#oooh do you think she could do mercy? i think she could do mercy

[winepresswrath]

trying to decide how hard i should work to make my girlfriend read tlt when i'm 75% sure she won't like it is difficult. on the one hand, she only has one life. on the other she has signed up to spend that life listening to me talk about gideon nav so i think she should at least understand 50% of the words coming out of my mouth.

#our oppositeland tastes are really working against me here #today she reminded me of her deep and abiding love for shawn mendes #however I am pleased to report that we both love bbc ghosts #what a good show #also she'd follow charlotte ritchie anywhere so if we get an adaptation where she plays abigail pent im golden #oooh do you think she could do mercy? i think she could do mercy #there's some george-mercy overlap and she's a fantastic george #i'm thinking mostly of the entire wedding fiasco #and she is a teacher who hates feelings and is al allergic to emotional intimacy

[mha-cuties-pls]

Twerking

The girls from class 1A are getting dance lessons from an American exchange student before class one day.

Reader x Bakugou | Words: 1k | Rating: T (suggestive content) | genre: fluff

Staring at your classmate intently, you tried to decide if she was simply misspeaking, or actually asking you what she was asking you. "You want me to teach you how to do what?"

"You know," Ururaka said, beginning to shake her butt and arms almost robotically from side to side, "’tweaking’. The dance? You're from America, so I assume all you guys know how to do that!"

Oooh. A smile took over your expression as you finally realized. "Ah, you mean twerking!" Giving your classmates a small laugh, you tried to explain, "Tweaking is a whole other thing, and its not a positive one." Since transferring to UA from overseas, you had often found yourself at the mercy of language blocks and mispronunciations that led to misunderstandings, so for once, it was nice to be the one in their own element.

“I’ve always been curious as to how to do that, as well.” Yaoyarozu chipped in, garbing small nods of agreement from the rest.

Laughing playfully, you shrugged, getting up from your desk and turning so your back was to them; You had 15 minutes before your next class so you had some time to kill, anyways. “I have to warn you guys it’s not like I’m any expert when it comes to this, but,” straightening the back of your legs and planting your heels firmly on the ground you bent over slightly, “I do have this one trick a friend taught me last time I visited during break!” Swinging your butt side to side while doing this caused your butt to bounce pretty steadily and noticeably under your uniform skirt, which naturally hiked up because of the action. “All you have to do is straighten your legs, stand on your heels, and then kind of shake your hips steadily in place and your butt does the rest.”

All the girls immediately started shouting with excitement upon seeing how easy it could be. They all spread out a bit, with determined smiles as they remembered my short tutorial. I laughed with them, watching the beginning struggles of every dancer morphing into a rhythm of understanding after a few minutes of trial and error.

“Hey, I’m doing it!” Uruaka exclaimed, giggling a bit herself while standing next to Mina who seemed to be getting the hang of it herself.

Yayorozu, however, still seemed to be inhibiting herself, making stiff and robotic movements. “I don’t think I understand.”

I walked over to her with a smile, remembering how long it took me to learn until I had someone explain it to me. “Nah it’s an easy fix, watch.” Standing so I was facing the same way as her, I assumed the same stance only remained straight up. I started twisting my hips bluntly to illustrate the motion. “You see?” I then slowly began to bend at the waist, the shaking of my lower body then translating into the dance easily. “Its just like your twisting, but stopping and going so fast your using the momentum of your fat against it to make it you know,” you trailed off, feeling sort of silly for explaining the mechanics of twerking, “more jiggly.”

Finally seeming to fall into a rhythm, Yayarouzu was doing it! Albeit with a terribly determined and focused expression on her face. “I believe I’ve got it!”

Simply laughing, you cheered her on, “Ayy, go Momo!” Catching the attention of your other classmates they began to cheer her on as well. A chorus of “go Momo! Go Momo!” Began, and I joined her, shooting her an electric smile as she laughed along with me. It looked like she was finally starting to let loose a little bit and just have fun with it, making your heart warm. You were so grateful for all the friendships you’ve made since coming to UA.

You had all been so lost in concentration and just having a good time, you didn’t realize your 15 minutes had ended already and the door had opened.

Iida, never one to be late, burst through the door promptly at 12:45, but instantly froze upon what he saw before him. The rest of the 1A guys followed not far behind, wondering why he was just standing there and wasn’t rushing to his seat like usual.

“Hey what are you doing blocking the way?” Bakugou said, eyes squinting. As he approached Iidas frozen body, he followed his gaze, instantly growing a bit pink in the process. “What the hell?!”

Bakugous loud exclamation, like always, reverberated through the classroom and instantly stopped you all dead in your tracks. Looking behind you, you saw the boys of class 1A all staring at the group of you; who all were bent over with their backs towards them and your skirts admittedly high.

“Aah, perverts!” Higakure yelped, jumping up from her position. “How long have you guys been standing there?!”

But, based on Minetas nose bleed, you assumed it was longer than just a second. Meaning that they most likely got a pretty good show of you all going at it because hey, you had to admit to yourself, you were a pretty good teacher.

All the girls immediately flushed almost in unison, most of them quickly scurrying back to their seats while mumbling lame excuses and adverting eye contact.

But, even though you were burning red you had to take this opportunity to tease Bakugou just a bit, and instead winked at him before sauntering back to your seat; You even hiked up your skirt before you sat down, the fabric barely covering the top of your thighs as you sat. And you knew Bakugous eyes followed every move as he moved into a seat diagonally behind yours.

Pretending to be interested in getting ready for class, you began to pull out your textbook, when your phone lit up from the corner of your desk.

“I’m gonna fuck that stupid smirk right off your pretty little face tonight.” The text from Bakugou read.

Now, it was your turn to blush, and you frantically lowered the brightness on your phone while looking around to make sure no one saw what was just on your screen.

Bakugou snickered from a few seats away, and kept his eye on you, enjoying making you squirm with anticipation at his words. He sent one more text as the rest of the students filtered into their seats and Aizawa was about to begin.

“And you’re definitely gonna shake that ass for me in private tonight 😈 I wanna see it up close.”

xxx

A/N: just a little thought I had about the tweak vs twerk thing and it turned into a Bakugou fluff at the end LOL who would’ve guessed it

#my hero academy fanfiction #my hero acedamia #my hero x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #mha bakugo x reader #mha bakugo katsuki #my hero imagines #katsuki bakugo imagine

[alleyskywalker]

🐅💖💛 for Jeyne Westerling, please

Oooh thank you!

🐅 - Characterization: character habits, personality, etc.

I see/headcanon Jeyne as this mixture of sweet, romantic, idealistic and compassionate on one hand, but also passionate, headstrong, stubborn and maybe a bit selfish in certain respects on the other. I don't really see her as ambitious or interested in politics though. In my headcanon(s), that's more her sister.

💖 - Romantic relationships or ships. (This could be as simple as sharing a rareship you enjoy, or an unusual interpretation of a popular/canon ship!)

Hmm I don't know that I have a lot of Jeyne ships. I've enjoyed shipping her with Sansa! I do kinda ship her with Robb, tbh? But the thing is I definitely don't see this as either 1) a completely one-sided relationship or 2) a perfect non-problematic relationship as tends to be the two most common interpretations I've seen.

Without writing a whole ass meta here (lol) there's too components of my opinion here. First, while I think it's reasonable to assume that duty and wanting to do the right thing played a role in Robb's decision to marry Jeyne, I reject the notion that that's all it was. I see no reason to take his talk to duty at face value but not his super sappy "I conquered her castle and she conquered my heart." Like please, that's a cringe, goo-ey teenage infatuation if I've ever seen one. (Also, I'm sorry, but they fuck like rabbits on the daily. I know Robb needs an heir but this does not sound like someone who's not enjoying sex with his wife.) So yea, I think he was into her a lot, and wanting to keep her with him and also his feelings making him less willing to hurt her played a large part in in decision making as well as honor and duty considerations.

That said, Robb was kinda shitting to her and I think there's ample possible reason for this, everything from his initial infatuation fading somewhat to having to return to the war and all its stresses full time have put a damper on his ability/desire for romance if not his libido. (And it's not like Robb isn't ever kinda shitty toward other people he ostensibly loves/cares about...) I do think though, that had Robb survived the war, they could have ended up having a pretty happy marriage.

Second, this fandom really needs to recognize more how sketchy the circumstances around their first sexual encounter were. I'm not saying Jeyne didn't consent to the sex, but...it amazes me that people who easily recognize the coercive elements in the Criston/Rhaenyra scene don't see them here. The power imbalance is significant. Robb has conquered her home and his men are literally occupying it. Jeyne and her family are completely at his mercy. She doesn't really know him that well so it's hard for her to tell how he will/won't react to things (such as a sexual rejection). Robb absolutely has a temper, and if she ever witnessed it that would not have been comforting. Yes, she's attracted to him/infatuated or in love with him, but that's not really there or here when it comes to consent at any specific given moment. (Criston was attracted to Rhaenyra,, Cersei in love with Jaime - that didn't change the issues with those sex scenes.) Yes, Robb had recently been ill, but this is not a Petyr and Lysa situation frankly. Robb gives no indication of being confused about what had been happening or what they were doing. I'm also pretty sure no one was giving him war reports while he was high on milk of the poppy or whatever.

And again, I'm not saying she didn't say yes or want to... But also...that's kind of the point to. We don't know exactly what happened. Or really even any not extremely vague version. I'm sure Robb believes for every moment that she was into it. But this is less to say "it was definitely dubcon" and more like...I think this situation was more psychologically complicated than fandom has any desire to explore. (Weird in a fandom that looooves to talk about these issues. But then Robb's a Stark so what do I expect? lol) Personally, I enjoy some ambiguity there, a bit of uncertainty, a bit of confusion on Jeyne's part afterwards maybe. Because otherwise...how reckless, how selfish of her. And I don't want to be of that opinion of her.

(Literally, do not come at me with the "they drugged/seduced him" misogynistic conspiracy theories. I will sacrifice you to the Drowned God.)

💛 - Familial relationships.

I def have thoughts/feelings about Jeyne and her siblings! I think before her marriage/the Incident with Robb she was pretty close with all of them. Rollam is probably her most "surface" relationship - he's a lot younger and a boy, so they're not as close as she is with her sister and older brother, but it's also relatively straightforward and uncomplicated. That doesn't really change.

Eleyna is a more complex relationship - she's also a few years younger but them being sisters they have some more common interests/goals/environments/etc. Probably more of a complexity than their difference in age is their difference in personality. I hc Jeyne taking more after their father and Eleyna taking more after their mother. Eleyna is more practical and cynical, particularly for her age, less prone to romanticism and more prone to following the rules, or at least appearing to. But still being young this is also a bit sublimated with the naivete of childhood and such. She's far more ambitious than Jeyne. This all gets especially fraught after Jeyne gets involved with Robb. Eleyna does not take this well. She instinctively (and in part actually) understands the danger Jeyne's marriage puts their family in and the problems it will cause of Eleyna personally down the line, especially if Robb doesn't win. She also understands that if Jeyne's reputation is ruined her own could be impacted/questioned as well, especially when her prospects were already lower than Jeyne's, being the younger daughter. So she is extremely angry at Jeyne for what she considers to be her thoughtlessness and selfishness. So their relationship suffers not insignificantly.

