#I constantly battle with every single thing I’ve ever said or done wrong and I find it really hard to just pause and like

[goldengoddess]

hi i know your requests are closed but could you do headcanons about how it would be to work through almost getting a divorce with nikolai lantsov after kind of falling out of love then deciding not to and working on getting their relationship back to how it was before because that unbreakable love for each other is still there and its noticeable.

love was enough - nikolai lantsov 

pairing: nikolai lantsov x reader 

a/n: this is really long and the start hurt to write tbh!!! i never think nikolai would say those things so i tried to justify it by his workload,,, nikolai best husband but just for this fic i will make an exception 

warnings: angst!!! divorce, mention of not getting sleep, two people not taking care of themselves, ends happy dont worry friends

no one ever said falling in love with the king of ravka would be easy

in reality, they said exactly the opposite

that it would be the most difficult obstacle of all times

after a couple of years married to nikolai lantsov, you knew they were right

nikolai was sunshine, he was good in every way a man could be good

and he loved so fiercely that sometimes it made your heart hurt

but he loved so much, he loved ravka, he loved his work as privateer, as king

he was dedicated to everything he did, never leaving anything half done

but it wasn't easy to dedicate himself to his projects and his country and to you as well

and you weren't a saint either

you were constantly travelling, fulfilling your duties as queen of ravka

attending parties and events that nikolai hated, creating friendships and alliances with different nobles

and also attending to your duties regarding the first army, a responsibility you took very seriously

and at the end of the day, there was little energy left to spend on the other

but somehow the two of you seemed to have enough energy to fight

it would happen every couple of weeks

small little petty comments turning into screaming matches that ended with you sleeping in a guest room instead of your shared room

it had never been like this between the two of you

you'd grown up with each other, falling in love slowly and beautifully the way two children who wanted to change the world did

one day it all got out of hand

you were sat at your desk in your shared room with nikolai, writing letters to nobles in shu han

nikolai walked in the room and just from the looks of him you knew it would be a difficult night, so you'd opted not to say anything

which only made matters worse

"what? no hello for your husband?" he'd let out a little scoff and kicked off his shoes

you had turned your attention to him and gave him a forced smile, "hi nikolai, how are you?"

a 'baby' almost slipped out your mouth but the two you hadn't used nicknames with each other in a long time

he shook his head and narrowed his eyes at the papers in front of you, "what are you working on?"

you let out a tired sigh. "saints, i've been writing and answering correspondence all day, surprised my arms hasn't fallen off" you had tried to joke

but nikolai was tired, he was hurt. little did you know, but an attack that he had ordered and coordinated had gone horribly wrong and he'd lost some of his best men in battle

so he was mean, out of sadness, anger at himself, misplaced onto you

he'd scoffed once again, "like that's real work"

you hadn't known the details of the day, but you knew nikolai and you knew the comment wasn't out of anger

but it had stung

and when you responded accordingly it had ended in a screaming match

nikolai disrespecting your work was the last straw

the next day, you came back to your room

packed a small bag with your clothes

and left divorce papers on nikolai's desk

you cried for weeks

didn't say a word to anyone but genya

and only because you'd shown up to her room at the little palace, sobbing, asking for a place to sleep

it was the worst time of your life

and though you didn't know, it was also the worst point for nikolai

he worked for hours

throwing himself into every project he could get his hands on

never sleeping

filling his body with caffeine

working for five days straight and then sleep 48 hours after

it was hell for the two of you

after about a month genya convinced you to take a walk in the forest, clear your head and get some fresh air

but your traitorous feet led you to the hidden spot next to the lake where nikolai had first kissed

you sat with your feet in the lake and cried silently

as fate would have it, nikolai was taking his first break in weeks at the same time

finding the same place

except when he got there, he found you crying

he crept closer and placed a hesitant hand on your shoulder

you quickly pulled your hands away from your face in shock and flinched when your eyes met nikolai's hazel ones

his heart broke at your reaction to his presence

"um, i," he stuttered, "i can go."

you wiped your eyes and stood up, "no it's okay. i'll go. it was a mistake coming here."

you started walking away from him, holding yourself because in that moment you felt like you could fall apart at any moment

"please don't go" you heard behind you

when you turned nikolai had tears in his eyes and you finally noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the redness that lined his eyes

you knew you probably looked the same

"nikolai" you sighed "i can't do this. i was hurting for so long. i was not happy the way we were."

he stepped closer to you, "then let's not be like that anymore. lets start again. let me do better, please. you are the single greatest thing that has ever happened to me. give me a second chance, i promise on the crown that it will be different."

you sniffled and thought about it

as much as you loved the beautiful boy in front of you, it hurt to love him

but you didn't want to stop loving him

and you wanted what the two of you had before

so you'd nodded

and the two of you had spent the rest of the afternoon sitting by the lake, talking about what you thought had gone wrong between the two of you

the two of you kept that routine, sitting and talking by the lake, for the next two months

after two weeks you asked him for the divorce papers back

the grin nikolai wore at your words gave you the tiniest sliver of hope that everything might work out after all

nikolai agreed to put less on his plate and attend parties with you

the two of you agreed that every saturday would be dedicated to the two of you, no kingly duties involved

one afternoon nikolai places his hand on top of yours

it was the first purposeful contact the two of you had shared in a long time

he'd said " isn't it kind of romantic that the place where our relationship began is also where we sat and tried to start again?"

nikolai started to flirt with you again

and you started to touch him the way you used to

"you look ravishing in those pants" or "you know you love me"

he didn't realize how much he missed the feeling of your hand in his or your touch on his cheek

and you didn't realize how much you needed his comments, how much you needed him to keep trying to win you over

it was hard work

but it did work

a couple of weeks later you decided to come back to his room

you'd decided on a whim

packing up your things quickly and standing outside of the door filled with anxiety

but when nikolai opened up the door and his hair was all messed up from his pillow you knew that you were making the right choice

"hi sobachka" you yawned

he wore his heart on his sleeve at your comment

bursting into a very vivid and awake grin

"hi princess"

the nicknames signified the start of something new

where things would work

because in your case, love was enough

love made it work

taglist; 

@vintagebitc @obiwansjedi  @thegirlwiththeimpala  @hybrid-in-progress @mrs-brekker15 @mrsbrekkers @simplyluvzuko  @ode-to-joy @gallysonegoodlung @sixofshadowandbone @castielcouldbeasecretdentist @meiitanoia @caaarstairs @itisroe @the-jess-life @xsamsharons @heavenlymidnight @wtfrae  @deardiarystuff  @bookishcrows @kazsimp @mriddlemethis

if your name is in bold it means i couldn’t tag you!

#nikolai lanstov #nikolai lantsov x reader #no thoughts just nikolai lantsov #nikolai duology #nikolai x reader #shadow and bone #six of crows #grishaverse #six of crows imagine #grisha #shadow and bone imagine #leigh bardugo

[sentinelpri]

For You (NSFW)

Optimus Prime wasn’t good at confrontation; physical, verbal, emotional- none of it. So, as he stood with his digit hovering over your doorbell, he could feel his spark beating in his throat. His anxiety was killing him, and the part of him that was so anxious was tempted to just turn around and walk away.

He could save it for another night, couldn’t he? ...No, he couldn’t. He’d been telling himself another night, just one more night, next week, later for months now. It was time. 

Now or never.

Three, two, one-

With a sharp inhale, Optimus rung your doorbell and wrung his servos together in front of him. He could feel his faceplates burning red with a heavy blush as he waited for you to open the door, but thankfully, he didn’t have to wait for too long.

The door slowly came open, revealing you behind it. You wore a (f/c) robe that was loosely tied, revealing part of the white teddy you wore underneath. It took everything in Optimus to tear his optics away from the beginnings of the chest that he so desperately wanted to bury his faceplates in, but when said optics landed on your face, graced with a sultry smirk and lustful (e/c) eyes, it didn’t help. 

You grabbed his servo with one hand and pulled him far enough inside to shut the door behind him before pushing his back against it- and, of course, he let you. The second you went to lean up and kiss him, though, Optimus shook his head and pulled away. 

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“You say that every time,” You rebutted and rested your hands on his hips, gently massaging circles into the metal plating with your thumbs.

It was true, and he knew that. Every time after the first time you two had met up like this, he’d argued against it, but you always pulled him right back in with your charm. 

“No, I mean it this time,” Optimus stopped you, a bit awkward as he placed a servo on your shoulder and backed himself further up against your door to put some distance between the two of you. He wasn’t ready to do this. He wanted to keep you forever, but it wasn’t fair to you. You deserved better and he needed to tell you the truth. “We need to talk.”

You seemed to know what was coming, so you pulled away and crossed your arms with a huff. Your eyebrows furrowed. 

Honestly? The situation was uncomfortable. Optimus could see the candles lit in your house, smell the perfume of yours flooding into his olfactory sensors, and the lingerie under your robe... You’d assumed he was coming over to interface with you like usual, and as much as he wanted to, he used all of his willpower to resist the urge in favor of watching you storm over to the living room couch. You plopped down onto the corner seat in a dramatic fashion with your arms still crossed. 

“At least come in and sit down here if you’re going to do this to me tonight, Optimus. I’d rather you not do it in my doorway.”

You knew, and he knew. Shaky in his movements, the Autobot locked your front door and walked over to your couch so he could sit next to you. 

Your relationship had always been complicated, to say the least.

It started when him and his team had started battling the Decepticons on earth. With all of the news coverage they received, they were well-known amongst politicians, media outlets, law enforcement, and citizens in Detroit, and the Autobots had not only captured their interests, but yours as well. You were a scientist interested in doing studies on Cybertronian creatures to figure out what they were and how you could apply them and their technology to life on earth. There were plenty in the scientific community who were interested in them, of course, but you were the only one who had written a heartfelt letter about the matter, promising not to do anything too inhumane- the occasional metal sample, recharge studies, strength tests, and so on. 

Then again... You’d included a picture of yourself in your first letter to the base, and that may or may not have been what captured Optimus’s attention initially. But then he met you and allowed you to conduct your experiments with Ratchet as your assistant on base, and not only were you gorgeous, but you were smart, creative, kind, easygoing, loving... You were everything Optimus Prime wished he was. So, even when the experiments stopped and you moved onto your next project, you still came around the base and Optimus still came around your house behind his teammates’ backs. 

‘Why is she still here, Prime? Her study’s over.’

‘Yes, I know, Ratchet. She’s just... Helping me with some things.’

Ratchet commented on it the most, skeptical as always. Bumblebee always asked where he disappeared to in the middle of the night. Prowl was starting to get concerned by how tired Optimus seemed, and Bulkhead was the one who constantly snapped him out of his lovestruck dazes when he got caught up thinking about you.

The first time Optimus Prime made love to you was still a blur. He had developed feelings rather quickly, but it wasn’t until months of building up the courage to make a move that he’d finally done something; shown up to your house in the middle of the night and taken you into his arms the second you opened the door. It had escalated from there with you wrapping your arms back around him and pushing your lips against his, slamming the door shut behind the two of you and tumbling in a pile of warmth and metal onto your living room floor without any regard to how sore you’d be the next morning.

It had turned into a regular occurrence after that. Optimus showed up to your house, showered you in kisses and praise, and the two of you would interface, no matter how hard he tried to resist. And trust me, he tried to resist because he knew in his spark that it wasn’t right.

You’d shared your hopes and dreams and body with him, and he didn’t want to let all of that go, but how could he love what he didn’t deserve in the first place?

He was putting you in danger by being with you, anyway. Being with you was selfish, especially considering that neither of you had dared to say the ‘L’ word or put any sort of label on it. It was just the two of you spending an increasing amount of time together, talking, making love, falling in love when there was a good chance of it failing in the end. And both of you knew. 

“It’s hard for me to come out and say this,” Optimus started. “But I love you, and I know you feel the same way.”

Your reaction was surprisingly restrained. No denying, no deflecting, nothing except for a small nod. You allowed your (e/c) eyes to fall shut and took a deep breath before speaking. 

“I do.”

“It’s remained unspoken for far too long, but part of the reason I haven’t addressed it is because you deserve better,” Optimus reached over and set a servo on your thigh, offering a comforting squeeze, though that seemed to do nothing. You flinched, not even able to look at him for a moment. “I know it hurts, but you’re worth more than this... (y/n), darling-”

“No, you don’t get to tell me that after everything we’ve been through, Optimus,” You hissed, finally gathering the courage to look right at him, (e/c) burning into aquamarine. “Why do we do this to ourselves?”

“I don’t know,” He confessed with a half-hearted shrug. The simple answer was because the two of you loved each other and didn’t want to let go, but the complicated answer was... Well, complicated. “But what I do know is that I don’t want this for you.”

“Then what do you want?” You snapped.

Optimus understood. He had no right to dictate your life, your romantic interest, or anything else about you; you were a strong, intelligent woman with your own hopes and dreams, and unfortunately, he somehow fit into all of that for you. Still, he answered your question honestly.

“I want you to go live a normal life; meet a human, start a family or get married, stay single if you want, even. I don’t want you to get too attached to me and regret it when you start thinking about the little things later down the line... If you stay with me, you’ll always be in danger, we won’t be able to have sparklings of our own, and I could leave you here on earth or die any day now. Is that what you want, (y/n)? You can still leave me-”

“Are you stupid?” You asked, which made him blink.

The Prime hadn’t expected for you to be happy about this, but he hadn’t expected for you to outright insult him either, let alone call him stupid.

“What?”

“Do you think I would’ve done all of this with you without considering the consequences!?” You raised your voice and jerked away from him, holding a hand to cover your chest, offended. Optimus took the hint and pulled his servo away from your thigh to avoid angering you further. 

He crossed his arms in frustration. 

“You know what? Yeah, I do,” He answered. “Because you care about me too much to realize how big of a mistake this is going to be if we go through with it. Let’s say you’ve fully thought this through and don’t care about anything I’ve brought up- even if that’s the case, I’m not good enough for you, (y/n). I’m so large compared to you that I’m afraid I’ll hurt you one of these days, I’m selfish, I’m inconsiderate, I mess everything up at every turn, and Primus, I’m so unattractive-”

“Is that where all of this is coming from?” You asked, suddenly a lot more quiet, and Optimus winced at your tone. “I knew something was up, too; you’ve been keeping the lights off when we have sex and most of the time it feels like you can’t look at me anymore, but I... I thought I’d done something wrong, why couldn’t you have told me earlier that you were feeling like this?”

You were giving him the look; (e/c) eyes peering up at him, full of love and passion and so much more that was burning into his processor to make sure he wouldn’t ever forget it.

“Because I knew you were going to react like this- I knew you were going to look at me like that and tell me I’m wrong about myself, and it’s making it ten times harder to break it off with you, but what I said is final. Being with me is dangerous, you deserve to live a normal life, and I’m not good enough for you-”

Optimus’s self-deprecating rambling was cut off by you throwing yourself into him, wrapping your arms around his neck and holding on as tight as you possibly could. He uncrossed his own, unsure of what to do with them- he didn’t want to hug you back and give you the wrong idea, but he so desperately wanted to feel your warmth on his digits and palms. 

“Shut up! Have you ever thought that facing our problems head on would be better than giving up everything we have?” You argued, pleaded, voice cracking as your tears fell onto his shoulders. “You think that being with me is selfish, but what’s really selfish is you not giving me a chance to make this work! You’re wrong, Optimus-”

“Leave me, (y/n),” Optimus reached forward and caressed your cheek with a servo. The amount of tears he found himself wiping away with his thumb made him frown- was this really for the best? Was he in the wrong here? No, this was exactly why he had to go through with it; whatever hurt came from this point on would be much, much worse if he allowed your relationship to continue. “I know you’re hurting right now, but you’ll thank me later. Cut your losses and leave. Go live a happy life, fall in love again- with a human- and focus on your work.”

“I can’t do it, I’m sorry,” You apologized, only making things worse. The fiery anger that you had expressed initially was fading into something much more melancholy as you hung onto him tighter and buried your face into his neck. “I love you too much. If you really mean everything you said, and you don’t want to be with me, push me away; I’ll leave, and we’ll never talk about it again... If that’s what you really want. Push me away, Optimus.”

“You’re making this harder than it needs to be, (y/n), I...” He stopped when he heard you sob into his shoulder, the sound muffled by his metal plating. Part of him knew that if he had to leave earth in the near future, the impact would be more severe on you than this, but he couldn’t see and hear you cry and push you away like you had asked him to. He couldn’t leave you, couldn’t let you go, no matter how much he hated himself for it. “Oh, to hell with it, I can’t do this anymore- So what if it’s selfish?” Before Optimus could stop himself, he found himself moving his servo from your tear-stained cheek to the back of your head, wounding his digits in your (h/l) (h/c) hair and dragging you into him for a heated kiss. You hummed and leaned into it without hesitation. Optimus sighed through his nose when he felt the tension leave both of your bodies, your hands resting on the side of his neck, his spare servo resting on the small of your back to support you and hold you close to him. Your much smaller lips molded into his the best they could, tasting of sugar and a human spice called cinnamon as you swiped your tongue across his bottom lip plate. His servo in your hair ran through the locks and wrapped them around his digits to yank at them- heat consumed his body to the point that his cooling fans were already turning on with the feeling of his spike pushing against the constraints of his interface plating. After what felt like forever yet not nearly long enough, you pulled away from Optimus and looked up at him, lips swollen from the intensity of your kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” You responded, a little rushed. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” You choked out, sniffling and clearing up the remainder of your tears before shedding your robe and kissing his neck, cautious and soft yet needy and desperate. The white teddy contoured your body perfectly, hugging your plump ass and highlighting the shape of your breasts as your nipples perked up against the lacy fabric. Your sides were exposed by the slits cut into the outfit. Optimus found himself drawn to the exposed (s/c) skin instantly, so he rested his servos on your hips and took a deep breath in. You were so small compared to him, too; both of his servos covered the entirety of your waist, back, and stomach when he had them like that, and oh Primus, he could already imagine how you’d look splayed out underneath him with his spike buried in your core. He was sure that if he didn’t open his interface panel in the next few minutes, he was going to burst. “I need this, need you... Optimus.”

The next few minutes were wordless, with Optimus picking you up and carrying you to your bedroom. There were candles lit there, too, and while he was sure that was a fire hazard, he appreciated your attempt to set the atmosphere- even if it had been temporarily squandered by his earlier spiel. So, he shut and locked the door behind him and followed that with gently setting you on the edge of the bed. 

When he kneeled on the floor in front of you, you blinked your (e/c) eyes, (s/c) cheeks lit aflame when he took your hand in one of his and pressed a kiss against your knuckles. And, as he looked up at you, he realized something; maybe he didn’t think he deserved you, but you deserved him if that’s what he wanted, and instead of shoving his own self-deprecating sentiments down your throat, he wanted to try to be more thankful that he had you, wanted to stop worrying about what was ahead and enjoy what he had in the moment. 

