entirely sure she wasn’t some kind of hallucination from all the colourful scents surrounding him, Lucien knew a grand total of two things about Elain Archeron. One: she enjoyed baking, which resulted in her hands almost always being stained in some kind of flour or spice, and two: she had a particular affinity for flowers, which was just as well, because it always led her right to him.

To be fair, there weren’t any other flower shops in the area that she could choose from, but Lucien conveniently chose to omit the fact. It was easy to forget anyway, when she would show up in the doorframe nearly every day, her silhouette lit up by the golden sunlight. She looked like a spirit sent down to Earth to bless him with her beauty—or haunt him, perhaps, given that there was no way Lucien could ever do anything more than stare.

It was a very cruel punishment, really, and lately Lucien began to wonder what, exactly, he had done to deserve it. He’d always been a hardworking man—finished college with outstanding scores, opened his small business and he liked to think he was kind—better than his wretched family, at least, which, truth be told, was not exactly a difficult thing to achieve. Perhaps fate was punishing him simply for being born into it, and to be completely honest—Lucien wasn’t sure he could blame it.

Punishment or not, Lucien wasn’t sure he could live without it, anyway. He’d grown used to the frequent visits from the beautiful baker, always looking for fresh flowers to liven up her place whenever she made her way back from work. She went for tulips nearly every time—of different colours and crowns, yes, but they still seemed to be her preference, and ever since it had become obvious, Lucien began ordering new variations every week. It was an effort Elain had definitely noticed, sometimes playfully teasing him about his indecisiveness, though she’d always chosen the newest option instead of going for the standard pink. To Lucien, it was rewarding enough.

She’d gone home with a pretty purple bouquet yesterday, and Lucien told himself it was the only reason she hadn’t come today—the flowers were of good enough quality to last her more than the usual few days, giving her no reason to drop by again today.

Still, he’d kept the shop open. Just in case.

It was almost 6pm, though, and Lucien did need to get home eventually. He sighed again, throwing his white apron over his shoulder and eyeing the old green stain he was pretty sure was never coming off no matter how many times he washed it.

Today was a busy day—maybe it was a good thing Elain hadn’t come. Lucien would go straight home and—

The little bell tied to the doorway rang, and Lucien’s head snapped toward the sound.

She came.

“Oh! I’m too late, aren’t I?” Elain’s honey-brown eyes flickered to Lucien’s apron. “Oh. I’m ah, sorry, I—”

“No!” Lucien cleared his throat. “No, I mean—you’re good. I wasn’t going to close for another ten minutes or so.

It was definitely wishful thinking, but Lucien could have sworn her gaze dipped lower, right where he’d rolled up his sleeves earlier to avoid the thorns cutting through his linen shirt. He flexed his arms as if on instinct, feeling immediately stupid afterwards and awkwardly shifting on his feet.

Still fixed on his half-bare arms, Elain said, “I thought you closed at 5:30?”

“There was a late delivery,” Lucien lied, wondering if she could tell. He summoned the usual joke to help cover it up. “Anything I can help you with, miss?”

There it was. That damned smile, more beautiful than any blooming flower he’d ever sold. Elain’s lips parted slightly, revealing a perfect set of pearl-white teeth—Lucien could not believe he was lucky enough to be on the receiving end of Elain’s grin.

“Well—yes, actually. There is.” Her smile faltered slightly as she spoke, and Lucien frowned.

“Don’t tell me the Rembrandts wilted already?” The Rembrandt tulips, if handled by the right hands, could last well over a week.

“Oh, no—they are perfect,” she assured him. “I’m…well, I’m actually here to return these.”

It was only then that Lucien realised Elain was actually holding something—a bouquet so familiar it couldn’t have been made by anyone other than himself. A bouquet he’d sold just this morning—to Elain Archeron’s boyfriend.

She and Graysen Nolan—Lucien had finally learned his name after he’d placed the order—had been dating ever since he could remember. Graysen’s card stated he was an accountant for a well-known corporation downtown, which explained the insane price he paid for the gift. Lucien, of course, did not dare to suggest his girlfriend might have preferred something less ostentatious—from what he’d gathered, Elain was not the type to revel in thirty long-stemmed red roses, their leaves adorned with a thin layer of real gold, all finished off by a silk ribbon and heavy perfume. Lucien had simply assembled the bouquet and charged him the price, almost as ridiculous as the bouquet himself.

Special occasion? he’d asked Graysen then, unable to help himself. He’d recognised him the minute he walked into Lucien’s shop—he’d seen him pick Elain up from work too many times to count. For some reason, though, she’d never brought Graysen to buy flowers with her.

The man merely shrugged. Something like that, he chuckled, then added, as if he and Lucien were old friends, Women. You know how they are—gotta give them something pretty whenever they get too mad.

Lucien tried not to take too much hope in that—still, he couldn’t help but sneak a sly smile. So the two of them were fighting—and he doubted this monstrosity of a bouquet would be any help at all.

It seemed that he was right.

“There’s nothing wrong with them,” Elain added quickly. “I just…” she took a levelling breath. “Some people just can’t seem to let go.”

“Oh.”

Oh? Seriously?

“I’m sorry,” Lucien continued a shade pathetically. “It must be…hard.”

Elain hummed. “Not as hard as I thought it would be.”

He studied her beautiful face as she spoke, wondering if there was any chance she knew about the singular, white streak of flour staining her cheek. Wondering if she'd toss his hand away if he dared to swipe his thumb across it, marvelling at the softness of her skin. She probably would.

She definitely would, Lucien corrected himself silently—he couldn’t possibly ask her out if she’d just gotten out of a relationship. Elain had always been so close, yet completely out of his reach—life liked to be cruel this way, it seemed.

Lucien had only tried to get over her once—the first time he saw her plant a kiss on Graysen’s cheek, just outside of Lucien’s shop. He’d decided it was time to stop lusting after someone so obviously unattainable, and move on with his life. Dating apps were surprisingly easy to figure out—Lucien had gotten himself a date not even two days later. Jesminda, from what he could see on her profile picture, was a pretty girl about to graduate from the local college and looking for some fun now that her finals were finally over. She was exactly what Lucien needed—distraction and fun. He’d promised to take her to the bowling alley a few minutes away from campus which Jesminda somehow had no idea existed—it had been Lucien and his friends’ favourite spot after his own exams last year, and he’d been excited to revisit.

Until, of course, Elain had shown up at the shop the morning before his date, golden-brown hair unbound and framing her face in soft waves. She was wearing her apron, a pale shade of yellow with the logo of her bakery, which meant she’d come straight from there—if the small paper bag in her hand wasn’t already enough of an indication.

Sorry to bother you so early, she’d said, as if she could ever. I made a few extra cinnamon rolls and thought you might like to try some.

Lucien had only gaped, which, in turn, had made her cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink. I hope you’re not allergic? Elain had asked.

No, he’d finally told her. No, it’s just…I forgot my breakfast this morning. Wound up in all the planning, he’d forgotten to pack the sandwich he’d made earlier, figuring he’d have to wait a few hours until he could finally appease his growling stomach at the date.

Oh, Elain had smiled at his words. Looks like it was meant to be, then.

Lucien had cancelled on Jesminda the minute Elain left. He had felt bad, of course, but there was no point in even trying to get over Elain—not after she’d beamed at him so bright even the morning sun dimmed in comparison.

Meant to be.

“Would it be alright, then?” Elain’s voice snapped him back to reality as she approached the counter. “To return it, I mean? It’s very beautiful—it’s just…”

“Not for you,” Lucien finished for her, earning a small nod and a shy smile. “Yeah, it’s no problem at all—thank you, actually. You could have just thrown it out.”

Elain looked as though the very idea appalled her. “I would never do that,” she said with a vehemence that made Lucien chuckle.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, freeing the bouquet from her hands. It still smelled strongly enough to make his nose wrinkle. Elain giggled at the sight, as if she knew exactly what Lucien had just been thinking.

The thought caused a surge of bravery to rise through him, so before he could really think it through, Lucien told her, “I didn’t think you’d like them, you know.”

Elain cocked her head to the side. “Am I that predictable?”

Lucien winked. “Only to me.”

Her cheeks heated, that pretty blush he’d been waiting for gracing her stunning features, and Lucien couldn’t help but feel as if he’d just won the lottery.

“You just don’t strike me as a roses kind of girl,” he added, and it made Elain’s brow arch.

“Oh? And what kind of girl do I seem like?”

Lucien placed the bouquet in a glass vase, considering before he turned to her again. “Roses like these have to be bred—carefully crossed, time and time again, until they achieve perfection—until they reach the desired shade of red or the curve of its petals. You…” he hesitated, meeting her gaze. “You need a flower that’s wild—a flower that grows tall and—and free, and…” Elain’s eyes shimmered, and Lucien was no longer sure he was still talking about flowers. He swallowed something tight in his throat. “And brighter than the very sun.”

Silence wrapped itself around the room, and for a moment, there was nothing but them and the light buzzing of the street outside. Elain simply looked at him, an incredulous expression on her face, as if this was the first time she was truly seeing him.

Unsure if he’d gone too far—if he’d taken her smile for a lot more than it actually had been—Lucien quickly cleared his throat. “Anyway—thank you again. I really appreciate you bringing these back.”

Elain blinked. “Oh—right. It’s no problem at all,” she said, and, unable to hold her gaze any longer, Lucien grabbed a nearby cloth and began polishing the already-shining counter. Yes, he’d definitely gone too far—she had just broken up with someone, and there he was, spewing some kind of nonsense about…about her wildness.

He could only pray Elain would leave before she noticed the furious blush beginning to stain his cheeks.

“Lucien?” she asked, and, his hand sweating over the cloth, Lucien looked up. She stood at the doorway, gleaming in the fading sunlight, watching him with such softness it knocked Lucien’s next breath from his lungs.

“Yeah?” he asked weakly.

Her smile widened. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

The world spun and locked back into place. “Yeah,” Lucien repeated, and found himself smiling back. “Yeah, Elain. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A few minutes after she left, Lucien found himself scrolling through his order log until the rose bouquet from this morning finally appeared. He stared at the screen for a few seconds, his mouse hovering over the “Home Delivery” button like a beacon calling out his name. Hoping Elain wouldn’t kill him for this, he clicked on the details Graysen had provided until he found her address at last.

Tomorrow morning, Elain would wake up to a small bundle waiting at her doorstep—six sunflowers, tied together by a single, golden thread. Deep down, something told him she would like them.

Elucien Week Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @melting-houses-of-gold @areyoudreaminof @fieldofdaisiies @kingofsummer93 @witchlingsandwyverns @gracie-rosee @stickyelectrons @selesera @sv0430 @vulpes-fennec @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship @screaming-opossum @autumndreaming7 @sunshinebingo @spell-cleavers @starfall-spirit @lectoradefics @this-is-rochelle @goldenmagnolias @bookeater34 @capbuckyfalcon @betterthaneveryword @tasha2627 @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune

[venator-signum]

hello here’s my take on moon spirit!sokka but instead both of them are blessed to it’s spirit blessed!sokka and katara instead :)

this will most likely turn into a fic later but rn im working on other things so stay tuned for that

anyways, premise for this is that Yue and La wanted to thank the swt siblings for doing their best to save them at the North Pole and shenanigans, spirit adventures and more magic powers ensue

EDIT: FORGOT TO TAG @peachieflame WHO STARTED THE MOON SPIRIT SOKKA AU THAT I TOOK INSPO FROM AAAAAAAA

(please click for better quality)

[venator-arts]

a comprehensive list of fanfics/wips I've completed/am actually working on and how much im working on them (not in order)

I AM OPEN TO RANTING ABT WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN MY WIPS OR FIC IDEAS SO DON'T HESITATE TO ASK

(also I will update this every now and then when I write some more lmao)

STAR WARS

wips:

• skybridger aladdin au - update: 7th chapter is finally up!!! (after six months... oops) anyways at a good point in the story, big time skip ahead

• finn fic - is there, maybe rewatch tfa and read some finnpoe then i might get inspired but wont post for agessss

• infinity stones - also there, working on it in bits and pieces, plan to have all chapters written out before posting (like 6 or 7 chapters - one for each stone and then maybe branch out in future for more worldbuilding idk)

• one-shots and snippets of execute order 65 au - the idea is there and i have things i want to explore but idk man it'll be longer than skybridger before i get to it

completed and posted fics:

Execute Order Sixty-Five - order 66 fix-it

rosi's spectres and skywalkers (series) - includes: reminders of people lost, i never lost hope, Younglings of the Rebellion and Wait For Me

Full of Hope - rouge one alternate ending

imagine all the people livin' life in peace - tros alternate ending

MIRACULOUS LADYBUG

wips:

• mlb hbic au - starting to organise written snippets into order and connecting things together, lots still missing despite the 20ish pages worth of content, nothing posted but art is on tumblr

• anatis and grimalkin spin-off (from hbic au) - it'll happen as we go, bits and pieces will click together eventually ig and i can go off of ideas in hbic au

• akumanette - not a lot but some basic concepts down like trigger or akumatisation and some other points but wont be done done for a while

completed and posted fics:

rosi's miraculous one-shots (series) - includes: the motorcycle is actually a great idea, sweet dreams (are made of this) and i used to hear a simple song

TALES OF ARCADIA/TROLLHUNTERS

wips:

• more of jim's perfect timeline au - mainly just a fic of barbara adopting all of jims friends with a healthy dose of half-troll mother son bonding

completed and posted fics:

jim's perfect timeline au (series) - includes: time in the hall of the mountain king and like mother like trollhunter

THE WITCHER

wips:

witcher daemon au - it won't leave me alone so I'm super excited for this one!!! there's a lot of worldbuilding that needs to be done to work out the mechanics of how daemons with work with witchers and mages and super powerful monolith breaking princesses; also coming up with names and animals for each character aksdsadj excite

completed and posted fics:

Soldier Poet King - aka jaskier writes soldier poet king in the witcher universe

MARVEL

completed and posted fics:

Keep Smiling For Me - peter and hope during the What If... Zombies ep

Little Lampbug and the Spider - aka natasha dies, yelena cries; yelena finds out nat's dead

PERCY JACKSON

completed and posted fics:

rosi's pjo one-shots (series) - includes: jackson & gardner and a god's power stems from belief

EVER AFTER HIGH

wips:

• evil!raven au - a fair bit is happening, plot points are there and i know where i wanna end up but so much is missing still but we getting there ig (now that I think about it it's not so much evil, maybe more feral raven constantly going apeshit)

ATLA

wips:

• spirit blessed sokka & katara - will probs rewatch atla to get a feel for what i want as its gonna go through show events with some changes ig but a look into their powers is done in my notes and like the start is finished, may have to read some moon spirit!sokka fics (particularly zukka)

YOUNG JUSTICE

wips:

artemis lance (not the title but maybe it will be we'll see) - hehe Artemis gets adopted by dinah lance when she's a kid cause Paula gave her up for adoption to try save her from growing up in a family of criminals au; gonna be so much spitfire and mother/daughter bonding you won't even know (with a dash of team as a family, connor being a big brother and ollie abt to do anything for his girls)

[galvanizedfriend]

Klaroline Fic: Like It's Christmas Again

Summary: As Christmas approaches, Caroline Forbes, a New York-based event planner, is sent to a quaint small town in Virginia to organize their holiday festival. But her plans are momentarily hindered by the presence of Klaus Mikaelson, the Mayor's brother and a grumpy billionaire lacking in holiday spirit, who's in town to close the sale of his family's manor, the charming estate she was hoping to turn use as a venue.

[AU/AH, Hallmark-movie inspired (I kid you not), Enemies-to-friends-to-lovers Holidays fluffapalooza]

---

Part 1: The Nightmare Before Christmas 🎄

Caroline flips her hair back, plastering her best pageant smile on - sweet and practiced and full of condescension - before knocking on the window.

She was not expecting the handsome face that greets her when the tinted windows roll down. Eyebrows arched in mild curiosity framing piercing blue-grey eyes, a chiseled jawline and rosy fat lips. All the looks of someone who was born into money and power and a stupidly blessed genetic pool. It throws her for a split second, but Caroline recovers fast. Those are all the marks of a class A douchebag.

"Hi," she starts. "Quick question. Did you just tell your employee over there that his job depends on him cutting through that line to get you a cup of coffee?"

The man blinks away from her, to a point behind her, then back. "Probably," he replies, disinterested. "Though I believe the expression I used was post haste."

Caroline lets out an indignant breath. Maybe if Aurora hadn't given her a very similar talk just before she left for the most important job of her life, she would let this go. It's none of her business, after all. But with her boss' not-so-veiled threat still ringing vividly in her mind, it's all Caroline can do not to physically assault the man.

She draws in a breath, stuffing out her chest as righteousness rises inside her like a tidal wave. "You know, terrorizing your employee is not the way to keep him on his toes. In fact, studies show that a stressed-out worker is more likely to act impulsively and make poorly thought decisions that will lead to mistakes. So, trust me when I say that is not the way to go."

The man's lips draw into a slow smile. "Studies?" he parrots, sarcasm bleeding through his accent.

"Yes. It's a scientific fact. But I can also speak from experience, as someone who has heard those exact same words."

"And how's that worked out for you?"

"Badly."

"Forgive me, love, but you don't seem like someone who's floundering."

"I'm very self-assured," she states with a little smile.

"I can see that.” He flashes her a pair of insolent dimples that honestly make her want to hit him with the binder in her hand. "I'm sorry, love, it was a joke."

"What?"

"Young Joshua there is having a rather hard time adapting to his new role and he seems to be under the impression that I'm some kind of boogie man."

"And you're enjoying it?" she asks in a tone that makes the full extent of her reproach clear.

"Of course he is," Elijah says as he walks up to the car. "That has been his aspiration since he was a little boy. Where others would want to be astronauts and deep-sea divers, he wanted to leave a mark by becoming someone's worst nightmare. Finally found your heart's calling, Niklaus?"