Raynald I headcanon as like Jeyne's best friend. They're extremely close and while he's not sure how to feel about this whole allegiance switching thing generally and knows it's dangerous, he'll do pretty much anything for his sister's happiness.

#jeyne westerling #eleyna westerling #house westerling #asoiaf #op #asked and answered

[vidma-kazhe]

What makes me so disgusted about Netlix santizing the ever-loving fuck of the ATLA story ("Oooh we toned toned the sexism", "Oooh, Aang is more serious now") is because they're just showing they're fucking cowards making content for audience that wants to consume but not to think.

Despite it's light-hearted tone and well-balanced moments of humor and teenage goofiness, ATLA managed to convey one simple truth: war is ugly.

War changes you. War distorts you. Even if you're not at the frontline and in a relative safety, you're still affected and it's not supposed to look good.

With Sokka and Katara they barely scratched the surface: despite Sokka saying some stuff about girls because of his own insecurity and feeling he had big boots to fill and Katara having never recovered from the anger of being unable to save her mom, they were nice and kind to everyone, included Fire Nation civillians, because they could afford being kind. Because of Aang. Who gave them hope. Who was a promise that this war can end and they can all be saved. They had a promise of tomorrow and a future - and so no matter what they had seen, they held on to that. And even with this, they still had their scars. They just got to address them instead of having them fester.

For comparsion, we had characters like Jet - who never had such hope in the first place and thus was capable of much more cruel decisions, caring not for a single life of a Fire Nation civillian (not that I blame him) because he experienced the brutality of invasion with nobody around to protect him.

We had characters like Hama -- a waterbender stolen from her tribe, imprisoned and tortured, stuck in the enemy's land unable to trust anyone; growing old and alone, having to watch Fire Nation people enjoy they lives ignorant of the destruction their empire was bringing to others and wanting make them suffer as much as she did. Wanting to make them know fear and desperation and the horror of being locked away to rot.

And the only reason why Katara wasn't Hama, was Katara's mom sacrifice. Not because Katara was different, kinder or more merciful. Because someone gave her life away to protect her life.

We had a society like Southern Tribe, where women were forbidden from practicing combat waterbending and only allowed to do healing -- because Fire Nation wasn't above committing genocide and keeping women from fighting seemed like a measure to keep them safe. It was a flawed logic, but the show pointed out how being stuck in the old ways and clinging to the illusion of safety can bite you in the ass.

Sokka and Katara didn't remain good people because of some inner goodness they had at birth -- it became possible, because of Aang. Otherwise, in time, they too would have grown more bitter, more cynical, clinging to whatever coping mechanisms available just to survive. In time, they would have approved of Jet's ideas -- because nothing is fair in this world, there is no miracle, and if resisting genocide and colonization means being violent, then so be it.

War is horrible because it ruins your life and takes away the parts of you that you may never claim back.

But I won't expect modern show writers to ever understand it or even to be willing to get out from their comfort zone and explore it.

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #netflix critical #i'm not even going to watch this show #but it aggravates me to no end #it's nice people have the luxury to shut out uncomfy elements

[mercyisms]

oooh do you have any specific headcanons for how the ascensions went down/what sort of timeline (beyond the canonical order) all seven ascensions happened along? given that nigella is still alive and well at the time of your fic!

i'm not sure, anymore, how much of this is from my own brain and how much of it is from ave's now-deleted cytherea/loveday tome (RIP, lives forever in my mind), but my personal take is it goes: alfred & cristabel sacrifice themselves at the same time, but augustine 'ingests' first (or is back up and functional before mercy). seeing as they're all scientists at this point, i think you'd at least run tests and make sure augustine and mercymorn are what you think they are & stress-test their capacities before you, too, ran off to eat your beloved, so i would imagine a window before anyone else gets consumed. (see also: probably john would want to verify they aren't as powerful as he is; not that they would be, but i imagine they're all figuring this shit out as they go.) if pyrrha doesn't go down 'smooth' (lmao), which seems possible given her & g1deon bodyshare situation, maybe there's another window where we make sure gid's okay and this is all working. per "doctor sex," one assumes cassy and nigella made plans and settled some affairs. i imagine ulysses and cyrus go in quick succession after one another, but only because i've come to unfairly imagine ulysses/tan/cyrus/val as one big sexy unit (like ABBA) (sexy, necromancy ABBA). i'm not sure if there's something in canon that disputes this, so apologies if i'm misremembering, but i could imagine anastasia attempting 'perfect' lyctorhood either before or after cytherea (or maybe even sooner, so everyone could be like 'damn, guess we gotta kill our besties'), who ofc goes last and only under duress of cancer; i think she wanted to delay it as long as possible.

#diosapate #asks

[katherineholmes]

So which Taylor Swift's songs do you associate with Mary and Matthew?

Oooh, I have a few!

Stay, Stay, Stay - We all know that a lot of people view Mary as scary and heartless, even though she isn't always. I feel like this song fits that because Matthew stays, no matter what, because he knows there's more to her. Not to mention, Mary doesn't think he could love every part of her, but he does.

Sad, Beautiful, Tragic - It feels like the song for that period after Matthew's failed proposal when he's gone for the war and they haven't made up yet.

Exile - When Mary's engaged to Carlisle and Matthew to Lavinia. This is definitely what was going on, hidden jealousy, but also the hopelessness of it. How neither of them think the other still loves them.

Champagne Problems - God, this song is perfect. Her being unable to say 'yes' to him even though she wanted to!?! And then him bringing Lavinia who does say yes. Who's uncomplicated. It's just...ugh, the angst.

'Tis The Damn Season - The perfection of this song for when Mary and Matthew kiss in season 2 is beyond me. The pain and the longing. Wanting to escape reality but not being able to. It's just....peak angst.

Evermore - I don't know why but I see Mary as so....depressed. I mean, it's never explicitly said or acknowledged, but Pamuk rapes her, and then instead of getting help, all she gets are taunts. That she's 'slut' for inviting him (when she didn't even) and then loses Matthew for it. Gets blackmailed by Carlisle into agreeing to marry him (which is just another attack on her ability to consent) so that news of said rape doesn't get sold as a sensationalised affair. And this song kinda captures that depression while she sees hope in the form of Matthew but can't quite reach out to him. It's just sad.

Back To December - Again, the failed proposal and then the first episode of s2. If only she could go back and change things.

The Great War - Literally. Both the one that was going on between them and the first world war that Matthew was off fighting. The pain and the angst, and once it was over, they were each others.

Sweet Nothing - Alright, taking a break from the angst, this song is so....sweet. It's just beautiful. All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing. While Mary is beautiful, and as Henry says - la belle dame sans merci - most people wanted to marry her for her dowry or for her estate (the duke comes to mind), or because they wanted to possess her (like Carlisle and Tony), but Matthew really just wants her. He's awed by her and struck by her and wounded by her. He loves her even though she hurts him, and his love never dies. It's just so beautiful.

That....was more than a few songs, and honestly, there's so many more, both Taylor's and others, but I'll stop before I start crying over them and their tragic end.

(P.S. - Jenny Of Oldstones by Florence is such a fitting song after Matthew dies.)

Thank you so much for the ask!

#mary x matthew #matthew x mary #downton abbey #da #kehlana-wolhamonao3 #tw: rape

[and-stir-the-stars]

Oooh, the zombie AU has huge angst horror potential. How do you think each of the Afton siblings would react and cope if they got bitten and infected? How would each react to the other getting infected?

If Evan gets bit, there's a lot of crying and asking "am I going to die?" over and over, and when he starts getting really scared, he asks Mike (and Mr Emily if he's around) what death is like and what he should expect. Even if the bite (hah) doesn't happen as a result of something Evan does, he apologizes over and over for misbehaving/not being "good" and getting himself hurt.

Evan reacts similarly if either of his siblings gets bitten: a lot of crying, asking "is he/she going to die?" over and over, and giving his siblings little presents (drawings, flowers he picked from the yard, roly polys and snails he found, etc) to his sibling. If he still has a Signature Plushie that he carries around with him wherever he goes, he lets his sibling hold the Plushie while they're sick. Evan's not too young to understand that being bitten makes you into a zombie, but he's too young and naive to understand that the people he loves can and will hurt him if they turn. Evan has to be taken out of the room when whoever finally has to mercy kill the infected sibling, not just because it's too violent for him to see, but because he would actively to stop anyone from killing his siblings, even zombie siblings.

If Liz gets bit, she tries to pretend it didn't happen. She wears long sleeves and snaps at anyone who brings up the wound or her inevitable fate. She asks Mike to doodle over the teeth marks and the bruises with sharpies. Even when she starts getting so ill that it's hard to move or breathe, she tries pretending that she and her brothers are just playing doctor and she's getting really into her role as patient. As the deliroiusness finally begins to settle in, she gushes to her brother about how much she loves them and wants them all to stay together forever. This turns into her crying and slowly accepting her fate, so long as her brothers promise to find her in the afterlife (but not too soon. she doesn't want them dying just yet.).

If either of her brothers get bitten, then Liz tries diving head first into denial, but she's quickly snapped out of it when she sees how much pain her brother is in. It becomes terrifyingly real terrifyingly fast. Liz stays at Michael/Evan's side and refuses to leave, trying to anticipate every last one of their needs before Michael/Evan is even aware of the need in the first place. She tries playing pretend with the brother, sometimes, to take both of their minds off of it, but Liz isn't able to delude herself into happiness anymore, and it doesn't work. They stay up all night and talk about any random thing, though the conversation always loops into heavy silences as they accidentally say something that reminds them of their current situation.

Michael becomes overprotective if he gets bitten. It was his job to keep his siblings safe, but now he's abandoning them alone in a world they can't protect themselves in. He tries drilling every survival method and trick they could ever need to know into their heads as he fights to get his little siblings somewhere safe before he dies, if they're not already in a camp surrounded by people who can protect them. He's angry and terrified and he hates himself more with every tear that drips from his siblings' eyes and with every tear they hold back for his sake. He forces Evan and Liz to be the ones making and maintaining the fire, cooking the food, checking the traps they have set around their camp; he doesn't do it because he's too weak to do it himself, but because "cmon, what are you gonna do when I'm gone, eh? You gonna eat tree bark to survive? Gonna cuddle to stay warm at night? Because you already hate my cooking and i can guarantee you tree bark won't taste nearly as good, and you're gonna get really sick of being around each other all the time!" He tries turning it into a big joke, even if he knows his siblings can see straight through him.

If either of his siblings get bit, there's a lot of lashing out from guilt because Mike thinks he should have done a better job of keeping them safe. "Why didn't you come get me?" "What were you thinking?! Oh, that's right, you weren't." "I told you not to, didn't I? DIDN'T I?!"

The anger is interspersed with grief, though, and Michael will slip between screaming at his siblings, and being kind (putting damp rags on their heads for the fever, wiping their tears, crying with them, talking about stupid stuff to take their minds off it) so quickly that it gives his little siblings emotional whiplash. Michael becomes paranoid, demanding, and strict after the bitten sibling finally passes away (though this is also interspersed with him being loving and kind).

#zombie au #fnaf au #evan afton support center #tw child death

[incomingalbatross]

Hello, I hope you're doing well.

I really love your content, especially the Catholic BatFamily stuff, because being a Catholic myself, I was always really interested in the parallels between Christian Catholic beliefs and Batman's morals.