“(y/n), I want to tell you everything tonight, I...” Optimus cleared his throat and continued to hold your hand as he leaned up and nuzzled your neck. “I’ve never loved anybot or anyone like I’ve loved you. I don’t think I could live without you; without the mornings I wake up with you and bury my face in your hair, without the feeling of your skin on mine, without seeing how the sunlight pours through the windows and onto your skin when the sun rises and how your lashes flutter against your cheekbones when you wake up-”

“Make love to me,” You cut him off, looking up at him, and oh, how he could see the utter love and adoration in your eyes. He wondered how such a small being was capable of holding so much love for him, but he didn’t dare question it, doing as you’d told him and reaching up to unlace the front of your teddy, the ribbon that kept the two halves of the front together coming untied underneath his nimble fingers within seconds. It fell off of the upper half of your body, revealing rounded shoulders and supple breasts, a soft tummy and feminine hips. You didn’t hesitate to lift yourself off of the bed just enough to pull the rest of the lingerie down your body and kick it across the room. Now, all of you was exposed from head to toe. This was the point at which Optimus would usually get on the bed and pick you up by your waist, pull you over so you could sit on his faceplates, but he was so emotional and pent up at this point that he knew he couldn’t wait that long to be inside you. “Hurry up, please? I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

The Autobot gave you a nod and stood up, so you laid down with your back on the bed and watched him open his interface panels. He couldn’t help but watch your face as he released his spike, already fully pressurized- because no matter how many times the two of you had done this, you always seemed to be taken aback by the sheer size of it, your cheeks glowing red and eyes blown wide with lust in a manner that flattered him. 

You didn’t speak, only gulping and squeezing your thighs together in anticipation. Optimus Prime crawled over you on top of your mattress with his knees on either side of your hips to cage you underneath him. The slit of his spike was already wet with prefluid and lubricant, and he wanted to fuck you so bad, but he knew he had to wait until you were ready.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, before you’d probably even thought of him in such a way, he’d done his own research on human mating rituals to prepare himself for you; enough research to know that human women needed thorough foreplay and preparation to take a human’s spike, let alone a Cybertronian’s, which was usually larger. Due to that, he was always very careful with you, giving you plenty of time and prep before you ever had sex. 

So, as he balanced himself on his knees and pinned your wrists above your head with one servo, he circled two of the digits on his free servo with his glossa to lubricate them and get them ready for you. You spread your shaky legs and moved your hips up, almost as if to tell him to get on with it. Your impatience was evident in the way your body moved, your breaths heavy and a pout of frustration taking over your face.

Unable to help himself, Optimus chuckled at the feeling of you trying to move your hands out of his grip to no avail. It was nice to know that despite what had happened earlier, nothing bad had happened to your usual dynamic- and the sound of you bashfully giggling in return made his spark swell with the love he had for you.

Having had enough with making you wait, the Prime prodded his pointer digit at your entrance and slowly pushed it in. He followed with his middle digit and waited for you to adjust, the both of you letting out a sigh. You were so different than any Cybertronian he’d ever done anything with; piping hot, wet, velvety, and sensitive, he couldn’t help how his spike throbbed at the feeling of you moving your hips to fuck yourself on his fingers as you hummed. With him holding your wrists, you couldn’t move your arms down, but you managed to grip one of the digits that was assisting in holding you down. 

You’d adjusted quickly enough to his fingers, so Optimus began a steady rhythm of pulling them most of the way out before pushing them back in, over and over and over again, getting progressively faster with each push. You rewarded him with your sweet moans in return and tilted your head back with your mouth agape in the depths of your pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re like this,” Prime praised you without hesitation and dipped in until he was knuckle deep. That made you say his name especially loud, so he continued doing it, wanting to hear that sound again. “So gorgeous with your face red and eyes half-lidded. I love how you always squeeze one of my fingers during it because your hands are too tiny to fully hold mine; you’re so small I fear breaking you sometimes, but the fact that you still trust me when I’m big enough to crush you like this makes me feel so good.”

“I think your eyes are beautiful,” Surprisingly enough, you praised him back, looking him straight in the optics. “I love it when you look at me when we do it; the face you make is what sends me over the edge, and the noises you make in my ear drive me wild. The way you have so much physical power over me just makes it even more exciting than it already is. It’s like you could do whatever you want to me, any time you want, and I’d let you.”

Your words were rushed but confident, though as soon as you finished, you hid your face in the pillow your head was currently on to stifle a moan at a particularly rough crook of his fingers. 

“Ah, you’re embarrassing me now,” The Autobot murmured, able to feel his normally cool-colored faceplates drowning in a heavy pink blush. You seemed ready enough and he was growing just as impatient as you had been earlier, so Optimus slowly withdrew and positioned himself between your legs with the head of his spike at your entrance. He bit his lower lip and rubbed his tip against your slick folds before teasing your clit, which made you emit a cracked moan. “You’re ready, yes?” You gave a hurried nod and moved to rest your cheek on the cold pillow. “I need to hear it, baby. Use your words.”

“I’m ready, please-” Optimus didn’t wait any longer after that, wanton and revved up, the Autobot sheathed his spike in you in one deep stroke and reveled in the debauched cry of yours that followed. Your pussy enveloped him completely, taut and scorching and slick, so much so that his hips stuttered with the willpower it took him to let you adjust instead of fucking you raw like an animal the way he wanted to. 

“(y/n), my dearest love,” Optimus groaned and pulled back about half away, then pushed back in, only for your heat to pulse and twitch around him. You moved your hips up to meet his and grinded them in a circular motion in what must’ve been an attempt to urge him to get on with it. “Oh, Primus, if you know what’s good for you, you’re going to stop that. Tonight is not the night to test my patience, because you feel absolutely delectable right now and it’s taking everything in me not to fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk or sit down without feeling my spike in you for weeks.”

“Yeah?” You taunted, voice breathy as you dared to test him by wiggling your hips even more and purposefully clenching down around him. The thread that was the last of his patience snapped at that, so he gripped your wrists even tighter in his servo and used the other to balance himself over you so he wouldn’t crush your body. You only continued your teasing.

“Yeah,” Optimus finally responded to you, his lips pulling into a tight smile to keep himself from making any noises that were too embarrassing. When he regained his composure, he leaned down to whisper in your ear. “This is going to get a bit rougher than usual, so don’t say I didn’t try to warn you earlier. You earned this.”

With that, the red and blue bot withdrew until it was just his tip inside you, and then thrusted all the way back in- so hard and deep that he could feel the back of your inner walls. You cried out to him again, your legs trembling as you clenched them together around his hips. Optimus could only smirk- for as teasing and impatient as you’d been earlier, your cocky demeanor was certainly washing away with every rough thrust of his spike, replaced with desperation and heat. 

“Optimus,” Your back arched off the bed as you were split open by his spike, but as much as you tried to move, all you could do was lay there and take it with your arms pinned by Optimus’s servo and your lower body trapped in place by his legs between yours and his spike deep inside of you. “Optimus!”

You looked at him, (e/c) eyes clouded over and rosy lips parted in heavy moans and pants that drove him wild. Just to see how you would look, Optimus pushed his hips into yours particularly hard, feeling his spike twitch at the sight of your eyes rolling back and your lips trembling at the sensation of your upcoming orgasm.

“Say my name, darling,” Optimus leaned forward and nipped at your shoulder as he adjusted his angle so he could slam the head of his blunt, thick spike into your sweet spot and pick up his pace. Your eyes went wide before you squeezed them shut again and yelled out at the sudden change, a sliver of drool falling from in between your lips. “I want to be all you remember for the rest of the night, so say all of it...!”

“Optimus,” You practically sobbed as the Autobot made love to you like there was no tomorrow in store. The sounds of his metal hips slamming against you and your broken moans echoed in the room and drove him closer and closer to the edge. He was already inside you, but he found that he still wanted to be closer, so he found himself making out with you yet again. “Optimus Prime,” His name fell from your tongue and onto his lips in between your passionate kisses with every thrust of his spike into your wet heat in a way that made him shudder. The arm that was holding him over you shook with the strength of his upcoming overload, the hand that was holding your wrists above your head on your pillows squeezing just tight enough to leave red marks on your skin in the shape of his large digits. 

“That’s it, sweetspark, overload for me, won’t you? I can hear you’re getting close, so why don’t you be a good girl and finish for me? You look so beautiful like this, can’t wait to see you cum around my spike, princess,” Optimus egged you on as he felt your pussy flutter around his spike, quickly bringing him closer and closer to his own climax. Thrusting into your soft, small body was so addicting that he didn’t want it to end, but when you gave a broken moan of his name and tensed so hard that he was sure your fingers digging into his fingers left dents in the metal, he couldn’t help it. You came hard around him, squeezing down to keep his spike deep inside of you in a way that triggered his overload. Optimus Prime gave a soft groan when he finally finished, the electricity in his abdomen and spike exploding and making his entire body go numb as he spilled into you. “Fuck, (y/n)-” Optimus slammed his lips into yours one more time, filling you up with his transfluid and giving you a few more weak thrusts. You kissed back, albeit sloppily due to your current blissed out state. Your tongue lazily intermingled with his. The grip on his shoulders loosened, and you pulled away when you felt him depressurize so he could pull out, close his interace panel, and sit next to where you laid on the side of the bed.

When the afterglow faded and you laid down with your back facing him, Optimus usually laid next to you the best he could considering his size and wrapped an arm around you. However, as he remained sitting up, staring at your back and the (h/c) locks that were splayed out upon your pillow, he found tears of lubricant welling up in his eyes- it had never happened to him before, and though he knew Cybertronians were fully capable of it, crying was primarily an organic behavior. The warm light of the candles in your room bringing out the hues of your (s/c) skin and the scent of your shampoo and soap flooding into his olfactory sensors seemed to bring out all of the emotions at once; fear, relief, love, regret, guilt, and everything else that came with loving you. And, as much as he tried to conceal it, the way his voice cracked when he tried to clear his throat gave it away. 

“Optimus? What’s wrong?” You asked, clearly panicked as you turned to face him.

“Nothing, I just-” Optimus stopped and took a deep breath. He didn’t want to cry in front of you, but he figured it was part of learning to be vulnerable, and he was done hiding himself from you. “I love you a lot.”

“I love you, too.”

“Don’t leave me,” Optimus pleaded, letting his guard down for the first time in a long time as he moved to sit on his knees on the floor. You sat on the edge of the bed with your feet planted on the floor, just close enough for him to be able to move between your legs and rest his head on one of your thighs. “Don’t ever leave me, (y/n). I’m so scared I’ll mess this up somehow. What if I hurt you? What if there comes a day that you can’t stand to look at me anymore?”

“You just have to trust yourself,” You murmured. 

“I don’t yet,” The Prime admitted as he sat up again and leaned forward to rest his forehead against the middle of your chest. “But I’ll try to learn how to... For you, (y/n).”

“Do it for you, too, Optimus. You deserve to have a good relationship with yourself.”

You looked down at him, the smile on your face laced with your concern and exhaustion. You softly ran a hand over the top of his head in a clear attempt at comforting him. Though Optimus was hopeful for what was to come despite his earlier worries, he felt guilty that you had to deal with him like this; anxious and soft and unsure of himself.

The Autobot let out a gentle sigh and pressed a kiss against your collarbone. You smelled like vanilla, jasmine, and something uniquely you; all mixed with his own scent, evidence of the entanglement of your two bodies that would remain until you showered in the morning. Your arms still lingered around his neck as you stared down at him. 

It was peaceful, and the second you leaned down to peck his forehead with your kiss-bruised lips, Optimus decided that he’d try his hardest to make it work; for you. 

#tfa #transformers #transformers animated #optimus prime #tfa optimus prime #tfa optimus prime x reader #they didnt really cover too much of anything like this in tfa but #i feel like op has an inferiority complex #not necessarily ab his appearance but more his abilities #specifically his ability to keep those close to him safe #and he has a habit of trying to give up his own happiness and sacrificing himself instead of working through his problems #because he hates self reflection/evaluation #the end #fem reader #optimus x reader

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Chapter Five: Paris Revealed (Stories/Memories)

Prev

AO3

Marinette flinches back as the room erupts in shouting. The younger boy, who was definitely younger than her and yet almost (if not definitely) taller than her, was fiercely glaring while he screamed at Mr. Wayne in….was that Arabic? The man that walked in with him was waving around the knife in his hand while Dick yelled at Mr. Wayne, his face filled with confusion instead of fury. Glancing around for a way out, Marinette makes eye contact with Alfred who nods behind him. Sneaking away from the group of angry men, Marinette follows Alfred into the kitchen and instantly feels at home. And much calmer.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbles, breathing deeply to avoid spiraling again. Alfred simply hands her a cookie before turning around and putting water in a kettle.

“There is no need to apologize, Miss Marinette. It seems Master Bruce has forgotten all sense today and is instead insistent on acting like a fool. It was wrong of him to announce you like that, without preparing you or the boys beforehand. I do hope that his atrocious display of proper manners doesn’t make you want to leave.” Alfred says, and Marinette’s eyebrows shoot upwards. Was he? Was Alfred actually blaming this situation on Mr. Wayne? Was it Mr. Wayne’s fault? Did he not actually hate her? Did he just make a mistake?

“I- what?” Marinette says, unsure of herself.

“You, my dear, are not at fault. Your father didn’t tell any of his sons that you were coming to the manor today, or that you existed in general. And judging by your face, you weren’t prepared for the boys to be here either.” Alfred clarifies.

“Oh. No, I wasn’t. Mr. Wayne just said that he wanted to get to know me, and he knew I wanted to get to know him. I- my birth mother passed away. But my Maman knew her, so I can find out from her how I’m similar to Bridgette. But neither of my parents knew Mr. Wayne, and I just wanted to know if I was like him, I guess. I didn’t even know who he was until two days ago.” Marinette admits.

“As in you found out Bruce Wayne was your birth father two days ago or-” Alfred trails off, waiting for her to clarify.

“Oh no. I found out the name of my birth father awhile ago. It’s just- I really don’t pay attention to celebrities. The only ones I really know are designers. So I didn’t put two and two together, and I didn’t even know about Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises until a few days ago. My friend Adrien made me google him and that’s when I found out about...the boys.” She says, stopping herself from saying her brothers as she was still unsure if Mr. Wayne actually wanted her like he wanted the others.

“Well I’m certain that things will start to calm down shortly. In the meantime, would you care for some tea?” Alfred asks, holding up the kettle. Marinette nods gratefully, trying hard to stop her inner spiral from drowning her.

---

“What do you mean daughter?” Damian snarls, finally switching to English. Bruce blinks at the boy before sighing.

“I mean, you have a biological sister.” He says, tired and wishing he had been able to convince Marinette to go somewhere else. Not that he didn’t want her to meet her siblings. But it definitely wasn’t the laid back first meeting that he wanted.

“You mean half-sister.” Damian spits out, crossing his arms and sticking his nose into the air.

“Shut up, Demon Spawn. She’s our sister, get over it. Where’d the kid come from? Her mom drop her off?” Jason asks, obviously trying to actually understand the situation.

“No. I first met her at the Museum and had my suspicions. She’s in Gotham on a class trip, and before you ask, yes. We had a DNA test done and yes, I am her father.” Bruce says, frowning when he sees Dick’s hurt expression morph into one of excitement.

“Wait, wait, wait! Was she the girl who was sassing the Joker?” He asks quietly, practically buzzing with excitement. When Bruce nods, Dick cheers and runs from the room. Okay then.

“Wait, she met the Joker?” Jason asks, his expression turning dark. Bruce watches his son’s face morph into one of disgust when he puts it together. “She’s the French kid he had at gunpoint, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Which is one of the reasons why we both thought the manor would be a more appropriate meeting place rather than somewhere public.” Bruce says, sighing as Damian once again starts screaming. This was not what he had planned.

---

After just a few minutes with Alfred, Marinette already felt calmer. Calm enough to giggle at another story about something that one of the boys- one of her brothers- did. Calm enough to let her guard down. And mess up.

“If you wanna see something ridiculous, you should look up the 26th time Monsieur Ramier was akumatized into Monsieur Pigeon. He made all the buildings turn into bird cages and all the food turned into bird seed. Luckily it didn’t last long, but seeing the Mayor of Paris stuck inside a giant bird cage was kind of hilarious.” Marinette rambles, giggling at the memory. It was definitely a needed akuma, situated right between two super destructive akumas. Monsieur Pigeon was, while a nuisance, always a breath of fresh air. His akumatized form was brought on by his fierce protectiveness of the pigeons, which luckily never led to death for civilians.

“Pardon me, Miss Marinette, but could I ask what you mean by ‘akumatized’?” Alfred asks, his posture suddenly stiff. Marinette’s eyes widen as she realizes what she just did. She told someone outside of Paris about the situation happening in Paris. Well crap. Normal Parisians didn’t know about the media block that she had set up with the help of the Mayor and Max. But after her calls to the Justice League were ignored, and she realized how disastrous it would be for a member of the League to be akumatized, the media block was the best choice. Time to act clueless.

“Akumatized, as in, a person is possessed by an akuma? Surely you’ve heard of it. It’s been happening in Paris for almost two years.” She says, hoping he doesn’t ask to see any evidence. This isn’t good, this is awful, this-

“And what is an akuma?” Alfred asks. Okay, this isn’t too bad.

“It’s an evil butterfly sent out by the villain, Hawkmoth.” Marinette says, giving out more information than she’s really comfortable with. Okay, time to change the subject, no more questions about heroes or villains or-

“Marinette!” A new voice calls, sliding into the kitchen, almost immediately falling over.

“Master Dick, have you forgotten about your ban on the kitchen?” Alfred asks, his lips quirking up in amusement.

“Awww, Alfred, I just wanted to talk to Marinette. I feel bad for all of us overwhelming her back there.” Dick says with a pout that somehow doesn’t look ridiculous on him. Despite obviously being at least ten years older than her.

“Don’t feel bad. It was just...a lot all at once.” Marinette says with a small smile.

“So I have to ask, are you the one who sassed the Joker at the Museum the other day?” He asks, a wide grin on his face as he sits on one of the stools. Marinette’s eyes widen and she blinks. How?

“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess. It wasn’t a big deal though. He thought I was a Wayne- well, I guess he figured it out before I did- but I think he just wanted to scare my class.” She says, waving her hand to brush off the topic. She really didn’t want to talk about the Joker. Because she was sure it would turn into-

“I apologize for asking, but have you been caught up in the villain attacks in Paris before?” Alfred asks, Marinette instantly panicking. Sure, she’d been caught up in almost every single akuma battle as Ladybug. But there were a few on record where she was targeted as Marinette, and even a few battles that she assisted as Marinette. And then there was Kwami Buster…

“Well, a few. But basically everyone in Paris has dealt with it at some point. That’s just what happens when there’s an attack so often, you know? And my school seems to be a hotspot but that makes sense because teenagers are full of negative emotions and-” Marinette cuts off her rambling, cursing herself on the inside. Great job, Mari. Now they’re going to be worried or they’re going to think you’re a freak or-

“What do you mean negative emotions? Why would that matter?” Dick asks, his previous cheerful smile replaced with a look that clearly meant business.

“That’s how the villain chooses his targets. Negative emotion. If someone is having a bad enough day, he can take control of them and give them powers and basically destroy the city trying to get to Ladybug and Chat Noir, who are our heroes. I only know what’s been posted on official sites like the Ladyblog or miraculousparis.org.” Marinette says, smiling apologetically and hoping that this conversation can be over.

“Have you ever been akumatized?” Dick asks, tension suddenly filling the room.

“No, thankfully. I’ve found ways to manage my negative emotions so that they can’t take me over. I don’t blame anyone who has been akumatized, it’s hard not to be. But, I also don’t think I’d be able to forgive myself if I was akumatized.” Because then her family would be a target. Because Hawkmoth would know her identity. And if Hawkmoth’s insistence on her being akumatized was anything to go on, she’d be a devastating akuma. And if Ladybug wasn’t fighting in the battle….would the cure even work?

“That is a lot of pressure, Miss Marinette.” Alfred says softly after a moment of tense silence. Marinette grins brightly.

“I can handle it, don’t worry!” She says, hoping no one can tell how hard it actually is. How hard it is constantly being strong. Never truly feeling a negative emotion.