Read more here on AO3

___

So I have committed Christmas!fic! This will be a two-parts story, based on Hallmark movie Christmas at Pemberley, which is also, apparently, a Pride and Prejudice modern AU, but I wouldn't even go there. 🤣 It's very rom-com-ish and with a good dose of Mikaelson siblings bickering.

Shout-out to @recyclingss and @definedareasofuncertainty for the help, support and excitement that made me truly flash through this in the little time I had to write these last few weeks. And also to my friend Katherine @diaz-eddie, who was a super cheerleader. ❤️ All three had to suffer through my writing process and I really appreciate your patience, friends!

I really hope you guys enjoy it! And happy holidays, everyone! ☺️🎄❤️

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Mystery Twins: Not Freaking Out

A new AU inspired by Mystery Skulls…

AO3 link

Ch.1

~~~~~~~~~~

April 6th, 1972

“What?! Stanford, tell him he’s crazy!”

But Ford glanced down at his navy-blue pamphlet, wincing, and closed the curtains, purposely keeping his eyes off his brother.

“Stanford? Don’t leave me hanging?” Stanley croaked. “High six?”

And the door was slammed in his face by his father’s hand, deaf to the wails of his nephew and the choked sobs from his mother.

Stanley growled in his throat. “Fine! I can make it on my own! I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone! I’ll make millions and you’re RUE the day you turned your back on me!”

~~~~~~~~~~

May 14th, 1976

Fiddleford had insisted that he and Stanford go out to celebrate their upcoming graduation. In a few days they would no longer be students, ready to use what they learned out in the real world. Stanford was reluctant, but agreed. What were the odds anything outside of a few drinks and some good food would occur? Stanford had a lot to drink for and it did seem like he never left campus for some typical college fun, so he took a shot and then stuck to some cozy beer and some onion rings.

After fleeing Columbia prison with a gang, and then weaseling his way out of that mess in New Mexico, Stanley had been apprehensive about trying to make it big in southern California, not knowing much about Stanford’s new life, but he did know that’s where he was going to college; Moses bless Ma and her phone calls. But what were the odds Stanley would ever run into his brother? He needed the money so he took the shot. 

At first, Stanford thought it was his imagination and he nearly choked on his beer while Fiddleford was busy talking to a guy who was also from Tennessee. A second, longer look confirmed his fears and Stanford saw his long-lost family member exit the bar, leaving behind a small table with a few empty beers on it to smoke.

With Stanley’s back to him, Stanford studied him through the glass. His hair was a bit longer than how he kept it in high-school and it wasn’t slick back tonight; probably from holding his head so much. From what Stanford had seen before Stanley had leaned against the window, his face wasn’t as round and youthful as it was four years ago; he had grown a square jaw like Pa’s. Like Stanford’s. His skin was rough and scraggly, unlike Stanford who was clean-shaved, and he wore work boots, dirty jeans, and a worn white t-shirt. Stanley Pines looked rough around the edges, but when he re-entered the bar Stanford saw that spark in his brown eyes that guaranteed a heart made of plastic gold and a promise to protect the things he cares about.

Stanford wanted to be angry. He wanted to shake his rage, punch the jerk in the face, and leave for campus. But he couldn’t. He was too relieved to see his brother alive and a very very small part of him had missed him like crazy these last four years. He wasn’t quite ready to forgive Stanley for what he did, but maybe if he was ready to apologize, Stanford could be ready.

Stanley’s eyes landed on Stanford on his way to his table and he froze like a statue and paled three sheets. Stanford wondered if Stanley would pass out and he could feel himself turn red with embarrassment. He bit his lip and tried to move his own eyes to the six-fingered hand around his drink, but his mind stayed on Stanley and the corner of his eye kept him in view.

Stanley looked ready to walk out the door, but with a sigh he returned to his table. Stanford could feel Stanley staring at his back; he let him; it was only fair that Stanley got to absorb Stanford’s appearance since he had his fill of how much Stanley had changed. He was bigger than he was in high-school, taller and slightly thicker maybe, but not nearly as muscular as his twin. Stanford’s hair was still an uncontrollable fluffy mess and he still wore glasses, and today he wore clean jeans with black sneakers to go with his black t-shirt that was covered by a brown jacket with tons of pockets.

Stanford couldn’t stand his brother looking at him and not looking back for too long. When he looked at Stanley, a waitress was picking up the empty glasses. Stanford watched Stanley hold up two fingers, the waitress nodded and said something he could hear across the bar, and she left. Stanley looked at Stanford, their eyes meeting, and he gestured casually for Stanford to join him at his two-person table and looked away, waiting for Stanford to either accept or reject the invitation. After taking a deep breath, Stanford swallowed one last mouthful of his drink, wiped his lips dry, and made himself walk to his brother’s table.

If either of them thought things were awkward before the moment Stanford sat in the empty chair, the atmosphere became even thicker and the room suddenly felt even warmer. None of them said a word and remained silent until the waitress came by with two more beers. While Stanford quietly thanked her, Stanley gulped his down. Stanford snorted with a small smile as he brought his glass up to his lips. The drink half-empty, Stanley slammed his down, gave a small grunt, and spat out, “So, what’s the word, Sixer?”

Stanford smiled as he slowly began to spill about college and his new friends. Well, more like best friend and acquaintances, but his status was much better than it was in high-school and he was much happier. Stanley nearly choked on his beer when Stanford mentioned his twelve PhDs and he immediately congratulated him and told him how proud he was; he even ordered two shots to celebrate with. Stories of college were swapped for stories of Stanley’s travels and before either brothers knew it, it was almost like nothing had ever happened. (This was probably thanks to the alcohol in their systems, but let’s not ruin a good thing.)

As less and less people crowded the bar and the drinks started to slow down, more and more was said between the pair of twins and it was almost too easy with how things flowed. Eventually they were the only ones at the bar and they could tell the staff was waiting for them to leave so they could close, so they decided to go for a walk to keep the good conversation going. It seemed like nothing could end such a surprisingly successful night until the hairs on the back of Stanley’s neck stood up and he looked over his shoulder.

Four dreary shadows followed them in the dead of night, but Stanley recognized them instantly. He tried to get Stanford to leave, but the eldest twin refused, no matter how hard the younger one pushed. Stanley stopped trying when Stanford gritted through his teeth, “I won’t abandon you again, Lee.”

The twins may have been out-numbered, but the gang was out-matched. After a few scrapes and close calls, the Pines twins left the goons on the sidewalk and ran before the cops could be called. One look at Stanley while under a lamppost and Stanford saw how badly his brother was beaten, so he forced him onto a trolley for Backupsmore and took him up to his dorm, where a first-aid kit sat under his bed.

Stanford ignored the fact that Fiddleford wasn’t back while he fixed Stanley up. He also ignored his twin’s groveling, claiming he could take care of himself, but Stanley had a broken nose and needed the extra pair of hands to snap his bones back into place. When all was said and done and Stanley’s schnoz had quit bleeding, Stanford filled an ice pack and made his twin lay down on his bed so he could rest. That was when Stanley spat out what had been on his mind all night.

“Why do you even care?” His eyes were covered by his beefy arm, making his expression hard to read. “Aren’t you mad at me?”

Stanford stared. Had he really made it seem he was so angry at Stanley he wouldn’t help him? “I… Yes. Yes, I’m still mad at you, but… but I…” He stumbled over his words and swallowed, the ice pack making his fingers numb.

Stanley peeked at his brother and sighed. “I’m mad, too… but I missed you so much that I ain’t got the time to be mad. You get what I’m sayin’?”

Stanford smiled and could feel a hundred pounds being lifted from his shoulders. “I think so. I might be angry at you for what you did, but I’m at a point in which I don’t care. At least, not as much as I care about getting my brother back.” He added nervously.

Stanley finally returned the smile. “Yeah. Me too.” And he accepted the ice pack and placed it on his head to help with the ache.

The next morning, Fiddleford tiptoed into his dorm and was surprised to find Stanford asleep on the floor, sitting with his arms-crossed on the bed, and a stranger on Stanford’s bed, one of his hands in Stanford’s hair. But a closer look told Fiddleford that the stranger was family and so he left them alone without a single sound.

~~~~~~~~~~

“No way?!” Stanley reread the check his brother handed to him. His eyes were particularly drawn to all those zeros, but he also checked the address and such and such. He grinned proudly and handed the slip of paper back with a playfully shove of his twin’s shoulder. “Congrats, Sixer!”

“Thank you, Stanley.” Stanford replied with rosy cheeks, pocketing the check in his brown jacket. “Now I just have to decide on what to study and how I’ll study it.”

“You’ll figure something out.” Stanley said as he munched on his bacon, happy to sit at a breakfast joint with his brother and just casually talk about life and junk. He didn’t need anything else. “Stanford Pines always thinks of a way.”

Stanford chuckled nervously, then changed the subject. “So, how do you like San Francisco?”

“It’s nice.” Stanley muttered with a shrug. “Not gonna lie, much of what I’ve already seen. Big city on water. It’s a lot nicer than Columbia, for sure, but it’s okay.” Stanford didn’t miss how uncomfortable he was about the subject, which made him only more sure what he was about to say was the right thing.

“I… I think I’ve decided what I want to study.”

Stanley grinned, his spirit much higher. “That’s what I’m talking about! Let’s hear it!”

“Well, when I was thinking about it, I couldn’t help but remember how I had always been teased for my six fingers.” Stanford started, raising a hand and wiggling his fingers. “But that got me thinking about anomalies.” And he pulled out his book on the subject and set it on the table for Stan to pick up and flick through the pages. “You know, things that are odd, unusual, statistically improbable, but not impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible, yeah I know.” Stanley agreed. “Well this all looks great! So you’re gonna go find monsters and stuff? Sounds right up your alley!”

“Thank you.” Stanford said with a smile. “I’ve already calculated where to start, and there appears to be a large cluster of anomalies in Oregon. The grant will cover the cost of a house and lab and everything I could need to properly investigate. But… it’s a bit overwhelming.” Stanford admitted. “It’s a lot to explore for one man.”

“Hey hey,” Stanley said firmly to squash any doubt. “You’ll be amazing at it.”

“I was thinking of hiring an assistant.” Stanford went on, hoping to get his point across successfully. “The grant is enough to cover some help.”

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea! What about that Fiddlesticks guy?”

“I was actually thinking of keeping this in the family.”

Stanley’s smile dropped. After staring at him for a second or two, he lowered his head and sipped his orange juice. “Oh.”

“I’ll pay you for your work.” Stanford explained. “I haven’t even started on the blueprints for the house yet, but you were always creative and ingenuitive; we can think of a design we both like and would give us our own rooms and space. You wouldn’t have to pay for rent or the bills, you working would do that, but your pay would be lower, but it would be enough for whatever you need. Sure, if I really had to I could probably figure it out, but I would really rather not, and…”

“I’m in.”

It was Stanford’s turn to stare. He was really expecting his brother to refuse, to be stubborn about this. Stanford wasn’t an idiot; he knew Stanley was living in his car and had not been doing well the last four years, and he harbored a lot of guilt for that, but now he had a chance to make things right. Things were still uncertain, and there were still some things about what happened they would have to talk about, some day, but family helps family. Right? “Really?”

Stanley laughed and smiled at him. “Yeah, bro! You need help and I can help you, so I’m in. Last thing I need is for you to go skipping into Roadkill County by yourself and getting eaten by a two-headed mountain lion or something. ‘Sides, we always wanted to go on monster hunts as kids, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that life is way too short to not do whatcha wanna do.”

Stanford grinned. “You won’t regret this, Lee! I swear!”

“Don’t sweat it,” Stanley chuckled. It was scary how similar they were; it appeared that Stanford was just as scared of losing Stanley as Stanley was of losing Stanford. “Wherever we go, we go together, right?” And he raised a hand to him.

Stanford grinned. “Right.” And they sealed the deal with a high-six.

~~~~~~~~~~

August 30th, 2000

“Move! MOVE! Outta my way!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Please excuse us, sorry!”

Ford was attempting to be the responsible and respectful one, since Stan was clearly going to be rambunctious and obnoxious enough for them both, but truth be told, if Stan was the one who was calm, Ford would be going ballistic.

They both ran into the hospital lobby, glanced at the directions board for the correct floor, and glanced at the elevator, stuffed with people like sardines in a tin can. Stan groaned and darted for the door to the stairs, making Ford grin and follow. They both used their adrenaline to run as fast as they could up the stairs and they nearly broke the door off the hinges at the sixth floor.

Of course, no one familiar was there to greet them, but the twins took that as a good sign; they hadn’t missed it. They walked to room 18 and saw that it was labeled “Pines.” The door suddenly opened and they were met faced-to-face with their nephew, Alex. 

The young man grinned at the sight of his uncles. “Hey! You made it!”

“We wouldn’t miss it, my boy.” Ford assured, patting his back.

“Is the squirt here yet?” Stan asked. 

Alex shook his head. “No, not yet. But Dana’s at eight centimeters, so it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Well, we’re here for you if you need us.”

“Thanks. I better go get her ice chips…”

“Oh, I gotcha, sport.” Stan said and headed down the hall casually, his hands in the pockets of his khakis.

“Seriously,” Alex muttered to Ford, a bit more mournful now. “I really appreciate… I’m glad you’re both here.”

Ford smiled kindly and squeezed his shoulder. “Your father would be very proud.”

Alex managed to smile back. An alarm rang over the door for room 18, and Alex ran back inside, leaving Ford to stand there in horror as Dana lay in bed, sweating. Two doctors hurried inside the hospital room and the door was closed, leaving Ford in the dark. He sighed, hoping no more death would strike this family, and he took a seat in the hall to wait.

Stan was shaken, but hid it well, when he came back and Ford had to tell him that something wasn’t right. They were both very surprised when the door was thrown open and Dana was wheeled out in her bed. Alex was squeezing her hand as two doctors called out orders and took the new mother away. Ford and Stan hurried close behind, but were stopped at a different door.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but only the father is allowed with the mother for the C-Section.”

The twins paled. “C-Section?!”

Two hours later, Alex emerged, shaking, but grinning. “They’re… they’re okay. They’re okay.”

“Holy Moses, Lil’Lex, what happened?” Stan said sympathetically.

“It’s… well, why don’t you come in first, then I’ll tell you.” Alex suggested. The pair of men nodded, and were led into a bigger room.

Dana was asleep, apparently on some kind of medicine to help her sleep. There was a special hospital crib next to the big bed. Stan and Ford cautiously approached with Alex, but Ford had to cover his mouth with his six-fingered hand and Stan accidentally let out a long line of swears, making Ford smack him upside the head.

There were two babies. One wore a pink hat, one wore a blue hat, both wrapped in warm blankets, and lying close together. There was a second crib off to the side, but there was no wonder why it wasn’t in use. Twins stick together.

“Mighty Axolotl, thank you.” Ford muttered under his breath. “Alex, they’re beautiful.”

Stan rounded on his nephew and ruffled his fluffy brown hair. “You trying to be a conman like your uncle?”

“Heh, we did decide to take a leaf outta your book, Uncle Stan.” Alex admitted. “We wanted to surprise you both. That’s why things were a bit complicated, but everything worked out. The girl, Mabel, came out first. She kicked the doctor in the jaw.”

“Hah! That’s my girl!” Stan said proudly.

“The boy, Mason, had his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Came out blue.” Alex admitted. “He’s okay now, just gave us a scare, but the doctors say he’ll be alright.”

“Thank goodness.” Ford looked down at the baby boy and smiled, truly grateful he was okay, and he thought he could see something poking out of his hat, but it was probably just fuzz.

Alex watched amusingly as the older twins just looked down at the sleeping younger twins. They were smiling so peacefully while their brown eyes were glued hungrily at the newborns. Alex waited for them to ask, but apparently they weren’t going to, so he chuckled warmly, “You know you can hold them too, if you want.”

Ford swallowed. “V-Very well…”

Meanwhile Stan pulled up a chair, sat, and excitedly waited like a child.

Alex scooped up the baby boy and gave him to Stan, who held him like a champ. Then Alex carefully picked up his little daughter and let Ford hold her, who was as stiff as wood and extremely cautious, but after a minute of feeling how peaceful she breathed against him and slept, it was easy to relax.

“Hello,” Ford muttered down at the baby girl, who slept happily.

Stan smiled down at the baby boy, getting strong deja vu from when he held his nephew all those years ago. He noticed something on the baby’s forehead and carefully freed a hand to smooth over his skin, but it wasn’t something that could be wiped away. He gently pushed the tiny blue hat up the small forehead and beamed with pride at the unique birthmark. “Well, look at you, buddy boy. Whatcha hiding that for, ey? That’s pretty special.”

Ford looked down and smiled. “How interesting.”

“Kinda looks like the Big Dipper.” Stan said.

Ford chuckled. “It does.” Something caught his eye, drawing his attention back to the baby girl. She was stirring in Ford’s arms, and soon opened one eye, getting used to the bright world. The scientist held his breath as she looked up at him, and slowly opened her other eye, staring up at him with brown eyes that matched his own. “Stanley,” He hissed. “Stanley, he’s looking at me.”

Stan looked and smiled. “She must see something she likes.” He sneered playfully.

Ford smiled warmly down at her. “Hello there, sweetheart. I’m your Great-Uncle Ford, hi.”