So, could we get more Catholic BatFamily content? There's so much more I want to know, like how would Jason and Bruce reconcile, does Bruce bring Steph into the faith after a few years, whether would Duke become Catholic or whether would he be Episcopalian (because his parents seemed to have taught him good morals growing up), does Bruce bond with Helena B. (Huntress) a bit more because of their faith, how is Selina in the middle of all of this, and more. Please, I need answers!! (if you want to, of course).

Oooh, also, I think St Joan of Arc is perfect for Cassandra (or Maria Faustina, or Jude Thaddeus)

Again, love what you do, keep doing it, and have a good one!!

Hi! I'm doing well. Hope you are too.

Thank you! I'm glad you like it. It's just...there's so much virtue in this mythos, and so much suffering. In Bruce's life particularly. And the heroism and the iconography and... YEAH. I might have run out of words today. :P But Catholic Batfamily holds a lot of meaning for me.

Unfortunately, I haven't been really actively into Batfamily stuff recently, so the ideas aren't flowing! "How do Jason and Bruce reconcile" is a question that has SO many potential narratives in its answer, of course, and I think I go back and forth on whether Jason would reconcile with the Church or with Bruce first. One would lead to the other, I think, but which first? I don't know. I AM a big fan of Jason having wanted to be a priest as a teenager and eventually fulfilling his vocation, though. Father Jason Todd is good.

...I also think Jason ought to go to Lourdes. I'm honestly unclear if Pit Madness is canon or purely fanon, but either way the waters of Lourdes as spiritual healing for the Lazarus Pit boy just sounds right.

I don't know about Steph either! I'm inclined to say she's more likely to go to church with Tim or Barbara, or walk into her campus ministry one day and go from there, but I don't know where she's at.

—and okay, I am remembering that SOMEONE on my dash or very close to it was doing a whole series of Batfam members paired with corporal works of mercy?? I can't FIND it but the one I'm remembering has Stephanie and a soup kitchen and it's very good. Augh.

Anyway! I like Helena Wayne Huntresses more than Helena B. Huntresses, so my own universe would probably be more like "And this is Huntress, who is not-coincidentally also Catholic, because she's Bruce's daughter from an alternate Earth." :P But if you have thoughts on Bruce and Helena B., go for it!!

Joan of Arc does sound like someone who would resonate with Cass. The valiance, the purity, the determination to Do Her Duty no matter the obstacles... yeah. Or the others! I shamefully know St. Maria Faustina less than half as well as I should, but yes. And honestly, I think St. Jude might be the patron saint of Gotham. :P

Thank you very much, again! I'm happy to hear you enjoyed my thoughts.

#catholic batfamily #(gonna have to check if that's the right tag) #asks #anon asks #if somebody could point me toward the Corporal Works of Mercy Batfamily Series I would greatly appreciate it

[backjustforberena]

If Rhaenys was skipped over like was proposed, but the throne went to Laenor instead of Viserys, do you think she'd still be 'The Queen that never was'? Would she and Corlys still be so insulted and hurt by it all?

Laenor would become King before age 5 in that case, which would make her Queen Regent for years but still not Queen.

Oooh, now that's an interesting thought. I don't think I can quite lump Corlys and Rhaenys as to feeling the same in this situation (and, in fact, I rarely do when discussing Rhaenys's claim), as there are sort of two hurts to be considered.

There's the personal hurt that comes with the rejection. That, no two ways about it, they have rejected her. They took one look at her and thought: not good enough. I don't think she would do anything about it, and she'd be pleased for her son, and protect him with her life, but it doesn't change that to get to her son, they had to pass her over.

And then there's the bloodline hurt. That she cannot even pass her claim onto her son, give him what would have been his birthright - continue her father's line and legacy. That, obviously, in this AU would be negated. This is the one that mainly concerns Corlys in the show because he thinks that by fixing the mistake of their entire line being removed from the succession, he can make up for the error that was passing Rhaenys over and order will be restored etc etc. It's why he is pushing their kids forwards and Rhaenys lets it go - for her, making a child a monarch changes nothing about that original wound.

So, for Corlys, I think the hurt would absolutely be negated. He'd think it was solved, his ambition would be sated until he found something else. Heck, he's probably even obtuse enough to think that Queen Regent for his wife is good enough. Whereas the personal hurt and personal rejection that Rhaenys feels at the decision would still persist for her. Making Laenor "King", ruling as Queen Regent... it wouldn't erase that, for her.

The nickname would entirely depend on what the root of it was. I can't remember if we have any specifics from Fire & Blood. But if it was created when she was passed over for her uncle, then obviously it would still exist and have existed for years. If it was due to her being passed over for Viserys, I doubt it would have taken such a hold as it did, as it would be her claim that was, at least in part, validated. I doubt it would permeate court, at least. And definitely not once she became regent for her son. As, if nothing else, it becomes inaccurate. Queen Regent it may be, but still a Queen.

I wonder if they'd even make her Queen Regent though. It makes sense, of course. It's what normally happens. But Laenor has male Targaryen relatives. There would be questions about what is best to do, even if they go ahead and anoint her. What happens if she gets too big for her boots? What happens if she doesn't give up the throne for her son? What if she does something they don't like? Should she even sit the throne for her son if the Great Council voted against her? Surely that would negate any duty, even if she is Laenor's mother? In other words, she'd be at the mercy of the lords again. She'd have to be tried again. They could go with Viserys as regent for Laenor. They could (but less likely) go with Corlys, as Laenor's father. There's even Daemon. There could be a joint rule between regents. Or else a Hand could be regent. After all, the Hand of the King would have much more experience than Rhaenys ever had - as she was never Queen in her own right.

I don't know the answer to the above. It's one of those things that are all equally viable paths and I can't reconcile myself to banish any of the scenarios fully. It entirely depends on the priorities and the circumstances surrounding Laenor's ascension. It would definitely be a BIG discussion in the Small Council.

But if she becomes Regent, then she would hold that position for over a decade, I should think? Until Laenor is 16.

[saltygirafe]

For writing some scene with Verena point of view, with what you said about her backstory , that moment when the group kill those zentarims must be interesting 👀

oooh fun one!! hope it's as interesting as you imagined it 👀(and not too full of typos I didn't spell-check it lol)

She pushed the animal off herself, grunting at the effort — she hadn't been keeping up with training, and her arms were tired. She was tired. She would give so much for a bath, a bed, a full night's sleep.

And it had to be gnolls, too. Really? Of all the things to have to deal with today, in the heat, sweating like beasts in their clothes — gnolls?! Someone wanted her to suffer. She'd flip Him off if she wasn't afraid He'd smite her (and everyone else around). 

Oh, she would never forgive herself if the others got caught in her mess.

He'd kill them all, surely, if she got attached; were she to show the smallest amount of care, He would smell it and find her — and them — just to crush them under the weight of His anger. 

She remembered what it was like, at His mercy in a storm that would no longer hear her. It was all the air in her lungs, vanished, made His. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see, all she knew was the pain and the fire crawling into her flesh, branding her, claiming her for vengeance. He had touched her skin, her lungs; made sure every inch of her was in pain until her nerves were too numb to feel. 

He would not hesitate to do the same to all of them, now that she— oh?

Something warm. Different. Just as much a brand — somehow entirely something else. It was a hand at her back, right between her shoulder blades, pressing a spell into her bones until the soreness went away. That was nice. 

She turned, caught the last flash of pain across Shadowheart's features — the cleric tried her best to dissimulate it, so Verena did her the courtesy of pretending she hadn't noticed. It amused her, just a little, to see Shadowheart flounder as her hand hid behind her back. She'd done something nice, unprompted, and while unfair the pain only cemented what Verena already knew: there was something kind fighting to surface, deep under years of conditioning, and Shadowheart struggled to keep it quiet.

It made Verena smile into her words, "I can do that myself, you know?"

Shadowheart let the pain fade before talking. "I like to remind people I am useful, lest they decide to dispose of me." Her voice wasn't affected, but something about her choice of words… made Verena pause.

Noticing a small cut on the other cleric's forehead, she raised a hand — there shouldn't be a cut there (she was in pain enough already). Her spell left her lips as Shadowheart gave the faintest flinch, never truly withdrawing from the contact. Verena stared at her own fingers, still in their metal gauntlet, against the red and pink hues smeared over Shadowheart's pale skin. When did she — well, she knew when. It was more of a why kind of moment.

She couldn't allow the Sharran to think she was some… tool to be thrown away. It took a lot of effort to strip the anger from her voice before she spoke, "I would never dispose of you, Shadowheart."

Fingers gentle, swiping stray hairs out of the way, Verena allowed her gaze to linger. Shadowheart's eyes were darker when she spoke: "Wiser than most, then."

She could stare into the half-elf's eyes forever. Maybe even longer. Green as spring's first leaves, specked with bronze — usually specked with bronze. The inner ring around her pupil was obscured by the black pooling out, turning almost… inviting.

"Y’see that? They got ‘em all!"

Verena's head whipped around at the interruption, the hand on her mace tight — blood made it harder to keep a strong grip. "Wowowowowowhey—" She'd smack his jaw off his face is that wasn't a terrible idea. Far at the back of her mind, the crack of bone splashed drops of anticipation into her blood, pressing tight against her ribs. 

The flash of a flame kept in a bottle — alchemist's fire. Verena's gaze tore across the space between the two men as the first raised both hands, speaking to his partner: "Maybe put that down." 

Verena's eyes returned to the man with a breakable jaw. 

"You the ones who got the gnolls?"

"What do you think, man? They're covered in the gnolls." Verena's teeth ground into each other, and she had to breathe twice as deep to loosen the tension. Her fingers twitched around her weapon, trying to keep their hold on it. "Gods, I'm so glad you showed up. Dunno how much longer we could've held 'em off - Risen Road's more dangerous than ever. You're the first friendly face we've seen since Elturgard."

He was talking too much. It was such an effort to listen to every word, put them back together in a sentence that made some sort of sense, bathed in the flux of violence swirling in Verena's thoughts. She already missed the gnolls.

Swallowing the knot in her throat, she lowered her weapon — she'd been trying to the whole time, but her arm wouldn't listen, called only by the promise of a chaos wedged in a battle that would never come. "Glad we could help," she let out. 

"You didn't see the rest of our caravan out there, by chance? 'Was a big group of us getting this shipment delivered…"

There had been bodies lined up on all sides of the road that had taken them here. Should she tell them? It might turn them hostile — any wrong movement on her part could snap the fragile peace hanging between them all, prompting any of her companions to pounce. She was afraid to look back at them. They might interpret that as a signal.

Finally, Verena drew her shoulders down, trying to appear as relaxed as she could. "There's only more blood out there. Real massacre. Sorry."

"Shits. Them gnolls are no joke, huh? Fuck. I guess at least the cargo's safe."

At her back, tension tightened. Astarion's presence stung her nose with its sharpness, Lae'zel's focus a blade in her thoughts. The others were quieter across their shared minds, but no less on edge. 

Great. Great, so great, so wonderful. What was she? A maid? Why were they all looking at her waiting to be fed? 

Her armor was too heavy. It constricted her in new ways; refused to let her breathe. Her options were limited. "Elturgard's a long way from here," she offered, pushing the words out carefully. Maybe drawing out the conversation would give everyone time to cool down.