---

Bruce winces at the faux cheerfulness in his daughter’s voice. He had only found out about the Paris situation a few days ago, but he was determined to fix it. Find a solution. Do something to help the city and by extension, his daughter. She’d be going back there soon. Back to a city that was being held hostage by an emotional terrorist. Bruce would fix this. He had to.

Next

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[henqtic]

Can you do a draco x reader with us watching a film and reader saying how they’re crushing over a certain character

𝘭𝘦𝘰’𝘴 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k (1674)

authors note: just pretend that the battle of hogwarts never happened— that event ruins everything :/ and thanks for requesting !! it made me get a lot more inspiration to finish my other wips <3

masterlist. // taglist form. // request more works.

—————————

the room smelled of freshly buttered popcorn, soft drinks, and unhealthy snacks and for the same reason the night celebration was in place, strong mint gum. tonight was cleared, a time for you and draco to just relax, cuddle up within each other and have a break from everything going around.

the years after graduating a boarding school were life changing, even wizards themselves who could conjure up almost anything they’d ever want or possibly dream of but still, it was the time of realization for who and what you wanted to be.

and yes, there were the newts but they didn’t help much once you really got a look into the real world. many had found a passion in something that seemed wondrous— more fun. traveling and exploring the world, maybe even discovering more mystical creatures that hadn’t been learned in a simple care of magical creatures class and weren't seen in their own time because their parents didn't have the resources.

and some were set on everything but those test scores, a family business awaiting their sole airs take over and draco well, he was a part of that some. and surprisingly enough, even after all that time and all of those expectations set on him to live up to and stay in his family standard, he didn’t, and it was much to your encouragement.

his interest in healing sprung up in his last year of schooling coming to the conclusion that he’d been a prejudiced bully— not that he hadn’t already known that but, of course he did. but once he was left with less than five friends and a girlfriend who was steadily distancing herself further and further away from him, it set in.

so that’s where it started, him identifying nearly all of his mistakes and attempting to heal what had been broken relationships— which most never really did. but it was a change, and a good one at that, it brought him an inner joy, not for the factor of him getting things out of it like you wanting to be in his company more often but that he was mending the seemingly unfixable things.

it made him want to do that and not run a stuffy business that didn't do much but treat their workers poorly and customers even worse so he turned to medicine. observing how so many things lined up with potions, adding the right amount of this, and crushing that up the right way, to make a final product. a product that would soon heal the injured and bring a great smile to both of their faces.

but what he hadn’t realized was that being a healer took time and hard work— almost unusual to someone like him, being constantly handled things and easy ways out but with this, there was no fast tracking or getting anywhere if you didn’t have the right skill set or talents.

so to say he wasn’t ready for it would be a wrong statement. but to say he was exhausted, completely drained of all energy would be completely right. even after all of your cheering on, reminding him that it was only a few more months of studying and one big more test until he’d get to know if he earned his title of healer malfoy.

and usually, that worked, but after tonight after taking that so called big test, his mind was racked with anxiousness. if he didn’t pass, his father would be on his back, telling him how it was a waste of money and how he should've listened to him to that you’d even be disappointed in him— unlikely but as said before, there was nothing but anxious thoughts and anxious scenarios coming through.

so it was painfully clear that your natural remedies wouldn’t work, countless amount of neck kisses and back rubs and muscle soothing not sufficing so you both agreed on the last thing you couldn’t think about, a simple night with the television on, just in each other’s company to try and get his mind off of things—

“you said this was a muggle film, correct?” he called out for confirmation, eyeing the packaging of the movie you called.. the titanic?

“mhm, one of my favorite movies, i just know you’ll love it,” you said from the other side of the living room with a wide smile on your face, near close to beating a cheshire cats. the movie itself was beautiful, you couldn’t lie, the directing and acting brought tears to your eyes almost every time you watched it.

but there was ‘something’ else that could bring tears to your eyes, a gazing stare at the screen whenever his parts would come on.

draco handed you the plastic, allowing you to remove the disk and insert it into the dvd player. you quickly made your way back into the make shift bed made out of blankets and pillows and once the black screen turned green, copyrighted warnings started, you tucked yourself into his awaiting arms.

“why’d you say you loved this again?” he asked for the second time, limbs wrapped around your body as you searched for a response.

“umm, really eye catching.”

and yeah, of course, you were comfortable with him, growing up going to the same school for months at a time and then dating for a good fraction of those years. there was also the memory of a night where you two tirelessly played a game of dare or dare, multitudes of dares coming both your ways to say the most embarrassing, weird, or even azkaban worthy things you’ve done.

but it was something else telling him that you were crushing over a fictional character— who wasn’t even that since the story was true but you were crushing on the actor of that said fictional character that you had no chance with and that, well it was something better left unsaid.

and as it went on, he could see that too, the way your eyes were stuck onto the screen the other blonde was in frame— on the break of amusing how’d the only time your attention would shift is when he’d reach you another piece of popcorn, you offering a grateful smile before focusing back.

your mouth was slightly agape, opening for another piece just how the rhythm had been going, him eating one, him feeding you one, him eating one and so on but now he was beating it further and further away from before your body eventually gave up, falling on his chest.

“hey, why’d you that?” you groaned, annoyed that you were now looking at him from below instead of watching the film.

“why’d you say you picked this again?” his eyes were narrowed down at you, a sly smirk in place. you moved around, trying to remember your excuse and hide the growing smile arising to your face.

“I already told you, it’s eye catching.”

“no,no,no, who’s eye catching?” he asked again, this time correcting himself in order to get a more truthful response. you let out a half embarrassed, half astonished laugh before answering—

“if i tell you, you can’t laugh.” all he did was raise his eyebrows at you, positioning you on his lap, signaling for you to go on with two taps of his finger on your thighs.

“okay well—” you paused, a loss of words and a huff following, “all i’m saying is if jack were to run me over... i’d be the one to apologize.”

your tone of seriousness only made the barks of laughter from the boy underneath you louder, a small pout coming on your face as a response trying to not end up laughing at yourself—

“jack, are you serious? he’s one of the most basic people i’ve seen,” he said through breaths of air, slight tones of jealousy coming out making your head turn in feign sympathy.

“you do know that i’m dating you, right?”

“yea and what’s that supposed to mean?”

“your eyes are blue and hair is blonde and you’re the typical skinny wh—” you started, responding to his defensiveness in the best way possible.

“it sounds like you’re just describing him.” point completely missed. “and so what, what could a fictional character do for you that i couldn’t?” he asked with a smirk, your face saying nothing but unfazed and unamused.

“fine even though if you were listening you'd know that he’s not completely fictional, but everything. would you ever go down with me on an unsinkable ship and then let me survive only the door we could find?” you asked, sighing after like it’d been a dream of yours.

“no. love, take this as me caring for you but i don’t think we’d sink on an unsinkable ship— it’s in the name.”

“were you not listening? and stop, it’s romantic, don’t ruin this for me,” you scolded, lightly hitting his arm.

“they both could’ve gotten on, jack just wasn’t the brightest. and would you really rather date someone that daft over me?” his nose scrunched to further show his disgust, your scoff not failing to sound after.

“know what, if you were a fictional character, no one would like you.”

“sure, i bet i’d have at least two hundred of you treating me like him.” the smugness in his tone was apparent than ever. you loved him, more than anything in the world but, he wasn’t much compared to jack dawson. 

and then came the other obstacle, there not being a valid way to prove to someone like him, with such an inflated ego that no one would like a fictional character version of him. and when you repeated that, he was extremely butt hurt, still allowing his arms to reopen for you to snuggle back in.

single moments passed, another film starting to ease the argument before he spitefully grumbled, “i’d have people all over me.”

“no you wouldn’t!” you whisper shouted back tilting your head up to see his pouting face. 

“yes I would, don’t doubt me—”

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[butwhatifidothis]

Tumblr is starting to VERY MUCH dislike how long the other reblog chain is getting, so this will be Reblog Chain 2 of my jotting down notes of this fic. Here is the first reblog chain for Chapters 1-20

But it appears as though I was correct in sleeping off Chapter 20, because Chapter 21 is. Hm. bad. Very. Not good.

Chapter 21:

Transcript under the cut:

Chapter 21: It's Called Scars so it Gonna Be Ass

- To be blunt, the constant need to reaffirm that yes, Edelgard went through terrible experimentation and that yes, they were very horrific, is tiring. This is chapter 21. The experiments occurred in chapter 2. Every single chapter between now and then have, at some point, mentioned that INDEED, Edelgard DID in fact go through horrific trauma. It is tiring to the reader to constantly have to reread the same thing - we know it happened. We know it was terrible. There's no need to constantly say so; we already understand as readers.

- "Every time the spark of life broke through Byleth’s blank face, it brought a flickering hope to the Flame Emperor’s heart." ->

- Firstly: Awkward use of the Flame Emperor epithet (its usage is on and off with how appropriate its been - this is off).

- Secondly: Once again, Byleth's face was rarely if ever blank. She was never the Ashen Demon, as even the last chapter showcased. The author is mistaking reservation with emotionlessness, which is simply wrong

- "There had been so many empty days and nights, without friendship, love or joy. With nothing to hope for, except someday, the peace of the grave." -> Suicidal tendencies: another trait that Edelgard doesn't have... (strikes against canon: 89)

- ...but Dimitri does. Counter: 12

- "Dimitri, too, was troubled by the thought, grasping the side of his head and frowning. As the spasm passed, he turned to Edelgard and smiled warmly." -> It seems a little callous to so casually toss Dimitri's symptoms into his interactions with others when such things simply don't occur in the canon interactions. It's not impossible, or strictly against canon, but it does not feel natural; it's more as though the author is shining bright neon signs that say DIMITRI HAS MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES than a genuine attempt at writing Dimitri's mental health issues. This is not the first time this sort of seemingly thoughtless showcasing of symptoms has happened (Noted separately: Dimitri having drastic mood swings)

- "No, this world must be ruled by humans…not cruel gods who ignored the prayers of little girls." -> This statement follows Edelgard internally chastising the actions of not gods, but the Children of the Goddess. This is a weaselly attempt at dodging Edelgard's racist beliefs that Nabateans should not be allowed positions of power by shifting the belief to apply to miscellaneous gods instead. While not inaccurate per se - she does also canonically believe that gods should have no power in human affairs - it is not honest

- "Byleth nodded with childlike simplicity. “We should all try to get along.”" -> Again describing Byleth as childlike and/or innocent. Counter: 3

- For those curious: yes, the rat scene is implemented, yes it is sloppy, yes it is out of character for Claude - so much so that it is being noted separately - and yes it is forced to all hell

- What will be noted here, however, is that this is yet another instance of a man being demeaned/humiliated for the honor of a woman. See quote: "Byleth was on him in an instant, a tempest forming in the sea of her blue eyes. “That isn’t funny.” She crossed her arms sternly. “Jokes are about bringing people together...about making them smile. Right now, the only person laughing is you.”" with Claude reacting awkwardly. Once again, Man Bad Woman Good

- In a showcasing of a complete lack of self-awareness within the fic: "“Maybe if you’d have taught the Deer instead…but since you seem to have no ambitions outside of cleaning up Edelgard’s messes…”" -> This is Claude being portrayed as the bad guy, not the one being completely and utterly right

- " She slapped Edelgard on the back, and smiled heartily. “I agree, Dimitri!” Edelgard grimaced, trying to hide the fact her teacher had just struck the wound she had received during the mock battle." -> As well as where undoubtedly countless scars would be, yes? Scars that still cause Edelgard pain? In fact, Edelgard has been slapped on the back by Byleth and Jeralt numerous times before, and yet expresses no pain or discomfort.

- Another thing, that I had not noted though ought to have: Edelgard, a victim of sexual assault (in this fic), rarely seems to mind people touching her. She gets a little surprised if someone tries to get her attention with touch, yes, but Byleth's constant unprompted and random touching of Edelgard is never said to do anything but bring warmth and joy and comfort to Edelgard. It seems as though Edelgard suffering through sexual assault is just another source of trauma for the author to dump onto her for nothing more than pity points

- This is incredibly harsh to say, yes, and I would usually refrain from attributing such harshness onto a piece of text, but remember that Edelgard's scars only cause her pain when it's convenient, that she only experiences headaches when it's convenient, that she experiences PTSD episodes (when Claude mentions the rat) when it's convenient (note that in this fic he does it outside of battle, where her getting triggered wouldn't compromise her chances at victory). Edelgard not being touch averse and being a victim of sexual assault are not inherently something bad - survivors react to trauma differently, after all - but it is another in a steadily longer line of instances where Edelgard is simply given trauma for the sake of making her pitiable to the reader and the love interest, not something that Edelgard genuinely has to struggle with.

- "As Claude and Dimitri looked at their classmate expectantly, Edelgard was wracked with another bout of guilt. Deep in her soul, the princess knew these peaceful days would end soon. When that happened, no feast or vows of friendship could make up for the chaos and horror she would unleash. It would be better to pull away, close off her heart, rather than fuel the flames of her inevitable betrayal." -> Aka, "Feel bad for me, I feel guilty for planning to cause the death and ruination of countless innocents' lives all because I convinced myself that my way is the only way to get things done my way without ever actually trying to see if more peaceful ways could have worked. I'm going to orphan children, force families to fight each other, have the land be rampaged by banditry, and overall bring chaos onto these days that I ADMIT ARE PEACEFUL all because I feel that my way would be better. Wah wah pity me but I don't wanna be pitied I promise wah wah."

- "Byleth shrugged with a characteristic blend of innocence and spirit. “I guess I just like winning.” She began to blush and grabbed Edelgard’s hand. "It's so exciting! I’ve never had anyone other than Papa to celebrate with before!”" -> Byleth = innocent/childlike. Counter: 4

- The fic likes to reaffirm again and again that Byleth is "now" only acting like this due to Edelgard's presence in her life. Note also these statements written previously: "Every day, [Edelgard] was watching the person she loved grow and change. Become who she always was supposed to be." This, perhaps unintentionally, again enforces the "Lesbian Love is Pure and Innocent" trope; these wlw are only allowed to be their good girl, innocent selves - who they were always supposed to be - due to the pure lesbian love they have found with one another

- Count Bergliez didn't know of the experiments initially, but he eventually found out and did nothing to stop them, fleeing from a young and tortured El who was pleading for him to save her - Unnecessarily painting Count Bergliez as a spineless coward too afraid of Duke Aegir to save a child in pain

- Once again, a man fails to save a woman and further traumatizes her

- It should be noted that Bergliez is fearful not for his own life, but for that of his children, who were the ones Duke Aegir threatened. He, very similar to Ionius, cannot save Edelgard, except Bergliez (unlike Ionius) has a tangible, physical, explainable reason as to why he couldn't, and yet it is him who is painted as the bad guy, not Ionius. He is worthy of Edelgard's scorn and hatred, but Ionius only receives a begrudging feeling of betrayal from Edelgard that she feels guilty for harboring, even though he failed her far more than Bergliez failed her.

- "Daughters must always be loyal to their fathers" trope

- "No decent person thought the things Edelgard did. Just as her body had been twisted and shattered by the experiments, her mind bore terrible scars. Scars that the monster kept hidden, so she could walk in the world of men." -> Dehumanizing oneself as a monster as well as having violent thoughts (that specifically stem from trauma) one feels guilty for harboring are not traits Edelgard shows in canon... (strikes against canon, 90, 91)

- ...but Dimitri does. Counter: 13, 14

- "world of men?" Did the author perhaps mean "world of man," as in mankind? Keep note of

- The reason as to why Bergliez is said to have witnessed young El's tortured state and did nothing to help her is revealed: in canon, he dislikes her. It is blatantly and objectively said that he and Edelgard share a mutual displeasure in the other's company. What this fic had him do will be used as an excuse as to why he doesn't hate her, since no one is allowed to dislike Edelgard on the "good" side

- Edelgard, upon being asked if revenge is the reason she is doing what she's doing (reuniting Fodlan): "“No.” Edelgard put her hand to her chin thoughtfully. “I think for a long time, it was…but after a while, I realized that revenge wouldn’t satisfy me.” She looked at the blue sky above. “After you go through that much suffering…when you beg for help, day after day, and no one cares...you realize that nothing will ever truly make you feel safe again. The only thing I want is for this madness to end.”" -> This is internally inconsistent. See chapter 15 note: ""You know why they created me in the first place.” / “To reunite Fódlan,” spat Hubert. “It was all my father talked about.” / “And I will give it to them. "" This directly connects Edelgard's want to reunite Fodlan to the wants of her tormenters (as this states she is doing it out of spite). Note how Hubert spits at the idea of reuniting Fodlan, and how it was all his father - portrayed as a villain - talked about. This is not what this Edelgard wants, at least not of her own independent want. Earlier in this very chapter, Edelgard internally states a want to hurt Bergliez for leaving her behind. To say that she now no longer thinks vengeance would satisfy her, or that none of the reason that she is doing everything she does is out of a want for revenge, is ridiculous

- Edelgard to Bergliez, upon being asked what will happen to him and his family should Edelgard rise to power: "“All those who distinguish themselves will be rewarded. Given your history, I have little doubt you will be among them.” She nervously played with her white gloves. “All I ask is that when I seize back control of the throne, I can count on the military’s support.”" -> Yes, all who distinguish themselves to Edelgard, for Edelgard's cause, that Edelgard can see and/or know of. How likely is it that a poor farmer who is exceptional at fighting will actually be noticed by Edelgard and be given the credit he deserves, when others who may not be as meritable but do have some merit have the connections to show themselves directly in front of Edelgard? What means will Edelgard give the poor soldiers (that she or Byleth aren't already friends with, notably Dorothea and Leonie) that will allow them to be able to be seen by her and have their merits recognized? Edelgard is the one who says who gains power after all, so it is her they must prove themselves to, but how can they realistically do that?

- What about professions that are not immediately beneficial to Edelgard's cause, such as the arts? How will they fare in Edelgard's society, when their works and talents yield no tangible, objective results (such as, say, farming)?

- Something the fic will address?

- Edelgard does not nervously do anything in front of those she is trying to negotiate with in canon, not even Thales. Strikes against canon: 92

- "[Bergliez] could only laugh in response. “I think we’re going to get along rather well, my lady…and the other?”" -> Except Bergliez and Edelgard don't get along well, ever. Pre ts they are stated to dislike each other, which continues even onto post ts with Bergliez being the only noble Edelgard couldn't bring to heel. Strikes against canon: 93

- As predicted: No one is allowed to dislike Edelgard on the "good" side

- Literally forgot Hubert was with Edelgard and Bergliez lmao

- Ionius tried to consolidate power to be rid of the consort system due to his unending love for Anselma -> A ridiculous idea, plain and simple. Ionius was Emperor. If he wished to be rid of the consort system there was no need for him to try and take away all power from the other Imperial houses.

- If Ionius truly loved Anselma, why did he allow her to be exiled from the Empire? Why didn't he step in and use his influence as Emperor to help her?

- Edelgard, when she is Emperor - passed down a supposedly empty crown, at that - showcases the all-encompassing power the title of Emperor truly holds to one willing to use that power. That Ionius supposedly wanted to do all of these reforms and yet nothing at all was done, ever (save for ruining Houses Hrym and Ordelia, something even this fic has as canon), if Ionius did want to make these reforms, means that he was too spineless and cowardly to truly go through with trying to pass them. This again unintentionally showcases how awful a ruler and weak-willed a person Ionius was when he had power when trying to paint him in this righteous light.