Stan snorted and looked down at his new nephew. “That’s too much of a mouthful. You two gremlins just call me your Grunkle Stan, k’?”

~~~~~~~~~~

January 18th, 2001

The phone was ringing. No, maybe Stan had dreamed the phone rang, because when he lifted his head to listen, he couldn’t hear it, so he let his head fall back on his pillow and he began snoring again.

Ford soon opened the door. He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathed deeply to control himself, and then he entered Stan’s bedroom. He stood beside his sleeping brother and squeezed his shoulder. “Stanley. Stanley, wake up please.”

Stan blinked awake, groaned, and turned. “Whatcha want, Sixer?”

“Stanley, please sit up. I need to tell you something.”

That got his attention; how grave Ford’s voice sounded, how serious, how scary and non-urgent it was. This wasn’t an emergency, but it wasn’t good if Ford was waking him up in the middle of the night. Stan sat up and slipped on his glasses. “What’s wrong?”

Ford sat on the bed, facing his twin. He was quiet for a moment, but then began to talk in a melancholy tone. “W-We… um… The…” Ford cleared his throat in a sad attempt to start again. “I need you to, please, be ready to leave for California as soon as you can. W-We should pack for a few days, maybe a week just in case.”

A shiver went down Stan’s spine. “Why?”

Ford took in a deep breath and took off his glasses. That was never a good sign. “Alex and D-Dana went out. Left Mason and Mabel with a neighbor for a date night. I-It was raining…” And Ford was at a loss for words.

Stan sighed tiredly. “They got into a car crash, didn’t they?”

Ford nodded.

Stan clapped his hands on his knees. “Well, we can help ‘em out. Those little guys love us, and we can stay longer than a week to help the love birds recover.”

“Stanley… they can’t recover.”

That nearly made Stan’s heart stop. He watched as Ford’s head was hung low, but he could still see how wet his eyes were. 

Ford swallowed and croaked out, “They’re gone.”

Stan bit his lip.

Ford turned his head away. “Let’s try to leave within the hour…” He made to move, to attempt to be a man and hide his tears, but Stan wouldn’t let him.

He brought his brother in for a tight, warm hug, and closed his eyes. Ford’s eyes brimmed with tears, and fell when he shut his eyes and buried his face in his twin’s shoulder, but he couldn’t do more than shudder and control his breathing. Stan was still as stone, but a single tear leaked out of one eye, and he let it fall without shame.

~~~~~~~~~~

The nice old lady who had babysat the twins when their parents died kept an eye on them until the uncles arrived, coming just as quickly as they did the day they heard the niblings were being born.

When Ford and Stan arrived at their dead nephew’s house and made a short journey to the one next door, crying disturbed their ears. The frail old lady sighed sadly and explained to the men, “I’ve tried everything for her. Bless her heart, she’s fine, but she misses her parents.”

When the old lady shuffled away to find her spare key for Alex and Dana’s house, Stan and Ford went to see their niece and nephew, the pair in a bassinet in the living room. Soft music played on a record-player, but they were deaf to it. Poor Mabel was crying her little heart out, wailing as hot tears streamed her red cheeks. Mason was by her side, holding her hand as his bottom lip trembled, trying to help his sister but having no idea how.

Stan noticed this and smiled down at the six-month-olds. He ruffled the brown fuzz on top of Mason’s head and cooed, “Hey there, gremlins. Remember us? C’mere, pumpkin, let’s see if we can’t make you feel better, ey?” Stan carefully picked Mabel up and Mason let go of her hand, his bottom lip still shaking with emotion.

Poor Mabel still cried just the same, but Stan was patient and even smiled at her stubbornness. Ford watched, intrigued, as Stan cradled the baby girl in his muscular arm, ran a finger down her button nose a few times, slowly, and breathed deeply. By the time he ran his finger down her nose the third time, Mabel had stopped crying, curious, and then yawned, turning towards his chest and clinging onto his red Hawaiian shirt.

“There we go, better?” Stan asked. Whimpering from the bassinet made Stan chuckle and he reached a strong arm down for his nephew. “Don’t think I forgot about you, Lil’Dipper. I gotcha.”

“How did you do that?” Ford whispered as Mabel snuggled against his chest and Mason calmed down the second he was in Stan’s embrace.

The businessman shrugged. “I dunno, it worked for Alex when he got fussy and it worked on one of Soos’ cousins at Thanksgiving last year.”

Ford smiled and patted his shoulder. “Well you’ve always had a way with children, Stanley.”

“You’ll get the hang of it, Sixer, don’t worry.” Stan assured, but he was suspicious when he saw a new expression on Ford’s face. “Well we are taking them home with us.” You would think they had this conversation on the long car-ride, but the drive had been dead silent as the cold reality had set in.

“Stanley, no.” Ford said firmly, looking away. “We can’t.”

“Have you lost your mind, cuz I’ll help you find it!” Stan scolded. “Why in the world wouldn’t we take them home?!”

“W-... I… I w-... It’s not a good idea.” Ford stuttered, finally looking at his brother again. “It’s not that I don’t want to! I want to! And you would be brilliant at it, Stanley! But… But they would be b-... I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be any good at it.”

“You were fine at the hospital!”

“That was different! Gravity Falls is too dangerous. I hate to say it, but they…”

“Then don’t say it.” Stan growled warningly. He calmed down a little, and then said with the kind of authority that made his word final, “Listen, we’re family; wherever we go, we go together. If they didn’t come home with us, where would they go? Everyone’s gone, so they’d go in the system, and you and I have both heard the horror stories. Best case scenario they would be separated, and that’s the best case scenario. They aren’t going in the system. They’re coming home.

“And what’s all this talk about you not being good enough for them?! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve heard you say some stupid sh-stuff! They need you, and you need them. And honestly, if these kids are anything like us, I’m more worried about the town surviving than I am of them being okay.”

Ford snorted and bit his lip, smiling down at the pair of babies.

“It’ll work out, Sixer, just you wait and see.” Stan reassured and handed Mabel to him, despite the frantic look on Ford’s face and the fact that he was shaking his head “no”. 

Mabel hadn’t really fallen asleep; she was merely resting against Stan’s body. Now she grabbed Ford’s black sweater tightly and nuzzled her chubby cheeks into the yarn. She smiled at the soft touch. Ford held his breath, waiting for Mabel to start crying again, but she didn’t. He took in a few breaths and adjusted his hold so she was cradled more comfortably. The scientist smiled down at her and found all of his troubles were a bit less troubling.

“And no offense, Brainiac, but I don’t give a… gnome’s butt what you say.” Stan injected; he was really going to have to work on his swears. “I’m going to the courthouse before we leave town and I’m adopting these gremlins.”

“What?!” Ford looked back up at him in shock. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Stan had a very serious look on his face that Ford had only seen on rare occasions. “I ain’t risking some distant cousin or whatnot deciding I ain’t good enough, or the system deciding to take ‘em. They’re my kids…”

“I want to adopt them with you.” Ford interrupted, his voice lighter than it had been all conversation.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to do that…”

“I want to.” Ford said earnestly, looking back down at Mabel. The second Stan mentioned the possibility of them going away again, Ford’s heart broke. He couldn’t do it. Not if his life depended on it. He couldn’t let his children go. “Y-you’re right. I can’t… I can’t lose…” And he bit his lip and cleared his throat. “You were right, Stanley.”

“Heh. A broken clock is right twice a day.” Stan quoted and let Mason hold his finger as he held him in his arms. “Trust me. We’ll be okay.”

And Ford nodded, putting all of his trust in his family.

~~~~~~~~~~

“SIXER! C’MERE!”

Ford jumped up from his desk, knocking his chair to the floor, and sprinted down the hall for the living room, where he was certain his brother was yelling from. He stood at the doorway to find Mabel standing thanks to the help of the couch, a chubby hand on the cushion, and Dipper on his hands and knees beside her. Stan was sitting on the floor just two feet away from the toddlers and grinned at his brother. “Mabel almost took her first steps!”

“Really?!” Ford gasped happily and stepped into the room to watch.

“C’mere, pumpkin!” Stan cooed and waved his hands to himself. “Come to Grunkle Stan, c’mere!”

Mabel giggled and bounced on her knees, but still didn’t step to him. Stan even clapped one or twice to grab her attention, but all that made her do was let go of the couch to clap, but she was more than capable of standing on her own.

“Go on, sweetie, you can do it.” Ford encouraged.

At last Mabel seemed to notice that her other great-uncle was present. She turned and smiled a big smile at him, showcasing her new baby teeth, and surprised everyone when she turned and ran to Ford. Mabel might have tripped and fallen on her baby butt, but that didn’t stop her from giggling and reaching out for Ford, who instantly scooped her up while Stan stood, laughing.

“Mabel, you can walk! Clever girl, clever girl!” Ford praised.

“That’s our girl!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford was on the floor of the living room a few days later, playing with Dipper and Mabel, building block towers. The door opened and closed and a booming voice called, “Where’s my troublemakers, ey?!”

The babies squealed and giggled and had a little race, crawling as fast as they could to the hall where Stan stood with groceries in his arms, but he sat the food on the floor to have free hands for his kids, and he scooped them up and scratched their chubby cheeks with his stubble.

“Hey there, kiddos? Been good for Grunkle Ford? No? Good!”

Ford rolled his eyes as he picked up the groceries. “They were as good as gold.”

“Eh, I guess that’s okay.” Stan smiled at Dipper, who was reaching for his glasses, and said, “Hi.”

Dipper smiled. “Hi!”

Ford did a double take as Stan laughed proudly and squeezed his nephew.

~~~~~~~~~~

From first steps to first words to first birthdays, the pair of old explorers were there for everything and couldn’t believe their luck. Pretty soon they were taking the children on safe adventures with them, fishing and hiking, and teaching them everything from Cowls to how to hot-wire cop cars. For eight years their lives were complete and things were too good to be true.

But then Stan went missing. At first Ford wasn’t too worried, only mildly annoyed, but to be fair they had a disagreement recently and Stan was a grown man, so maybe he needed to blow off steam. But then days went by. This was extremely unlike Stan, and there were some people that would want him gone, so without scaring the children too much, he began searching for his twin, definitely not freaking out.

[threadofdestiny]

Magnolia (Bakugou x f!reader)

Feudal Japan AU

Shogun!Bakugou x Midoriya’s sister!reader

Summery: Her mother, lady Midoriya Inko, had once told her that the gods had predestined a path for every single person. All she had to do was follow the path and trust that it would lead her to happiness. But how could (Y/N) find happiness in a political formed marriage with her brother’s rival, a man known for being brutal and cold hearted?

Warnings: sexual content in later chapters / period-typical-sexism / strong language / violence / Drama / Angst / Fluff / Slow Burn/ political marriage / Reader is Izuku's sister / period-typical-discriptions like vague mentions of longer hair to form typical hairstyles or specific wardrobe / Bakugou is not good at feelings / Bakugou is a mean, explosive boi / third-person perspektive

Wattpad

AO3

If someone wants to be tagged, just let me know ;)

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

The life of a lady

No matter what culture you were born into, the structures of the society of the noble born, were always one and the same in their most fundamental form. A life as a noble was blessed with wealth and influence, but intrigues and scandals enjoyed dominance over those who had enough money and power to be part of the emperor's curt.

Only the most important people were powerful enough to receive the honor to get a tailored role in such a glorious play, while the rest served only as cheap, unappreciated extras. However, it did not matter at all whether the nobility was absorbed in their role's descriptions or if they would have preferred to step off that pretential stage. Every single one of them was obliged to play their part. If they did not, they had to expect that it would not only be their own end, but often for their entire family and subordinates as well. In that case, all that could save them was the favor of the crown itself, which usually was as fickle and impressionable as the rough sea.

In a world like this, you didn't decide for yourself who you were...

No, not really...

It was the tongues of the others that had the power to deform the image of your identity. They decided who you were and what was best for you. They defined what was right and what was wrong and were able to destroy you at the slightest misstep. So, bearing a title was a privilege and a burden all at once.

As a noble it was not only important who you were and how well you fulfilled your own part in society, no, it was important who you knew and what contacts you had cultivated. Your connections were what made you powerful. So it was common that unions were closed around various families to secure better conditions for their offspring's or to form better alliances to gain power over the emperor's curt. In a society like this, everyone looked for their own benefits. Compassion was a rare treasure, which could only be found in the fewest individuals. Sons were raised to rule, while daughters were only used as bargaining chips. They must humbly serve their families by marrying powerful men, to obtain alliances. They had to bind themselves to those who were raised to rule over them, without ever getting a chance to decide for themselves.

So... how can anyone romanticize such a morbid spectacle? Why are there such big differences between the rights of various people? Why are the deeds of the powerful always glossed over, while the weaker were oppressed?

Noble warriors, who fought for glory and honor...

Fine diplomats, whose silver tongues could melt every single heart...

Mighty kings, who hold their hand protectively over their people...

Well-guarded ladies, whose beauty and elegance could made a whole hall shine...

Weren't these colorful descriptions only empty paraphrases, in order to be able to hide the cruel faces of reality?

But...

Who told of the blood of the innocent that dripped from the warrior's blade?

Who mentioned the lies the diplomat had spun to achieve his goals?

Who wrote about the wars the king instigated to expand his empire?

Who acknowledged that a lady's supposed beauty and family status was the only means to even have the prospect of a rosy future? And even this was not an indicator that her destiny would not be her downfall, because the rules were set by those who wielded the power and if she was unlucky, they were the ones who took advantage of it without thinking of her well-being.

Yes, even the carefully planned and detailed balls and parties, looked at first glance like dreamlike picture perfect background's. They blinded onlookers to what was behind the scenes, but those who lived in this world for long enough, knew that even these were literally only bloody battlefields disguised in beautiful shining robes. It's was a spectacle full of lies.

True love?

A spark of equality?

Boundless trust?

What most rare wonders they were in her hypocritical society and yet (Y/N), young and unreserved, hoped to find them in spite of everything. What a blessed life she had led until now. She was lucky to be born into a wonderful family. Despite her status, its members were warm-hearted and free-spirited. But she knew that this was not the norm and was wise enough not to take her privileges for granted.

With a wildly beating heart, she stood next to her mother and waited for her call to finally be presented before the Emperor and his guests as a marriageable debutante. Normally, the Empress would review the new young ladies year after year, but she had passed away in her own childbed some time ago, and so the Emperor, bless his suprisingly kind soul, took over this task, with a nostalgic smile on his fragile face.

In the midst of the whole crowd of young ladies and their mothers, (Y/N) stood and called herself to patience while she tried to fade out her competition as best she could. Some of her fellow competitors she knew personally, but only a few she had a closer, more sympathetic relationship with. Somewhere at the other end of the waiting area she had spotted Miss Uraraka with her mother. But unfortunately they had only been able to give each other a fleeting smile before she was already called. Ochako was one of her few childhood friends, but she too was unfortunately on the hunt for a good match and was now in some ways as much her competitor as all the rest of the unmarried girls. So all (Y/N) could do was to hope that this season wouldn't drive a wedge between them and at least one of them would get hitched safely.

However, no matter how much she would like to think about her friendships at this moment, the young girl had to use what little time she had left to mentally prepare herself for her own appearance. Breathing deeply through her chest, the budding debutante stretched her back while pulling her shoulders taut. The stiff, floral-embroidered obi was cinched very tightly around her waist, making breathing a little more difficult, but not as impossible as it seemed with some of the other ladies. Testing, (Y/N) tried to put on a charming smile as she interlaced her fingers in front of her body in a demure pose before turning her frame with trembling lips to her mother, who was already looking at her with affection. "I hope I can bring honor to our family today!" the young girl spoke softly as she gazed hopefully into the green eyes of her counterpart. Lady Midoriya regarded her daughter with a moved expression, raising her well-groomed hands to fix the blooming magnolia blossoms she had personally placed in the elaborate hairstyle that morning for one last time. Satisfied with her work, she let her fingers glide gently down over (Y/N)'s ears, only to finally cup the young girl's cheeks in a delicate manner. "You already do, my child! And I know you will continue to do so!" the older lady replied confidently, while placing her slightly wrinkled, yet still delicate fingers under (Y/N)'s chin to lift it decisively. "You are beautiful, intelligent and kind-hearted! You have inherited your father's strong will! He would be as proud as I am to see you like this. Just like your brother, you put all your passion into your tasks and diligently learn what is expected of you. You, my child, will be able to go your way and overcome any stumbling block. I am incredibly sure of that!" Lady Midoriya added emotionaly before she cleared her throat softly, hoping to catch herself again. Tears glistened in her eyes like raindrops on an evergreen branch. The words of her mother gave (Y/N) the necessary strength to suppress the slight trembling of her lips. Slowly but surely, the nervous lump that had spread in her throat dissolved and disappeared along with her fear.

Yes, her mother was right! (Y/N) had inherited the will of her father and had prepared herself in the best possible way for exactly this moment. She would face the emperor fearlessly and make her family proud. On this day and on each still coming!

"Lady Midoriya. It is now your and your daughter's turn!" the stiff voice of the herald's assistant rang out, snapping them out of their brief emotional moment. Nodding, (Y/N)'s mother started to move and placed herself with perfectly executed etiquette in front of the closed red and golden double doors that would lead them into the throne room. The remaining debutantes and their mothers, who were waiting for their momentto come, gave them appraising looks, but (Y/N) tried to ignore them as much as possible. Each of them knew how privileged the youngest Midoriya was, her own brother being one of the three former students of the current emperor. But she would shine today because of her own abilities. Today she would not stand in the shadow of her talented, kind-hearted brother. Taking a deep breath, the young girl followed her mother and positioned herself half a step in front of her while she waited with galloping heartbeat for the herald's introduction.

This was it...

This was the moment on which everything depended. All eyes would be on her to determine her own worth. As soon as those doors opened, she would take the first step to be able to grab a good match for herself. It would be one of the most important steps that would determine the rest of her life and she could not help but dare once again to let hope for a good future arise in her. Conscious of her duty, (Y/N) lowered herself onto the pillow and took in a bowing posture. With her head bowed and fingertips touching, which hovered in a rehearsed posture stretched out in front of her just a few millimeters above the ground, she took one last look at her beloved mother. Making the final decision to take Lady Midoriya as her role model, (Y/N) set herself for the very last time the goal not only to achieve an excellent match and honor for her family, but also to fight for the oh-so-rare love that only a few were truly allowed to experience. Even if her future could not be determined by herself, she did not want to leave her entire destiny solely in the hands of the gods, for only those who proved virtuous and courageous would be truly heard by those same deity's. She had prayed and pleaded that she would be able to feel for her future groom as her mother once did for her beloved husband, but to achieve this she would have to fight in her own way.