"We're bound for Baldur's Gate - got some cargo to deliver. But we've got a stop to make along the way."

Verena glanced back, towards the path they'd just taken (towards all the corpses). It wasn't safe at all. "Maybe we should come - see you don't get waylaid again."

The two men exchanged a look. "Thanks, but that won't be necessary. We'll find help at Waukeen's Rest - but listen, you got us out of a pretty huge problem there. How about offering your services to our group? We've got our own drinking spot by the tavern - invitation only."

"Rugen!"

"It's fine! You saw how quickly they got through those monsters, we could use people like them. Boss ma'am'll be glad for the help." Verena's tadpole prickled with the group's attention. There was money being promised, somewhere between the lines. "Meet us back in Waukeen's Rest, tell the kid at the door 'little serpent, long shadow', and he'll let you through no problem."

There was a clear divide within the group’s desires. Astarion wanted to get paid. It didn't matter to him how or why. The rest of them still let out the fumes of battle, adrenaline pumping directly across their thoughts. It would be oh so easy to disarm the two idiots (grab their wrist, twist until their grip broke), break their ribs, take their cargo and claim the rewards… That's just not how she did things anymore. She'd done enough of that to last her a lifetime.

Even if it was tempting. Even if it was easy — so easy, so much less time wasted. It would be over so fast, and they could go back to their priorities. She might even get Lae'zel and Astarion to stop whining about being bored.

There was also the possibility whatever was the cargo could satiate Gale. If he could stop consuming all their gear, Verena would be thankful. One less worry to wake with every day.

Scraping boots on the matted dirt signaled her that everyone was getting impatient — waiting for her to make a decision.

"What's in the chest?" She asked, pointing with her chin behind the two men. "Your cargo?"

"Aye," the loud one — Rugen — said, his face closing off. "Wouldn't be in this mess without it. Trinkets for some rich tosser in the city. He gets his shiny bauble, we get a handful of Tarents."

Zhentarim.

Verena tightened her grip on her weapon, trying to maintain her calm exterior.

Her parents had been Zhentarim. They were killed transporting cargo just like this. This is the kind of convoy she'd been ordered to take down.

Her only connection to her family — all she had was the Zhent. They would be the only people to have any information. This could be her only chance to ask questions — no, that wouldn't be smart. She couldn't reveal her hand like this, not to these guys. They were wet critters at best, she'd snap 'em with one hand behind her back. No, these two didn't know anything important, and they'd already handed over the location of their closest hideout. She had all she needed. 

She should just let them go. Get on their good side. Yes. 

If she got on their good side, and showed up later, they'd owe her something. 

She made a mistake then. She stood straighter; forgot where she was, who she was. It all flooded right back into her spine like she'd never left it. Everything tightened, as she stood broader. "You're Zhentarim. Your people don't deal in baubles."

The idiot whose name Verena didn't know bent back down to pick up his explosives. "Rugen," he warned.

In the corner of her eye, Astarion's daggers caught the sun as he moved.

Rugen lowered himself. His form was all wrong. His feet were too wide (she could take him out at the knee without having to wind up), his hips were crooked (whatever blow he was preparing wouldn't have enough strength). 

Verena's jaw clamped. She'd confirmed her suspicions: those men were definitely lackeys, and they were part of the network. There was no need to linger.

She opened her mouth, forgot to still her shoulders, to reign in her hand; Astarion's blades struck first. He pounced, trailed by the shine of Lae'zel's greatsword.

Both Zhentarim agents were on the ground before she finished taking a breath. She hadn't even raised her weapon.

"I thought you gave me the signal, to be fair," Astarion said. He wiped blood off his dagger on his sleeves, careless.

Verena looked away when he sunk his teeth into the neck of the nameless one. Everything else that happened blurred together as a feverish vice took her skull.

There was no escaping it, then. She was condemned to find (cause) violence everywhere she went, no matter what she did, no matter who she was with. Blood and death tracked her like hounds, snickering at each misstep. Every scar on her body woke with the kiss of lightning that always came with moments like this. Moments where it would be easier to go back, to embrace it, to beg Him for forgiveness — she could try again, surely this time she'd make Him proud.

At least at the time, there was the numbness of power seeping through her body, shielding her from pain. 

It also shielded her from the truth.

No.

She couldn't go back. She knew that much. He wouldn't let her — more importantly, she promised herself. She deserved better than to be some god's weapon.

She sheathed her mace, shaking the memories off her back with a shrug. 

It was time to keep moving. He hadn't found her yet; hadn't won yet. There was still hope in her, and He would never take that away. 

She was stronger than His wrath.

When she walked back to the road, she avoided all their eyes. They were scales, waiting to balance her soul for how much death weighed it down. She wasn't ready to face that judgment.

Shadowheart's floral scent as she walked past her didn't help. She could face her even less.

#writing prompt #bg3 tav #bg3 #bg3 fic #verena was having a whole moment during that scene and everyone else just wanted the shiny chest #bg3 prompt #tav POV

[domovi]

Fic: My duty

Short description: Colleague's words willy-nilly bring Mercy Dawn back to the past — a sad event in 2020, about which even Dawn prefers to remain silent.

Warnings: death, mentions of dead bodies, blood loss, shooting, injections, limbs and their absence.

Author's note: I'll try to be brief. I've been writing for a long time, but this fanfic can officially be called my first piece. I would like to pay tribute to the @ask-the-becile-boys blog and its moderator, which became the source of my inspiration. Dear Muse, you are my muse. Don't judge me. My friend forced me into writing this pun.

Translator's note: Guess who :)

Just wanted to wish you to enjoy the reading and also remind you that all claims for the translation are provided to @alreorem. It's my first time doing Russian to English translation so don't judge me too harsh, please. Just DM me and politely point out my mistake if you find one. Thanks for understanding! <3

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Dawn, laying on the dining table, diligently tried to sleep, but something, or rather someone, interfered with this important, urgent matter.

Soroh: Dawny~ Ten more sheets~

Dawn: Nope.

Soroh: Hey! Don't even think about shoving everything on me!

Dawn: What do you mean by ʼeverything'?! There's a little left!

Soroh also looked tired. So much that he couldn't argue with his colleague and only pressured her with a clouded look. Next to them was a thick stack of documents that could scare any inexperienced worker, but Dawn and Soroh are old-school people, and this amount of work was a little less frightening.

The game of peepers was interrupted by Flint, who placed two mugs of water right in front of the noses of the sufferers. For an hour, he watched his barely alive colleagues, who seemed to have lost their last convolutions on half of the paperwork. Recently, they ended the argument about the correctness of filling the documents, and if earlier Soroh still took up the alteration of papers, now he quickly gave up, agreeing with Dawn and her 'It'll do."

Dawn: OOOH! Boiling water!

She cheered up and began to warm her hands. Coffee, tea, sugar weren't brought so often, their last joy was hot or cold water, though all sorts of impurities felt terribly wrong. They even tried to mix it with a tasteless parody of food, but they quickly regretted it. And sometimes Dawn managed to get vitamins. And even for such merits, Soroh still couldn't calm down.

Soroh: Work first.

Dawn: Am I even not allowed to drink?

Soroh: Exactly. No, I mean, are you serious? After boiling water, you'll stop thinking at all!

Dawn: Actually! As an assistant, you should do all of this. Look at me. In my youth, I was left alone with all the work.

Soroh: ... In the youth. And what period of life are you experiencing now?

Dawn: Old age Soroh, old age. So be kind, show respect for old age and finish everything yourself.

The woman lay down on the table and stretched like a sleepy cat with her arms and legs extended as far as possible. Soroh, on the other hand, didn't share Dawn's enthusiasm, shoving her leg with force.

Flint: Old age? And how many years have you been working here?

Dawn: Well... It's been four years already.

Flint: But that's only one year longer than Soroh..

Soroh: It depends on how to look at this situation. Dawn is the only one of my good acquaintances who has worked at Industries for more than three years. Though... There are also quite a few silent people, and I had no business with the authorities.

Flint: For real?

Dawn: ... Don't even look at me.

Flint was genuinely puzzled. He knew that Industries wouldn't let go of its wards, but then where did ordinary workers who had worked for more than four years go? The only outgoing person of the trio was Soroh, and Flint shifted his gaze to him.

Soroh: I've heard rumors about... a large-scale incident. Someone talks about an explosion that caused the release of green matter; someone talks about mass liquidation ... A lot of rumors can be heard, but I don't know what to believe...

Flint looked at Dawn again, hoping to see at least the slightest clue in her facial expressions, but she was already sitting, finishing her work and no longer going to take part in the conversation.

Dawn: ...It's not something you should know.

-

THREE YEARS AGO

_

Pylartes: Look. I need you to rewrite it on new forms and put it in piles. Oh, and write down two people with the best performance for me.

The day began quite ordinarily. It'd seem that only yesterday Dawn managed to deal with all the paperwork, as she was handed a mountain of new documents. And where do they get so much paper from, so that later they can rewrite it all! Mercy had a lot of resentment about her work, even with a lot of experience and a year of work, she had never received confidence in operations in Becile Industries.

Dawn: As you say...

The woman already knew that it was useless to argue with this position, at least with Pylartes. Not even an hour had passed before he hurriedly left the laboratory, not bothering to report whether he would return today or not. But Dawn wasn't upset by her loneliness, she only made herself comfortable, throwing her leg over a nearby chair.

This could have continued all day long, if not for a sudden interruption in the system.

After blinking a couple of times, the lamps went out, and the buzz of the working devices subsided. The last thing that stopped working in this room was Dawn, who was still finishing the sentence from memory. The main problem here is that in the dark the words climb on the lines, or even worse, on other words.

Only after the dot was put, the girl looked out into the corridor, which was also immersed in darkness, only a couple of anxious voices came from the direction of the Archive. The electricity was cut off in the entire building, which was actually strange and could only speak of an unforeseen situation. Pylartes would definitely warn about this, even though he was quite forgetful.

While Dawn speculated, the workers quickly fell silent as they returned to the workplace. Mercy, too, could have returned to her office and shy away from work, but she had two strong but poorly sealed refrigerators that couldn't withstand a long lack of power.

At her usual pace, Dawn cleaned up as much as possible, closed the laboratory and headed to the mechanics she knew. They didn't talk much; a couple of times she brought them a hematocrit centrifuge for repair, and a couple of times they came to her for medical help. Quiet guys, however, they weren't the only quiet ones. She hoped that they have at least some information or ideas on how to keep the cold in the cells.

Her vision took a long time to get used to the dark, only her hearing helped. As she was approaching the turns, the clatter of steps in front became duller, and on the sides, on the contrary, freer. Dawn never considered darkness to be something terrible, only her own sounds were alarming, which rapidly spread through an absolutely empty space.

Entering the workshop, with eyes already accustomed, Mercy looked around the room.

“Absolutely empty”, played in her head again, she was already nervous.

The place was quite large, and the guys could just relax somewhere far away or even in a warehouse. Dawn took in more air in her chest to call for one of the workers, but when she realized how loud she'd be in this place, she quickly changed her mind and preferred a quiet inspection.

She didn't have to be here often, but each time everything was different. Details that differed from each other in shapes and sizes; sheets of various kinds of metal, which sometimes didn't fit in the workplace; even the tools were constantly changing their position. It seemed that all this was completely out of order, or maybe all these things were just abandoned in a hurry.