- Lambert was stated to be trying to pass reforms before he died in canon, not Ionius. From parents to the children, the author is attributing traits from Lambert onto Ionius just as he (author's confirmed gender is male) attributes traits from Dimitri onto Edelgard

- " Her father and mother…she had thought their romance a fairy tale-a story from her father to make a motherless child feel valued. But…they truly had loved each other." -> Edelgard does believe Ionius when he told her of the story of when he and Anselma (supposedly) met each other. There is nothing to indicate that Edelgard thought it to be a lie: in fact, in canon: "But I choose to believe there was genuine love between them." Strikes against canon: 94

- It seems as though finally, after around 18 chapters, Edelgard's scars will finally cause her genuine inconvenience due to her complex about them as well as her trust issues. She has a gash on her back from the Battle of Eagle and Lion, but will not have it treated if Manuela isn't the healer, and yet the woman is occupied dealing with the rest of the students who were injured. How will this fic deal with this?

- Ingrid, referring to her and Sylvain: ""We just switched from Felix lecturing us all day to listening to Edelgard moralizing, didn’t we?"" -> The author is trying to compare a childhood friend whose friends have had years to get used to their barbed tongue to a stranger that directly insults the dreams of one of them. Something which Ingrid canonically hates having be done to her, even from Felix, a childhood friend. Once again, Ingrid being so casual about Edelgard being so disrespectful of her dreams is out of character. Strikes against canon: 95

- "Sylvain shook his head knowingly, ignoring Felix’s truly alarming scowl. “You should have seen his face, Edelgard. Dimitri would go on and on about this girl he met when he was a kid…and Felix would complain about her for hours!” He looked at Felix and smiled. “For all his whining about the “Boar,” nobody loves Dimitri more than him.”" -> Oh? A romantic gay male relationship presenting itself within the fic?

- Another vision of SS experienced by Edelgard. Word from a nameless guard: "The woman, Byleth, leading their forces... She’s not human! She killed half my battalion with one swing of that sword of hers. She didn’t speak, she didn’t shout, she didn’t even change her expression!” The panicked man was teetering on the edge of hysteria. “All those people rallying around her, and it’s like she doesn’t care at all. Like she's a walking corpse!"" -> Obviously saying that Byleth becomes the Ashen Demon if not allowed to be with Edelgard.

- Unintentional statement: Byleth can't be the pure innocent (lesbian) woman without Edelgard's (lesbian) love granting her purity, reverting her to a monstrous, corrupt demon incapable of humanity

- See chapter 20 note: "Implying that choosing SS - aka, choosing the Nabateans - makes Byleth less human. Intentional?" Confirmed to be intentional. Also false: in canon, even when accounting for CF's lesser chapter count, Byleth emotes far more on SS than on CF, which matches with CF having Edelgard call Byleth detached in their A support. Strikes against canon: 96

- The same nameless soldier, same context: "And those Faerghus kids…” / Edelgard leaned forward in her chair. “Ingrid…Sylvain…what of them?” / “They…they were animals. Screaming and ranting about revenge for the King.” -> Is the author really demonizing Sylvain and Ingrid for (potentially!) being mad at Edelgard for murdering one of their childhood friends? Is that really the depths the Edelgard worship will sink to, that friends becoming enraged at a friend's unjust murder from a warlord is being portrayed as something sad for the warlord? Just what else should Edelgard be pitied for?

- "The scared girl desperately tried to drown out the thoughts that reverberated incessantly. / They’re going to despise us…it’s destiny. And how could they not? If we were truly good, the Goddess would have saved us…protected us. But She didn’t. The Goddess took Mother. She took our family. And soon, She’ll take everything else we love. She hates us. / It’s what we deserve." - Now confirmed that Edelgard hears multiple voices in her head tormenting her. That trait that, once again, Edelgard does not have... (Strikes against canon: 97)

- ...but Dimitri does. This is the third time this chapter that this has happened, and far from the only chapter to display such baffling characterization of Edelgard via Dimitri's traits. It is nonsensical.

- " Why had [Edelgard] even been born at all? Nonexistence would have been preferable to watching every faint dream be dashed, to suffering alone over and over. She was just…so tired of being alive." -> Once. Again. Suicidal tendencies/thoughts is not a trait Edelgard shows in canon... (Strikes against canon: 98)

- ...but Dimitri does. The fourth! The fourth time in one chapter the author desperately wanted to just write Dimitri!

- If the fic wanted to take Edelgard in a different direction than canon does and has her display some of these traits, it would be more passable, but this fic is under the delusion that it is in any way following canon closely, especially in regards to Edelgard, and so this can only be seen as a desperate attempt from the author to have Edelgard be sympathetic by donning the skin of an actually sympathetic character such as Dimitri

- "Edelgard looked at herself in the mirror. The back of her academy uniform was stained red, the rhythmic, soft dripping of blood assaulting the princess’ ears." -> And no one commented on this? No one was worried? Not Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix, who were sitting right by her? Not Lysithea, who saw her take the blow to her back and never get it healed? Not Dimitri, who delivered the blow? It just so happened that literally no one at all noticed this?

- Byleth literally slapped Edelgard on the back earlier? Wouldn't her hand come back red with blood if it were seeping through the uniform?

** The scene that follows the previous note is too long to quote, despite how truly terrible it is. Long quotes, even extremely long quotes, have been presented in these notes before, but the length this quotation would be if the full extent of it were written here would be a mess, and quite frankly, at that point it would do one better to simply go to the fanfiction itself and read the text from there. With the context received from these notes, if one wishes to see the words for themselves, go to chapter 21 of The Emperor and the Goddess, enter Ctrl + F (or Find in Page on mobile devices), and enter the phrase "Byleth crossed her arms, clearly frustrated" verbatim. The following note will not be quoting the entire scene from the fic (merely summarizing it), though context is needed to understand how truly bad the scene is. **

- To have hope in this fic performing anything correctly is proving to be a fool's dream, for it has yet to do anything right; that includes the aforementioned gash upon Edelgard's back. As stated, it did not draw the attention of those who were sitting around her nor did it draw the attention of the one who witnessed the injury itself, nor of the one who delivered the injury itself, so no one commented on the gaping, bleeding wound Edelgard was "hiding" from everyone as she turned her (bleeding) back to them and left for the baths to clean up (it must be heavily stressed: immediately after leaving it is revealed that the blood is seeping through her uniform). As she was washing - naked, of course - Byleth just so happened to step into the baths with only a towel wrapped around her "for modesty," much to the horror of Edelgard, for she does not want Byleth seeing her scarred body. A slight argument arises between the two over Edelgard getting her injuries checked, before Byleth warns Edelgard that she will go to Rhea and force her to go to the infirmary should Edelgard continue to refuse treatment, which drives Edelgard past the brink. She raises her arms from the bathwater and presents her scars (""Fine!... If you want to see so badly, here!""), to the horror of Byleth ("Byleth Eisner was not a woman given to strong emotional reactions, but she staggered back, hands over her mouth."). Edelgard cries in hysteria, fear of her beloved teacher running away in disgust over her ugly, mutilated body overwhelming her. But Byleth, childlike in her innocence, shared that she too is scarred in strange ways, and that she too is scared of failing those around her - that she has no ambitions save to help and protect those around her. Byleth reveals that it is Edelgard whom Byleth looks up to for always being so strong and always moving forward, and shows that without Edelgard Byleth wouldn't know how to handle the pressure everyone else puts on her. The exchange ends with Byleth reassuring Edelgard that she is beautiful and not the monster she thinks she is.

- There is no nice way of putting this: this is a classic example of how not to write someone opening up to another about something. Edelgard views herself as weak, ugly, repulsive, a monster, shameful, but it is Byleth's love and affection that gives her comfort and warmth, that gives her hope of something more. It forces Byleth to behave wildly out of character (the author can try to excuse this with "well she wouldn't normally behave like this!" all he wants, it doesn't matter when it goes against the base, canonical Byleth. Strikes against canon: 99) in order for Edelgard's scarred body to be seen as something that is repulsive, that is ugly, that is stained, so much so that the pure, childlike, innocent Byleth couldn't stand to see something so tainted. And yet it is that same pure, childlike, innocent Byleth's pure, innocent, childlike love that pushes away the pain of Edelgard's scars for just that moment. Other characters become suddenly blind and/or forgetful of Edelgard's obvious, bleeding wound so that it is Byleth who can be the one to save Edelgard with her pure, innocent, childlike presence and her pure, innocent, childlike uncertainty about her own insecurities (but only when it is convenient for Edelgard, as even Byleth didn't noticed the gaping, bleeding wound until she was alone with Edelgard where no one could interrupt their bonding moment). This scene is inorganic and forced, ham-fisting Edelgard and Byleth in the same room - the wash room, where both are either naked or nearly naked - so that Byleth is the one to find Edelgard, no one else. No one was worried enough about the sudden exit Edelgard took from the conversation she was having to follow her and make sure she was alright, and Byleth just so happened to enter the baths right after Edelgard. The scene is, to be frank, insulting.

- There have been a couple of joking references to a book titled Stones to Abigail in these notes, but in all seriousness, this scene plays unsettlingly similar to a scene in said book, where a scarred girl who is naked reveals her "ugly" and "revolting" scarred body to the love interest, who goes on to soothe and comfort the naked girl as best they can. The resemblance is uncanny

- Byleth described as childlike/innocent. Counter: 5

- Edelgard, in canon, never expresses feeling herself to be ugly, or repulsive, or a monster. Strikes against canon: 100

- Again, Edelgard's scars are only important when they are convenient - this time, in helping develop the romantic relationship between her and Byleth

- There are ways in which scars can be utilized without being problematic, but certainly not when this much focus is placed on them and yet they are only truly present when they cannot hinder Edelgard.

- Perhaps particularly insulting is this phrase from Edelgard: "Did she actually love Byleth at all, or just being saved by her?" Yes, Edelgard, you do simply want to be saved by Byleth, because that is precisely what the narrative has been drilling into the reader's heads ever since Byleth showed herself. Byleth is Edelgard's light, Byleth is Edelgard's hope, Byleth gives Edelgard back her humanity, Byleth is Edelgard's one source of joy, Byleth is Edelgard's entire life, and nothing, absolutely nothing in this fic has shown this to ever be a bad thing. This dependence on Byleth to bring Edelgard joy at the near complete expense of everyone else has been propped up as something romantic, and yet it's now, 21 chapters and over 85K+ words in, that we're supposed to believe that this was actually Edelgard being unhealthy? Even though the author himself said that this was what he enjoyed about their relationship, how much they found each other in each other? Even though we see what the author thinks would happen to the two of them should they separate - Edelgard, lonely and afraid without her beloved teach, and Byleth, the Ashen Demon who cares for nothing without her beloved student - in her visions of SS? This is a joke

- It cannot be overstated that Byleth came to the bathhouses completely independently of Edelgard. She did not come to specifically see her because she followed her out of worry for Edelgard due to her injury - she only knows that Edelgard's injured in the first place due to seeing bloody bandages that Edelgard removed in the bathhouse, before Byleth arrived.

- Author's notes: "On Bergliez, we find out very little in-game, but he 1) offers himself for execution so his men can go free in SS and 2) seems to be actually competent at his job. I thought a nuanced portrayal was more interesting, since I've been writing Aegir as the absolute worst person in the world." -> Note: this is what the author believes to be a nuanced take on someone. Someone who likes Edelgard entirely and does nearly whatever they can to help her, but they did one thing that's morally gray (leaving a child behind to save his own children from the same fate) that is portrayed as objectively bad, so now they are nuanced. While perhaps this sort of character would be truly nuanced in better hands, as it is with his actions being portrayed as something that is obviously so completely and utterly wrong and him someone who deserves complete and utter condemnation - and yet Ionius, who does far worse for far less understandable reasons, gets a comparative slap on the wrist - it causes confusion as to Edelgard's lines. Bergliez seeing her the one time and never helping her is enough for her to want to hurt him as she was hurt, but her father repeatedly coming to and "being forced" to watch her actively be tortured and doing nothing does little to invoke similar depths of resentment? Even granting the idea that "she gives more slack to her father," Ionius is objectively and far worse than Bergliez, down to doing hard things to protect their children, and yet it is only Bergliez who is shined in this unpleasant a light

- To be clear, Bergliez's decision was not a good one, but understandable. It is a gray decision to make. But notice how he is called "gray" and "nuanced" and yet Ionius is nearly completely innocent, as described by the author himself, despite their being no given explaination as to why "he was a figurehead" should be a good enough reason to wash him literally standing there and watching as his children - some of whom aren't even teens yet - get slowly tortured and killed.

- "There are many localization changes I understand (Byleth wanting to get drunk after the battle is one of them), but Treehouse's decision to remove Ionius' entire reason for power centralization (eliminating the consorts) was a big, big mistake." -> Given the history of this author's grasp on the Japanese language, this needs to be checked, as he cannot be trusted as a source as to whether this is true

******* Notes of Claude mischaracterization: Chapter 21, section 1, paragraphs 1, 21 & 23, 27 *******

#o captain my captain #is the Cap'n's name fuckin' Greg holy shit #this chapter was baaaaad #b-but hey maybe i'm just being overly critical?

[lordoftherazzles]

Maybe a fic prompt (if you wanna do it)? I was looking at one of your gifs (they're stunning btw) and I was thinking of something like Bilbo admiring the view and saying "This is stunning" and Thorin agreeing but while gazing at the hobbit? This is kinda cliché but I feel it would be very cute. Also your writing is superior, I love it ( ꈍᴗꈍ)ﾉ✿

Ahhh!!! I love this prompt so much @nerdymeatball13 , and I'm sorry it took me a hot second to finish, lots of things piled on me at once but here we are!!

prompt "This is stunning"

word count 1789

relationship(s) thorin oakenshield/bilbo baggins

character(s) thorin oakenshield, bilbo baggins

warnings none

additional notes they're so schmoopy and I love them

-----

The worst was over. The Battle of the Five Armies had been something to both mourn and celebrate. Many lives had been lost, but the good that came from that outweighed the bad. A close scare came with the Line of Durin, but by some miracle or nothing short of divine intervention by Mahal himself, Thorin, Fili, and Kili all managed to pull through. It was a blessing that no one took for granted, especially the victims themselves.

Thankfully, that was several weeks ago. It was still tough for Thorin to be on his feet, but with enough stubborn resistance, he had managed to ward off most of those constantly fussing over his bandaging and stitches. Oin never let him out of bed for more than an hour at a time, but it was more freedom than Thorin had felt ever since he’d been carted back into the mountain with nearly half of his insides trying to spill outside. 

This was one of those particular hours that he was allowed to be up and wandering around. He’d set aside all paperwork and kingly duties for the sake of a simple walk in hopes that it might clear his mind. Between recovery and trying to do as much as possible to help in Erebor’s reconstruction both literally and as a power, Thorin felt bogged down. There was little time for much else, and his mind had been growing more and more muddled as the weeks went on. A mind that was constantly in worry of what the spring months might bring as they were growing nearer and nearer.

Bilbo had opted to stay considering the winter months had settled in, which was a smart move versus trying to brave any snowstorm, but it was still up in the air if the hobbit had truly planned to head back west towards his cozy little smial, or if...by chance maybe he wanted to make Erebor his new home. It wasn’t something Thorin brought up. Yes, they had made amends, even more than that, with sweet somethings having been uttered occasionally back and forth, but it wasn’t the picture perfect romance that Thorin had been dreaming about lately.

Love was nice and all, and even better when it wasn’t one-sided, but to remain unknowing as to where it might lead? That was a nightmare in itself. It was a lot for Thorin to think about, and while he didn’t want to pressure Bilbo and flat out ask if he intended to stay or go, it was starting to eat away at the dwarf little by little. It’s what this walk was to help him with. To clear his head and hopefully return to his sickbed with a mind for papers and numbers.

What had led him towards one of the worst places in all of Erebor during this calm walk of his? The ramparts were a miserable place, but it gave you a good view of the stretch of land between Erebor and Dale, and not even Thorin could ignore what a sight it was. Snow covered and untouched, it was hard to imagine the brown and red blood stains that laid beneath it from a war not too long ago.

What he hadn’t expected was for someone else to already be out here and staring just as he wanted to. A head of dark golden curls that Thorin had been trying to clear from his own headspace. 

“Bilbo,” The dwarf greeted casually, gaining a small glance from the hobbit as they stood side by side with at least a small gap between them.

“Good morning, Thorin. How are you feeling?” Bilbo was polite as ever as if nothing had changed, and while they were on good terms, didn’t this place...bother the hobbit? At all? 

“I’m feeling alright,” No one wanted to listen to Thorin complain about how sore he might be or if he had a bad sleep last night, so he left it at that. Besides, the less whining he did, the sooner Oin would get off his back. 

“That’s good. Every day is a little bit better, it seems.” 

“Indeed,” It was an awkward conversation all over again. Thorin folded his arms behind his back and just let his eyes drift towards the snow covered land before them. A bit of that snow had collected on the ledges of Erebor’s structure, he could only imagine how lovely it might look from a different angle. “You looked to be deep in thought, is something on your mind?”

Bilbo finally pulled all of his attention away from the scenery and offered Thorin a small wave of his hand. “Oh, just thinking about the Shire. We get snow there too and it’s nice, but...there’s just something about this that’s different.” 

Thorin’s heart could have sunk right into the ground right then and there. Bilbo was longing for home, wasn’t he? Those rolling green hills, even in the middle of winter, had to be far better than an ice cold mountain that was barely able to be called a kingdom. Finally deciding to toe the line of truths regarding Bilbo’s intentions, Thorin kept his eyes forward. “I’m sure you’ll be ready for the snow to clear sooner rather than later. It makes for bad travel weather…” 

“Hm, it does, but I’m not exactly eager to go anywhere so quickly. You’re just getting back on your feet. Oin can’t handle barking at you to sit still all on his own now, can he?” Bilbo teased, seeming to be in higher spirits than Thorin ever would be on these ramparts, and with the idea of Bilbo’s departure looming in his head.

A small breath of amusement did escape Thorin though, finally removing his hands from behind his back and placing it on the stone before him. “I think I can manage to sit still, but your constant reminders have helped these past few weeks.” His fingers twitched, tapping against the stone in anxiousness that wasn’t overly normal. Considering everything that Thorin had been through though, he supposed he was allowed a little bit of shaky behavior and anxiousness.

“Something’s troubling you,” Bilbo observed. It wasn’t a question, but a fact that was being pointed out far too easily. “What is it?” Placing both hands around one of Thorin’s arms, Bilbo honestly couldn’t get enough of these small gestures of physical contact, even if he was a tad anxious himself when it came to initiating them. 

Regardless of the comforting touch around his elbow, Thorin wasn’t sure it did anything to soothe his poor frayed nerves. Those nerves were exposed as soon as Bilbo was able to peg that something was bothering him and the words just started tumbling out. “How can you stand to be here?” Specifically, right in this very spot. “After what happened, how can you stand here and…”

Throw him from the ramparts!

How could Bilbo be here? How could he have forgiven Thorin for the wrongs he had done and a life that had been threatened? How could Bilbo not be whining and clawing at the first opportunity to head back to the safety of the Shire? These were the things that had been bothering Thorin, and being in this exact spot did not help.

“Thorin, you need to stop letting one small incident eat away at you. I’ve forgiven you for all of that, you weren’t yourself…”

“That’s no excuse. I laid a hand on you. You might be able to forgive me by some miracle, but I can’t forgive myself for that day...and now, knowing that you’ll be leaving-”

“Leaving? Who said anything about leaving?” Bilbo huffed, still clutching at Thorin’s elbow with both hands and giving his head a firm shake of annoyance as if he were dealing with a child. “You truly are a dolt sometimes. Handsome, brave and foolhardy to boot, but downright stupid when it counts.” 