"Your Majesty, honored guests, we now present Miss Midoriya (Y/N), younger sister of the head of the family and distinguished samurai of Shizuoka Province, Lord Midoriya Izuku, one of the three former disciples of the Symbol of Peace. His Imperial Highness, Toshinori-sama. The young lady is accompanied by her mother, Lady Midoriya Inko," the clear voice of the herald echoed through the hall, while the richly decorated double doors were pushed open as if in slow motion. As she had been taught, the introduced debutante slowly counted to three before elegantly rising from her bowing position, only to just as slowly lift her eyelids to cast an innocent glance around the hall. In a culture like hers, aesthetics and elegance were invaluable. They were taught to one from childhood. Like a graceful mask, she wore the delicate, demure garb of etiquette expected of a young girl of her station.

'Do not speak unless you are addressed personally.'

'It is better to be seen than heard.'

'A young girl's weapon is not her voice, but her manners and countenance.'

'Be a work of art that all the world wants to admire.'

Even though (Y/N) wanted to be independent in her deepest heart. Even if she would have loved to use her own voice not only to be seen but also to be heard, she knew that for that she needed a man who was kind enough to give her that very chance. Her gently, encouraging brother would not always be her guardian. In a society like hers, a woman alone was worth nothing. Her status was measured by that of her husband and only that man would be able to shape her further life. He alone would have the right to decide whether to lock her in a golden cage and let her wither away or to give her the wings she would need to continue to develop freely. So she had no choice but to be exactly what was expected of her if she wanted to attract as much attention as possible. The family name she carried could not be her only trump card. She had to portray the perfect, well-mannered bride. A girl that was worth fighting over. Beautiful and quiet. Attentive and discreet. Talented and elegant. For this reason, she had poured her heart and soul and perfectionism into this very charlatanry. She wanted freedom! She wanted to be able to hope! Hope that the seed her family had planted in her would be able to blossom! Hope to be able to attract the attention of a man who would be her blessing and not her downfall.

Without losing her balance, the young girl stood up, while with purposeful flowing gestures, she placed her hands hovering over each other under her chest. When at last the seat cushion was discreetly moved aside, the debutante stepped into the packed hall with shining, soft eyes, closely followed by her venerable mother. A slight implied smile, meant to exude modesty and delicacy, played around her lips as she resisted the need to look around the room.

Look at me. I am everything you have ever dreamed of.

Her gaze rested on the hem of the emperor's multi-layered robe without once losing her focus as she strode past his wealthy guests, who were spread out on either side of the hall and focused their full attention on (Y/N). The young girl knew that somewhere in that crowd was her big brother, Midoriya Izuku, watching her intently just like all the others. By the gods, she hoped that he felt pure pride for his sister, just like their mother. He was probably even more nervous than she was at that moment. Perhaps he was even quietly whispering push prayers into his non-existent beard to give his sister all the blessings in the world. No matter. This thought alone warmed the debutante's heart as she took one step after another toward the emperor until she finally came to a stop in front of him. Without lifting her eyes, (Y/N) curtsied as deeply as her legs would allow and then waited with bated breath for the crown's reaction.

Silence reigned in the hall, so pervasive that one could have heard a pin drop on the floor. Like a mantra, the words, Look at me, I bring honor to my family, echoed in the mind of the youngest Midoriya. The sudden clap of the emperor, which echoed through the room like lashes of a whip, almost made (Y/N) wince, but she had managed to pull herself together. Calmly, the young girl waited while she made sure to take deep breaths through her chest so as not to fall prey to dizziness. Out of the corner of her eye, she could observe the emperor nodding warmly in the direction of his guests. "As one would expect, my student's little sister is shining brightly!", Toshinori's voice loudly and warmly pierced the silence of the room.

"This my honored guests, I call a truly sparkling diamond."

[marta-bee]

2020 is on its way out, so how about some quick fic recs? These are all stories I’ve read (and loved to bits) for the first time  this last year, not necessarily written in 2020.

The Curious Case of the Cookie Cut-Outs by @methylviolet10b​ (Sherlock BBC; Teen; 1,969 words)

From the summary: “ Utterly ridiculous fluff. Dangerous levels of good-will-towards-men. A cranky, determined-to-be-cheerful, and questionably tipsy John. A teenager. A cranky, don't-want-to-be-here Sherlock. Thoroughly questionable gingerbread. And Sally, coping with it all. “ Which really is all the justification any of us should need.

Dog Days by @thereadinglemon​ (Sherlock BBC; Explicit; 101,627 words)

John is turned into a dog by Baskerville shenanigans. Repeat: John is turned into a dog. This hits the sweet spot of AU-that-is-so-ridiculous-it-circles-around-the-other-end-it-somehow-becomes-canon. This is bound to scritch that delicious spot behind the ear or just over the hip that has all dogs and dog-lovers melting into their couches, and is sure to endear itself to the non-dog owners as well.

And do not, I repeat, do not skip over the missing scene, “Bone to Pick.” I can’t remember when I last laughed so hard.

A Gift for Rosie by @notagarroter​ (Sherlock BBC; Mature; 3,562 words)

If “Dog Days” was about making me laugh and smile, this is about something else entirely. I don’t want to say too much lest I spoil it for you, dear readers, but do heed the tags. But if you’re one of those fandom members who prefer your sweets less milk chocolate and more mocha, may I humbly suggest? This was unsettling for days, but in such a good way it was keeping me up nights, and it felt utterly true to what I love about these canon characters. What an understated, well-crafted, lovely gut-punch for so few words.

The Nutcracker by @odamaki​ (Sherlock BBC; Teen; 13,758 words)

Sherlock- Your mother says you’re being a miserable hermit. Found this poor chap on one of my excursions and thought you could keep each other company. Don’t be unkind. He’s been through a lot. Patch him up, there’s a lad. -Ruby.

This is a rather lovely blend of fairy-stories, magical realism, and all our favorite Johnlock tropes, with just the right balance of those different elements. A sorta-kinda Johnlock-Nutcracker AU, with just enough divergence to keep me on my readerly toes in the best way.

In Bed by @elliptical​ (Sherlock BBC; Explicit; 46,922 words)

First off: this story has a lot of sexytiems in it. Like, a lot, with a truly gasp-worthy array of kinks and schmexiness. I mean this as an incentive more than a warning, of course, but this fandom has been blessed with a lot o sexytiem fics. What this story has too, that I’ve not really seen elsewhere, is a full exploration of the various kinds of homophobia, internalized and otherwise, and the way class and background might affect the different ways John and Sherlock relate to being queer, to the extent they’re even comfortable with that label. It makes for a fascinating character study and a thoroughly-believable source of conflict that keeps the story rolling.

On a personal note, this one also claims one of my .... well, let’s just call it more memorable misreads, where I thought the author was saying Sherlock had a *cough* highly personalized sex toy crafted in the small villages of Sussex. I remember discussing it with E. I'm still smiling remembering that exchange with E.

The Red Notebook by @garonne​ (Doyle-BBC; Teen; 10,644 words)

One of my favorite concepts in Tolkien-fandom was what I called historicity: the idea that the events in the books ere just one perspective on historical events, with Tolkien as the translator of one possible historical record out of many. Various incarnations of the Sherlock multiverse get at this with their “someday the true story may be told” aspects. This goes a step further than most in that regard, with so many of the canon stories being explicitly, intentionally reworked not to “make space” for a romantic Holmes/Watson, but to provide a narrative reason for why the public story would be written as it was if the true nature of their relationship was more explicitly “other.”

Those are a lot of big honkin’ words. Let me put it more plainly: this story has a lot of fun play with textuality and the unrelaible narrator elevated to a point I don’t think I’ve read yet in this fandom. There’s also an interfering -- and shameless -- Mycroft, which is lovely enough to justify a read on its own. This one really deserves a reading.

The Chauffeur and the Consultant by @eragon19 (Sherlock BBC; Mature; 6,892 words)

John is working as a chauffeur after being invalided home from Afghanistan; Sherlock is a client turned runaway-groom. Plotwise, you can perhaps guess where this is all going, but where it really zings is just the utter comfort between Sherlock and John here. Believably so because they’ve just met and how they met, but they still just fit like hand and glove.

Oh, and there’s a visit to the zoo, too, which is just loads of fun.

Below Zero by @calaisreno (Sherlock BBC; Mature; 10,912 words)

“10,000 miles south of London, John Watson sits in a research station in Antarctica. 210 miles above London, Sherlock Holmes is floating in a space station. They are Earth’s only survivors. “

For an Apocalypse AU, this is strangely -- masterfully -- endearing, with the perfect touch of whimsy and hope in the face of hopelessness. It strikes me as a perfect read for 2020, as we buck up our spirits in the face of it all, but I like to think I’d find it encouragingly human in any year. 10/10, would read again.

The Kepler Problem by @kinklock

This reminds me in an odd way of the movie Passengers (which I loved despite the rating), or perhaps more widely-known though in a less obvious way The Martian. There’s the spaceman in the vastness of space, the very different other (alien-Sherlock), and a whopping good mystery binding them together. I do love how utterly alien is, and how John is so captivated by him, he’s not at all put of by any of it. 

Also, a bonus rec for a fic I only just now realized was by the same author: “In Need of Quiet Affection and Gentle Words.” Honestly, you’ll laugh until you cry.

[tenebriiis-archived]

@piltover-sharpshooter​​ whispered:  ⚔ "En Garde"

Send “⚔” and I’ll pick a battle theme for a fight between our muses. 

• Vampire AU:

[ ♦ ] — (...) Almost surrendering to an uncanny & deadly gorgeous dance, the Hunter & the Vampiress circle each other. Breathless, as fire ignites in formerly beloved furniture. Azure irises fixed into her bright gold gaze, questions & pleas silently screaming, as only the ignited hell crackles. The whole manor is painted on the unforgettable scents of a slaughtering & betrayal. There’s tears in their eyes, blood staining, butterflies & spirits hissing in the dark: Who betrayed the other in this game of dark power? ...Why, why, why? Give me a sign, tell me this is not truth, a Nightmare it must be, say it, SAY IT’S NOT TRUE.

... There’s no word to give even if their eyes plead for an answer... return to the past of peacefulness & softness. Memories scream on the back of each other's minds...

She sees the gun pointed at her, & the reflection of her own sorrow in the eyes of the one she loved tenderly, genuinely & sincerely. She feels the quickness & lightness of the air beneath her feet as a blessed path. Claw-like hands & fangs showing warningly... / ...She abjusts the weapon with unmatched prowness, trigger ready to be pulled in the swiftness of a blink, in the quickness of a broken cupid’s arrow.

She’s aiming for the Heart.

“... —  Farewell.”

*

• Canon Verse: 

[ ♦ ] — (...)  There's an unconfinable sound of war arising around them as a choir describing cataclysms & claiming for terrifying times to come. It makes it difficult to breathe on the fumes that surround the space & yet if she closes her eyes briefly, Emilia can almost see all the memories dancing in her mind about the Lady of Justice for who her own heart was crying now.

...Golden irises trace the details on the épée in her hands. Deadly & light, a genuine masterpiece in every single millimeter of unique beauty, just as her beloved Piltovean... standing meters away from her with a harsh glare on her azure eyes. Gazing upon her delicate features is a poison for her senses, one that burns them like a wildfire.

There's precious confidence on the way her rosy lips draw a bitter smile provoking her to almost drop her own sword & appearing right in front of her to steal passionate & unforgettable kisses out of her mouth. She knows Caitlyn would bite her, push her away... yet she craves for the lack of words, for only the sensation of belonging... Paint black every single centimeter of her skin.

She wasn't one to break her oaths... ...not when those were made to people she especially cared for, but she was one to twist them on the needed benefit...

"My Belov-..."

"Don't Speak, Matron." The Sword is raised, dangerously pointed towards her & for a second, LeBlanc feels breathless & unable to utter a word. Petricite covers places of the weapon held by her still adored Rose. Even when the harshness on her glare breaks the still beating pieces of her heart one after one at every single wink...

She finally falls into the realization that there's no turning back.

"One Lie & Two Truths, Caitlyn." Emilia whispers, pointing her own épée towards the taller woman. The sounds of screams & destruction still sound around her. "This was never what I intended for us, never I planned to bring the Rose against Piltover, nor was I attempting to use you..."

"Please stop explaining..." The steps start to circle each other slowly, there's hurt in her visage. Anger, deception, threatened & broken-hearted. "Don't tell me 'cause it hurts"

"...I had never wished to place you in a compromising situation, nor had I foreseen a Noxian war against Piltover... Listen to me!"

"Don't speak! ...I know what you're thinking... I don't need your reasons"

"&..."

"Don't tell me 'cause it hurts!"

"...I've never loved you."

The words brought tears to both. Clenched teeth & whining of pain as if their own swords would have already aimed for their bleeding hearts. Centuries deceiving & placing mask after mask upon her porcelain features only to feel how the disguise was cracking & falling into crumbles & dust.

"Which is the Lie, My Damask Rose?"

Caitlyn doesn't tell her, and instead only pronounces two words: "En Garde"

[dvoz-alternate]

The Buccaneer Queen pt. 3

Pirate! ATEEZ x pirate! Reader

Genre: fantasy pirate AU, future romance(?)

Warnings: language, potential death and violence. Characters are purely for fictitious purposes and do not portray actual people

Word count: 1.5k +

Summary: Women are considered bad luck upon the vessels that sail the Seven Seas. Before you became the captain of The Astraea, a witch of sorts cursed you and the crew leaving a physical mark upon your chest just above where your heart would lie. Anyone that sees the Black Standard flying on the black and gold ship knows that they have stumbled upon the Armada of the Damned which is piloted by the Buccaneer Queen.

Edited: 10/02/2022

»»————-　➴　————-««

Previously:

To anyone who viewed this scene would think that an ocean spirit had stumbled across the ship. To the peeping toms who watched you walk across the deck practically indecent their faces held a rosy tint. Turning your head ever so slightly in their direction you called quietly, “It’s not nice to stare you know.”

»»————-　➴　————-««

Slowly creeping out from their spot hidden below the main deck they walked slowly to where you were gazing out over the water. Climbing the steps to the forecastle deck they watched and waited for you to do or say something, but you remained quiet for a few minutes just watching and listening to the water lap up against the ship. Finally you let out a sigh dropping your hand to your side. “Can’t sleep?” you asked finally turning to look at the eight men.

“Today’s been -” Hongjoong paused looking at Seonghwa.

“Eventful?” Seonghwa added. None of them were really sure how to feel about the situation they landed into.

You hummed losing yourself in your thoughts for a moment. “Normally when people join the crew they don’t experience… that,” you trailed off for a moment.

Yeosang took a hesitant step forward coming to stand just off to the side of you by the railing your stood on. “You seem troubled. Is everything alright?” He hesitantly brought his left hand up to hold your hand hoping to comfort you, but thought better of it and let his hand fall back down to his side.

You didn’t reply right away still not meeting the eyes of the new crew members. “Physically, I’m mostly fine. Have my fair share of battle scars from sailing the Astraea. This last quarter though has been difficult for the crew though,” your words came out as a whisper.

The crew took a seat behind you on the forecastle not sure what to say to a stranger now their captain. “Captain Hongjoong?” you turned to him stepping off of the railing.

Slightly confused Hongjoong looked at you perplexed, “I’m not a captain anymore.”

Without missing a beat you told him, “I never stripped you of your title Hongjoong, and I’m sure you are still looked at as a captain by your men,” you gestured to the seven others. “You are the notorious Pirate King said to be blessed with fair weather are you not?” you questioned.

“Only the Pirate King when we had the Treasure,” Hongjoong clenched his jaw tightly.

“Hm no. You’re living are you not?” you riddled tilting your head.

“Yes?”

“Then yes, you are still the Pirate King, you are still a captain. Even without the Treasure,” you said closing your eyes.

Hongjoong pondered your standpoint for a moment, shaking his head deciding not to go into it. 

Jongho noticed Wooyoung staring at you, or more specifically your chest, and smacked him in the chest. “What?” Wooyoung let out an annoyed hiss at Jongho.

“You were staring,” he whispered back.

Wooyoung had noticed that the tunic you were wearing was a wide and low enough cut that the ugly red scar was visible to their eyes. Glancing back in your direction Wooyoung tilted his head, purple locks draping across his eyes slightly. For whatever reason he couldn’t help but notice that the scar resembles a very familiar symbol he had seen somewhere, but couldn’t place his finger on it.

Feeling his eyes trained on you you turned to look in the direction. Irritation bloomed in your chest as you got the feeling you knew what Wooyoung was staring at so you covered your chest with your hand.

Snapping out of it Wooyoung apologized waving his hands around, “Sorry, sorry! It’s just your…” he trailed off pointing at your hand that covered your chest.

Sighing you dropped your hand and shot him a glare. Moving away from the railing you made your way down the steps of the forecastle. “It’s late. You lot should get some sleep before we set sail at dawn,” you told them as you began making your way along the main deck.

“Wait!” You were stopped in your tracks by a deep voice. Mingi clammered to stand up, “Why did you send Aggus to the prison?”

In the dim light they could see your shoulders stiffen. Gritting your teeth your mind flashed images of the stormy day with the witch and your captain dying. “To the Buccaneer Queen, you will captain a crew damned to misfortune and suffering,” recalling a small phrase the wind seemed to pick up around you whipping your hair around your face as you turned to look at the tall pirate. As quickly as the wind had come it stopped and you turned around again heading to your cabin. “What’s the worst possible outcome to misfortune and suffering Mingi?” you asked, one hand grasping the door handle to your quarters. You eyed the eight pirates for a brief moment before disappearing behind the door.

Realization dawned on them and Mingi answered his own question, “Death.”