Abandoned in a a hurry...

She felt uncomfortable. And why the heck would she think that? Although, it was really too quiet for anyone to be here.

The door from the warehouse was wide open and after listening for a couple of minutes, Dawn concluded that there was no one after all. It was at least not safe to enter a place full of heavy, unknown objects, and Mercy wasn't a fan of looking for adventures on her adult head. It remained to assume that the guys left to solve problems in the system and soon everything would work. She can go back.

The noise began to reverberate down the corridor. At first, Dawn was even happy that someone was coming in her direction, but the longer she waited, the more anxious she became. One step grew into five, and five into twenty, and twenty into a hundred. The whole space was filled with the sounds of the march, which only became louder.

Dawn stepped back at one of the tables and leaned against the wall. Even if the heart began to throw out portions of adrenaline, but her mind was clear and ready for rational action. Mercy knew what fear can lead to and was especially well aware that in stressful situations, the brain tries to intimidate you even more. There may be a less creepy explanation for all this than the imagination betrays.

Or so she thought, until she heard a powder pop. Her body stiffened, followed by the thoughts that had just shouted: “Run! Hide!”, as if they themselves didn't expect a shot that marked the beginning of a terrible show.

The march played with a distraught orchestra, where every instrument was for itself, and the death was the conductor. The hail of lead was accompanied by flashes and the more often they sparkled, the more lives were taken.

Quickly realizing that disaster was rushing in her direction, Dawn fell on her knees and moved to the very depths of the table. One hand helped her body to stay in tension, and the other closed her mouth, so that the trembling didn't take possession of her body.

What a pity there was nothing to close her ears. In addition to the shooting, aggressive exclamations fear-filled screams and the last wheezes of people were heard. Only one word sounded louder and clearest, in which confidence and despair lived. That word was “Move!”.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, but Dawn was hesitant to move.

It turned out to be not in vain. Slow, haughty footsteps scoffed, echoed, first down the corridor and then in the workshop. Her jaws chattered as Mercy diligently watched her breathing. Her lungs were filled to the brim with oxygen, and then very slowly deflated, almost suffocating. The only thing that differentiated her from the floor was the rumbling of her heart. The blood pulsated through the vessels, causing her body to be thrown whether into the heat or into the cold.

Her thoughts began to get confused from an overabundance of noise in her body, thinking only about how to silence everything. In the meantime, the steps were getting closer, clearer.

They stopped only when they were near the table, right above her head she was afraid to raise. What if they've already seen her and are just just playing with her now? Waiting for Dawn to raise her cowardly eyes?

Time dragged on, and thoughts only swarmed in an already noisy head. An unknown person went to the pantry and only then left the room. For a while, their footsteps reverberated through the corridor, and even when they were completely silent, Dawn continued to draw them in her mind.

It was no longer possible to sit under the table. While everything was quiet, it was worth returning as quickly as possible. With the utmost care, Mercy looked around the room and gradually got to her feet. A slight feeling of relief spread throughout her body, involuntarily increasing the trembling. No longer feeling her own weight, Dawn hurried to the exit, where only a small part of the incident was seen.

The emptiness was filled with dead noise. If someone else were in the place of the girl, then their fantasy would clearly play out and begin to reproduce scenes from creepy movies with zombies or other creatures. But the woman was too old for that.

Dawn is a doctor, but the last thing she wanted at the moment was to do her duty. The chance of saving only her own skin, among possibly living bodies, was so attractive, just not to become part of the fresh cemetery.

And then, muffled wheezing. Only it was able to stop Dawn. Her legs simply refused to go any further.

Someone behind her back was alive, but she didn't dare to turn around. Someone who so desperately needed her help was very close, but Mercy also wanted to survive. She, not only as a doctor, but also as a person, couldn't drop her oath and hurried to the workshop for a first-aid kit. What a stupid decision.

Her mind cleared up immediately, and it was followed by insanely clear actions, like a machine performing the same program. Unfortunately, Dawn knew all too well how ruthless the hands of watches can be.

It was easy to find the alive, but wounded victim among the corpses. She tried to be quiet, discreet; but in addition to wheezing, panic betrayed her. According to the old habit, Mercy quickly began to act, completely forgetting about someone else's fear.

No sooner had she approached the girl than she jerked back sharply, making a sound that would have sounded like a scream if it had not been for her broken voice.

After inspecting her from top to bottom, Dawn could already clearly see the spots of damage. Of course, most of the bullet wounds were on her prostheses, which replaced almost all of her limbs. The only part that was made of flesh and blood was the left hand. And it was what bothered Mercy the most.

Dawn: Calm down, I'm a doctor.

Her hands rose up on their own accord in a conciliatory gesture. Even though a fragile thread of trust was stretched between the girls, the fear didn't go away. Mercy helped the girl sit down, simultaneously asking all the important and necessary questions for the doctor, to which she only nod or shook her head. She didn't even try to speak.

The only visible injuries were two bullet wounds: one through in the humerus (biceps brachii muscle) and one blind wound, all signs that the bullet went straight into her shoulder joint.

First of all, she tried to stop the bleeding. If a tourniquet could be applied to the first wound, then the second had to be covered with a pressure bandage. The woman forcefully squeezed the fist of her prosthesis, the grinding of metal and heart-rending groans were heard.

Dawn: Hush, it's okay, you're doing fine.

The doctor spoke without hesitation in order to somehow calm the wounded girl. Everything was supposed to stop as soon as possible, as soon as the light returned, the incident would immediately be made public. Everything will end soon, she will live.

Her hands reached for the first aid kit. Doubtfully, but among the adrenaline, insulin and other drugs in the form of a bottle, it was painkillers and another pack of bandages that were pulled out.

Dawn: Bear it just a little more. Soon the pain will end.

By injecting the drug and starting to fix the shoulder, Mercy was finally able to afford unnecessary thoughts. The manner of thinking developed by time and continuous work did not allow to be distracted or think about something else during operations or medical manipulations.

The burning determination to help someone else quickly faded as Dawn looked around. The bodies simply disappeared into the darkness of the corridor, which seemed endless. In addition to the wheezing of the wounded girl, the space was filled with an all-consuming silence. It seemed that in the abyss Mercy could hear the beating of someone else's heart, but it wasn't true.

How long will she have to go to check on everyone? Will there be any point in doing it? Examining the surroundings, she noticed that severe and fatal wounds were striking. Even with non-working prosthetic legs and a wounded arm, the girl was really lucky.

“Are you... One of ours?”

Apparently, the drug began to act. The girl no longer gritted her teeth and seemed relatively calm.

Only the question squeezed out of the girl's chest stuck in Dawn's head. ʼOf oursʼ? The only thing Dawn was sure of was that she was an employee of the Becile Industries. If there are so-called ʼoursʼ and ʼnot oursʼ among the workers, then Mercy successfully passed by the sorting hat throughout the year.

The victim saw the doctor's confusion and simply brushed off her silent question.

“Go away... You mustn't get into it.”

The girl forcefully closed her dried eyes, took more oxygen into her chest and threw her head back. Pain and anxiety gave way to fatigue. Whatever her fate is, it was inevitable. Is that why the girl let go of Dawn so calmly? The only living person willing to help?

Still, Mercy didn't know what she was getting into, and the weight of the adhering dirt was already weighing on her body. Dawn had a lot of questions, a lot of variations in the development of events: maybe people with guns would come back and kill them, or maybe others would come and fight back? But everything revolved around one word ʼmaybeʼ.

The likelihood that no one will know about her presence is so big that the most sensible decision was to leave. To just run away, and as soon as possible.

Dawn rose to her feet in an instant and disappeared just as quickly into the darkness. Without hesitation, she slipped into the darkness and disappeared like a vision. And the wounded girl had nothing but to peer into the void, looking for the outlines of a long white robe. She still had hope. No one in their right mind would want to die, especially here, especially now, especially alone; but the poor fellow had already let go of his bird.

There was nothing to wait for and her eyes began to close. Her eyelids were heavy, either from fatigue or from drowsiness. She can take a little break, just a little.

“Hey! Now's not the best time to sleep!”

It was a woman's voice. Is Dawn back? She's really back! The tall silhouette appeared as soon as it disappeared, holding a box filled with tools.

Dawn: So listen here. Let's take off the dentures and I'll carry you. Whether I'm 'yours' or 'their' is my problem.

The girl looked at the doctor with a sad look, clearly regretting, sympathizing, but didn't contradict.

At the moment, Dawn was bothered by too many questions to which she clearly wouldn't be able to get a concise and clear answer. If everything was thoroughly simple, then their own wouldn't kill their own, as in a slaughterhouse.

The doctor began to detach the robotic legs and, sensibly assessing her physical abilities, removed the functioning arm. Prostheses can always be replaced, new ones can be attached. There's nothing wrong with losing one of them.

Without the metal, the victim was quite light, the only discomfort was in carrying her around. Dawn had to improvise and use her doctor's gown so she was able to fix the girl on her back.

Looking at the bodies more closely, Mercy noticed the metal, too. On their legs, arms, eyes, mouths, necks, you name it. Did they all really need these prostheses so much? Yes, they can be useful and comfortable, but to lose tactility, a healthy part of your body to just put them? Dawn didn't understand this. Jaw prostheses were at least impractical and deprived the mouth of the simplest functions. And somewhere the weight from the metal was completely distributed incorrectly, from which the spine suffered, and if only the arms were replaced, then the legs could also suffer. The doctor could reflect on this for a long time, reluctantly finding more minuses than pluses. Dawn didn't understand this. Jaw prostheses were impractical and deprived the mouth of the simplest functions. And somewhere the weight from the metal was completely distributed incorrectly, from which the spine suffered, and if the arms were replaced, then the legs would also suffer. The doctor could reflect on this for a long time, reluctantly finding more cons than pros.

Dawn: Why do you all have these prostheses?

The girl didn't react to the asked question, as if she didn't hear it at all. She didn't look around. At the very beginning, she buried her head in her shoulder and diligently covered her eyes, just not to become a witness to what had happened again.

In the meantime, the bodies were running out, a couple more steps and everything would be left somewhere behind. If she's lucky, then in the upcoming future, Dawn won't have to regret either her actions or decisions.

Dawn: Usually I ask for the name right away, so... Can I know it at least now?

Such a simple question turned out to be unexpected. The reluctantly wounded girl raised her head, but the corridor was already empty. If she doesn't look back, the terrible life episode will seem to be over.

“Alice... Just Al--...”

There was a sound. Dawn was ready to run, but then her brain stopped her. She quickly came to her senses. She stood and listened, waiting for the noise to repeat.

A sound, or rather a murmur, came somewhere behind, very close. Mercy didn't want to linger, didn't even want to look back, but it was worth checking to find out what the chances of saving a life were. And Alice apparently didn't mind.

It was a ginger man whose hair and face had long been filled with red. The bullet hit the head.

Dawn felt pain near her temple. He won't do it. Too much time has passed. As soon as she got closer, her legs slipped. Something wet and still warm squelched under her feet, sticking to her shoes with a stranglehold. The floor around it was completely flooded.

Without understanding why Dawn untied Alice from herself, placing her in the opposite of her, and set to work. He was still alive, mumbling something indistinct and wasting all his strength just to not lose consciousness. Doesn't he deserve at least a little attempt? And if she manages to stop the blood, then it'll be possible to drag and save two lives.