Thorin wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or annoyed at the backhanded compliments flying his way.

“You’re going to have to learn to forgive yourself because honestly, I’m not going to come up here and have you mope every single time all because you got a little angry and said some things and...that was it. That’s all you did,” When Bilbo put it that way, it sounded far less severe than Thorin thought it was. “And as for leaving? That was...something I wanted to ask you. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, but I do want to stay. Sure, I’ll miss my garden and some other aspects of the Shire but...home isn’t a place, Thorin.” Bilbo slid his hands away from Thorin’s elbow, his fingers lacing with a hand of the dwarf’s and giving it a small squeeze. “You’re my home, and that’s where I want to be if you’ll allow it.”

Thorin stood dumbly, looking towards their linked hands before letting his fingers flex tightly to grip back at Bilbo’s. “Of course…” Having Bilbo stay was all he ever wanted.

“Good, and don’t you worry, we’ll make some better memories here, I’m sure.” Leaning against Thorin’s side with hands still tightly wound together, Bilbo just exhaled a deep sigh as if a great weight had been lifted off of his chest. The same could be said for Thorin. 

A ray of light seemed to break through the thick of the gray clouds overhead, illuminating a bit of that freshly fallen snow that laid across the stretch of land as far as the eye could see. It sparkled like a sea of diamonds, and Bilbo couldn’t help the small gasp of wonder that crossed his face. He had seen snow in the sunlight before, but seeing it from way up here? To see so far and wide covered in little glistening crystals? “This is stunning,” He breathed, not paying Thorin much mind who had just been staring at Bilbo since that small gasp escaped his lips.

“Very stunning, indeed.” That look of wonder that Bilbo wore was bright and appealing. More desirable than a treasure hall of gold or a vein of mithril. 

Bilbo’s gaze flickered once quickly to start, if only because he wanted to follow Thorin’s gaze to see what the dwarf was looking at as well to deem as stunning, but after a quick double take, Bilbo was blushing fiercely. “You truly are a sappy old thing, you know that?”

“I do.” Pressing a kiss to those dark golden curls, Thorin truly had to believe in what Bilbo had said before. They would make better memories atop these ramparts, and already that seemed to be a reality in the making, but most importantly, he was here to stay.

#the hobbit #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #bagginshield #thilbo #hobbit fanfic #hobbit fic #bagginshield fic #razzywrites #razquests #thank you for the request!

[hb-writes]

You’re Not Me

1924 

At Tommy's approaching footsteps, Clara glanced up from the papers scattered across his desk. She met his eye for only a moment when he finally came through to the office, her lips forming a straight line before she released a tired sigh and quickly tucked everything away between the pages of her school book. "I'll just get out of your—"

“No.” Tommy put his hand up as he stepped up to the desk. "Stay. Sit."

"You haven't got any work to do?"

Tommy always had work to do, the type of work that had no real boundaries, keeping him late at the office and then keeping him busy again once he made it home. His sister seemed busy with something similar lately, work that never quite seemed to be through, always asking few more moments of attention, requiring over and over again for one to enjoy a few less hours of sleep.

And despite the size of Arrow House, somehow whenever Tommy was home, the two siblings were constantly negotiating over the same small bit of real estate, his office being the place where both of them preferred to pass the hours of seemingly endless work.

"No,” Tommy said, watching her fidgeting hands as they tapped along the edge of the book she still hadn’t released. “I have work."

Clara nodded and readied herself to stand. "Then I'll just—"

"You'll sit," Tommy answered, lowering himself into the chair across from her.

Clara complied, taking a swelling breath as she relaxed back into the chair, sinking into the cushions and loosening the muscles of her neck and shoulders for the first time since she perched herself there hours before.

"Frances tells me you've not been yourself."

"Tommy, I haven't done any—"

"No one's said you've done anything wrong."

She knew where the maid’s accusations came from, and wasn’t entirely surprised by them. Clara had been the slightest bit snappy on Frances's third reminder that she should eat something. But Clara’s defensiveness in response to the maids' reports was a mere reflex by this point. She knew Frances meant well and she knew Tommy had made it part of the staff's duties, the looking after, and the diligent reporting, even though Clara was nearly an adult.

"You can't be skipping meals, working all hours of the night—"

Clara raised an eyebrow. "You—"

"You're not me,” Tommy interrupted, fixing her with his steady gaze.

Clara scoffed, folding her arms over her chest and shifting her eyes beyond him to the fireplace. "I know.”

Clara was keenly aware of that fact, the fact that she wasn't her brother, wasn't nearly as clever or efficient or hardworking and she couldn't help but wonder why he was putting her through all the schooling when it should have been him.

Tommy had started paying for her school when he was only twenty-nine. He could have just as easily paid for himself to go back. He hadn't been too old. And he was certainly smart enough for the rigors of university. And if he had done that instead, neither one of them would be suffering through her waste of an education now.

Tommy stood up and crossed to the whiskey, pouring a small bit and turning back to his sister. He gently raised the cup in her direction, an offer he didn’t make to her often. He thought a small sliver of the stuff might calm her very palpable nerves.

Clara shook her head and Tommy poured a more generous amount into the glass before taking a sip. "Are you going to tell me what all this is about then? Frances said it's been all week."

Clara absently shook her head. "It's just an examination. It's silly."

Tommy nodded as he took another sip, watching Clara watch the fire.

It wasn't entirely clear who was responsible for the expectations Clara Shelby placed on herself. No one had ever exactly said it, putting words to what Clara accepted as her responsibility. Even so, it had somehow become ingrained in her mind that since Tommy was paying for it, because something was being sacrificed so she could play at being properly educated young woman, nothing less than top marks was acceptable. Her brothers and sister had never had a single expectation of doing well in school and not a single comment had ever been made to suggest she wasn't doing well, but Clara had somehow set herself to a different standard. 

"Well, I'm sure you've done enough."

The bags beneath Clara’s eyes suggested she had put in enough effort, but she shook her head. There weren't enough hours in the day for the girl to feel properly prepared. She had a mind for quotes and the analysis of literature, and she could work through numbers and equations as if it were the first language she had ever learned, but something about a list of battles and historical events and important persons evaded her, the specifics slipping through her mind and becoming more and more muddled with each run through.

"I should go through it once more, but I can go, let you have your desk back."

Tommy leaned forward, dropping his hand on top of the book she made to pull up into her arms. "What's the examination?"

Clara pulled her eyes from his hand to meet his gaze.

"History," she mumbled, pulling her fingers from the book and leaning back into the chair once again.

"Since when is history a problem?"

Clara gulped, her shoulders lifting in an unintended shrug. "I don’t know. Can't keep it straight. Can't keep up with—I should have just gotten a certificate like every—"

Tommy shook his head. "Enough of that."

Clara huffed. "It's true though, Tommy. You should've just gone back yourself. Or saved the money for Charles. That'd have been a better investment than—"

"And what would I need a degree for?'

Clara's mouth came open but Tommy was quicker. "You're not me, remember? You'll have this degree. And another after that if you want it."

Tommy watched his sister, her eyes trained once again on the fire, her heavy breaths attempting to hide a shaky sigh.

"You're doing fine," he said, his tone softer. Though Tommy hadn't asked after or even glanced at a report of her academic progress in quite some time, he knew it was the truth. He would know if the school had concerns, would likely receive a call on the very day even a suspicion of concern arose. He would never have to ask and Clara would never have the opportunity to keep it from him because people simply told him things of that nature now.

"I've never once doubted this."

Clara let her brother’s words work their way around her mind as her eyes settled on the clock on Tommy's desk. Her breath slowly shifted, matching the rhythm of the second hand before she mumbled something, not daring to meet his eye as she said it.

"Maybe you should.”

Tommy took a few breaths. He wasn't in the business of doubting himself, not in his professional life, and not in his personal life, either.

"I believe in you, Clara. Wouldn't send you there if I didn't think you can do it.” Tommy pulled the book forward as he said it, pulling out notes she'd created for herself and looking over the rows of neat handwriting. “So, we'll go through it one more time to settle your nerves, and then you're off to bed."

"I'm not ready to be quizzed." 

Clara leaned forward to pull the pages out of his grasp, but Tommy simply moved them out of reach. 

"You are. History's just a bunch of stories, eh? You're good with stories."

"Can't I just—"

"I'll give you the event. You tell me what it's about."

Clara didn't feel ready to run through the list, didn't feel nearly prepared enough to rattle off a list of dates and names and scenarios, but she could sense her brother wasn't going to budge, so she sighed and nodded once.

"Alright, then. Good luck."

Clara rolled her eyes. "I'll need far more—"

She never got the chance to finish the statement, cut off by Tommy calling out the first event on the list.

Clara's mind dropped the sarcastic comment as it searched for an answer, the details coming to her with a bit more ease as Tommy glanced back to the papers, reviewing the answers for himself, his eyes lingering there longer than necessary as Clara slowly found the courage to tell him what she remembered, her answer nearly word for word the description she'd scratched out on the page.

Tommy nodded once at her response, a light snort sounding as Clara eagerly waited on his next question, another opportunity to prove she was worthy of being believed in. It wasn't something Tommy needed any proof of, but he sensed Clara did. No matter what he told her, whether it be wishes of luck or insisting she had his confidence, Clara needed to verify for herself that it was well deserved. 

Tommy’s willingness to lead her through a lengthy list of questions at this time of night had more clout than his words. It did far more to prove her brother’s confidence because Tommy was a busy man. He worked all day only to come home and work all night and he wasn't the type to waste his precious time on something he didn't believe in.

-----

Peaky Blinders (Little Lady Blinder) Masterlist

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #shelby!sister #shelby sister #tommy shelby #clara shelby #little lady blinder #I love you prompts #300 follower celebration

[aclosetfan]

17 for the ask game?

(ask game)

Thank you for the ask!!! I really appreciate it 😊

Ugh 17 is so heartwarming/heartbreaking and I'm so glad i get to finally talk about it. 17 isn't a story per se, but rather a concept that I actually include in every canon(ish) compliant story I write, even though I don’t think I’ve ever published the idea fully. It’s about the rrb’s birthday. I know everyone has their own take on how and when they celebrate, but I personally chose to subscribe to the following snippet:

Typically, ordinary people only had one birthday. Brick and his brothers, however, were not ordinary people. So, obviously, they had two birthdays. And they "celebrated" both—one on April 7th with Mojo and one on November 6th with HIM. "Celebrate," of course, was used in the loosest of fashions. But, typically, their "birthdays" were marred with lengthy custody battle shenanigans between Mojo and HIM that he and his brothers had grown tired of years ago.

They didn't care for their birthdays, not one bit. Brick didn't consider him and his brothers as "birthday" people, to begin with, what with all the colorful balloons and creepy birthday clowns. Anyway, they hardly ever got crummy birthday presents, so really, what was the point?

Instead, without their parental guardians around, they celebrated another year around the sun on April 28th, which was always a thousand times more fun than anything Mojo or HIM had ever done for them. It was a day just for the three of them. No schemes, gimmicks, criminal activities, or fighting the stupid PowerPuff Girls—especially no fighting the PowerPuff Girls. It was a special day, and they didn't need the girls mucking it up.

This year, though, he, Butch, and Boomer had all agreed that April 28th would likely be a dud, but still, Brick was determined not to let school of all things put a damper on his—

"Happy death day!" Boomer smiled and presented to him a plate of crispy bacon and fried eggs.

Brick adjusted his hat over his mop of messy long hair. It was the only hat he owned that was, in fact, not red but black. He wasn't wearing a single streak of any other color. Just black for the special occasion.

"Happy death day." He said through a yawn, still semi-pissed he had to get up early on his death day for school. Freaking school! He didn't get why adults were constantly forcing them into school.

Boomer, who was also in his proper mourning attire, turned back to the oven with a happy hum. His brother had on his oversized, patched black sweater, and to make it fancy, he even had a black, sort-of plaid shirt underneath it. Butch would eventually waltz out of his room in something that would probably look pretty similar.

"Hey, maybe we can cut during lunch today," Boomer suggested brightly, "so we can still visit the cemetery. We can say our grandma died or something."

"Who's gonna believe that?" He asked through a mouthful. Everyone in Townsville and their mothers knew exactly who their parents were. No one would ever believe they had a grandma.

Still, he knew what Boomer was trying to do. There were important traditions when it came to celebrating a Death Day. Especially this Death Day. The three of them should have been dead cold in the ground for a decade by now, but here they were, alive, so they saw no reason not to celebrate. Sure, Death Day didn't mark the fact they had turned fifteen, but neither did their actual birthdays since they had popped into existence around the age of five-ish. They didn't care about counting their age. Death Day was about being alive. That's what mattered.

This snippet (that I titled “Death Day”) would be found in a oneshot or even a multi chap fic, tracking the boys celebrating their Death Days throughout the years and how eventually the friends they end up making in the future would celebrate with them. And, yeah, I would include the girls in that group of people, who feel immensely guilty that there is a Death Day in the first place. I don’t see people talk about the fact that the Girls just straight-up murdered other children on this show. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, but damn, it’s insane. Anyway, I think it would be fun to track Death Days since it’s a special singular day for the boys that isn’t overrun by their parental guardians.

Also, April 28th is an arbitrary date. Death Day can be any day someone feels like it should be. April 7th is the date of the rrbs first episode on CN and Nov 6th is the day their revival with HIM was premiered on CN. I figured the montage of destruction the boys and Mojo do together in their first episode would span a few weeks, so I just settled on April 28th as the day the girls blow them up lol.

It's interesting, I see a lot of people give the boys separate birthdays and I guess I just think that being a triplet would still be important to them, so they'd want to celebrate together. "Death Day" would be the best choice because it's the one day the reincarnated rrb have with their previous forms. I think that's significant too, especially if you're a person who thinks that HIM's reincarnated versions of the rrb are completely different people when compared to Mojo's boys. Like could you imagine replacing a version of yourself that didn't even have a chance and the only reason you're alive is because they're dead?? Idk heavy stuff man. I think about it way too much. (and it's a concept I'd explore in this Death Day fic)

Anyway, the rrb's death day is important and this is my homage to it!! Sorry not really an outline, but it was important enough to me that I saved it in my files!

#my writing #my outlines #outline ask game #ppg fic outlines #death day fic #actually to make things clear this is probs my most fave h/c i have and I really hope other people enjoy it too #fave h/c about the boys at least

[queen-pudi]

Cuteness Overload

Hello! So I’ve never written a fic before and English is my worst subject in school but when I realized I read every single fic on this app for Fire Force I got sad so I made this. Please enjoy and if you like it maybe I’ll make more! Also thank you to @seashellsandshores for getting me into Fire Force, proofreading this for me and overall being a great friend!! She is a much better writer than I am so please check her out!!

Viktor x Reader

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

Being a new recruit to Company 8 was something you thought you were prepared for but apparently weren’t. You were a little shy in the beginning but over time you warmed up and created a family within Company 8. Sure most families don’t have siblings getting attacked and kidnapped by a cult every 2 weeks but it’s still a family nonetheless. Your power was the ability to use your hair as any sort of weapon you want. It was a little hard to get used to but once you got the hang of it was super useful on the field. 

However, you still had a hard time controlling your power, especially when you were flustered or nervous. When you were a bit flustered like most people you’d blush but sometimes you’d been known to get so hot your cheeks would go up in flames. Sometimes going as far as your hair catching on fire and wrapping yourself in a cocoon. 

At first, it was annoying but overtime you got used to it, and overall most of your shyness was just you trying to avoid having to explain why you were having a mini bonfire on your face. You had been doing a great job until Viktor showed up.

 When he joined Company 8 you just about burst into flames. In your eyes he was perfect. He was everything you wanted, witty, smart, kind, and extra points for the height and that beautiful head of hair

When he first came to Company 8 he wanted to learn as much about everyone as he could. This meant he wanted to set up appointments to meet with each and every one of you guys, this obviously including you. Due to your condition and his overall, well everything, you were dreading this moment. You had gotten better at hiding it but normally you weren’t going to be as close as you were with him. It was just going to be you and him with all his attention on you. 

“SHIT” you screamed, at the mere thought of talking to him you had burned your pillow and effectively rendered it useless. Sighing you threw it with the other ones and went to get a new one. 

Viktor saw you as an enigma. You had been actively avoiding him ever since he came to the company. Only ever speaking to say Hello or goodbye or “Arthur accidentally stabbed himself with his sword again” You barely even made eye contact with him and he was starting to get curious. He knew he could be a bit eccentric but you haven’t even spoken enough to see that side of him. 

Truth be told he also fancied you. He thought your quiet nature was cute but he also found it fascinating how you became so confident and fierce when you were in battle or when you were in a meeting. He wanted to get to know you but every time he got close you’d dodge him or go off with someone else.

He was patient though because he knew his time would come where he could sweep you off your feet and impress you with his intelligence. 

While you avoided him for a while it was finally time to have your meeting with him. To say you were nervous was an understatement. You were like a walking radiator at that point. It’s amazing how you aren’t a puddle right now. 

After standing outside the lab door debating the consequences of just quitting and joining the circus you finally gained the courage to knock. Before you could though Viktor was already opening the door on his way to find you

“Y/N! I was worried you wouldn’t show up!” He exclaimed just a little louder than he wanted to and instantly regretting it once he saw you flinch

“Well, I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to improve on my abilities!” You said trying to come off confident but ultimately failing when your voice started to crack. You walked into his makeshift lab. It wasn’t perfect but it would do for now. You observed all the equipment like a child, curious on how it works and what it was used for. 

You stopped when you felt a pair of eyes watching you. You turned and saw Viktor looking at you with a dopey grin. You spun around fast, feeling your face warm up not even a minute into this and you were already on the verge of erupting.

For the first 5 minutes, it was an awkward silence. While he took your vitals you were trying not to turn into hades as he was just inches away from your face. He was trying to scramble for something to say. (All that brainpower and he can’t even think of a dad joke smh) 

“Well it looks like you are perfect!” he said after finishing the first round of tests. You knew he meant you were in good health but to hear him call you perfect was enough to set your cheeks blazing. You were scrambling to calm down before he took notice of your predicament 

The next test was just accessing your abilities. Show all the things your hair could do and so on. Nothing really interesting, although you did burn a hole through the wall and almost gave yourself some wicked whiplash. 

For a while he was chalking this up to the uncomfortable setting of him constantly probing you with tools and questions. After a while though he started to worry it wasn't the setting that was making you uncomfortable but him.

Viktor tried to make conversation but all he would get was a few chuckles and some nodding. It was starting to get to him. He knew he wasn’t as sweet as Shinra or as Attractive as Obi but he thought he was good enough in the looks department and overall a pretty nice guy. 

The meeting eventually came to a close and he had just about enough of your lack of response. As you were on the way out he just couldn’t help himself 

“I’m sorry but am I doing something wrong?” he asked, concern lacing his voice, you stopped in your tracks and looked at him in confusion 

“No you have been great-” “ Then why won’t you talk to me, hell you barely even look at me!” He cut you off. He was frustrated at this point, and rightfully so.

Thinking back on it you had been a bit ruder than you intended to be. While trying to keep your distance you had basically ignored him. It was almost as if he was just another wall to you. 

“I have been trying to talk to you for weeks only for you to avoid me at every chance you get. I was hoping to maybe establish some sort of friendship during this meeting but you have been ignoring me and when you do acknowledge me it’s with short responses and nods. You don’t have to like me but at the very least you could pretend for a second-” He blurted out. 

He hadn’t intended to word vomit all at once but he couldn’t help himself. He was a curious creature by nature and he needed to find the answers to all these questions he had.