»»————-　➴　————-«« 

You didn’t sleep when you went into your cabin, instead you thought of how fate seemed to be playing you. Sitting in your chair behind your desk you clasp your hands together letting everything sink in. Lost my navigator before Port Royal. The prisoners we have gained are actually some of the most fearsome and captained by the Pirate King himself. It seemed laughable to you. Now I have lost my quartermaster in the thick of things… What type of destiny is this? Eyebrows furrowed as you tried to make left of right in this situation.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Placing your hat on your head you pulled the brim of it down to cover the shadows under your eyes. Another sleepless night for the books, you thought. Pushing out to the main deck you observed your crew setting to work preparing to sail, you even noted that the lot you picked up the day prior set to work on their specialties. Making your way to the helm you trailed your fingers upon the gold detailing of the railing allowing your mind to wander for a moment. Fingering a handle on the helm you cast your gaze up to the main mast, only slightly surprised to see Yunho up there sitting on the yardarm. “Raise the anchor! We sail for Tortuga!” you shouted hearing it repeat throughout the crew. Eyeing the small binnacle to your right you turned the wheel to the left preparing to head north. Black sails unfurled finally catching the wind causing the dark ship to cut through the water. 

Sailing remained uneventful and it allowed your crew to relax on the deck below. The voices of the crew had become white noise to your ears. During this time you didn’t notice that Yeosang and Hongjoong had walked up the steps to join you. Only they didn’t approach you when they noticed the slightly lost looked that painted your features, only to be broken when you heard a voice start to sing.

Looking up at the mizzenmast you spotted the man behind the voice and a smile started to creep its way onto your features.

“Jongho’s singing is amazing isn’t it?” Hongjoong asked making you jump slightly as you whirled to look at the men.

“Fucking hell!”

Yeosang stared wide-eyed at you, “Sorry Captain.”

Running a hand over your face you apologized. “You scared the daylights out of me.”

“We can tell,” Hongjoong gave a slightly smug smile, before casting his vision back up to Jongho. “The boy loves to sing.”

“His voice is lovely.” Both of them hummed at your comment. The three of you grew silent as you turned back to the wheel, but continued listening to Jongho’s voice carry over the ship.

»»————-　➴　————-««

Wooyoung climbed the mainmast to sit beside Yunho. “Where's the normal smiling face of our boatswain?” Yunho questioned, noticing Wooyoung’s perturbed look, “What’s eating at you?”

Tangling his hand in some of the rigging of the yardarm Wooyoung sighed, “The captain, er, the lady captain… You know, I saw the scar last night.”

Yunho nodded, “And what about it?”

“It doesn’t just look like a scar made my a knife or anything like that…” Wooyoung’s words got soft for a minute. Both Yunho and Wooyoung looked down at your frame standing at the helm navigating through the waters. Pulling his line of vision away from your body and back to Yunho he leaned in and whispered, “The scar looks like a brand mark.”

The news caught Yunho off guard as he almost lost his grip on the rigging. “You really think so?” Yunho asked whispering back hoping his voice wouldn’t travel and be heard by you.

“The thing is,” Wooyoung grabbed Yunho’s attention again, “I recognize that mark. I just don’t remember why I know it.”

Yunho nodded taking in the information. It was odd to them, in the heat of the day you were out wearing your coat and it was cinched tight around your waist. “I think we will need to bring this up with the rest later tonight,” Yunho glanced down but was alarmed to see that you were looking at them already.

“Do you think she heard us?” Wooyoung asked as he started to lower himself down the rigging.

“Let’s hope not… something tells me this is something not many people speak about out loud,” Yunho answered starting to head to the lookout perch.

“Mum’s the word,” with that Wooyoung and Yunho moved to go about their tasks.

»»————-　➴　————-««

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[punkpoemprose]

December 15th- Pen Pals

Universe: 1940′s AU/ WWII American Homefront AU

Rating: G (General Audiences, this is fluffy)

Length: 4222 Words

A/N: I wanted to write smut for this one, but it just came out fluffy AF. It’s pretty saccharine but I loved writing it <3

She wasn’t quite a Rosie. Other women she knew, those she’d went to school with or knew in town were, but she wasn’t. Her family had always had money and she didn’t need to work. All the local factories were well staffed, and while she was certain she would be capable of factory work if called to it, she’d been raised a debutante. Her parents had taught her about society, dressing well, throwing parties and being well spoken when the occasion called. They’d also raised her and her sister to take over the family business, which now, with their parents passed on, and most men off to war, she was taking to well enough.

Had Anna been a nurse she would have been in Europe already doing her part. Had she been trained as a secretary she would have been on a base somewhere taking notes and making calls and rushing about to ensure that things were moving smoothly. Had she been a pilot she would have been out fighting. But she wasn’t any of those things, and the war had come upon them so quickly that it had left Anna, 18, just out of school, no time to train. So, she worked with what she had.

She put little strawberries on the tops of the cupcakes she’d baked and frosted. They’d go in her car soon with the rest. That her parents had allowed her to learn to drive had been a blessing. Most of the girls didn’t drive, so she spent plenty of time doing all the running. It was an essential part of her duties as a head hostess after all.

She’d found her part of the war effort with the USO. She wasn’t much for a fighter or a builder, but she had a quick wit and she was good at planning things and brining people together. She’d made and served hundreds of meals, planned dances, talked to soldiers to give them a bit of solace, though what she was proudest of was the letter writing campaign she’d organized. No soldier from their hometown was going to go more than a week without a letter from some girl or another down at the USO. Anna herself wrote to three men religiously, week after week. Updates about town, little care packages of cookies and homemade jam and silly photographs she’d take with the girls, whatever she could do to let them know that they were being thought of and watched over.

Two wrote back religiously, both a bit older than her. They had wives that wrote to them too, so while they were always happy to get Anna’s letters, she was grateful that they didn’t flirt back. Anna was happy enough to be their reporter and secret “ace in the hole” on the home front. For Valentine’s day last year she’d picked up and delivered chocolates to their wives in their names, she sometimes would call and pay for a service technician to go over and fix something at home that they normally would. She had the money and she had the time, and it was one less thing they had to worry about, and one more thing she could do.

The third however, he was just a little older than her, and he so rarely wrote back that her heart was eternally skipping a beat. He was on the Eastern Front, where exactly she didn’t know, which meant that every week when she sent him a letter, she had to hope it would find him. Every week when she wrote him a letter, she begged him to write back, because she lived for the days when she saw his handwriting in her mailbox. Private First-Class Kristoff Bjorgman was, by all accounts, what kept her up at night. She knew of him but didn’t really know him. He’d gone to the all boy’s school in town, and someone told her in a whisper that he’d been a ward of the court, that he had no family to speak of and was very quiet. She didn’t even know what he looked like.

She did know how he wrote to her though. She’d saved every letter. The most recent, from over a month ago, she kept in her pocket. Hostesses were supposed to be sweet and happy and helpful. They were supposed to sit at the side of servicemen and women when they were home, whether they were shipping out soon or whether they were back for some time. To write letters, to be a piece of the home front was not necessarily expected, but it was appreciated and endorsed. Having feelings for enlisted men, however. That was something they were warned against in their training.

No one had warned her how mere letters could make her feel.

Dear Anna,

It’s still strange to me to address you as such given that we’ve never met, but I’m starting to feel like I know you and Ms. Arendelle is, as you put it “terribly formal and boring”.

I’m grateful for the sweets you sent along, military chocolate is all fine and good, but your cookies are better. I never had much for baked goods growing up, you’re spoiling me. Some of the other men get care packages too, but none as good as yours. They joke that they want you to teach their girls how to bake, and after this last batch I think they’ve become quite serious about it.

Thank you too for the photograph. You didn’t have to drive all the way out to the bluffs to take it but seeing the lake again after what feels like years really lifted my spirits. The one you sent of you standing in front of the scenery gave me a smile too. You look like you’re about to deliver some clever line in a movie. You looked pretty lovely beautiful, if that’s not too much for me to say. If it is, you can write me and let me know and I won’t say so again, but if not, I do mean it.

I wanted to let you know every time one of your letters comes through, or sometimes when I get a whole batch of them at once, it just makes me happy to know that you’re back home writing them. You’ve become a lifeline for me Anna, and I can’t ever thank you enough for that. If When I make it home I hope you’ll let me try.

If I know where I’m heading next I’ll send along an address. If not, I’ll just hope your letters make it.

I miss you, even though that doesn’t make sense.

I hope this finds you well. Don’t let them work you too hard at the USO. You’re already doing so much.

Yours,

Pfc Kristoff Bjorgman

Kris

P.S. I forgot to answer your questions, I was so taken by the photos and the sweets. I don’t smoke, it never really interested me much. I played a bit of baseball in school, and it’s the only sport I follow much. If you want to send me scores, I wouldn’t mind, even if they’re late. Though we do get updates here every now and then on baseball, football, and boxing. Problem with baseball is that most of the players I followed have been drafted too. Bet we could have a hell of a game with just enlisted. I hear there’s a women’s league now that’s making news? If you happen to catch a game on the radio I’d love to hear about it. What about you Anna? You smoke?  You follow any sports?

When he wrote her, his writing was full of strike outs and rewrites and while everything he said was well thought out, it gave her the distinct impression that he wasn’t used to corresponding with others, let alone with a woman. She thought maybe he was flirting with her from time to time, and while she’d never admit it to a soul, she was a relentless flirt back, because after all the letters they’d exchanged, she’d gotten to know him. He’d been a fireman before the draft made him a soldier, and oh while she didn’t know what he looked like, she imagined he was strong. All the firemen she’d ever seen were strong, and he’d played sports in school, so he had to be at least a little bit athletic. She imagined him from the pieces she had. He liked good food, and animals and being out in nature. He liked the lake, and she’d spent hours driving down to the bluffs, not only to send him photos, but to just imagine him there. It was hard to imagine someone without knowing what they looked like, but she could imagine the conversations they’d have.

He was shy and sweet, but unafraid to share his thoughts. He’d seem gruff to others, but she’d written to him and heard his thoughts on life and love and the war, so she wouldn’t be put off by it. She’d imagined meeting him for the first time. She thought about how he’d smile at her, maybe they’d share a hug. In her most daring daydreams, she thought that she’d press a kiss to his cheek to welcome him home. It would completely scandalize her sister, Anna kissing a perfect stranger, and yet she smiled at the thought because he wasn’t a stranger at all.

She sighed, picking up the box of strawberry topped cupcakes and bringing it out to her car. She didn’t have time to daydream. She had a dinner dance to put on, and while she was already dressed for it, she had cupcakes to drive over, dinner to cook, a band to instruct, makeup and hair to touch up, girls to prep, and ultimately men to serve and chat and dance with.

Her heels clicked against the blacktop of her driveway as she went, the breeze catching the stubborn hairs that were refusing to stay tucked into her victory rolls. She’d tackle them soon enough, packing her tools for the war effort in her vehicle; cupcakes, decorations, a makeup bag, a clipboard, and of course, herself.

***

When everything was sorted, dinner and dessert served, and the band just starting to play, Anna finally let herself walk out of the back room and into the dancehall.

She did this every week, and yet it always worried and exhausted her. She was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for one of the girls to be sick, for her USO uniform to rip, for the band to simply not show up in time.

Tonight though, everything had gone according to plan, and she had even had enough time to change out of her uniform and into one of her dresses for the dance.

“Anna,” one of the girls called to her when she stepped out to where the action was happening. She almost didn’t hear her over the sound of the band playing “Begin the Beguine” and the giggling of the other ladies, dancing out on the floor with the various servicemen they were entertaining for the night.

She nodded and walked over to have a better chance at hearing what she was saying. Anna loved a good dance, but she found herself wishing that this one was a bit quieter. She’d had a headache since noon, and she was trying to keep in a good mood, but the noise wasn’t helping matters.

“What can I do for you?” she asked. The girl was newer, just recently volunteered, and Anna was used to the girls only calling on her when they needed a hand with something. They were friendly enough, of course, but none of the girls really chatted with each other once an event was on unless they really needed to.

“It’s more about what I can do for you,” the girl said, coyly smiling, “There’s a man here asking for you by name. He just got back into town, must be important.”

“Well who is it?” she asked, trying her best not to nervously straighten her dress as the girl caught her up to speed.

“I didn’t ask his name,” she replied, “but he’s one of the only men still sitting at a table without someone chatting with him. I tried, but he just smiled all shy and asked if you were here.”

That, Anna decided, was odd. Usually she was so busy behind the scenes keeping things working that no one knew she was there, let alone asked for her. There were some enlisted men she knew well enough before the war started for them to be able to ask for her by name, but really, none of them were particularly shy and probably would have been just as happy talking to another woman. It certainly wasn’t her ex-boyfriend. He’d run up into Canada to dodge the draft, and she’d broken up with him before that.

She nodded politely to the girl and decided it best to go and see for herself.

There was only one table with a lone man, and while she couldn’t really get a good look at him with the lights dimmed for dancing, he didn’t look at all familiar to her. She turned her charm on high as she approached him, wishing that she’d checked her teeth for lipstick before walking out.

“Hi there,” she ventured as she sat down at the circular table across from him. She smoothed down her skirt and smiled, getting a better look at his face in the light of the candle that sat in the center of the table.

She didn’t recognize him. He had the sort of face she’d remember. Dark eyes, light hair, and a wide nose. He was wearing his uniform, a few other men in the room were too, but most wore suits. Most were trying to forget for a few hours that even though they were home, they were at war.

He recognized her. She saw it in his eyes when he looked at her. He smiled and his eyes did too. Her stomach twisted into knots, there was nothing she hated more than forgetting a face. She didn’t want anyone she ever met at the USO thinking that they were forgettable.

She stuck out her hand anyway, better to act as she should and then tell him later that she had simply not recognized him in the dark, or that he was even handsomer than when they last met, should she realize that they did in fact know each other.

“Anna Arendelle,” she said with a smile, “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure?”

He took her hand carefully and she felt butterflies in her stomach when their fingers touched. His hands were so much larger than hers, so much rougher. He was probably a good foot or more taller than she was, and she knew so even sitting down.

“Not officially,” he said by way of response, adding, a bit nervously, “You’re lovelier in person… if that’s not too bold of me to say.”

It clicked then. No other man would ever question his boldness at the provision of a compliment. No other man would recognize her and smile without her recognizing him. She couldn’t believe it, she couldn’t even voice the thought for fear of being wrong.

“It’s kind, not bold,” she replied. “It’s a wonderful compliment to give a girl.”

“Is it?” he asked, giving her a coy smile, “I wouldn’t really know, I’ve only ever tried to compliment one girl.”

It was him. It was definitely, and without a doubt, him. She thought about all her daydreams. The ones where she hugged him, the ones where she kissed him and welcomed him home. She could hardly muster the strength of will to hold herself together let alone be so bold.

When she hadn’t heard from him she’d thought the worst. She always thought the worst when he didn’t reply within a month. It was so easy to be scared when she heard everyday about how brutal the war was. She put up a brave face at the dancehall, at the meetings and at the get togethers, but the truth was that when she went home to find no letters, she worried herself half to death.

“She sounds like a very lucky girl.”

He laughed, and it was a wonderful sound. Anna’s heart skipped a beat. She’d been so worried about him; she’d never expected to be able to hear him laugh. She hadn’t even been able to imagine his face, and she was glad that she hadn’t tried very much, because nothing she could come up with would be as perfect as what he was.

“Oh I don’t know about that…” he trailed off, and for a minute looked thoughtful, “I just realized you might not actually know who I am… I never sent you a picture did I?”

She laughed at that, at the way he looked so concerned after just teasing her back that she might not know who he was.

She shook her head, more certain now than she’d been even moments before. She was also certain that she was correct in her assumptions that he was, in fact, a man who had never or only extremely rarely, spoken to women. He was good at it so far she had to admit, but he also seemed terribly nervous at it, like someone just learning to drive a car.

“You didn’t, but I think I figured it out anyway. I’m not one of those girls that writes to every single serviceman you know. You’re special Kristoff.”

The smile that spread across his face warmed her from head to toe.

He squeezed her hand gently and she couldn’t help herself but to intertwine her fingers with his. This was not protocol in the hostess handbook, but she’d really never been one for rules anyhow. Structure was good and important, but rules were made to be broken.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t write you back. I was in the hospital… shrapnel… and even though I healed fast, they sent me back home. I don’t know for how long, but once I knew they were sending me back, I just… I needed to come see you.”

Anna flushed. She almost wondered if the room had suddenly warmed by a few degrees, but of course she knew it was just her reaction to him. He was real, and there, and holding her hand while giving her a look like she was the only woman on Earth. She normally took flirting in stride from the men who came to her dinner dances, but that the man she’d been writing to for so many months was there was so inconceivable to her that she threw out the whole rule book.

“You were hurt?” That had been her worst nightmare when she hadn’t heard back from him, that he was injured or worse.

“It’s alright,” he said, “I can’t really walk on the leg much yet, but what doesn’t kill you…”

She shook her head, “Guess I shouldn’t ask you to dance then.”

He shook his head and chuckled, “I’d try to if you wanted me to, but I’ve always had two left feet anyway.”

“Oh I doubt that,” she replied, trying her best to breathe as he openly admitted that he’d dance on an injured leg to please her. She was used to flirting, but this wasn’t flirting. This was his honest interest in her, this was talking to someone she’d already made a connection with. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful dancer when you’re not hurting.”

He took the compliment and grinned, “To be honest I’ve never really tried enough to know.”

“Well when you’re feeling up to it, we’ll have to try.”

She only noticed the crutch leaning against the chair to their side after he’d mentioned being injured. It was a relief to know what whatever had happened, or however badly he’d been hurt, he was getting around on his own now. That was a good sign if nothing else.

“I’d like that,” he said, then looked thoughtful for a moment, “Do you want to go someplace quieter?”