Staying clean was hard. Her hands smeared in blood every now and then and the funds in the first-aid kit weren't enough to the point of bitterness. She had to use everything that played under her hand. Her own robe was long enough to tear off part of the hem and use it to stop the bleeding.

“Today... ”

Now it was possible to catch jerky words from his slurred speech, but this wasn't a sign of improvement of his condition. The man still didn't respond to Dawn's voice and reacted poorly to external incentives. He was still pale and weak, and a gray-red liquid flowed from his nose.

“... must take them out...”

It was necessary to somehow drag the two victims away and the question wasn't about Dawn's physical abilities, but about the carrying capacity of the robe. She had to go even further back and pull off the clothes of the dead.

“We've been waiting so long...”

Alice was still on Dawn's back, and the man was firmly fixated in a sitting position in a pair of jackets and dragged along the floor. Fully blooded shoes had to be removed.

“Annabel.”

The last word that is firmly ingrained in the walls of this corridor. Everyone knew it except Dawn. Will it remain within these walls or will it disappear at the first breath of wind, as soon as the authorities find new workers? Alice didn't want to believe it, but it would take time before the documents arrived.

Alice: Cyborgs. Industries has done all of this to us...

#becile industries #fanfic #Mercy Dawn #Marian Soroh #Rosty Flint #spg #steam powered giraffe #fanwork: fanfic #Annabel #Adelmar

[moongeonight]

You need to laugh more!

Summary: Ibuki discovers a secret of Ryota and for nothing in the world she will ignore it.

Characters: ler! Ibuki, Lee ryota.

(i was checking and i think there is no tickle content for ryota so i said "fine i Will do it myself" but seriously my boy needs to laugh)

this takes place after danganronpa 3

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

They had finally reached the island after everything happened.

"Finally... We arrived" that's what Ryota thought, who was getting off the ship along with the rest of the class 77.

Although... Ibuki was following him around a lot, mostly because she wanted him to eat the "delicious" Food because according to her, he looked too skinny.

"COME OOON ibuki thinks you should eat more than 1000 plates of food!" Ibuki said rubbing a plate of freshly cooked food in his face.

While Ryota appreciated the kindness a lot... He wasn't really hungry.

"Um... no thanks ibuki I'm fine don't worry" Ryota said smiling nervously at her.

"oooh nonono you won't escape from ibuki!" Ibuki said before jumping on him, throwing the plate to the ground, but not before grabbing some of the food and forcibly putting it into his mouth.

"blgh! Ibuki wait-" too late, ibuki had already put the food in and he forced himself to swallow it, after that he started coughing hard.

"aaaaand.. did you like it?" Ibuki said with a smile, though she still didn't let him go of his grasp.

"well.. it was very...AgH" ryota had let out a shriek, almost screaming unexpectedly.

"huh? I'm sorry, I hurt you?" Ibuki got worried, she thought she had tightened him too much until... She saw that Ryota had a smile on his face and she realized where his hands were...

"egh.. noho don't worry ibuki now please let me go..." But ryota couldn't finish his sentence before ikuki knew what was happening.

"ohoho nooo ryota why didn't you tell me you were ticklish!" After hearing this, Ryota blushed more than he already was.

"Ehh?! No no I'm not... Just let me go!" But ibuki was known to be the most dangerous tickle monster, plus she had never heard ryota's laugh.

"Nope! get ready to meet the tickle monster!" with that ibuki went straight for his ribs.

"AGH! nohohoho waihihihit!" he tried to suppress his laughter as much as he could but some giggles came out, he honestly didn't remember the last time he was tickled or... The last time he laughed, so this was something new for him.

"hahaha! I see that you need help to get out that laugh!, don't worry, Ibuki will help you!" Ibuki tickled him faster and harder this time.

"PFF- HAHAHAHA NOOHOHO IBUHUHKIHI NOHOHO "This time Ryota broke down and laughed out loud feeling the fingers on every part of him ribs turning him crazy.

"IBUKI YES!" Now Ibuki got excited i finally heard him laugh she thought.

And for Ryota, he was going to die, but for the embarrassment, he hasn't heard his laugh in a long time and hearing it now really strange for him, not to mention that Ibuki was showing no mercy to him.

"NOHOHO IBUKI PLEHEHEHEASE STOHOHOP HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" ryota yelled when ibuki also passed to his neck, soon tears start showing up in his eyes.

"Hahaha! Ibuki thinks you've had enough" with that ibuki released him and ryota huddled on the floor gasping for air and still giggling.

"hehe.. You're bad..." Ryota said tiredly, praying for no one else would have seen that...

"haha that was quite a show" fuyuhiko said along with peko and hajime.

"what...? Did you see it?" Ryota was red as a tomato and wishing the earth would swallow him.

"Yes haha ​​I'm sorry ryota, ibuki has destroyed us too, although you should really laugh more" hajime said knowing that ryota was very embarrassed trying to make him feel better.

"Umm.. Okay" Ryota said in a whisper, too embarrassed to say anything else.

"mmm well, I will be more rude the next time!" Ibuki said walking away to be with the others.

"for the next time...?" Wow these guys are crazy but... They are his friends after all right?

#danganronpa #tickling #tickle fic #ryota mitarai #ibuki mioda #danganronpa tickle

[gripefroot]

Crooked Ways [9/22]

Kissing him was what she imagined kissing a star would be like. Blinding and burning. Encompassing. Overwhelming. The sense of being buried beneath something so powerful that she could do nothing but yield and hope that it was merciful. Like when it ended and he pulled away, (because she wouldn’t end it first), her skin would peel with him until she unraveled layer by layer and was left nothing but a single cell against an infinitely more complex universe.

At some point she’d dropped her ice cream, electing to wrap her arms around his neck to hold him in place, like he held in her place with his paws of hands clutching her waist. The coarse brush of his hair against her knuckles barely anchored her to what she was doing, but his taste drew her further away. He didn’t taste like chocolate, but like the earth after rain. Fresh and mossy and a little bit sweet. So maybe it was the chocolate. Bulma could only whimper, leaning into his hard body with a rush of blood taking over her body that made her arms shake. 

Gradually his posture relaxed, letting her mould herself against him. Resistance turned to softness, stiffness to welcoming. Then she felt his hand in her hair, too, his skin unnaturally hot against her scalp while she felt his teeth in her bottom lip. 

“Vegeta!” The gasp wrenched out of her without thinking. No - she finally was thinking - the last moments had been pure insanity. Insanity she wanted to repeat over and over again, especially with the low rumble of his responding groan and the tips of his fingers left on her waist sliding down to her hips, digging into her backside. 

If she was insane, what did that make him? 

How was he so warm? His arms were warm, his lips were warm, his tongue was warm. Each kiss rose the temperature where Bulma felt herself burning, surrendering to a greater desire than she’d ever felt before in her life. But it was never too hot, never too much. No, she wanted more. More of the heat, more of the flames - she suspected she could tear off her clothes and his and have his skin cover every inch of hers and she’d still want more of his heat. 

“Oooh,” was all the sense she managed, head tilting back while Vegeta lavished her throat in such perfect attention that she could commit herself to only neck kisses for the rest of her life and still be beyond satisfied. When she wanted more his teeth nipped delicately at her skin; when it stung from the bites his tongue swept over the spots while she shivered and shuddered in his embrace. 

If you’d asked Bulma one year earlier if she’d thought Vegeta could be a talented kisser, she would have laughed. Hard. She probably would have cried, likely with the quip, “Who in the universe would want to kiss him?” tacked onto the end. 

Me. I want to kiss him. 

For each muscle gone lax over the course of the last several minutes, every one beneath her tensed in tandem with a deeply strained growl rumbling from his chest and out of his mouth, vibrating right into the sensitive skin behind her ear. At the same time, Vegeta froze in place, his hands ceasing their roving over her back and backside and his mouth leaving her tingling neck. 

Oh, no. 

Oh no, oh no, oh no. 

Buzzed out of her mind and with white spots appearing in her vision (though why she should be dizzy, she couldn’t imagine) Bulma could only angle herself away from Vegeta with a stammered, “I…you kissed me first!” 

“I know I did!” he snapped right back. Hands that had been gentle and persistent and coaxing thirty seconds earlier turned rough, seizing her by the waist to lift her off his lap. Bulma tried to get her feet and legs untangled, to at least give herself the dignity of landing on her feet, but Vegeta’s heave of strength happened too fast. She bounced off the couch on her rear end, glaring at him and wishing his face wasn’t visible between her knees. 

“You jerk!” Bulma clamped her legs together, twisting off the couch to stand with a huff of breath. Now she was definitely dizzy. That didn’t stop her from kicking the popsicle box at Vegeta before she stomped out of the room. 

He didn’t call back at her, but before rounding a corner she caught a glimpse of him in one of her mother’s many mirrors scattered around the compound: a broken, defeated prince with his head in his hands and an arched spine, lit up blue and purple by the television screen in front of him. 

Well! Served him right. He had kissed her first, he had no right to toss her off like a rag doll because of what he had done!

Her sense of injustice flared all the way to her bedroom. Anything to keep from facing the prospect that she’d done something wrong, to keep her from feeling anything finer than pure anger. If she’d refused the kiss he probably would have been just as offended! As far as she could tell, he’d enjoyed it just fine! Only until the last moment, when something had changed. What could it have been?

She couldn’t recall the exact moment she fell asleep, but it must have been sometime around dawn with her room lighting to a gold. She did, however, remember her last thought because it was the exact one she woke up to: 

I want to kiss him again.

For a brief while she hadn’t felt alone. Hadn’t felt the crushing weight of being forgotten. Hadn’t needed the television or snacks or a discarded project to distract her. She’d felt wanted and accepted and held. Savored, even. Whatever Saiyan kissing traditions were or what it meant in his culture, Bulma simply couldn’t accept that a man that spent so much time tasting her mouth and her lips and her flesh wasn’t savoring every second like she had. 

~

Vegeta had lapsed back into his sullen silence by the next day. Bulma pretended not to care, because what mattered was that he was doing what she asked and took her to her doctor’s appointment. 

It was no surprise that he drew so many stares from people around them, especially children. Eyes that found him always widened, some looked quickly away. He was remarkably out of place in a clinic waiting room; arms folded and posture stiff in a plastic chair two down from her. As if he’d left one as a buffer between them. Between his taut shoulders and the scowl on his face that could likely sent kindling aflame, she wasn’t too disappointed to have the buffer herself. 

For some reason, Bulma wanted to laugh. 

“Miss Briefs?”

“That’s me,” she told Vegeta, standing up. He didn’t look her way. She did get a grunt, though. “You wait here,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

Two grunts. Lucky her. 

If anything, not having Vegeta loom over her while she got her cast cut off was a relief. She could slap her hand over her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at the saw moving closer and closer (even after the doctor patiently demonstrated that it didn’t cut skin.) She didn’t have to hold back her yelp of surprise at the first vibrating buzz from the saw going through the cast. And she didn’t have to worry about Vegeta smelling her wrinkled skin, fresh from several weeks without air or soap. 

The nurse allowed her to use the sink to wash her pale skin, attempting to scrub away the stink. Gingerly Bulma rotated her wrist beneath the stream of water, breathing out a sigh when only a few tender twinges remained. She could start Vegeta’s battle suit in earnest now that she had two fully-functional hands. And all the other projects she wanted to do. 