“It’s not that I don’t like you, it's just the opposite! I just…” you trailed off you had noticed that in his state of frustration and your panic you 2 had inched closer to one another. Your faces just within inches of one another.

Ultimately it was too much and you could stop your cheeks from flaming up. Viktor backed away in shock wondering why you didn’t mention this before. Before he could ask what was wrong you had cocooned yourself in a little hairball out of complete embarrassment. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to! You are just so nice and smart and I just get so flustered when you are around! I want to get to know you but then this happens and I’m sorry-” you were trying to calm down but you just kept getting more embarrassed causing your cocoon to heat up more.

Viktor was just in awe. Besides the fact that you were in the process of turning into a human butterfly, he sort of found it adorable. This combined with what you were saying he was also in the process of burning up

“Y/N! It’s ok! I’m not mad!” he said in an attempt to calm you down “I actually think it’s sort of cute” he mumbled just loud enough for you to hear. This intrigued you enough for you to calm down so that you could look at him, cheeks blazing an all. 

“Really? What’s so cute about me turning in a human lighter?” 

Viktor laughed while taking a seat next to you “I find everything you do cute when you laugh and your nose crinkles; cute when you yawn and instantly cover your mouth with both hands to hide your face: cute, and when you turn into human torch from fantastic four when you get embarrassed: cute” he confessed

You slowly cooled down and let your hair unravel. You mustered up all your courage to look at him. Your cheeks were still emitting flames but not as bright as before. He gave you a soft smile which you returned. You don’t know how it started but slowly you 2 started to lean in. Lips just a breath away from each other until

“Viktor Y/N its time for dinner…” Hinawa said, bursting into the room. You and Viktor bolted away from each other, flames starting to engulf your face. Hinawa paused, processing the scene that was in front of him. 

“Lieutenant this is not what it looks like! I mean it sort of is but it’s also no-” You screamed frantically

 “When you two are done making out can you please join us for dinner. Afterwards we can discuss workplace romance and fill out the proper paperwork.” He announced while on his way out. 

Mortified you wrapped yourself up into a burrito and ran out the room. Left in the lab was Viktor who looked just about as red as you, wearing a lovesick smile, “Like I said: Cute”

#viktor licht #fire force #fire force viktor #fire force imagines #fire force x reader #enen no shōbōtai #enen no shouboutai viktor #enen no shouboutai x reader

[sinkix]

~ Haikyuu!! Boys baking with reader - Ft. Ushijima, Tendou, Oikawa, Hinata & Nishinoya ~

YO! SO UHHHH... I’M BACK??? I GUESS?? MAYBE??? After a little break I had this in my drafts for a while and realllyyy wanted to complete it since it’s such a cute concept. Honestly at this point my posting frequencies are so sporadic and random pls forgive me lmao.

@deathcab4daddy​ gave me the inspo to include Ushi and it was so funny coming up with ideas for him, he is no.1 country boi chef 

Dude I’m listening to the Mario Kart soundtrack ‘Coconut Mall’ while I continue writing this someone save me. Like u think I’m joking. UR WRONG.

Ushijima:

The most straightforward yet idiotic baker you will ever come across.

Before you even THINK about performing step 1, he will read the entire fucking leaflet like it’s a Shakesperean monologue.

INGREDIENTS INCLUDED.

LIKE SIS I DIDN’T NEED TO KNOW IT CONTAINS  MONOCALCIUM PHOSPHATE THANK YOU.

I’m surprised he doesn’t count every single particle in the brownie mix.

You bought him a frilly cupcake-printed apron stating ‘best wife’ not expecting him to actually wear it

But since he’s secretly a big softie and treasures anything you buy he wears it proudly.

His stoic and dignified disposition is a comical contrast to the words printed on the front lmao.

Ushi best wifey bro.

The tight fit of the apron is pretty hot since it outlines every ridge of his pecs and tightly toned torso.

Gotta resist groping your mans while stirring the brownie batter.

tbh he’s more likely to grope you, he can’t resist that a$$.

And let’s face it he’s def an ass/thigh kinda guy.

Can and will try to casually initiate some form of unholy activities by lifting you up onto the kitchen counter, goading you to slowly lick the spoon and locking gazes before pulling you in for a deep, open-mouthed kiss to get a taste of the incomplete creation himself.

Ushi’s lips and brownie batter are a knock-out combo js.

Literally has the most serious face when he’s cracking the eggs into the bowl

The amount of concentration is equivalent to that of when he’s performing a serve at match-point.

HAS to set the temperature to the EXACT degree stated on the box

Everything is done by the book if you do one thing out of place he will pull you up on it lol.

“(Y/N) you were supposed to stir it for 5 minutes, not 7.”

When its done you feed him some and he can’t help but smile its so ADORBALE AHHH.

You end up eating most of it since Ushi doesn’t strike me as much of a chocolate/junk food lover.

STILL A VERY FUN BUT F R U S T R A T I N G EXPERIENCE.

Tendou:

The complete opposite of Ushi

Does everything wrong and the unconventional way.

Absolute disaster but doesn’t even sweat it since Tendou basically thrives in chaos and the disorderly.

To him instructions are purely equivocal, will read them for five seconds then toss them away.

Step aside Gordon Ramsey, Chef Tendou is here.

Despite doing everything the unorthodox way it still comes out amazing.

Like??? how???

Will cheekily place a dollop batter on your nose then lick it off fh3jkeffefds

Or if he’s feelin’ a lil freaky, he’ll swipe it off with his long ass finger and make you suck it clean, smirking at your submission as you coat his finger with your saliva.

oop-

Constantly cracking jokes and shitty food puns, pretending to drop the bowl to make you go into preemptive cardiac arrest before you can swat him with the spatula.

While you’re waiting for the timer to ping, Satori being the schemer he is will use this as an opportunity to pull some fuckery and tease you in any way he can.

u better be praying like bodhisattva TanaNoya rn because he is MERCILESS.

Suggestive comments, the brush of his fingers against your thigh, it’ll leave you A C H I N G in frustration by the end of it.

Unholy activities aside, once your baking session is completed you finish it off by feeding PHAT forkfuls of brownie to each other and giggling like dorks when it gets all over your mouth.

The jackass actually got a fingerful and SMEARED it over your cheek and forehead, drawing a little cross and snickering when the crumbs fall onto your nose.

Tendou was smart to draw a cross bc he gonna need jesus with the ATTACK you launch on him after that, which promptly leads to an all out food war in your kitchen that neither of you want to clean up after ward.

Don’t worry though it’s Tendou, he’ll somehow find a way to make such a mundane activity fun.

Nishinoya:

stirs WAY TOO VIOLENTLY

IT’S LIKE AN ELECTRIC WHISK ON OVERDRIVE.

IT WILL SPLATTER OVER THE COUNTER, CUPBOARDS AND EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR WITHIN A 1 MILE RADIUS.

You best believe he will try and eat some of the batter and you have to swat the spoon away from his mouth since he has NO REGARD FOR THE FACT HE COULD GET SALMONELLA.

Plus you know what Noya’s like once he starts eating something the whole thing will be gone in a matter of milliseconds.

He somehow managed to get Baking powder EVERYWHERE and even gave him self a little moustache with it.

The white substance kinda looked like something else but you didn’t really wanna say lmaooo.

could explain why he has so much energy all the time oK ILL STOP-

While you’re putting the mix on the tray he is SO extra and will do fancy lil swirls and over extend his arm like a swan to gracefully spread the batter

until he nearly fucking knocks it over.

During processing time since he is so excitable and impatient you best believe he’s gonna suggest a game of ping pong or something because my guy can well and truly never sit still.

ping pong match with the spatulas, kitchen island and a hard boiled egg.

Pls be careful he will rolling thunder that egg and pimp slap it so hard with the spatula it’ll damn near give you a concussion, not intentionally, but like protect your noggin. Wear a helmet.

For the remaining 5 minutes of baking time y’all just sit like kids in front of the oven and watching it rise like starved hyena’s observing it’s pray before demolishing it into sad particles of cocoa.

And lemme tell u, once the timer pings, that baking tray is free real estate for Noya. Half of your creation will be devoured before you can even put it on a plate and marvel at your handiwork. 

He kicked your ass at spatula ping pong btw I’m sorry sweaty but short kings stay winning.

Oikawa:

Such a dramatic bitch like he got the whole she-bang going on.

Strapped with a pink apron, a whisk at his side and standing proudly with both hands on his hips.He is prepared like a greek gladiator going into battle.

You better believe he gonna make some snarky remarks and tease your method of doing things. 

“Ah-ah-ahhh (Y/N)-chan you’re doing it all wrong, let me show you how a PRO does it.”

Proceeds to drop entire bowl on his foot and yelp like a little girl in pain.

Well and truly embarrassed with himself, you put a band-aid on his toe and he piped down after that.

Shattered big toe and mixing bowl aside, actually a really good baker??

He is a PRO at decorating, y’all decided on cupcakes since its literally his forte to make them look aesthetic and pretty.

You almost don’t wanna eat them from how good they look.

jk almost

You take it in turns breaking bits off and placing pieces into each others mouth with a loud “aaaaaahhh!”

Places a piece in your mouth, leans forward and locks lips with you in a soft, passionate kiss before pulling away and uttering the words “It tastes even better coming from your mouth ;)”

hnnnNNGGGGGGggGg.

You both whine and bicker over who cleans up after.

“You cleaaannnnn!”

“no Toru YOU clean!”

“but I made the cupcakes look pretty :(”

“not as pretty as you <3″

He did the cleaning after that.

Like just stroke his ego with some compliments and he’s whipped with a smug grin on his face for the next 30 minutes.

You decide to save the rest and bring them to his next practise.

Literally on the verge of tears when he sees you beaming and holding the platter of treats, Kiyotani mauls half of them in a matter of seconds to which Oiks gets salty over LMAO.

Hinata:

So excited oh my god he’s so precious please protect him I will CRY-

Has a little sunflower apron on and JBJKNDDDKDW IM SMILING JUST IMAGINING HIM FIDGETING IN EXCITEMENT OVER THE THOUGHT OF BAKING COOKIES.

Yes you decided on cookies bc he goes rabid for some choc chip biccies.

You have to guide him v carefully because of how easily confused and clumsy he is.

Cannot for the life of him crack the eggs without getting a quarter of the shell in the bowl so you have to do it instead.

Has a surprising amount of strength and forearm power bc holy shit boy can stir FAST.

Hums a little tune while he does it and bobs up and down with a wide grin on his face it’s so adorable, he has such a gentle singing voice I can’t-

Attempts different shapes with the batter when pouring it onto the tray but fails pretty miserably lol.

he tried ok???

Once they’re done he takes the tray out of the oven and since it was heavy, subconsciously propped it with his knee and nearly dropped the entire tray from the pain. (I’ve actually done this before when making chicken nuggets I do not advise being that brain dead)

Had to put some burn cream on the bbies knee :’((

When you decided to dig in, he handed you a cookie that looked like a crooked circle and said he tried to make that one a heart and insisted he feed it to you.

Blushed VERY hard at the moment of silence and intense eye contact while he fed it to you.

Nearly short circuited when his fingers brushed against your lips.

Moe moe x100000000000000000000000000000

You offer to do the cleaning after because he hurt himself and you didn’t wanna make him do any work, but he still offered to wipe the surfaces for you bc he’s an angel <333

literally just wanna marry him.

#hq #haikyuu #hinata shoyo #ushijima wakatoshi #tendou satori #nishinoya yū #oikawa toru #nishinoya yuu #hq headcanons #haikyuu headcanons #hinata shoyo headcanons #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #tendou headcanon #nishinoya headcanons #ushijima headcanons #oikawa headcanons #karasuno #shiratorizawa #aoba johsai #seijoh

[chokemeanakin]

Hi I love your writing so much! I was wondering if you could do a fluffy Anakin one shot where he proposes? Maybe he mentions wanting to start a family or something🥺 hope that made sense, it just sounds really cute :)

Tysm I’m so glad you like my writing 🥰🥰 also I fear comittment and scorn the idea of marriage, so hopefully I’ve pushed aside my personal woes enough for this to be an enjoyable story 😌❤️ (it’s actually kinda cute tho and I’m actually kind of proud of it)

Masterlist

Be My Forever - Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader

“A lot of the General’s plans involve falling,” Commander Rex had said once about Anakin. He wasn’t wrong. The Jedi had crash landed, leapt from great heights, and got thrown out of starfighter ships one too many times to be able to refute that statement. The only time he hadn’t planned on falling was with you.

You were never even part of the plan to begin with. His focuses were set on winning the war, becoming a Master, and joining the council. Later on, he was going to kickstart relief efforts in order to free all of the slaves in the galaxy.

 However, there was always that nagging feeling in the back of his mind that had him feeling like he was constantly teetering on the edge of something. Whether it be between the light and the dark side, becoming the best Jedi he could be or leaving the order behind altogether, fulfilling the Chosen One prophecy or refusing it completely-- he wished his life didn’t have to be so black and white. He wished he could choose a side and stay with it, to finally rest his feet on solid ground.

But then you came crashing into his life, and he had lost his balance on the edge of that precipice, and he’s been falling ever since. 

At first, he had tried to hold on for dear life. He knew that admitting his feelings for you would send him to a place there was no returning from. Not only would it be going against the Jedi code, but it would also force him to face a fear he has been battling ever since his childhood on Tatooine-- submission. To him, love meant giving away every bit of yourself to the person who will accept it and do the same. He couldn’t even give himself to the order that he was prophesied to save-- how could he give himself up for you?

But by the time he had decided to face that question head on, it was too late-- he had already stumbled into a free fall. When he was around you, the warzone that was his life came to a ceasefire, and the enemy troops waved their white flag. You made the constant stress of the war more bearable, and even convinced the battleground inside of himself to lay down their weapons for a while. You were his relief, his reprieve, the place he could go when everything was falling apart around him. And so he surrendered. 

Loving you was the best thing he had ever done. While it wasn’t always easy, as you had to keep your relationship secret from the rest of the Jedi, he could not have imagined a life without you. And, quite frankly, he couldn’t imagine a future without you, either. The thought had him reach into a pouch in his belt, fingering the metal band he had fashioned from a steel washer earlier this month. 

He could have bought a ring, and he had looked before, but nothing ever really caught his eye. Nothing screamed “Y/n” when he saw it, and he could just not imagine you wearing something huge and blingy and tacky. So he made one himself.

He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first. He was working on an astromech unit that had been malfunctioning, and his mind happened to wander to you, as it often did. Suddenly, he was reaching for that washer, flattening and shaping it with some pliers, imagining it around your finger. When it was done, he held it in his palm, and just stared at it.

This was a risk, even for him. He knew he loved you, and he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. But marriage? He didn’t even know what your thoughts were on the subject, much less if you would want that with him. You were the kind of person who lived in the present, took everything one day at a time. The future, to you, was a big, scary pit of infinity that you did not have the emotional capacity to deal with. So he pocketed the band in his belt, and played with it in secret every now and again, when his mind went back to you and him and how he wanted that forever.

He was on another ledge. Should he ask you to swear that commitment to him, or should he keep quiet and let things play out as they have for so long? On the one hand, he would love nothing more than to have you promise yourself to him for the rest of your life, and on into the next. On the other hand, he didn’t want to scare you and ruin the perfectly good relationship you had going.

Another black and white, another battle, another balancing act. 

All of these thoughts, he had while watching you sleep in the co-pilot seat next to him. Your legs were pulled up to your chest, head lolled to the side, curled up in a ball under the blanket he had draped over you when he realized you had dozed off. Your hair was falling into your face, lips slightly parted, pulling deep breaths in and sighing them out. You were beautiful and peaceful elegant, glowing in the starlight like war spoils.

Anakin was certain of one thing-- he was tired of fighting. He knew what he wanted, and he couldn’t hold onto that ledge anymore. You didn’t have to crash into him in order for him to realize it this time-- he was ready to jump.

He found himself pulling the band out of his pouch, tracing his thumb over the cool blue-grey stone he had set in the middle, and reached for your hand. His heart raced as if he were plummeting toward the ground, weightless and sinking and spiralling into a free-fall. If he were to crash and burn, well, it wasn’t something he had never experienced before. 

Your nose twitched when he slid the metal band onto your finger, but you remained asleep. The ring fit perfectly, the rock perched atop your skin like a crown, the steel band glinting in the dim light of the ship like a halo. Anakin blew out a weary breath, and leaned back in his seat. The hard part was over. All there was left to do now was to wait for you to wake up.

**************************************************************************************************************

There was no night and day out in space, so it took you a while to regain consciousness. You blinked your eyes open languidly to the sight you had been staring at for 2 days now-- an endless black backdrop dotted with random spatterings of stars. One glance at your radars showed it would only be another day before you reached Coruscant, but you had hoped your little nap would have killed more time. 

Stretching your arms over your head, you yawned deeply and rubbed an eye with your hand. Something cold and hard met your skin, and you pulled it back to investigate.

There, sitting atop your fourth finger, was a sleek grey stone swimming with clouds of a dream-like blue. It was secured to your finger with a thin metal band, simple and smooth yet sturdy. You tilted your hand this way and that, watching the silver glisten when it caught the light. 

You knew who had put it there. The seat next to you was empty, but there was no one else who would have gifted you something like this, something that came with implications like this.

You could hear Anakin’s footsteps approach the cockpit door. A spike of anxiety shot through your stomach, and you were overcome with the urge to hide your hand. You’re not sure whether it was your drowsiness or curiosity that kept it atop the blanket for Anakin to see as he walked in.

He stopped short by the door, eyes immediately zeroing in on the ring hugging your finger. Then they travelled to your face.

His looked like he had been caught in a crossfire, surrounded by enemy troops with no way out. The cerulean of his eyes gleamed with hesitance, anxiety, and a little fear. He blinked a couple times, closed the door, and took his seat in the pilot’s chair.

Neither of you knew what to say.

“...It’s beautiful,” you stared at the ring, twisting it around your finger with your thumb. It was like a stormcloud had been captured in a little ball and handed right to you to wear like some sort of sky-goddess. A median between black and white, infused with the blue of Anakin’s eyes… it was perfect.

“You like it?” his voice was hopeful, although it was clear how nervous he still was. “I made it myself.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise at this. You knew Anakin was good with metal parts and building things, but this was something you didn’t think he’d ever venture towards. You suddenly loved it so much more, knowing it came directly from his hands and there was not another one like it in the galaxy.

 Your mind was still fighting through the murky clouds of sleep, and the reality of the situation was coming to you in bits and pieces. A slow smile crept onto your lips as you absorbed each realization.

Anakin made this ring. He put it on your finger. He wants you to have it. And although he hadn’t mentioned anything outright, you weren’t stupid. You knew what it implied. He wanted you to marry him.

The thought should have scared you. Normally, it did. But right now, feeling the weight of that cold stone against your finger, the epitome of his love made tangible, you could not think of a single reason you should be afraid. You had this boy who was giving up so much of himself to you right now, promising to love you for the rest of his life if only you would do the same. The boy who you would give up everything for, without him even having to ask. There could never be a better feeling in the world.

You stood from your seat, keeping the blanket cloaked over your shoulders to ward off the chill of the ship. Anakin’s shining eyes tracked every movement you made, so apprehensive and weary, like he was waiting for a blow.

The poor boy. His entire life was full of heartache and war. Everything he loved, he had been forced to leave behind, give away, or watch die in his arms. That’s why he held onto you with a ferocity unrivaled by anyone else, until his fingers went numb and blood pooled under his nails. He would never let you go, unless you decided that’s what you wanted for yourself.