Oh she did. She very much did. She wanted to sweep him off to some dark corner and kiss him, but despite her willingness to throw out the rulebook, it wasn’t really an option.

“I do, but I have to stay here and clean up and make sure the girls head off home with their chaperones instead of…”

She flushed, then added, “Well there’s some rules…”

He nodded.

“What if I stay until after you’re done?”

“Oh!” she was surprised to hear him say that he planned to stay, to wait for her. It was absolutely against the rules, and she knew she should politely decline, but she’d rather hang up her uniform than not spend time with him. “I would love that.”

***

The last girl was off before the cleaning was done. Anna was perfectly content to do the rest herself, and she found, with great pleasure that Kristoff was an enthusiastic assistant for the last of her evening tasks.

“So you’ve really never gone to a baseball game?”

She was washing dishes and he, sitting on a barstool she’d brought in to keep him off his leg, was drying.

“I really haven’t. I heard them on the radio, and my dad bought a television not long before he passed, so I watched a few of the televised games, but I’ve never gone in person. My parents didn’t take me out much unless it was to a social event or something.”

He shook his head and took a cup from her hand, their fingers brushing as he did so. She knew she shouldn’t be blushing so, that she shouldn’t be alone with him in the first place but seeing him there had been like seeing an old friend, and she wouldn’t trade these moments of comfortable small talk for the world. Unless, of course, he offered something a little more than friendly, in which case she’d gladly trade up.

She’d started to form a crush on him when they were writing to each other. He was reserved at first when he wrote, gruff, uninterested in her charity, but as time went on he softened to her, he wrote to her about the dreams he had, about the places he wanted to go and about how he’d always wanted a dog. Most recently he’d written about how he wanted a family, about how if he made it out of the war in one piece he wanted to settle down and make a life with someone. It had been so easy for Anna to imagine being that someone, and now that she was meeting him well and truly, she could see it even clearer.

“We’re going to have to change that,” he said as he wiped the glass down and set it with the rest of the dry dishes on the counter, “It’s America’s pastime after all. You’re a patriotic gal, makes sense you should go see a game.”

She smiled and lowered her head to hide her blush. She didn’t know if he knew he was implying he’d take her to a game as a date. He wasn’t really a flirt, he was straightforward and true and she liked that about him. She liked everything about him really. He was so different than the sort of person she thought she’d fall for, the kind of person her parents had always thought that she would fall for. He was an honest man, he worked hard, he didn’t have much but himself to give, but Anna liked that. He wasn’t tactful, just kind.

“Are you asking me on a date?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. She could be coy. She could flirt, but she didn’t want to. She wanted to show him that the girl who wrote him letters, was hoping that he meant that he wanted to take her on a date. She couldn’t bear to see him give her an apologetic look if it wasn’t what he meant.

His hand reached out and touched her arm gently. She was learning that about him too, the despite how large and strong he was, he was gentle. Every touch he’d given her was tentative, gentle, borderline tender.

“Yes. I’m trying to anyway.”

Anna grinned at that and turned to look at him.

His smile was nervous, and that was just another endearing thing about him.

“I’d like that very much then,” she replied, not bothering to duck her head down to hide her flush.

“Good,” he said, and then cleared his throat, “I mean, that’s… thank you?”

She laughed at that. He was new at this. She loved that.

“Thank you for offering to take me,” she replied, trying to keep herself from giggling more when he smiled at her laugh, “I’m looking forward to it already.”

She was looking forward to more than the baseball. She already wanted to give him a kiss, to put that victory red lipstick to work. She thought though, what could be more patriotic than kissing a soldier at a baseball game and leaving that symbolic red on his lips?

She was nothing if not an all-American girl.

[topsambottomdean]

Based on @wellcometothedarkside’s post [x] but links are fixed (well, almost all of them, I did my best)

Top This Dean’s sure he’s a top. Only problem is, Sam’s pretty sure that’s his job.

Your Fingerprints, Everywhere  When Sam thinks back, he doesn’t think of the first time they had sex as the beginning. He remembers the sense of inevitability, of finally, when they first crashed against each other with kisses and need; how it didn’t feel like the beginning of something, but the end.

Drown and float away  Sam’s knuckles skim the taut muscle of Dean’s lower belly and instantly, Dean’s legs fall open for him. Dean closes his eyes, turns his face away. A rosy flush creeps along his cheekbones as if he’s embarrassed. He probably is. Anyone ever called Dean a whore and Sam would gouge their eyeballs out with one of their own ribs, but he wouldn’t deny the truth of it. Dean’s a total slut, but only for Sam.

I Wanna Hold You ‘Til I Die  It’s another goddamn suburban coven, a set of rich witches they break up in Cleveland. It’s hardly a hunt, no selling of souls or anything dramatic, just a little too much fiddling around with a talking board and a book of old Celtic spells and curses that they’ve managed to get working. Sam and Dean put a stop to it pretty easily with a few scare tactics and vivid, clearly first-hand descriptions of exactly how this sort of thing can go wrong.

God Bless the Internet Based off an anonymous prompt I received on tumblr:   "Sam finds porn on Dean’s laptop where he discovers that the two /men/ look exactly like him and Dean. Sam is unable to stop watching and is fascinated by the look of them together. He decides to confront his brother about it with unexpected and yet satisfying results.“

Fill You Up   It’s way too early for this, Dean thinks. Way too fucking early in the day for Sam to start his fucked up kinky shit.

Knockdown Sam and Dean aren’t getting along. While working a case, Dean kills a witch, gets cursed to learn humility or die in a week. Sam tells Dean that if he wants to make it up to Sam, he’ll do whatever Sam says/wants for a week. Sam might figure he’ll just boss Dean around for a week, but the witch contacts him and tells him it’s not enough, so Sam takes it up a notch and introduces a sexual element to it making Dean his sextoy. Kinks up to author as long as there’s a certain element of humiliation involved to satisfy the curse.

Pretty in Pink  The Impala gets possessed by the spirit of a thirteen-year-old girl.

Love in Disguise  In order to catch a CEO that’s been cutting out girls’ hearts, Dean reluctantly poses as a transvestite hooker. Sam never expected his brother to look so good in that skirt.

Folsom Prison Bitch Dean’s way too pretty for prison, so during an AU version of the ep, Sam makes his brother his bitch to keep him safe. Written for this prompt on Blindfold_spn: Folsom Prison Blues inspired. Dean becomes Sam’s bitch. At first Sam fucks Dean just to keep the other inmates from getting at him. They both end up liking it a lot. Sam particularly loves the voyeurism and D/s element. Eventually he fucks Dean rough and hard in the shower in front of all the other prisoners, and takes all of their advice/suggestions about what he should do to his bitch.

How to Seduce Your Brother Without Really Trying  The boys are mad at each other, and Sam, tired of not getting what he wants, decide to seduce Dean.

The Eight Hard Ways Sparring porn. ‘Nuff said. Takes place after “Faith.”

Never Be  Alternative WIAWSNB in which Dean is shocked to find himself living in domestic bliss with Sam (rather than Carmen). Can I tell you all how ridiculously angst-ridden this wanted to be? I tried hard to swerve it in a fluff and fold direction.

Forever Tuesday Morning   Spoilers for 3x11, 'Mystery Spot’; set during the same. Um. An exercise in Toppy!Sam wincest that I wrote about a week ago, before I let myself go look at everyone else’s episode codas (at which point I discovered I was not at all original, no, not even a little.)

A Little Respect  A little shameless but unapologetic pwp written to cheer up a friend in need. And really, aren’t we all? Sam falters under the weight of his brother’s superiority and feels the need to take back a little power. 'Cause he’s not a kid any more and man, Dean has a sweet little … you get the idea.

Hands Of An Angry God Sam tries something new. Dean doesn’t like it.

(You) Make a Mess of Me   It’s Christmas in the bunker. Dean likes bacon. And Sam’s hands.

Feverish Lucidity   Dean has a fever. It makes him clingy. Sam comforts him. Sex happens.

(pink) Dean used to love pink. The faded soft pink of a nice bath towel they were given by a lady that had baby sat them for a few weeks. The pink of blooming tea cup roses outside in the sunny church garden when they visited Pastor Jim. The pink of stolen cotton candy at a carnival they snuck in, sticky and sweet and gone too soon.

Awful Awkward Awesome Sam likes to slam his lovers into the walls, leave bruises on their skin, bite marks on their neck. Dean likes to spread his lovers out in front of him, spend hours worshiping their bodies. When Sam and Dean finally get together, they’re both shocked by how the other person has sex. (fill on the spn.masquerade, logged to read)

Deep Hidden Fantasies There are things that Sam only can do with Dean.

Or Die Trying  “I think we did it wrong.”

The Cherry on Top Sam is fourteen years old and toppy as hell.

Entirely at your Mercy  Dean met Sam’s cold stare and swallowed with anticipation. His little brother was pissed for sure and this time he wouldn’t be able to sweet talk himself out of trouble. (fill on the spn.kink meme, logged to read)

[catbowserauthor]

If By My Life or Death, I Can Protect You, I Will: 2 HOBBIT AU

What did he look like?”

Bilbo spun his spoon a bit, letting the tea settle and enjoy the warmth and scent. The sunlight streaming in the window was welcomed. It reminded him of such evenings and mornings in the Shire, when the sound of birds and occasional chattering of folk outside would drift, just enough to dust your atmosphere with the sound of civilization.

If not for the sound of the breaking of water against the rocks outside, he could nearly imagine himself back on his porch in Bag End, taking a nice puff of his pipe as second breakfast settled and he enjoyed the signs of the world just waking up.

“Uncle?”

Blinking once then twice, it took Frodo gently laying his hand over Bilbo’s before the older Hobbit looked up. “Ah, my apologies, my lad.”

“You’ve been distant since yesterday…no, since we arrived Uncle.” Frodo furrowed his brow and took a sip of his tea. “I was asking you about your meeting with Manwë yesterday and you just seemed lost in thought.” Frodo paused, “I hope I’m not bothering you Uncle.”

Chuckling, lightly, Bilbo lay a hand on the boy’s left cheek. “My dear boy, as I recall, I have never neglected to tell you when you are being a bit too enthusiastic, have I?”

Smiling, and yes, the light seemed a bit more bright in his eyes though still haunted, Frodo admitted with a shake of his head, “No, you were always honest on that, Uncle Bilbo.”

“I shan’t be changing that now.” Bilbo set his spoon down and after taking a bite of the small sandwiches before them and swallowing, he advised, “I am focused now, my boy. What were you asking, again?”

Frodo smiled, “About Manwë.”

Bilbo took a moment, enjoying the warmth of Frodo’s smile. It had been a while since there had been so much light to it. Not without weight but the burden of the ring was lifting here. There was hope and healing again.

A burden he should never have had to carry.

“Ah, Manwë. He is a rather peculiar fellow, my boy. Though, I surmise that being the Voice of Eru will do that to a person, even after eons of having the position. Though, I would say that even with that issue, he could stand a bit of a lesson in manners. His wife, Varda was a bit more approachable.”

Frodo took a sip of his tea and offered, “Well, I suppose this is all rather new to them. Elves, as you’ve told me, are expected here and Gandalf is a Maia. But two small Hobbits…that would be rather unexpected. Though Lady Yavanna seems pleased with it.”

Ah, the Lady of the Earth? Bilbo set his nephew with a curious eye. “Ah, so I am not the only one requesting the presence of the Valar?”

Blushing slightly, Frodo had a stern argument. “I did not request her presence, I was merely honored by it.” Now, his face lit up, as it had so often in his younger years, when he had first come to Bag End. When they would finish supper and then sit by the fire, letting the warmth dance across their faces as Bilbo would weave one of his tales until slumber took the boy’s eyes. “Lord Elrond thought I might appreciate her gardens and the hills of greens. As I was walking among the trees, I spied her and she approached me Uncle.”

Eyes warm and only heightened by the scent of the food and drink, Bilbo reached forward and embraced his nephew. “Did she now? Do tell, my boy for it is a great privilege to speak to the Lady of the Green.”

“She did not say much. But her voice was like all the birds that used to nest in the thicket in the Shire. It dripped like honey. She sounded young, far younger than I thought she might, as if she were perpetually blessed with maidenhood.”

Oh, Bilbo could only imagine. So many of their stories had been around Lady Yavanna. He had been surprised that even Thorin and his Company had exchanged stories of her. While their respect lay in Mahal, the Valar Aulë, her husband, they had nothing but respect for her and gave praise to the fruits her earth provided. Her mercy and passion for her growing things was something that their families looked to for inspiration. According to Ori, a wonderful compliment for a Dwarven family was to be compared to Yavanna.

Fili and Kili had spoken at length about how while dwarves did not possess the skill with the earth that Hobbits did, they knew how to plant and how to raise crops. Thorin had even mentioned that Erebor had possessed a large garden way up in the upper levels where foods could be grown and often were before the dragon came. He spoke at length about how they had active veins of gem, gold and silver that lined the open platform and the hanging branches and vines would nearly form a painting as they contrasted.

He had never gotten a chance to show it to Bilbo.

“Oh, Uncle, you must see the rolling hills! Sam would so have loved her fields. Full to the brim they were with trees, trees so heavy with fruit that they nearly touched the ground. Potatoes, carrots, shrubs, herbs, anything that could come from the ground!” Frodo went quiet a moment, contemplative. “Sam...my dearest Sam…he told me…when the Ring…tried to tempt him…all he could see was making Middle Earth his own personal garden. He…all but laughed at the concept because, you see, it was already a garden.” Folding his hands into his lap, Frodo looked upward, eyes fixated on the lovely glass fixtures through which the wonder of the sun and moon were never absent. “My dear Sam…I do hope you are happy.”

Bilbo’s heart lurched. Sam and Frodo had always been close ever since they were small things. But when he had heard of Sam’s loyalty on the quest, through all trials, even against a spider as ferocious and ancient as Shelob, Bilbo had looked upon the boy with more respect, more honor and more gratitude than he thought himself capable of feeling. The loyalty of that boy could not be measured.

Yes, indeed, he hoped that Sam was happy too.

“You gave Sam and Rosie Bag End, did you not, my boy?”

Frodo nodded. “I did. Sam has much left to do, though it pains me not have him by my side. After you left the Shire, he became my constant companion, even more so than Merry or Pippin, much as I love them as well. Then, when I began this long journey, he was forever by my side, no matter the obstacle or what I might have said unto him.” Tapping his fingers on the table a moment, Frodo once more glanced outside. “I think I understand now, more so than I did before, what you meant when you said that an adventure could fill your heart with empty longing. I gained much on the Quest, Uncle—on myself, in the form of deep friendships and understanding and while my heart and spirit was mending here, there is a deep emptiness as well. The emptiness of leaving them behind and not knowing when or if I shall see them again?” He eyed his relative with something akin to desperation. “Do you think it is so, Uncle? That we have been parted forever?”

Bilbo shook his head. “No. No, I do not believe it is so. You have suffered much, my dear boy, and I do not believe that will be your fate.” He bit his lower lip. “I am sorry to have been a cause of it, of this pain, no matter how small. I know all too well the pain of parting and I would not have wished it even on my most loathsome of enemies.” He stroked a loose hair from Frodo’s eyes. “Hence, I am taking what steps I must to correct it. For you. For Middle Earth. For myself. For those that I have had to say farewell to, long before it was proper.”

Frodo didn’t need to ask; he knew that look in his Uncle’s eyes. As much as Bilbo never tired of telling the Journey to Erebor, it was rare that he told the ending beyond “the dwarves of Erebor were triumphant.” He had told Frodo and Frodo through extension had told Sam and Merry and eventually Pippin had learned from Merry but he never brought up such sad endings with the Hobbit children. Not only because he wished them to continue the delusion that there was such a thing as endings where all was good and right again for as long as possible but because Bilbo could rarely hold his voice steady when speaking on the losses of the Durin family.

He always went to bed early those nights and Frodo would hear Bilbo sob deep into the night. So, they had stopped asking about the details of the battle and only focused on the quest itself. Now that he carried his own heavy heart burdens, Frodo felt he understood. Though, he also knew he did not understand.

He had bid farewell to Sam, Pippin and Merry but he knew they were safe. He knew they were alive. He knew Sam was having children and was enjoying it more each day. Pippin had found himself a love with Diamond of Long Cleeve and Frodo had no doubt they would have at least one child before all was said and done. He even suspected that Pippin might honor his dear friend Faramir when the time came to name any future children. Then there was Merry whom was still on a lookout for a love himself but had perhaps found a potential one in Estella. She was a pleasant enough Hobbit lass with just enough sass to keep up with the only Hobbit knight of Rohan.

Yes, yes, all his friends, though he might have said farewell had long lives laid out before them and many wonderful adventures they had yet to have. Many wonderful things they were yet to do and he was warm at heart at the thought.

Uncle Bilbo did not have that luxury.

Thorin was struck down with his kingdom at his feet and Fili and Kili…Bilbo often spoke of their gusto and love for life only for it to snatched away. Then the horrible news they had borne back about the fates of Balin, Ori and Oin…

“What did you ask of Manwë, Bilbo Baggins?”

The sudden new voice was a surprise and yet not unexpected. Bilbo took a moment to set down his cup and turned. Frodo stood up and ran forward, wrapped Gandalf in a hug as the old man entered the room. There was sternness to his figure, not something unusual for the wizard but at the embrace by Frodo, warmth and the kindness that was well known by all that took the time to get to know him bled through. The man chuckled and stroked Frodo’s hair a moment before the Hobbit pulled away.

“Gandalf, we didn’t know you were coming!”

“As I’ve said before, a wizard arrives when he desires to, Frodo, neither before or after.”

Rolling his eyes slightly, Bilbo stood, retrieving his walking stick and made his way over. “You are similar to the elves in that manner, old friend. Riddles and saying both yes and no in the same instance.”