She’d never updated the code last night, had she? Bulma shut off the water with a pinched expression, already frazzled from her quickly-building to-do list when really, all she wanted to do…

Was to climb on those thick, outstretched thighs and kiss that scowl right off of his stupid face. 

He didn��t look up when she approached. “Take me home,” she said. Vegeta stood without meeting her eyes, following her out of the clinic and into the sunshine. 

He didn’t ask before scooping her up, let alone before darting into the sky above a few gasps below, but Bulma was used to it. If he wasn’t being so cold this morning she’d take advantage and settle in for the ride, the tall buildings of the city growing and shrinking around them while clouds drifted far above, blots in the perfectly azure sky. 

More interesting was Vegeta’s profile, sleek and hard and marble and just as likely to break one’s hand if one were to try to punch it. 

Although, if it broke his silence…she’d already spent a month in a cast, she could do another month if he looked at her again. 

“Lab, please,” Bulma shouted over the wind when he slowed to descend onto the compound grounds. “And you’re coming with me.”

“Excuse me?” One of his brows lifted in a dangerous arch, a narrowed glare barely visible between the slits of his eyelids. 

“You’re coming with me to the lab,” she repeated, louder this time, because she knew it would annoy him. And she was right. “I need you for something.” 

He scoffed, setting her on her feet on the pavement walkway into the lab entrance of the dome. Bulma suspected that he’d fly away given the chance, but she didn’t give him the chance, seizing the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him along behind her as she punched in the code to get inside. 

“I’m not a dog!” Vegeta snapped, his breath hot in her ear. “You don’t need to lead me.”

“Hey, that’s not a half-bad idea,” Bulma said, turning with a smile. “A leash.”

Finally, he met her eyes. The broiling black of his was enough to reveal his short temper. Or something else. Oh, she hoped it was something else. Twisting out her arm this way and that, stretching the lower, unused muscles, she hummed a little to herself while listening to the comforting thump of his sneakers behind her. 

“Why am I here?” Vegeta asked in a low voice when the lab door woodshed open ahead of them. Bulma flicked on the lights, bathing the muddled piles and tables of her projects and Dad’s projects in their incomprehensible tangles. 

“Two reasons,” she said. “First, I made a mockup of your new battle suit and I want to see how it fits. Second, I want you to do some exercises in it to test the elasticity and durability of the fabric blend. Really, though,” she added, winding around one of the tables to search amongst the clutter for the suit she’d thrown there a couple days earlier. Long before the disaster with Dad’s coding and the compound security system. “If you want to test it in the training pod, that’s fine by me, but I need to take notes. However you think it can be improved. Ah!” 

Vegeta had moved closer, standing on the other side of the table with a pinched frown when Bulma produced the maroon suit with a beaming smile. “I never wear red,” was his first statement. 

“It’s a mockup, you’ll wear what you get. When I’m ready to prepare the final suits, you can choose what colors you want.” 

He snorted. 

“Put it on.” Bulma tossed the fabric across the table, hitting him in the face. He didn’t move a muscle. The suit slithered to the floor. Finally his indifference had prickled enough, and she put her hands on her hips with a mighty sneer. “Put on the suit, Vegeta!” 

“Fine!” He bent over to scoop it off the ground. “Do you demand I strip before you as well? Or am I allowed the courtesy of privacy?” 

“Keep up that attitude and you won’t be,” she muttered, but spun around with her nose in the air, anyway. “Hurry up! I don’t have all day.”

Each soft flump of fabric falling to the ground tightened her skin, made her hair raise on end, reminded her of the earthy, rainy taste in his kiss. Bulma squeezed her eyes closed, breathing through her nose. Now was not the time for the memory. 

“It doesn’t fit.” Vegeta’s pronouncement fell like rocks on her ears. 

“Of course it doesn’t, it’s only my first try.” She turned, already heading around the table. “I did my best with the measurements I got but it’ll obviously take some adjustment with how the fabric fits on a real person. Hold out your arms.” 

He did. The sleeves didn’t reach his wrists, and his black eyes watched her approach with wariness. Bulma pursed her lips, pinching the fabric at his waist and giving it a tug. He sucked in, which she ignored, noting how far the fabric went before snapping back. 

“The seams are inside,” she said, thinking aloud while she ducked beneath his arm to see how well it fit in the back. “If they irritate you, I’ll move them to the outside. Of course, the issue with that is that it’ll protrude and it might look funny. Extra fabric to grab could also be a liability in battle, I suppose.” 

“In the Frieza Force, the suits were single pieces,” Vegeta said. 

“Yes, I know - I’ve been studying your rags to try to make sense of how they did it, but there’s barely enough left.” 

“Tch.” 

Bulma bent over, tugging on the fabric at his knees to see if it would keep its shape if she held it down. It didn’t, and Vegeta jerked his leg out of her grip without warning. “Excuse me! I’m trying to do something here.” 

“So am I.” His words came out through gritted teeth. She stood again, returning to his front side. 

“It’s too tight in the biceps,” Bulma declared. “The fabric is almost see-through there. And here…” She tried to pinch the fabric at his chest but couldn’t even get a hold. “Anywhere else it feels tight?” Backing up a few paces, she squinted at his awkward posture to see the differentiation in color to indicate tautness in the fabric. “Ah,” she said knowingly, eyes drifting down. “Is it tight in your groin?” It certainly looked as though it was, but in such a sensitive area, she figured it was best to ask. 

“It’s fine.” Vegeta’s chin was lifted high, his eyes somewhere far above her head. 

“Humans wear cups for protection, I can sew one in to - ”

“I said it’s fine!” 

“It doesn’t look fine!” Bulma snapped. “It looks tight and uncomfortable.” 

A puffing exhale of breath went out from his nose. His mouth was so tightly closed that his lips were in danger of disappearing, fists clenching at his side. “Are you going to make me say it, woman?”

“Say what?” 

“That - that it doesn’t need to be adjusted th-there because…because I don’t get erections during battle!” 

Stunned, Bulma’s mouth fell open. He - what did he - of course. Of course. That wasn’t his usual bulge. With a second, closer look, she was certain of it: she’d never seen him look so…profound in that area before. Ah. With effort she dragged her gaze away, instead noting the rush of red staining his high cheekbones as he determinedly studied whatever was behind her. 

“Well,” was the only retort she managed. Then, swallowing, she got out, “Are you sure? I know how much you love to fight.” 

“Do you have armor, or would you send me to face the androids without protection?” Vegeta demanded, ignoring her joke. Too bad, because it was extremely funny. 

“I have ideas for the materials I’d like to use,” Bulma said. “But I’d like to make a cast of your chest to get the size right first. Fabric is cheaper to experiment with than Kevlar or polycarbonates.”

“What or what?” 

“I’ll meet you in the training pod.” Already she was lifting an old radio to see if she’d left her notes beneath it. Nope. She put it back down, drifting to check inside a sagging pile of elastic fabric samples. 

“What’s the point?” Vegeta asked, and in surprise Bulma looked back up. He was usually gone within seconds of an opportunity. Evidently not this time. “You never updated the code to get the robots to work!” 

“I’d rather you not battle robots while I’m in the pod,” she said. “Just pretend you’re sparring someone. That way I don’t get shot.” 

He made a noise of derision as if to indicate that he wouldn’t mourn if she was shot by one of her own bots. Bulma sighed, grabbing the first marker she saw and supposing her still-wrinkly skin would be as good a notepad as any. 

“If you’re looking for something to write on, you could use your notes,” Vegeta pointed out, lowering his gaze to meet hers. 

“Obviously, but since I can’t find them - ”

“They’re on your desk.” 

Oh. Oh. Bulma wandered to her desk, baffled to find her pad of notes beneath two laptops and a belt full of screwdrivers. “How did you know?” she asked curiously, tucking it beneath her arm and the marker behind her ear. 

“Saiyans have been known to have remarkable eyesight,” Vegeta said stiffly. They both made for the door, and from different points in the lab they drew closer together with each step. 

“But you can’t see through things,” she said. “So you must have known they were on my desk before they got covered up by that other junk.” 

He grunted, resuming his stoic silence for the rest of the walk to the training pod. 

#vegebul #vegeta x bulma #dbz fanfic

[deepspacedukat]

Thank you and I probably will I know I’m not there in the series yet I’m just on book one but I looked at the character bio’s and 😂 Azriel is probably gonna be my favorite.

Also Avarak is fiiine so there’s no problem 😂 I was thinking about pre-reform but then I thought of him being brought back to present time like deep space nine time and the only person who can get him to be reasonable is the reader. He doesn’t want to get a check up by the medical officers and she crosses her arms and taps her foot at him so her and Avarak end up in a stare off until she sighs and says she just wants to make sure he is healthy because she cares so he scowls but allows the medic to come close briefly. Then he doesn’t want anything on him much less a universal translator implant behind his ear and when logic doesn’t work to convince him and decides he won’t even listen when it’s mentioned she decides to find other ways to convince him like during sex in the middle of whispering something into his ear she will switch to English and if he wants to know what she said then maybe he should consider a translator. Not to mention the conflict with modern Vulcans he understands some logic like in strategy but where’s the passion, Vulcans (are to him) were warriors they’ve forgotten who they were. He also doesn’t like how pushy they are about their beliefs or the concept for him that they hide behind a mask of neutrality. Modern Vulcans trying to force him to be what they want him to be honestly reminds him of rich patrons trying to buy him especially politically in the coliseum.

He was fine with romulans only briefly but now says “they are akin to Le-matya slinking through the tall grass-” (I headcanon that Le-matya will mimic sounds like tigers mimic the sound of deer, monkeys, cows, and babies to lure in prey) “-you may think you hear a friend but it’s the sound of your imminent death”. While I think pre-reform Vulcans like modern romulans are sneaky and treacherous I feel pre-reform Vulcan had like some sort of code of honor it left no room for mercy and allowed brutality but there were certain things you just didn’t do like go out of your way to actively frame someone, if you wanted them gone you simply killed them or exposed their schemes.

Hilariously enough I feel like Avarak would like Klingons and Andorians the best but only certain ones like Martok or Shran.

Avarak tolerates humans at best and in some ways they remind him of Vulcans but his respect is hard earned through feats. He does have a few humans that have earned his respect like Sisko, his human, and O’Brian. However he loves his human who he is convinced is the best of them all. She makes him soft but he won’t admit it, he has a reputation to uphold.

Respects the jemhadar a good deal at first but pities them the more over all when he learns of their origins.

-AzoraStarr

P.s. oooh food for thought how would Jorik (I spelled that right? Sorry if not) react to Avarak?

Honestly...Azriel is amazing. I adore him. 🖤🦇

Ooooooohh, I'd love to see him on DS9! That would be such a good chance for intriging interactions. Just yes. All of that, yes. Especially the One Human who could get him to do what she wanted. 💖

Oh, the Le-matya comparison in so interesting! From a Vulcan's perspective that probably is what a Romulan would seem like.

Avarak just...yes. I love him. Very much. 1000/10 would snuggle just to hear him purr. (Yes, I firmly believe Vulcans/Romulans purr when they're content and I will hear no arguments.)