You could see the cannons going off in his head. It was always explosions with Anakin. Fire and smoke and and war and destruction. You could see it all happening behind those eyes, could practically hear his imagination conjure up every way you could reject the heart and soul he had bearing for you at the moment.

You cradled his face in your hands, and kissed him. His mind went quiet. His world narrowed to you-- the fires went out, the smoke cleared, and nothing existed except for your lips on his own. 

Peace.

Even the tempest of fear and anxiety building in the pit of his stomach was soothed by the taste of you on his tongue, the burning flames snuffed out one by one until his hands stopped shaking and he could think clearly again. You broke away from the kiss slowly, savoring the softness of his mouth on your own and the warmth of his skin beneath your palms.

“I’ll spend forever with you,” you whispered, smiling at the tiny, shaky exhale you felt against your lips. He closed his eyes, fingers squeezing your arms like he was afraid he was dreaming, and you’d be gone when he woke up. 

You weren’t leaving.

You brought your lips to his again, capturing his relief and letting him breathe through you. With every thrum of your heart you reached for him, enveloped him, loved him; and he received it with open arms and gave it all right back.

 Rex was right-- his plans often had a habit of him falling, and crashing, and burning. But with you, it was like he was on stable ground. He had fallen, but you had caught him, and he was safe now. 

And he would get to have his forever.

#oh god this was so sappy #dont worry im still a bad bitch #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fic #star wars #anakin skywalker #anakin angst #anakin fluff

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Chapter 18

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

THE NEXT MORNING

SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Eivor pried his eyes open to a slit, immediately squinting in the sunlight that hit his face.

His fingers twitched with movement as his body returned to a state of consciousness, and his dreams vacated the stage that once sat in his mind. A subtle itch tickled the surface of his skin due to the strands of hair that dangled in front of his nose, and out of the corner of his eye, Eivor could see lingering smoke trailing from the dead embers of a torch once set aflame.

It was a calm morning, despite the mournful nature of the clan. A light breeze traveled swiftly throughout the empty halls of the longhouse, and distant chatter could be heard from the villagers who had already risen. It was the start of an ordinary day, and yet, Eivor had no motivation to see it through.

He just couldn’t stop thinking about Thora and Ulfar. 

Even though he managed to distract himself for a while with Sigurd’s company, the pain was inevitably sinking back in, and it felt as if a boulder had planted itself on top of his chest. 

There was no way to fill the new absence stalking his every move; no way he could ever see Thora or Ulfar again. Both of them were gone, and he had been left behind. He was stuck in this realm with nothing but the memories of those he had lost, and the only thing that could help him was the hope of putting Kjotve down for good.

Thankfully, Eivor wasn’t completely alone just yet. 

Resting gently over his hip, the young man felt the weight of Sigurd’s arm pressing down on him like a protective shield, holding him close in a world that was constantly trying to separate them. His breath kissed the back of Eivor’s neck at a steady pace, and a soothing warmth surrounded their bodies due to the blankets barricading them from the cold.

It was surprising to see that Sigurd hadn’t taken his leave, Eivor thought. Part of him had been expecting the prince to vanish like he did on the day of the wedding, and yet, he was here, keeping him company without any worry of judgement. His mind remained buried under dreams of war and mayhem, and his eyelids fluttered with the vivid images that flashed in his head.

He looked to be at peace, despite the turmoil brewing inside him. His expression was devoid of any usual disturbances, and Eivor’s comforting presence only helped to bring him more solace.

In addition to the relief Eivor felt upon seeing Sigurd however, the young man also couldn’t ignore the guilt he carried for taking the prince away from Randvi.

Gods only knew what that woman was going through right now. In a single day, she had lost both her blood-sister and father figure -- and unlike Eivor -- she had to deal with the pain alone.

She didn’t have anyone in her chambers to provide her with company or a shoulder to lean on, and Eivor began to wonder if he should’ve been ashamed of himself for robbing her of that. 

Perhaps it was a mistake to stay with Sigurd for the night. Perhaps he should’ve simply gone to the temple like he planned, and left the prince to his own devices. Maybe then, Randvi wouldn’t be forced to endure all this grief alone.  Eivor may have cherished every moment he spent with Sigurd, but he didn’t wish to do it at the expense of his sister’s well-being.

It was Randvi that Sigurd was supposed to be with, after all. And Eivor couldn’t help but question the morality of what he was doing. 

“...Eivor...?” The older man suddenly murmured, causing the Wolf-Kissed to glance over his shoulder.

He came face-to-face with a pair of heavy-lidded eyes, and smiled faintly upon hearing the man’s words.

“Good morning, love.” Eivor said, rolling onto his side. “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

Sigurd chuckled, though it came out more like a grunt due to the sleep that still fogged his mind.

“...You didn’t wake me up. Truth is, I barely slept. My dreams were plagued with nothing but nightmares. I hope you had a better night.”

“I’d be lying if I said I did. All I could think about was Thora and Ulfar. About how they died.”

“I know what you mean. I can’t stop thinking about Dag either. It’s been hours since he first went silent, and yet... his final words refuse to leave me. It’s like he’s still here, berating me for everything I’ve done. Every time I close my eyes, my dreams take me back to the Tears of Ymir. Part of me feels as if I never left.”

Eivor snuggled up in Sigurd’s embrace, bringing himself closer to the other man.

“...We will get through this, love.” He reassured. “I know it wasn’t easy, but you gave us a chance at victory when you slew the traitor. Now, Kjotve has no allies within our walls. He’s completely by himself. And we have his son as a prisoner. We still have hope of winning this war... and it’s thanks to you.”

Sigurd raised a hand to Eivor’s cheek, gently caressing it with the back of his knuckles. 

“I hope you’re right. The last thing I want is for all our sacrifices to be in vain. We can’t accept defeat now. Not when we’re so close.” The prince sat up from the bed, causing his hair to slip from his shoulders. “But for now, let’s simply focus on honoring our dead. There are many farewells that need to be said before we take things further with Gorm, and I’d like to see Dag off on his journey to Hel. He may have been a traitor, but even he doesn’t deserve abandonment in death.”

Eivor’s mood soured at the mention of Dag’s name. In spite of his agreement to granting the man a place at the funeral, he couldn’t help but feel contempt for him after everything he and Gorm did to Thora.

“Do you think Dag would’ve done the same for you?” Eivor questioned.

Sigurd hesitated, not failing to notice the sharpness in his tone.

“I... I honestly don’t know. Did he even love me in the end? Or did he view me as an enemy? A foe that he needed to eliminate?” The prince combed a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. “I’d like to believe that he would stand by my grave in death, but in reality, I suspect he would’ve been the one to send me there.”

Sigurd rose from the bed and reached for his shirt, shaking his head in sorrow. “Gods... how did things go so wrong...?”

He pulled the piece of clothing over his torso, preparing to take his leave.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get dressed. I imagine my father will be awake by now, and I’d like to have a few words with him before we depart. Meet me outside when you’re ready to go. We can walk to the funeral together.”

The younger man followed suit and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, dreading the near-future. He didn’t want to attend the ceremony alone, but he also worried that he wouldn’t be able to keep his composure in the presence of Thora and Ulfar.

“...Alright.” He said plainly. “I’ll find you when I’m ready, Sigurd.”

The prince leaned down and placed a kiss on Eivor’s forehead, bidding him farewell.

“Take care, Eivor. I’ll see you soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

ONE HOUR LATER

THE DOCKS

Walking along the edge of the ship, Ingrida’s boots quietly thudded against the wooden floor as she tended to the pyres, preparing them for their final departure. She scattered a mixture of herbs and petals at the base of the structures, whispering a series of prayers under her breath.

Her heart ached beyond words to see three of her beloved clan members sharing a ship to the gates of the afterlife. Thora, Ulfar, and Eirik all lay side-by-side in the center of the vessel, decorated with an abundance of gifts that the villagers had left for them. They had axes, shields, food, riches, armor -- every possible boon they could use in the next realm. Their bodies had also been adorned with a handful of sweet-scented flowers, and their hands had been arranged to hold the swords in their grip.

Meanwhile, Dag rested alone in a separate ship docked on the other end of the harbor. His boat had been left barren of any gifts or offerings, and the only attention he received was from scornful villagers who were irked to see his presence at the funeral. His pyre looked about as empty as the frozen sea before them, and it appeared just as cold.

Luckily, despite the animosity the clan held for Dag, Ingrida hadn’t yet forbade herself from saying a prayer for the man. Even though he was directly linked to the death of her son, she still saw it fitting to bless him with one last prayer, as well as the dignity of being sent on a proper vessel. She carried less than no love for the dishonorable traitor, but did not wish to defile his grave, lest she cause Sigurd even more pain.

“Wherever the bridge may guide you,” Ingrida whispered, walking up to Thora, “whatever obstacles you may face, know that your memory has been marked in our clan, sister. Your words, your thoughts, your actions -- they will all continue to live among us even though you have returned to the gods. Your spirit will become as natural as the trees around us, and your name will be shrouded in the honor that was robbed of you in death. May you find peace under Hel’s gaze, and may your axe never thirst for battle. You are free now.”

The woman brought her attention to Eirik, crumbling at the sight of her son.

“Oh, my son...” she murmured, “forgive me. I never thought it would end like this. I never thought it would be me who tended to your pyre. I wanted to watch you grow old. I wanted you to enjoy the life I had given you. I wanted better for--” Ingrida’s voice faltered, causing her to pause briefly, “--you deserved... better than this. You deserved happiness. I only pray that the gods will grant it to you someday, and that we will meet again when death takes us both.” She slid a hand down Eirik’s cheek. “Rest well, my son. Your struggles will not be everlasting.”

Turning to Ulfar, Ingrida cleared her throat and took a deep breath, regaining her composure for one final farewell.

“And my dear friend, Wulfgar,” she said. “I know you were fueled by hatred for many years before you came to us. I know you carried an abundance of regrets. But as the Valkyries guide you to the Hall of Valor, I hope you can find forgiveness for yourself. Even though you were not exempt of flaws, you were one of the best men I had ever the pleasure of meeting. You were a venerable husband to Linnea, and a loving father to many of the children here.” 

She sighed, placing a delicate hand over the hilt of Ulfar’s sword. “I do not know whether you will meet the Christian god or be accepted into the Allfather’s arms, but either way, remember that redemption walks with you, drengr. Your faults have been amended, and your shackles have been broken. May your freedom guide you home.”

Stepping away from the pyres, Ingrida said the last of her prayers and decided to leave the bodies alone for now, admittedly somewhat overwhelmed by the grief that was starting to sink in. For days, she had been focusing on the preparations for this funeral, and yet, nothing could’ve fully braced her for the severity of their losses.

The old völva had overseen multiple burials in the past, but she had never attended one with so many familiar faces. Thora, Ulfar, Eirik -- they were all vital people in her life. She watched them grow, she watched them cry, she watched them change. A part of her soul was attached to the three of them, and now... she had to watch them leave.

It was the hardest farewell she ever had the burden of bidding, and she hoped it would be the last.

“Ingrida?”

The seeress whirled around at the sudden greeting, not realizing that she had company.

“Oh, Eivor,” she said upon seeing her guest’s face. “I didn’t notice you were there.”

The young man approached her, keeping his hands linked in a respectful manner.

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” he explained. “I saw that you were saying a prayer for them.”

Ingrida glanced back at the fallen warriors’ bodies, nodding morosely.

“...Indeed. I just finished saying goodbye to Wulfgar.”

Eivor cocked a brow at that. “Wulfgar? You mean... Ulfar?”

Ironically, his question only seemed to garner more confusion from the old woman.

“He never told you?” She asked, clearly surprised.

“Told me what?”

A look of understanding spread across Ingrida’s face. “Forgive me, young cub. I assumed you knew of this already. The two of you were like father and son, so I simply thought...” she shook her head, returning to the topic. “Anyway. Tell me, did Ulfar ever reveal that he originally came from a Saxon family?”

“Yes,” Eivor recalled. “He mentioned that before.”

“Well, his name was Wulfgar before he was adopted by the Norse. He always asked me to refer to him as that in private. It may seem like an odd request, but I think it helped him preserve some semblance of who he once was.”

“I... I never knew that. Ulfar didn’t tell any of us.”

Ingrida gazed at the raider’s lifeless face, tilting her head out of empathy.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. He had a dark history before he married Linnea and joined our clan. He probably didn’t want to frighten you.”

Eivor’s curiosity got the best of him. “Can you tell me what he did, exactly?”

The seeress fell silent due to hesitance. “I... don’t think I should, Eivor. I don’t believe it would be my place. If Ulfar felt the need to keep it hidden from you, then perhaps that’s because he meant to take the secret to his grave.”

A hint of disappointment sank into Eivor’s mood, but he respected the secrecy nonetheless.

“...I understand.”

Ingrida offered another possible answer. “If your curiosity is truly piqued though, I’d recommend asking your father. Arngeir is also aware of Ulfar’s past, and he was much closer to him than I. I think he would be more suited to tell the story -- if you are willing to hear it.”

“I am. I’ll ask him about it later. Thank you.”

The woman crossed her arms and took a moment to examine Eivor, suddenly switching the subject when she noticed that he was alone.

“But enough about that. Where is Sigurd?” Ingrida questioned. “I expected him to come here with you.”

The inquisitive spark in Eivor’s eyes dimmed at the observation, and he took a slow glance at the nearby longship.

“He’s paying his respects to Dag.” He said, gesturing to the traitor’s pyre. Ingrida followed his gaze, watching as Sigurd said his goodbyes.

The downhearted prince was currently kneeling in front of the wooden tomb with his head hanging low, and a hand over Dag’s wrist. His face was hidden from the world due to his crouched position, and at the moment, all Ingrida could see was a slight quiver shaking the stillness of his shoulders.

“...His eyes burned bright with the heat of Muspelheim itself...” Ingrida whispered in revelation. “Oh, that poor man. I now understand what my vision meant. I understand what it was trying to say.”

Eivor gave the woman a puzzled look, intrigued by her train of thought.

“What do you mean?”

Ingrida brought her focus back to the young man and closed the distance between them.

“The night before Sigurd arrived, the gods sent me a dream about him. Do you remember? It was just before Freya’s statue fell at the temple.”

Eivor nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

A hint of caution took hold of her tone. “...Dag’s death will only fuel the fire already raging in your prince, Wolf-Kissed. I know I advised you to stay away from Sigurd in the past, but now, I suspect you’ll be the only one capable of pulling him back from the edge. Do not allow him to get lost in the dark. He’ll be leading us into battle not too long from now. Please, do what you can to ensure that his mind stays whole.”

“Of course, Ingrida. I--” he stuttered for a second, hesitant to be completely open, “...you know how I feel about him. I’ll try my best to help him.”

That seemed to bring relief to the seeress. “Thank you, Eivor. We need both of you if we’re going to win this war. Take care of yourselves in the storm to come. We’re almost through the brunt of it.”

Bringing their conversation to an end, Ingrida placed a soft hand on Eivor’s arm and guided him away from the pyres, stepping back onto the docks as the clan gathered for the final farewell. A line of archers had already taken their position at the front of the shoreline and set their arrows aflame, preparing for the upcoming ceremony.

“Come, young cub. It’s time to say goodbye.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Standing just beyond the tide’s reach, Eivor and Sigurd watched the funeral from afar as gusts of icy wind danced throughout the village, causing their capes to billow in the breeze. Specks of snow fluttered from the muted sky hanging above them, and in the distance, Eivor could see a number of dockhands pushing the ships away from the piers.

It almost would’ve been beautiful, if it weren’t for the morbidity of their gathering. The ships glided across the glassy surface like swans in a lake, and their hulls split the sheets of ice blocking their course. Ravens soared alongside the majestic sails as if Odin himself were guiding their departure from Midgard, and within moments, the archers had already prepared their first volley of arrows.

“Aim!” One of the warriors commanded, his voice thundering across the beach. A chain of flames immediately rose into the air, pointing directly towards the clouds.

The ships ventured a bit deeper into the ocean, causing waves of white foam to spurt around them.

“Loose!”

Releasing their grip on the bows, the archers sent a storm of arrows flying into the sky as their fiery tips set the heavens aflame, painting the atmosphere with what looked like a thousand suns. Their reflections bolted across the sea like streaks of ember, and soon after, the ships were engulfed in a cloak of fire.

Little by little, the sparks spread throughout the vessels’ entire structure, igniting everything they could touch. They easily latched onto the fallen warriors who occupied the pyres, and consumed their hollow shells like webs of frost crawling across the ocean.

It was a display fit for the gods themselves. The ships wandered like a pair of beacons shattering the dark, and Eivor could only hope that the divines would accept their new arrivals with open arms. These souls had officially traveled beyond the mortal realm, and now, their threads in the tapestry of fate had been cut.

It was finally time for Eivor to let them go. The very same war that had taken these people in the first place still burned with an unbridled fury, and it wouldn’t be long before they had to confront it once and for all.

The only thing they had to do now was get Gorm to talk. His forked tongue hid behind a guise of feigned ignorance, but Eivor knew better than to believe his twisted claims. 

That man knew where Kjotve was, and he knew how to lure him out of the shadows. His information was the key to winning this war, and neither the Wolf-Kissed nor the Raven Prince would back down until they got what they wanted.

It was their only chance of survival at this point, and the last obstacle blocking their way.

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

THE DUNGEON

Shoving the barred door open with a firm push, Sigurd ducked under the low frame and slipped into the room, lighting the way with a torch as Eivor followed him from behind. The weathered hinges of the door squeaked sharply in the looming silence, and a soft rattle bounced off the walls as their prisoner struggled in his chains.

Gorm was completely alone down here. Not only had he been deprived of any human contact, but the tight bricks of the dungeon had also sealed out any intruding sunlight. His hands and feet had been tied down by harsh shackles, and a rough cloth had been wrapped securely around his eyes.

Despite Gorm’s recent arrival though, it looked like someone had already visited him. In the flickering glow that radiated from Sigurd’s torch, the prince spotted fresh cuts and bruises littering the prisoner’s skin. Tiny droplets of blood stained the collar of his shirt, and by now, a slick sheen of sweat had formed on the man’s bony chest.

It wouldn’t be difficult to interrogate this man, but that didn’t mean Sigurd would go easy on him.

“Heh,” he said with a chuckle, holding the torch closer to Gorm’s wounds, “looks like someone had a talk with you already. You been having company lately, Kjotvesson? Or were our men just a bit too rough when they dragged you off the longship?”

The prisoner groaned in irritation, recognizing his captor’s voice. “...Gods above. As if my first conversation wasn’t bad enough. Now you’re here too? I’m not going to talk, Sigurd. The jarl couldn’t beat it out of me, and you won’t either.”

“Ah, so it was Arngeir who did this. I should’ve guessed.” The prince paused briefly. “...You’re lucky, you know. Not many people in this world have the same level of patience as our jarl. If it was my daughter you had killed, I would have flayed you alive.”

Gorm scoffed, shifting in his seat. “You? Everyone knows you’re soft, Styrbjornson. You couldn’t even save the jarl’s daughter from being killed. What makes you think you can get me to talk? Just throw your punches and leave me alone. You won’t get anything from me.”

Sigurd knelt down, leaning towards to the man as he spoke. “...We are one step away from winning this fucking war against your father after decades of suffering because of it. This is the closest we’ve ever been to victory in years, and the only thing blocking our path right now... is you. If you think I’m going to walk away after everything we’ve sacrificed, you are sorely mistaken.”

The prince stood up from the floor. “You can either tell me Kjotve’s location, or I can make you scream it. Either way, we’re not leaving this room until you give us what we need.”

Gorm picked up on that. “We?”

Eivor stepped forward, joining Sigurd’s side. “I’m here too, Gorm.”