“I would imagine that you are well accustomed to riddles, Bilbo Baggins.” The older man countered but the intensity had not left his eyes. “But if you wish me to speak freely, so I shall. Your demands of Manwë have not gone unnoticed.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Demands? I would hardly call it such. I made a request, simple as that.”

“And the request you made was hardly simple!”

Bilbo eyed his nephew who was looking from him to Gandalf and back again with something akin to anxiety in his eyes. Hardening his voice, Bilbo set his eyes on the wizard. “Gandalf, my old friend, if you have a desire to speak to me candidly about that which you think I made egregious errors, let us take a walk to discuss this. This does not involve Frodo and I’ll not have us dragging him into it!”

This seemed to calm the wizard’s storm and he stopped, turned to the younger Hobbit. “Y…yes, quite right.” Clearing his throat, Gandalf remarked. “Your uncle and I will discuss some things, Frodo but I promise you, it will be civilly.” He shifted to Bilbo. “As I recall, you have not yet seen Yavanna’s green hills, have you?”

Taking up his walking stick, Bilbo shook his head, “I have not and if what Frodo has told me, that is a dreadful shame. Come, let us correct that now.” He turned to his nephew, “If I recall, my boy, Lord Elrond may have some more stories to tell you here than I have ever heard. So many ancestors he has been able to reconnect with. Let him occupy your time this afternoon and I will look forward to your full report at dinner.”

“…yes, Uncle.”

OOO

“I will not rescind my request, if that is what you desire from me, Gandalf.”

The wizard sighed heavily. “It is neither a simple thing nor something to simply push aside to ask for the Valar to appeal to Eru, Bilbo Baggins.”

“Perhaps not, but Manwë agreed to it all the same, with some pressure and proper council from Lady Varda.”

“Pure curiosity and utter shock at your tenacity I am sure.”

“Do not play games with me.” Bilbo stopped and turned. “I spoke to them candidly as I do to you now. I desire to fix that which should not have come to pass. I look to stop needless suffering, if it possible. To stop deaths that should not have happened.”

“Such is the casualty of war, Bilbo Baggins.” The wizard spoke softly though no less intently. “Life is not a fair entity, designed to hand out equal lots to us all.”

“No, it is not but I will strive to make it more fair than it has been.” Bilbo insisted again. “I will fix it if I may. I am not questioning the fact of it being unfair, Gandalf. I am simply questioning if it must remain that way.”

“You are questioning the path that has already been laid, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I am!” The hobbit turned and his eyes were fierce and full of fire. “Don’t stand there and pretend you do not know what I have asked. I know you have. And I know you know WHY I have asked.”

Gandalf paused in step, took a deep sigh. “Your grief over the line of Durin—“

“Thorin. Fili. Kili. They had…HAVE…names Gandalf! Use them!”

Turning, the wizard knelt so that he was at eye level with Bilbo. The hobbit’s eyes were watery and red and despite his advanced age, oh, there was so much fury in his face that Gandalf had no doubt that if he had possessed Sting at the moment, he would have drawn it, Valinor or not.

“Bilbo, my old friend.” The wizard laid a hand on each shoulder. “You know me better than that. I mean no disrespect to their memory. But the dead are dead, Bilbo Baggins. It does us little good to linger on them for so long that they poison our present.”

“Don’t speak of them like it is damaging to remember them.” Bilbo gathered his breath and he challenged. “You have given me much wisdom in my life, old friend, but I will not accept this. Not if there is a chance, even a fraction of a chance. And you can lie to yourself all you want, Gandalf but I have seen through your lies.”

“Oh? When have I lied to you? Not been always open with all I know, yes, that is true but—“

“Whenever you looked at Pippin and Merry.” Bilbo gathered his voice. “Whenever you would come, always under the pretense of your fireworks or making merry but your eyes always drifted to them. As they laughed and danced and drank. Look me in the eye, Gandalf and swear unto me by the very land we stand upon, that you have NEVER looked at them and not wondered on Fili and Kili.”

Gandalf stared at Bilbo, for a long time, seemed to age centuries in mere moments. Bilbo could almost see him remembering, revisiting and the weariness of his heart bled through his eyes. With a heavy sigh, the white wizard stood again.

“I cannot. I will not deny that their deaths, if nothing else, have weighed heavy on my heart.”

“As they have on mine. I sit awake and wonder some nights…what they would have been like. If they would have married, had children, how Fili would have done so well as a King with his brother by side. Oh, the pride in Thorin’s eyes…” Bilbo took a breath again, a shaky one. “I do not pretend that this is some utterly noble quest or venture, Gandalf though, indeed, the elements of that do exist. I meant what I said when I said I meant to stop suffering, stop pain, maybe stop this whole war…but my heart knows that it is for them the most that I want to go. That I want to change things, however I may.”

“Noble in principle, my friend.” Gandalf spoke simply. “But you are not as young as you once were. How would you manage to correct so wide an error that you claim their deaths were?”

“Crawling on my hands and knees, if need be.”

Gandalf eyed the hobbit a long moment. The wonder of the Blessed Land had aided his memory somewhat but it did nothing for Bilbo’s body. It was still hunched, slow, reliant on a cane and hair as white as his own. To send him on a quest such as this, it was as much a death sentence as if Gandalf had swung his own blade upon him.

And yet, as he had felt with Frodo, a hint of hope awoke in the wizard’s heart. He smiled, a weary, worried and yet amused grin.

“Bilbo Baggins, as I said unto your nephew not so long ago. Hobbits really are amazing creatures. Here I had thought I had known everything about them and yet, here you are, again, my friend, surprising me.”

Bilbo stood firm and tall, but did not answer.

Gandalf gestured with his left arm and guided Bilbo with his right. “My purpose this day was to convince you otherwise of this favor but I do not feel that I can. Nor, anymore, do I wish to. Being that as it is…”

Bilbo eyed him, suspicious and not without cause but Gandalf merely pointed forward to the great halls that loomed before them with his staff. “…Gandalf?”

“The Valar will see you now.”

[cruciatusxxcervus]

Who the Heck is Eden?

Warning: The backstory contains parental death, child death, and gore.)

Disclaimer: For those who have seen my DBZ verse for my other RP blog, ambereyedcetra, you’ll notice they are the same. I started off with an AU for Eden’s original blog but it has developed to the point that I would be more comfortable giving this AU a blog of its own. I am the mun and creator of both blogs, no worries about character theft!

While the blog is currently focused on the DBZ verse, I am open to interacting with muses of other verses, especially fandom-less muses!

In verses that are not DBZ-related, Eden's backstory is very much the same. The only differences being that Shihab is a celestial realm instead of a planet, and it is an unnamed force that destroyed her world instead of Freeza.

This page is under construction, the story needs revamping. Forgive me for such a long wait for the change. I hope to get the backstory and information rewritten soon.

Name: Eden of the Draconids

Many of the characters in the Dragon Ball franchise have unusual names, often associated with food. However, since Eden was originally a Final Fantasy muse and her roots are based off Biblical stories, her name won’t be as humorous. Her father gave her the name Eden, in hopes she would be as beautiful and bountiful in blessings, but he had no intentions in her falling into sin like those within the Garden. Eden is to represent the Garden of Eden in that sense. As the story progresses, Eden gradually becomes corrupted with her inability to move past her loss and the frustration in her struggle with her heritage and identity, she betrays the planet, the stars, and what she holds dear, thus resulting in her losing that spiritual light.

Not only she represents the fall of Eden, but her story is to illustrate Judas Iscariot, the disciple who committed betrayal out of greed. Ultimately, her story is to reveal that even the most faithful can fall. However, her story is to also show the radical power of forgiveness, how it can revive the dead spirit.

Her last part of her name relates to her clan name. Clan names come from that of the meteor showers: Draconids, Perseids, Leonids, and Ursids. A kirinite’s membership of their clan can be determined by the color of their scales (described below). Their native planet, Shihab, bears an Arabic name, as a large part of Eden’s inspiration comes from the Middle East and Northern Africa and its meaning, “Shooting Star” refers to the Kirinites’ celestial nature.

Age: Mid to late 20’s during the Dragon Ball Z timeline, late 40’s during the Dragon Ball gt timeline.

Species: Kirinite (DBZ), Kirin (Other verses) 

The kirinite name is based off a mythical creature with a similar appearance: the kirin. Many of their physical characteristics (description on this page) resemble the creature.

Kirinites are known for their agility, intelligence, and spiritual power. Much of their strength comes from their lower body, and are capable of cracking bone (of those who lack intensive training) with their rock-hard hooves.

Their senses are incredibly sharp, heightened by their connection to their planet. This is strongly linked to their ability to hear the voices of souls passed and can help them detect the aura of living creatures (unless those targeted are trained to hide their energy level). Though they lack the ability to fire ki directly from their bodies, they can harvest crystals from the earth and use their energy and rituals to inflict damage and potentially status-related problems (such as sleep, pacifying, or for those who master the skill, copying an enemy’s skill and create illusions).

Kirinites can also call upon an ability of the Celestial Beast. This creature is believed to be the totem of all born of Kirinite blood. This ability is similar to that of Yamcha’s Wolf Fang Fist, except the aura takes form of a large, maned antelope-like creature as the fighter charges. This empowers their melee strikes, as well as have a chance of burning the opponent with their energy. This power, however, is very risky as it drains much of the user’s energy reserves and can leave them vulnerable if they are not able to dispose of the foe before time runs out. Another limitation is the need to use crystals taken from Shihab’s meteorites to channel their energy and awaken their totem.

Kirinites feel connected to their planet and believe they can commune with the spirits. They place great reverence to the stars, viewing them as creators of their world and embodiments of all souls that were born upon it. With the use of crystals, Kirinites connect with the ghosts that whisper guidance to them and unlock their powers. The ancient belief was cast into doubt, however, as the Kirinites saw invading ships scream past the stars and collide into their home.

Description:

Kirinites have a humanoid appearance, with several physical traits resembling that of a sable antelope and gemsbok. All members possess cloven hooves for feet, often with feathering on the back of them, with the short bristly fur covering the tops of these hooves and melding into the skin at mid-calf.

Though members of the Draconid Clan bear long, ridged horns that gracefully sweep back from the head, Eden’s horns resemble antlers, a trait inherited from her mother’s clan: the Persids. All Kirinites possess large deer-like ears; claws; heavy, thick, fang-like teeth with large prominent canines (elder, higher-ranked Kirinites will have even larger canines that slide over the lip); long lion-like tails; mohawk-like hairstyles (mohawks are usually more prominent on males); and small, light-colored speckles scattered over their skin and scales.

Kirinites also have scales present on the fronts of their hooves and lower leg, hips, base of their tail, the tops of their hands and up their forearms, and up their back. The scales on their backs are thickened and raised like a crocodile’s spines; these are believed to help protect their spines during hunts and battles. These scales are often dark in color, yet have small glistening speckles, similar to stars.

With Eden’s Draconid Clan, the scales are similar to those of the sunset (coming from the preferred time to view the Draconid meteor shower). Her scales are a gradient of a dark, muted reddish-purple fading into rosy gold at the bottom of the scales, with the silvery speckles being most prominent in the darkest colors. Her scales are in the common places, listed above.

Eden stands at about 5’ 3’’ and has a lean, toned figure. Her skin is a very dark tan, and has a subtle rosy tint to it. Silvery cream speckles are visible all over her skin, with them being most prominent on her shoulders, upper arms, shoulder blades, thighs, and down her sides and hips along the dorsal scales, and down her tail.

She also has various scars from her hunts and battles. While shallow cuts litter her entire body, there are three distinct scars: Three claw marks are seen on her left collarbone; four huge, jagged scars rip over her left rib cage, reach down her side, and end just above her left hip bone; and a messy web of gashes, bite marks, and dimples where flesh and scale had been torn off is seen on her right forearm.

I based her appearance loosely on the Egyptian and Middle Eastern backgrounds. She bears the purplish-black tattoos around her eyes and on her cheeks that are iconic of Egyptian relics, and wore three piercings on both ears (a golden ring, silver stud, and silver ring), the ivory fang gauge once seen only on her left ear. Two thin, silver lip rings were on her bottom lip. Her piercings are forcibly removed during her drafting into Frieza’s army, leaving two rips on her bottom lip and her ears tattered.

There is also a tattoo on her left wrist, a small symbol of the silver sun with two black-tipped feathers. It’s to honor her late mother.

Her long, straight, thick hair reaches down to her hip. It’s a very dark brown, with some streaks in her bangs and on the ends of her hair fading to a dusky purple-brown color.  Four thin braids also adorn her mane, each braid held together by a tarnished gold band.

The fur covering her ankles, ears, and tail are a dark rosy-brown; purpleish-black markings rim the edges of her ears and around the hooves. Like all Kirinites, Eden also has horizonal, rectangular pupils; her irises are still a deep amber.

During the DB gt timeline, Eden’s seemingly endless wandering and fighting against her heritage and spiritual connection has impacted her. Her ribs become visible due to restricted access to food, and dark circles and bags can be seen beneath her eyes from lack of sleep. Though Kirinites has long lifespans and youthfulness, she appears older and more tired due to her difficult lifestyle. More scars are also visible on her body.

During Eden’s time in the Planet Trade Organization and her intergalactic escapades, she wears black and champagne gold armor, baggy black pants, and a marroon belt as seen below.

On Earth, however, she can be seen wearing midriff shirts to show off her midsection (Kirinites view scars as a sign of beauty, as they prove one is capable to guarding their clan and their mate and children). The tops are usually dark colors. Her favorites being a dark gray midriff shirt with a knotted hem and a wide collar to show off her shoulder (and thus the scar on her collar bone), and a charcoal heather top with a smilodon skull graphic. She also wears acid washed jeans, or ripped denim capris. She also develops a fondness for hemp chokers and tribal-inspired jewelry. Her usual attire for life on Earth can be seen below:

( Full size images and detailed reference sheet can be found [HERE] !! )

She is always wearing a crystal of pale gray and pale gold  around her neck. This crystal comes from Shihab and is what she uses to channel her ki for attacks and summon the Celestial Beast totem.

Abilities:

Eden is no exception and possess the standard kirinite abilities as described above, along with being able to let out a thundering bestial roar (sounds like an angry mix between a red deer stag’s and a lion’s) that can echo for miles. However, the blessing of hearing ghosts becomes a curse the day she forsakes her faith in them. If she were to return to Shihab, they would become distorted, distressing wails. Though she may be a great distance away from them, they still tug deep in her mind like a silent, persistent haunting.

When she lands on other planets, this ability becomes even more unnerving as she cannot understand the souls tangled whispers. This only strengthens her fear and hatred towards hearing them, and is further convinced that the stars of her home have cursed her. She is at risk of losing focus, becoming entranced, or reacting wildly midst the most severe hallucination phase. All these can make battle extremely dangerous for the lost Kirinite.

Though during times where her vigilance becomes exhausted, she does let the voices stream through her for a time. Her corrupted view and dark intentions for the use of her people’s powers will occasionally make the scramble of strange tongues make sense. Like a devil whispering temptation to heartbroken ears, the words take form of spells, of rituals beyond her former knowledge. To seek and perform these rituals were strictly forbidden in Kirinite law, but with these discoveries, the last Kirinite decides to abolish the law and commit these rare incantations to memory.

Over time she practices the dark arts, and more and more she seeks to uncover the greatest ritual that dark words promise will endow her with the power to rain flaming justice upon all who wronged her. She still searches for the ultimate crystal, said to be buried within a planet, beneath the graves of countless sacred souls, conflicted with the desire to finally seize that power and her need to discover the truth about the stars and her people. The most common of these is her ability to conjure sleeping crystals, meant to lull the threat or target to a deep sleep, allowing her to escape or steal from them. Due to her corruption, however, they are filled with negative energy and can inflict pain, or blinding fury, on anyone within its proximity (including herself), rather than just the opponent.

My aim for Eden is for her to learn and grow stronger gradually through training. She will likely lose in battles, especially against powerful opponents, though this is dependent on the verse, where our muses are in their interactions, and what my RP partner is comfortable with. The fun in Dragon Ball Z is watching a character work hard with others to overcome challenges, not winning everything effortlessly.

Personality:

Eden can be cunning, and she relies on this trait when facing a troubling situation; often choosing to stick to the shadows and tricks rather than facing someone head-on. Eden can’t stand the thought of losing control and is known to fight viciously and dirty when cornered. Preferring to be quiet and simply observe, she struggles with social interactions, especially first time meetings. She is paranoid towards others, thus she doesn’t trust easily. The woman is also victim to envy, as she can become very jealous towards those who are more skilled or more blessed than she is. She broods quietly instead of talking about her problems; and can seem dishonest, selfish, and stubborn.

However, towards those who grow close to her heart, she becomes protective and does her best to be dependable. The Kirinitw becomes more playful to those she loves, often sneaking up and catching them by surprise (mostly by pouncing on them). She’ll even goes as far as become touchy-feely with them. She is rather insecure, due to her fear of the ancestral stars and belief that she is cursed, and often looks towards intimacy as a means to help combat with her insecurities.

Parents:

Her father’s name is Cassiel, which is the name of the archangel of tears and solitude in the Kabbalah. He is considered withdrawn, quiet, and has a cynical view towards most things. He questions and fears of what the voices will do to him. Because of his fear, He tries not to get involved with the stars’ and Planet’s troubles, despite their urgings for him to act. He was a hunter for the Draconid clan.

Her mother’s name is Nizhoni, which I found means “Beautiful” in Navajo. She was a merchant for her natal Persid clan before her marriage to Cassiel. She’s always been headstrong and takes pride in being seen as “a rebel for the right reasons”. Nizhoni is very set in her ways, and is always determined to act for the greater good. This is where her and Cassiel get into arguments, particularly when tensions on Shihab begin to mount. The clans began fighting for the sacred lands, with the Draconids and Persids allying with one another, and Leonids and Ursids joining on the opposing end. Nizhoni spends much of her time travelling between clan territories to give supplies to her natal clan as they are on the front lines. Though this wears on her, especially when she is pregnant, she remains determined to do all she can to save both her natal clan’s and her current clan’s livelihoods.