Omg I think Jorik would be really intrigued by him, both scientifically and personally. He'd definitely want to get to know him...perhaps ask him questions and gauge his reactions to emotional-inducing stimuli... Also, since Jorik is a short mans, he'd be constantly looking up at him both impressed and intimidated. (In a good way, of course.)

#deepspacedukat asks #azorastarr

[raffaelamusiker]

Formal request to also ask all of them for the fic ask

(You can't prove it's been a whole month)

Origonal post

What is your favorite line that you’ve written in a fic?

‘Not yet’ whispers through the trees and B’Elanna shudders. And I couldn't even tell you why but it's my most favourite <3 From Existing In Your Orbit

What is one canon thing that you wish you could change?

Oooh boy. Honestly Rios staying in 2024.

Out of the comments you’ve received on your fics, what are two or three of your favorites?

I recently recieved amazing long comments on my Jemily series and I think they might be my most favourite. Also Jaz's comment on Mercy and the ones where people ask me for more smut because they're so funny.

What is your wildest headcanon?

I wrote a crack fic the other day where Seven drank a Big Gulp without taking a breath so I guess that one.

What’s your ideal writing setup?

Somewhere cosy and no noise.

Do you like to outline your fic first or create as you go?

Depends. For multi-chapter I usually try and have an outline or basis. usually just go with the flow and what kind of fic it is.

Have a piece of a WIP you want to share?

“What, and I’m not important enough for you to want to stay?” Raffi shoots back, picking at her nails. 

The hand that’s gripping the page of the book in her lap moves quick enough that it rips it before she snaps the book shut loudly. A pang of regret fills her chest at the fact that this is one of Raffi’s books but her frustration takes over everything else. 

“Stop putting words in my mouth, Raffi.” Seven stands to walk away. “When have I ever said you aren’t important? If I didn’t want to be here I wouldn’t come.” 

“You’ve never said I am important!” 

Gasp angst who'd have thought.

Is there a tag you like to search for when looking for fanfics to read?

Only if I'm trying to read a specific fic i've read before. I usually just scroll through all the fics til I find one I want to read again.

Do you like to post fics on a schedule or at random?

Random. Gotta keep you all on your toes you know.

What helps you focus when you write?

Really wish I knew haha.

What is your favorite fic that you’ve written?

This is a hard toss up but it's got to be either Before the Sunrise, Raffaela or Nostalgia

Do you write for yourself, for others, or both?

Both. Writing is cathartic and helps me get out my messy thoughts but also I love sharing things with others.

Why did you start writing fanfic?

To get all these ideas out of my head and to help me mentally.

Which character is your favorite to write?

Hmm...I wonder...

Raffi, of course though Emily will always be my baby too.

Which character is the toughest to write?

Sometimes I find Seven tough from a 3rd person pov, but honestly men are just hard to write lmao

Do you write for multiple fandoms? If yes, what is your favorite fic of yours for each fandom?

Well I've listed my CM and Picard faves already but my Voyager fave is probably A Collective of Four

How often do you read your own fics?

So often lmao.

Do you want to write something outside of fanfiction? If so, what about?

Well me and bestie want to write our AU's into books. Princess and Knight AU and Pirate AU. All wlw of course.

If a movie or show were based on your fic, which fic would you choose and who would you fancast?

All the Saffi fics should be real. Just saying. (Well not all of them...)

What inspires you and your writing?

Stupid dumb characters in my head /affectionate, and talking to others.

Do you research for your fics?

Usually if its needed. And it's usually for small little things.

What fics do you prefer on a scale of canon compliant to wildly original?

Probably in the middle. But I'll read near enough anything tbh.

Do you often write about a relationship or focus on an individual?

I usually focus on one character within a relationship with the relationship surrounding it.

Have you included any sexy scenes in your fics? If yes, do you find them easy or difficult to write?

It depends on the vibe tbh. Sometimes it flows a lot easier than others. I do have to write from a giving position usually though otherwise its hard af lmao.

Is it easier to write angst or fluff?

Angst. I never feel like I get fluff right honestly.

What sort of endings do you prefer to write: ambiguous, bad, happily ever after, etc.?

Happy endings even if everythings gone to shit before. Except Before the Sunrise but that's an outlier. Sometimes I'll do ambiguous or bad but I tend to need the happy endings to make me feel better haha.

How many WIPs do you currently have?

Oh no...I don't even want to count. Ones that are written that don't include multichapters? Maybe 5? MC's and just ideas included thats probably in the teens honestly.

Does anyone beta read or edit your fics?

Bestie Blaine is always the best beta and makes my stuff make sense <3

Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

If I had to choose one fic, it would have to be Foundations. Authors, alreadyaccepted, smol_yellowbumblebee, ericine, daxs10thhost, bimichaelburnham, sleeplessrivers, dolcewrites, fenrisranger, thequeerengineer, sgtmac, falltonadir...okay just everyone in the Saffi/Picard tag okay <3

What led to your interest in the fandom?

My partner got me watching the first season of Picard and there were gays so, the rest is history I guess.

Are non-fandom friends aware that you write fanfic?

I am quite open about it haha.

What is the most impactful lesson you’ve learned about writing?

Reading other people's fics and interacting with them is the best way to enchance your own writing.

Do you like writing short fics or long fics?

I love writing long fics but lately that's been an impossible struggle and I've felt kinda like a failure. Last year I wrote something like 70 fics because I did a lot of drabbles. This year I want to focus on longer fics and I have quite a few ideas stored up.

Do you have a writing milestone you’re working towards?

It depends. Sometimes i can look at a chapter and I'll guess how long it is (and then it'll be longer) but I usually go with the flow.

Any advice for writers working through burnout or writer’s block?

As someone who just got out of burnout, its to try something new. I started With Love, A which is a totally different format from what I've done before and it's really brought me out of the slump. Also talking through things with other people is always great.

Would you ever want to write something canon if you got the opportunity?

I would like to make my own canon someday haha.

Is there a favorite trope you like to write?

Hurt/comfort is my beloved.

If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Polycule cuddle pile. Which one? I have too many to choose from.

#raines tag game #raines asks #ryn 🦇

[waitingforwinterwinds]

Game of Thrones - 57 SANSA V (pages 596-604)

Sansa attends Joffrey's first court session after the change of kings, in order to ask mercy for her father.

-

And so many others were missing. Where had the rest of them gone? Sansa wondered. Vainly, she searched for friendly faces. Not one of them would meet her eyes. It was as if she had become a ghost, dead before her time.

Oh that's chill inducing. Though if it were true at least she could haunt the shit out of Joffrey and his mother. ... How much of the court fled? How much of it was cut down in the ensuing fight?

- and when funny Ser Dontos started to hail her, Ser Balon Swann whispered in his ear and he turned away. ... A moment later, Lord Baelish entered through the tall doors in the rear, smiling. He chatted amiably with Ser Balon and Ser Dontos as he made his way to the front.

Oh hi Dontos.

"- All hail his lady mother, Cersei of House Lannister, Queen Regent, Light of the West, and Protector of the Realm."

Oooh, 'light of the west' that's fancy.

I am not best pleased with house Lannister, but I do love implications that at some point Tywin went "look at my daughter, see how amazing she is, can't give her titles of Powah! and legal authority, because she's a woman, but hence forth, you have she is the "Light of the West" which does nothing but tell you she's awesome." (except she's really mean, actually.) At least, I'm pretty sure that's how those titles "Light of the West" and "Realm's Delight" work?

- and on his head a golden crown crusted with rubies and black diamonds.

Black diamonds? Now that's a choice.

Naturally occurring black diamonds are a thing, but like... how to tldr this? Natural black diamonds get their colour from having lots of black bits in them, the colour effect is kind of metallic because the bits tend to be carbon and graphite, but the thing with natural black diamonds is that depending on the quality the colour can look... gritty. smoothly coloured black diamonds are like... 1% of natural black diamonds iirc. Black diamonds used in jewelry tend to have their colour artificially enhanced by science and technology (like radiation). Artificial or artificially coloured diamonds produce a smoother colour for less effort.

... can you tell I like rocks yet? XD

And at the end, near last, came the names Sansa had been dreading. Lady Catelyn Stark. Robb Stark. Brandon Stark, Rickon Stark, Arya Stark. Sansa stifled a gasp. Arya. They wanted Arya to present herself and swear an oath... it must mean her sister had fled on the galley, she must be safe at Winterfell by now...

"safe at Winterfell" not "back at Winterfell" Part of Sansa must understand, but she isn't quite ready to face it yet. She's still got room to salvage this mess and save her father. Or so she's telling herself.

Also good job figuring that out. Not quite correct, but it is because Arya fled and is still evading capture.

"I shall die a knight." "A naked knight, it would seem," quipped Littlefinger.

For someone who thinks themselves clever, Littlefinger really doesn't understand declarations of intent very well. "Oh, but Petyr was intentionally trying to take the wind out of Barristan's sails, steal his thunder and mock him, he's being petty on purpose." Yes, I know. The underhanded jabs are all Petyr's 'intellect' is good for.

Finally he drew his sword. Sansa heard someone gasp. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn moved forward to confront him, but Ser Barristan froze them in place with a look that dripped contempt. "Have no fear, sers, your king is safe... no thanks to you. Even now, I could cut through the five of you as easy as a dagger cuts cheese. If you would serve under the Kingslayer, not a one of you is fit to wear the white." He flung his sword at the foot of the Iron Throne. "Here, boy. Melt it down and add it to the others, if you like. It will do you more good than the swords in the hands of these five. Perhaps Lord Stannis will chance to sit on it when he takes your throne."

Yes, police? I just witnessed a murder. ... shame it wasn't a more literal murder.

She smoothed down the cloth of the skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she'd had then dye it black and you couldn't see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.

A silver chain you say? Would that, perhaps, be the same silver chain Sansa was seen wearing when Joffrey lied at the Trident? You know, the last time Sansa was put in a situation where her words 'could have saved the day' when there's a strong chance nothing she'd said would have saved anyone. (Cersei had shown contempt for the direwolves and said in a Tyrion chapter that she didn't want them in King's Landing. Every indication we have says there's a good chance that if it hadn't been then, then it would have been later, but Cersei would have found a way to get rid of Lady. (and Mycah was already dead though they didn't know it yet.))

Although speaking of Lady, iirc, when the stain happened that fight was about the Trident and Sansa was thinking of Lady afterwards, she even dreamed of Lady.

Even the gown, given by the queen, a seemingly pretty and pure gift, stained and tainted by the memory and unresolved issues of what happe- ... covered up... by...

Ohhhhhhhh.

Oh this entire outfit is foreshadowing, isn't it?

Sansa has no cards to play, just an illusion of hope.

Ohhh, I made myself sad.

Sansa quailed. Now, she told herself, I must do it now. Gods give me courage. She took one step and then another. Lords and knights stepped aside silently to let her pass, and she felt the weight of their eyes on her. I must be as strong as my lady mother.

I know this is a hopeless play, but damn you're doing amazing sweetie. Don't falter, not in the lions den.

Ooph. No information, no truths, but she did so good.

"Only... that as you love me, you do me this kindness, my prince."

Oops, she's still too used to calling him prince. If that had been a deliberate jab, it would have been a very stupid one, since being called "not the king" is what had Joffrey so shirty at the moment.

"'as I love you...' but I don't love you at all, so I won't give you mercy at all."

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #got #sansa stark #a chapter a day reading