The extent of her exhaustion became starkly apparent as she struggles to give birth to Eden. Cassiel’s dying faith in the spirits finally came to an end when Nizhoni passes away after delivery. He believes the spirits of the stars and planet truly betrayed him, and thus sows the seeds of hatred towards them. He is a distant and gruff father, spending his waking hours away hunting to meet his daughter’s needs, only to check in when necessary. He begins training her to become a hunter as soon as she was able to hold a dagger.

Though Eden admires her father’s resilience, she quickly learns not to ask about her mother and the spirits’ words as it often brings about buried anguish. As she grows, Cassiel’s inner resistance to the spirits’ influence begins to wear on his mind. The once powerful man she knew slowly deteriorated to a feeble lost soul, becoming disconnected with reality and unable to carry about his duties.

Now a young adult, Eden patrols the clan’s hunting grounds and boundaries to support Cassiel and herself. She starts questioning her own faith as she watches how the spirits are affecting her father. Distortion ripples through once familiar voices, she and the others start to grow restless. There is a persistent, eerie feeling in the air, like the calm before a violent storm.

It was that night, as metal and murderous intent fell from the skies instead of rock and fire, that the spirits, stars, and earth fell silent.

The invaders of different shapes and sizes claimed the planet in the name of Frieza and began slaughtering most of the inhabitants. The terrified Draconids came to the conclusion that the stars have betrayed them, and they could no longer trust the spirits’ words. The last survivors plotted their escape, with Eden and the ailing Cassiel being among them. They attempted an ambush to steal the invaders’ space pods, only to be caught and murdered.

Being only a lowly hunter and guard, Eden swallowed her pride and submitted. She spoke velvet words, despite her trembling voice, playing up her strength and skills honed by years of surviving within the badlands and fighting the monstrous beasts of the land.  It was by the sheer grace of whatever deity was left to care that they conceded to let her live, only on the condition that she devotes her life to servitude.

The worst was yet to come, as training within the Planet Trade Organization held no mercy for a mere foot soldier. Though bones were broken and tears spilled, the Kirinite held onto her lust for vengeance. She vowed to tear the entrails of these monsters and their tyrannical ruler, just as they have done to her people, to her family. She vowed to show the celestial guardians, who left her kind to die, that she would overcome their betrayal and inflict the same suffering upon them. So she waited, she watched, learning who were integral to this force, and their weaknesses…

(Thank you @crownprincefreeza for letting your muses become part of mine’s story!!)

Her already turbulent life in Frieza’s forces took a turn for the worse after a failed conquest over a targeted planet. The soldiers stood at attention fearful and frozen before the enraged prince, dreading for what was to come. Eden was no exception, drowning in the quiet, yet surging rise of death’s cold approach. Yet to endure abuse, from the very creature that brought destruction upon everything she had known and loved, to be beneath the heel of her enemy fueled a storm of fiery rage. In her foolishness she bit down at Freeza’s pointed finger, earning her a scream and a brutal swat of his tail.

Once sliding across the floor from his strike, Eden laid paralyzed, waiting for the painful judgment to come upon her. Malevolent ideas on what to do weaved and clashed in the imperial mutant’s mind, and to Eden’s surprise, he offers her an opportunity to receive redemption. Desperate to remain alive, Eden accepts, not knowing the price of her pardon would cost until moments later.

Amazingly, few of her people, members of her late mother’s clan, hid well enough to survive the onslaught. As images of once proud warriors digging through the garbage of the planet’s new occupants and the deadly clashes between them flash by, Frieza gave her the choice: Lure out the last of the Kirinites and pay her transgression with their blood or die. The torn woman wrestled within herself. Would she dare betray her allies, her own kin, just so she might live another day? Morals and instinct warred within her, and ultimately through her tears, her yearning to survive, just long enough to make Frieza and all the spirits suffer for their crimes, overcame the more noble of choices. She accepts, and with the towering equine soldier, Yuut, being commanded to follow her, Eden returns onto once familiar soil, the soil that no longer bore the warmth nor recognizable voices.

With her armor cast aside, sand scratching and clinging onto hands and skin, and letting Yuut break one of her precious antlers, Eden approached the last of the Persids. Eden spoke of escaping the invaders’ prison and stole a space craft that could save them all. Her pleas for them to join her were eventually believed, and they followed Eden away from the last of their strongholds, only for their blood to stain the hooves and shadows of both soldiers.

Once conquered, Eden stared at the eyes of dead kin. Wide with fear, with otherworldly agony of being betrayed, becoming like dead ice, devoid of any life. The spirits no longer held comfort to her, and with a sudden, brutal crash of her head against the rocks stained by unrelenting violence; her last antler fell, broken dark shards among limp bodies, before turning away with Yuut.

[sinunamor]

An @aphsecretsanta gift for @52px !! Sorry about the late submission! Happy New Year!

Pairing: Ancient Rome x China (romechu)

Prompt: Long distance relationship, modern au

I do not celebrate Christmas, but I have an online friend who does.

Warmth seeped through his porcelain mug. Tired, lithe fingers curled around its smooth surface. A gentle press of lips, a small careful sip and the warmth spread through his chest. The morning fog rolled over the cluttered streets of San Francisco. His window presented him a view of Chinatown rising. Mr. Huang sweeping the front of his herbal shop, Ms. Zhou flicking on a neon light reading “welcome” and a “Merry Christmas” in English and pinyin for her bakery. Around them, the Christmas lights, candy canes and snowflakes signaled the end of another year.

He sighed heavily after the sensation passed, shuffling in his slippers towards the desk stationed in front of his window. Picture frames and assorted souvenir figurines decorated the corners of the mahogany desk. One frame pulled a little closer to his laptop than the rest. Wrinkled brown eyes flickered towards that wide spread of lips, those impossibly straight teeth, that youthful glint of mischief in his eyes. He sat back of the chair and took another sip. Jasmine green tea. The warm herbal scent carried many memories. He set the mug down carefully next to the frame and opened the laptop. He’ll enjoy the view better here. It must be nighttime in Italy.

***

He is the festive sort, that does not surprise me. He finds comfort in the company of others. He would send me photographs, selfies, of his travels and home in Italy. His apartment was so little, such home would be filled with many guests, neighbors, young and old. And he, the center of it all. I wonder if he would enjoy celebrating Lunar New Year with me. He’d enjoy the noise. It would be nice to see him happy.

***

He was half expecting it, Romulo wasn’t online. They did stay up particularly late last night chatting about Christmas plans in broken english and the occasional Italian. Yao briefly looked over last night’s exchange.

RV: nd you? you would be spending Christmas alone?

WY: Alone, yes, i’ll vidchat with Chen and his family...you? You would be throwing a ball

RV: Haha not this year. Decided to keep it small Just me nd my boys and my boys boys’ nd my little girl

WY: very small party so unlike you, i’m Concerned

RV: now you know how i feel!! Im always concerned when i hear you spend holidays alone

WY: i’m alright

RV: i know, i jus wish i can go over there nd spend it with you :(

I haven’t felt my heart pulse an ache in a long while. I do wish that could happen, but there is a half a world between us.

***

My name is Wang Yao, I have seen 48 springs pass me by. 48 years of hardships, blessings and everything in between. I have one son, of which I am very proud. Chen is his name, stayed in China and started his life there. He has his mother’s adventurous spirit, he attended San Francisco State. I admit, he was part of the reason why I came to California at all, but I suppose fathers are mostly protective of their children. While he studied, I was the roommate that cooked for him. But I understood fully that sons needed to make life without their fathers. When time and he graduated with a degree in Travel and Tourism, he and his then girlfriend moved back to the mainland.

So mostly, I was alone. I was too old to fully appreciate the costal nightlife and too young to play mahjong with the elders in the afternoons. An unfortunate generational circumstance of a part-time professor whose social life revolved around attending tai chi group in the mornings, afternoon chats with storefront owners and a dull lecture or two in Mandarin in the evenings.

My son worried for me. He does not see as old, he wanted me to find a friend, a “someone” as he put it, with whom to share interests and hobbies with. To attend events and explore San Francisco for no reason other than to have carefree fun.

***

“It sounds like you want me to find you another mother,” Yao joked over video chat one night.

His eldest son, Chen, laughed heartily. On his lap, an 8 month old daughter gurgling happily and wiggled closer towards the phone lens. Yao was very happy he managed a screenshot of her rosy cheeked face.

“Any partner will do,” Chen teased back. “Your children know you were never particular to any sort.”

Yao let out a frustrated sound, his hand twitched as if he could really swat his son a Pacific Ocean away. “You speak without saying anything!” he reprimanded, holding a glint in his eye.

“We just have your best interests in mind,” Chen smiled. “Ay baba, there are how many people in this world and you cannot befriend one?”

“Well, give me a phonebook of all the people in this world and I shall start inquiring,” Yao half-scoffed.

Chen pursed his lips, his baby babbling, “Yi yi yi!”. Yao cooed and sang at her, wanting so much to reach out and hold her.

“How about a forum instead?”

***

And that was how I met him. The world forum website. Chen had discovered its existence through one boring weekend spent on his school campus. It was a language learning forum but it was no secret that it also served as a dating site as it had the option to state that one was looking for a romantic relationship.

Of course what I had to offer was Mandarin, a fluent grasp on English, and some Cantonese. Yet, I did not feel like connecting with people from the mainland or the United States. The forum listed many, even unheard of languages, but none that held my interest for long. I wanted something simple yet unique, something uncommon but had a significant influence throughout human history.

I remember reading “Italian” and remembering how at one point in my life was enamored with the history of the small Mediterranean peninsula. Of all its accomplishments and failures, the dialects, the influence on art and politics. Of all the love and admiration for Italy as a whole.

It felt childish at first, but I was soon focused solely on the Italian threads, trying to start conversations with others within my age range. It was frustrating to find that it was never as easy as it sounded. Some seemed unreachable or plain dull and there was a great imbalance sent to my inbox from men than women. At first it was amusing, sending them off with an “Thank you for your kind compliments, as a man, I am very flattered” but as I was weeding out the active few with other intentions, there was not much left. I was soon logging in less and ignoring the few notifications I receive over the span of the week.

Until a “ciao bella ;)” reached me.

I do not know what intrigued me, it was not much different from the others that were sent and ignored. Perhaps I was in a good mood, perhaps I was in fact in a very bad one. Perhaps his profile did lure me in, as he claims to this day, but I responded:

“Wrong gender, it would be ‘bello’ not ‘bella’”.

Not even a minute passed before my computer alerted me of a new message.

“ciao bello ;)”

***

His name is Romolo Vargas and he is 4 years my junior. He wants to see the world, and he has been in half of it. He has 3 children, two sons and one daughter of which he is very proud. Unlike me, he is divorced and was spending his free time going to places he had longed to go as a child. He has been to Greece and Thailand, France and Estonia, countries whose name I cannot begin to pronounce. At first, I had thought I was an outlet for him to brag about his travels, about the women he wooed, but then he was always asking about what I done, how my day went, and how I felt. As if I was the most interesting man in the world.

Then the first Christmas came and he was insistent on sending me a gift.

***

“Baba, we are glad you found that friend,” Chen said over the phone. “But you never know this man’s true intentions. How do we even know a Romolo Vargas exists?”

“I’m well aware,” Yao muttered, feeling a tinge of annoyance course through him. “I’ll admit he’s a little flirty, but he never gave me reason to doubt his sincerity.”

“It hurts me to say this, truly it does,” Chen muttered. “But what if Romolo is just leading you on? What if this is a game that he plays?”

“On older men and women? Yes, I know,” Yao frowned, his tone a little harsher than intended. “Thought you had said I wasn’t that old to begin with.”

***

They would never understand the late-night conversations I had, of philosophy and bao recipes. While he was rising, I was preparing for sleep. We managed a balance of work and chat. We began to send each other pictures, photographs of our homes, what we see throughout our day and ourselves. There was never pressure or qualm to keep our discussions going, we just carried on naturally.

Then Chen suggested I should get a P.O. box instead. Bright boy.

His first Christmas gift was a small painted black rooster from Portugal, a few collected postcards from previous travels and a 3 page handwritten letter explaining the story of the little rooster, of his New Year plans and his gratitude of meeting me. I never felt so close and intimate to him before. I felt young again.

We carried on, occasionally sending each other trinkets and tokens of a blossoming friendship. I sent him tea leaves, recipes, inkstones and brushes, a book on tai chi and bonsai training. Soon my bamboo plant and bonsai pot was inhabited with little figurines from the entirety of Europe and western Asia.

The next Christmas we gifted each other the trust of each other’s phone numbers. The first video chat on our phones. When we saw each other on our screens, we laughed.

***

“I’m telling you, you look younger than you say you are! Are you sure you 46?” Romolo grinned. His backdrop was his gardens overlooking the coast. His curls, touched with glints of silver and gold lightly kissed his flushed cheeks from a chilled breeze.

“The sunlight suits you,” Yao admitted without another thought.

A soft, silent smile. Yao felt his heart caught in his throat.

“And I bet you capture it beautifully with your eyes,” Romolo muttered.

Yao wanted to hide behind his sleeve like a flustered schoolgirl. It was a sincere compliment, nothing that implied a growing love for him, no matter how he wished for it to be true.

***

This Christmas would be no different. We had agreed on only sending each other a letter as we haven’t been writing to each other lately. Yet, I had sent his favorite box of tea along with a translated poem I wrote in simplified pinyin. A silly little poem about the love of two birds on seperate nests with a grand river in between, using the strengths of their songs to communicate in new echoing melodies. He always expressed his admiration for Chinese calligraphy. I wonder what he will think of the poem. I wonder if he’ll attempt to read the characters himself before reading the translated bits.

I wasn’t so sure Romolo was going to send me something as well but I did not want to anticipate a gift. I’d prefer to be pleasantly surprised.

***

Yao opened another tab on his computer to check on his email, the local news and weather. Another chilly day as expected in San Francisco Bay. He silently debated going out to pick up groceries at the local market. He already gave himself a bread by sleeping in and missing his Tai Chi session. He stretched his lower back until he felt relieving pops. He sighed heavily, eyeing the little black Portuguese rooster. He reached out to grab it from its place between a figurine of the Roman Colosseum and a windmill figurine from the Netherlands. Yao smiled, running his thumb over the painted wing. The shine was mostly gone, but the sentimental par of him will forever remember the first intimate contact they had with one another. Gingerly, he placed “Little Romolo” back in its place, and stood up to make a light breakfast.

The lone click of chopsticks and the drone of a Chinese reporter from a streamed video on his phone were the only sounds disturbing the calm silence of his studio apartment. The cloud filtered sunlight bled through the curtains, casting greyer shadows in the dimly lit corner of his dining area. Yao rested his head on the heel of his palm, his leg crossed over the other, softly flapping his slipper against his heel. It would be nice to share the silence with Romolo. The reporter’s voice would be replaced with that of his low rumbling chuckles and gentle teases.

Yao’s lips curled up in a soft smile. Christmas would be lonelier this year.

He perked up to the sound of his phone buzzing to life. He turned his attention back to his phone and felt his heart leap. It was a message from Romolo.

RV: check yor PO box >:)

His lips spread into a wider grin. Of course the fool sent him something anyway.

Yao lightly brushed his hair and slipped into a light jacket, scarf and boots. He locked the door behind him with a an eager well-meaning click.

He strode down the hills with purpose. Simple, passing thoughts went through him. What if he gotten him a much larger present? A more expensive one? A painting? Yao chuckled at the thought. Romolo was more than capable for pulling such a stunt.

As expected, the post office was moderately busy. People in hoodies, beanies, scarves and the like made lines to send last minute gifts. Yao made his way towards his box, a small sized thing yet perfect for letters and small paintings.

Something caught his eye. His P.O. box had a note on it. Yao furrowed his brow and neared it. The note was in flowy cursive so he took some time to decipher what it said.

Look behind you <3

Yao’s eyes widened, turning around slowly before his gaze focused on a man that no longer blended with the crowd. That spread of lips revealing impossibly straight teeth and a youthful glint of mischief in his eyes. His brown curls stuffed under a beanie, still showing glints of gold and silver. A spread of lips so handsome, it made joyous wrinkles appear around his eyes.

“Romolo?” Yao whispered.

Romolo nodded.

Yao rushed into the man’s open arms, earning the stares of a few curious strangers.

It was him, physically, it was his scent, his arms, his hair, his breath. His voice. “Merry Christmas,” he muttered, wrapping his arms tightly around him in turn.

He must be dreaming.

***

“So I have my hotel room and everything, don’t worry!” Romolo explained quickly, his arms moving about the more he got excited. Yao found it endearing. They had stopped by a bakery to grab a sweet bread to commemorate the moment.

“I realize how it might have been an inconvenience for you, or perhaps,” Romolo chuckled nervously. Yao noted he looked a little older than he last saw him on video chat. He must be jet lagged. “A little strange since I did not tell you beforehand, er, outright.”

“It is a surprise,” Yao said. “But a welcomed one.”

Romolo nodded, his shoulders laxing in relief.

“How long will you be staying for?” Yao asked.

“A week,” Romolo sighed, placing his hands on the table. “I cannot stay out for too long during the holidays.”

Yao felt a hint of disappointment. There was no possible way Romolo will be back in time for Lunar New Year.

Yao eyed his hands and made the first hesitant slow reach for Romolo. Perhaps if he did not stretch it too far, he could pretend he was stretching his arm.

But he felt his fingers get caught. Pale, longer fingers were soon in between darker, thicker ones. They did not say a word, their touch molded around each other, feeling every callous and muscle. The strength of their knuckles and the softness of their pads. Romolo smiled softly at Yao, it wasn’t flirty nor teasing. Sincere. Like they have done this before.

“I’m glad,” Yao muttered.

He’ll save up to surprise him for next Christmas.