“Ah, the Raven Prince’s whore. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. I know you follow Sigurd around like a lost pup, always pining for his attention. Word spreads quickly, you see--”

Sigurd threw a quick jab at Gorm’s cheek, silencing the man in an instant.

“Well you won’t hear anymore about us from now on. Your ally is dead, Gorm. We found him.”

That seemed to instill a sense of alarm in the prisoner. “...Ally?”

“Yes. Dag.” Sigurd clarified. “I know he was aiding you. I know he told you about the assault on your father’s fortress. But he’s dead now. You no longer have any friends here, Kjotvesson. There’s no one who can rescue you.”

The pace of Gorm’s breath quickened at the news, and his jaw clenched in fear.

“...So. What is it you want, exactly?”

“Have you not been listening to a word I’ve said? Tell me where Kjotve is, and all this comes to an end. It’s that simple.”

Sigurd reached down, ripping Gorm’s blindfold off with a harsh tug. 

“We’re running out of time...! I’m giving you one last chance to tell us the information we need, but after that--” he yanked out his axe, “--I start hacking.”

Still, the prisoner resisted. “...Y-You wouldn’t. You don’t have the stones.”

The prince smirked. “Don’t I? Let me tell you something, Gorm.” Sigurd raised the axe to the other man’s face, positioning it right underneath his chin. “Just yesterday, this axe was buried in the heart of my brother. I put it there... after he confessed his treachery.”

It didn’t take long for Gorm to put the pieces together. “...Dag was your brother?”

Sigurd nodded slowly. “Not by blood, but that didn’t mean anything to us. We were still family. We still shared a bond. In the end though... he proved to be a danger to our clan, and so, I cut him down in one strike.” His eyes narrowed in rage. “...I was willing to execute a man I had known for all my life, purely for the sake of protecting this clan. He meant the world to me, and yet, I still killed him with my own two hands. What makes you think you stand a chance?”

Gorm scooted back in his seat, plastering himself against the back of the chair in an attempt to get away from the redheaded viking.

“You’re out of your mind, Sigurd.”

“All the more reason for you to give me what I want.”

The prisoner was quiet in response, leading Sigurd to shrug in a casual manner.

“Fine. If that’s how you wish to do things...”

The prince brought the torch’s flame to his axe, heating up the edge until it was red hot.

“W-w-wait!” Gorm exclaimed. “Wait!”

“Having second thoughts, Kjotvesson?”

“I-- look, I can’t tell you!”

Sigurd removed the axe from the fire and grinned, brandishing its scorching blade to the man.

“What’ll your father do? Kill you?”

Eivor laughed lightly, undeniably amused by Gorm’s squirming. “He’ll be lucky if he’s still alive by then.” His tone hardened. “Maybe we should string him up and leave him outside. Give him the same treatment he gave to my sister.”

Gorm shot him a glare. “Oh, you’ll join her soon enough, Wolf-Kissed. Don’t think this is over. Just because you’ve survived this long doesn’t mean--”

Sigurd pressed the axe down on his arm, causing the man to let out an anguished shout.

“Shit!” Gorm yelled, jolting violently in his restraints. The prince removed the blade after a moment and stepped back, leaving a prominent burn on the surface of his skin. 

“If you’re done barking, I’d like to hear what we came for.”

“...You’ve lost your mind, Sigurd...!” The prisoner panted out, still dazed from the pain. “I’ll kill you for this. You and your whole clan!”

The redheaded man grabbed him by the collar, yanking him closer to his face.

“Tell me where Kjotve is! Now. Unless you want me to start slicing.”

Gorm turned away from Sigurd, doing his best to avoid eye contact with him.

“I... can’t!”

“Well, you will. I don’t care what kind of threats your father has made. You will tell us what we need to know, one way or another.”

The prisoner hesitated. “But why should I? You’ll kill me anyway! I’m as good as dead no matter what I do. I may as well keep silent.”

“Because your fate has yet to be determined. Cooperate with us, and perhaps I can grant you a faster death. But if you resist, I’ll have no choice but to keep this going. So save us both the trouble, and just tell me where Kjotve is.”

Gorm trailed off into silence once again, reconsidering his approach. He still appeared reluctant to comply with Sigurd’s demands, but his eyes flicked around the room in a way that made it clear he was slowly changing his mind.

“You... you promise you’ll give me a swift death if I tell you how to find my father? Is that what you’re saying?”

Sigurd looked directly into Gorm’s gaze, taking on a more sincere tone.

“...You have my word.”

The prisoner took the answer to heart and cursed quietly under his breath, frustrated at the dilemma that had been presented to him. He knew he was dead regardless of how the future unfolded, but he wondered if there was a chance he could find mercy in the hands of a proper executioner.

“...Damn it all.” Gorm finally said. “Fine. I’ll... I’ll tell you what you want to know. But you must keep your word.”

Sigurd waited patiently for a response. “Well? Where is he?”

The other man’s head drooped in shame. “...My father is sailing west. To England.”

That took the prince by surprise. “England? What in Hel’s name is Kjotve doing all the way out there?”

“He has allies in that country,” Gorm explained. “And they’re more than just simple raiders. His allies in England are part of something far bigger than you could ever anticipate. They will destroy you if he manages to rally them in time.”

Eivor crossed his arms in thought, suddenly feeling less confident. “...Shit. He must be miles ahead of us by now.”

“Actually, he could still be within your reach. I don’t think my father has officially embarked just yet. He mentioned stopping by an island along the way; to gather food and supplies before making the journey. You could still catch him.”

Sigurd stepped away from Gorm. “Then we need to leave immediately. We can’t allow Kjotve to sail into Saxon waters. If he makes it there, we’ll have lost him for good. There’s no way we could hunt him down in English territory without sparking another war.”

Eivor brought up another subject, slowing the prince down before he could get too far ahead of himself.

“Wait, what do we do about him?” He asked, gesturing to Gorm with a jerk of the head.

Sigurd eyed the prisoner up and down, contemplating how to dispose of the man. When he first set foot in the dungeon, he had originally planned to finish Gorm off with an axe to the chest -- similar to the method he used for Dag -- but now, he was having second thoughts.

“...We’ll let my father decide.” He settled with.

Eivor had to admit, he wasn’t expecting that. “Your father?”

Sigurd took a calming breath, thinking back to his conversation with his lover earlier that day. “He’s right about me, Eivor. I’m too impulsive. If I’m going to inherit the crown someday, I must learn to wield more restraint. Gorm murdered someone from our kingdom, so my father will determine his fate in a trial. Seems only fitting, seeing as how he’s the king.”

The younger man was pleased to see that the prince had taken his advice so seriously.

“A wise choice. We should inform Styrbjorn right away, then. We have no time to lose.”

Gorm jumped back in. “Wait! What if the king doesn’t allow me a quick death like we agreed?”

“I’ll explain to him the deal we made,” Sigurd assured. “My father is a man of honor, despite some of the things he does. He will understand.” He brought his attention back to Eivor, continuing their conversation. “Anyway, could you speak to Arngeir while I find my father? If we’re going to catch Kjotve on time, we’ll need everyone to be prepared. Everyone.”

“Of course. I’ll let him know of the plan.”

“Thank you.” Sigurd walked past the Wolf-Kissed, halting in his tracks to whisper something in the man’s ear. “Meet me on the hill outside the longhouse when you’re finished. There’s something I want to show you.”

Eivor nodded, whispering back to him. “I’ll be there.”

“Then I’ll see you soon, my love. But for now, let’s just focus on preparing for the upcoming battle. This war isn’t going to get any easier in the next few days, but if we’re lucky, it’ll end soon. Kjotve is hiding just beyond the horizon. We can’t let him escape.”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd styrbjornson #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

[prettyyyboyluke]

Captain

hard volleyball coach!luke 

~ 

this was going to be one of the biggest games of our entire season. we had to win at least three games in regionals in order to make it to the championships. and luke was being way tougher than he needs to be. he always made a jab at me any chance he got, if i missed a dig, if my serve didn’t go over the net or into the net, anything that i did wrong, he made sure to let me know. it was making me so mad to the point where i would mess up everything i did. it didn’t help that there was this awkward tension between us. ever since he decided to make me captain, it was like a constant battle between us to see who the girls would listen to more. i also had to stay with him for a few days since my whole apartment building had to be renovated for some reason, and that wasn’t helping one bit.

“alright girls, wrap it up! practice is over!” luke shouted over the music. everyone stopped and began to take down the nets and shag the balls. once everything was done, we huddled in a circle so i could tell them about this weekend. “okay, we have to win at three games if we wanna make it to the championships. i’m not worried about our bracket, it’s just the last game we play is against red rocks, and you know they like to play dirty. we just need to be on our toes and ready for whatever they plan, alright?” they all agreed and began to leave the gym one by one.

i walked over to luke, he was looking over the stats and our formations. he looked down at me before speaking, “you need to get your serves under control if you want to beat red rocks, they can’t keep going out.” i rolled my eyes before responding, “it didn’t help that you kept yelling at me while i was mid-air. if you even paid attention, you’d know that only two of my serves went out.” “and how many went into the net?” luke asks, raising a brow. i didn’t respond. “that’s what i thought, now let’s go.”

we walked to his car and got in without saying another word to each other. “i’ve been thinking, since you can’t seem to wrap your head around that your serving needs improvement, that tomorrow morning i’m waking you up and we’re going to practice.” he finally speaks. i turn and look at him, “you’re kidding right? my serving needs improvement? have you seen reagan’s? she needs help! not me!” i argue. “don’t talk back to me.” luke turns and gives me a harsh glare. “no! it’s not fair to me that you call me out on this bullshit! i wasn’t doing anything wrong, my form is perfectly fine.” i argued back.

i crossed my arms and turned to look out the window. he couldn’t be serious. the amount of unnecessary training he makes me do just because i had one bad practice is not fair. if luke actually paid attention to his team, he would know that some of the other girls need his help way more than i do. “i’m not training in the morning. i have plans and i’m not cancelling them just because you think they’re bad serves.” i tell him. i could tell he was ready to explode with the way i was talking. luke was not one to take disrespectful tone, and if you talked back, you were doing the worst drills you could think of.

luke takes a deep breath and finally looks over at me, “i expect more out of you. i made you captain for a reason, but if you can’t handle it, maybe you don’t deserve it.” my mouth drops and my brows raise. “i can definitely handle it! what i can’t handle is you having a pissy attitude with me for no fucking reason!” i screamed back at him. luke’s knuckles turn white from gripping the wheel so hard, and he quickly pulls over into a dark and empty parking lot. “get in the back.” he demands. “what? no, you’re just in a shitty mood because your poor ego got damaged.” i say, crossing my arms again. “did i fucking stutter? get in the back before i make you.” he bellows.

i unbuckle my seat belt and climb over the console to the back seat. luke unbuckles his seat belt and the door on his side opens as he slides in before closing it. he moves both of the front seats up for he has more room to move. luke take’s two of the seat belts that are hanging from the ceiling and grabs my wrists before wrapping the belts around them. “i’m sick of this fucking attitude you’ve gotten recently. you’ve been nothing but disrespectful to me this past week, i might just have to bench you for the first game.” he grunts through his teeth. “you can’t do that!” i practically spit back at him.

luke raises a brow at me, “i can do whatever i fucking please, little girl. i make the rules, i run the team, do you understand me?” one of his hands grabs my throat, squeezing the sides of it lightly. i nod my head at his statement. “you better fucking answer me, with that attitude, you don’t want to piss me off even more.” “i-i understand!” i answered quickly. he takes my answer as an opportunity to start rubbing my heat with his free hand, “address me properly, and i’ll consider letting you cum.” “i understand, sir.”

luke has a satisfied smile on his face. his lips are threatening to run themselves up my neck, his breath is hot on my ear lobe when i hear him speak, “you know, you act so tough in front of everyone else, but when you’re under my touch, you’re nothing but a whiney little brat.” i buck my hips up to meet his hand once they make their way inside my spandex. he traces the band of my panties, avoiding specific areas that he knows will make me beg. “please, sir, take them off,” i whisper.

luke hums in response, “and why should i do that? go on and tell me, angel, wanna hear you beg for it.” i push my hips against his hand again, moving as much as i could for him to just brush his fingers against me. “i want them inside, please!” “don’t think you deserve it, angel, you really don’t. but, fuck, it’s so wet. why is it so wet?” he growls into my ear. “b-because of you, sir.” i stammer, arching into him. both of luke’s hands loop themselves onto the band of my spandex and slide them down my leg, leaving me exposed and ready for his use.

he takes his middle and ring finger and taps it against my lips. i gladly take them in my mouth, sucking and swirling them while maintaining eye contact. he takes them out and starts to rub generous circles on my clit. he finally slides his fingers straight into my heat, not wasting a second before he starts pumping it in and out, reaching further and further inside with each thrust. he finally hits that spot, and i let out a small little whimper, and you could practically hear his smirk on his face.

i close my eyes and let my head lean on one of my arms that are above my head. luke stops for a moment, “uh-uh, watch.” is all he says before carrying on. my eyes open and i look down to see the erotic scene happening. luke’s fingers are gliding so smoothly inside and out of me, you could practically see how soaked they were. he continues to hit the spot that makes me want to close everything around him. “please, sir, please, i’m so close,” i whisper.

luke doesn’t answer, he just carries on, adding his thumb into the mixture of things. my back arches into the air, my heat clenching down around luke’s fingers making it harder for him to move them. “right there! right there, sir. fuck, please, please, am i allowed to cum?” i whine, rolling my hips into the rhythm of his fingers. “no.” he simply answers, and then takes his fingers out. my hips buck up into the air, trying to chase that high i was feeling.

luke delivers a harsh slap on top of clit causing my legs to close. “like i said, i’d consider it. now open them back up, i’m not done with you.” luke carries on this process four more times. my cheeks are stained with tears and are crimson red. my wrists are burning from tugging them against the buckles. his fingers are constantly driving so hard and so fast into me, i could feel a bubble in my stomach that was going to burst within the next few seconds.

my legs begin to shake around his hand, hoping he can see how desperate i am for my release. i could feel that bubble start to burst, but just as it’s about to, luke removes his fingers from me, again. luke licks his fingers clean before getting back into the drivers seat and carry on driving, leaving me in the back, restrained and unable to finish myself off. “you’re fucking kidding me,” i grunt. i’m met with a harsh glare in the rear view mirror.

“every single noise that comes past those lips, i’ll be coming up with more punishments, don’t push me.”

#luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings preference #luke hemmings imagine #luke hemmings fanfic #luke hemmings 5 seconds of summer #luke hemmings 5sos smut #luke hemmings 5sos #luke hemmings #luke #lh #5 seconds of summer smut #5 seconds of summer imagine #5 seconds of summer preference #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer #5sos smut #5sos imagine #5sos preference #5sos

[adiwriting]

(gif by @darlingnotso​ <3 )

@arielana​ requested: I would love to see them actually talk about some of the moments from previous seasons that hurt or were awkward when they happened, for example ”ends with a whimper” or ”tortured lust/sup bro” (or anything else, so much tension to choose from). Not as a fight, but instead when they are cuddled up together, feeling safe, able to have a soft conversation about how they both felt and to comfort each other, realizing how far they have come, maybe able to tease each other about it even.

As always, prompts for this verse are open. Drop them in my inbox or message me  - anon is off for the time being while I wait for some hate to die down, but if you message me and want the request to remain anon, just say so and I will honor your privacy always <3 

PSA: As I stated last week, I will be putting money towards the Navajo Nation COVID-19 Relief Fund every time that I post Malex fic. If you are willing and able to help, feel free to donate as well, every small bit helps. My friend @michaels-blackhat​ also made an excellent post of other ways to help if you are unable to do so financially. 

Week 15

Alex sits between Michael’s legs on the chaise, leaning against his back as he drinks his morning coffee. The dogs are running around the yard, distracted for a change, giving them a quiet moment to themselves. Like they used to have before they adopted four dogs at once and their house had become complete chaos. Lovable chaos, a chaos that they both thrive under, but still chaos. 

“The garden looks great,” Alex comments. “Good job, babe.” 

Michael nuzzles his nose into his neck, his breath tickling Alex in the most delightful way. “Thanks, I’m thinking about building the dogs a playhouse next,” he says softly, leaving a trail of kisses. “It’s nice to have a yard.” 

“It’s nice to have somebody to tend to the yard,” he says, tilting his head to provide Micheal with greater access in his explorations. 

He’s stopped questioning all of Michael’s multiple projects a while ago. Alex just loves that he’s been making their house a home for them both. Something that’s uniquely both of theirs. It’s everything he’d hoped for when he’d bought this house. He’d been naive then and thought their path back together would be smooth. That the moment he showed up with open arms, Michael would be there waiting for him. 

Looking back, that hadn’t been fair. But Alex is glad that, despite everything, they’ve still managed to make it back to each other. 

He takes another sip of his coffee, smiling at the caramel Bailey’s that Michael had spiked it with. They’ve got nowhere to be today and it’s the perfect excuse to day drink. They’ve both had a long week between work and the latest alien drama and they deserve to spend the day doing nothing but lounging around. 

“I will happily tend to your yard whenever it’s needed,” Michael says. “Gotta make sure everything’s pristine in case Mrs. Register decides to call HOA on us again.” 

Alex freezes at the words and Michael immediately takes notice, stopping his kisses and pulling away to watch his face.

“It’s our yard,” he says carefully. 

They haven’t talked about this. Not really. Alex has been too nervous to mess up their domestic bliss with a potentially difficult conversation. After all, Michael is sleeping here every single night. It hardly seems important to get caught up on the semantics of it all. 

Except hearing Michael say ‘your’ instead of ‘our’ has a wave of panic moving through him and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t know why. 

Michael smiles at him and leans in to kiss him, but Alex pulls away before he can. 

It’s not the first time Michael has said something like this to him. Each time Alex has allowed Michael to kiss him and change the subject, brushing it away like it doesn’t matter. This time, though, it matters. 

Alex takes a deep breath, summoning all of his courage and prays he’s not about to ruin things between them. “Why do you always tell people you don’t live here.” 

“Um…” Michael looks away, shifting in his seat. Alex scoots back and sits on the edge of the chaise so that they can look at each other properly. “Because I don’t?” 

The words sting and Alex’s immediate impulse is to push back. To come back with biting words of his own and retain some power in the conversation. But those are old habits that got them nowhere in life, and they’ve both been working actively on doing better. He swallows down several mean and unhelpful retorts, before it processes in his mind that Michael isn’t looking at him with any spite.

Michael is playing with the fraying hem of his sweatpants. His shoulders are squared like he’s ready for war, but his eyes tell a different story. He’s nervous and insecure. He’s not preparing to go to battle, he’s bracing himself for bad news. 

Alex scoots closer and reaches out to place his hand on top of Michael’s. “You’re going to ruin those sweatpants if you keep pulling on that thread.” 

Michael looks up at him, and while he doesn’t reach out for Alex, he doesn’t stop Alex when he reaches to hold his hand properly with one hand, and threads his fingers through his hair with the other. In fact, he leans into the touch. 

“I consider this place as much yours as it is mine,” he says, knowing that Michael has to feel the same, at least to some degree. After all, he’s spent the last 3 months making this place into a home that works for both of them. Taking complete ownership of all the upgrades. 

Or maybe Alex was wrong. Maybe the fact that Michael has been constantly working to remodel the house is because he doesn’t feel at home here. There’s a twisting feeling in his gut that used to send him running for the hills, but he doesn’t do that anymore. He doesn’t run away from hard things. 

“You never asked me to move in with you,” Michael says pointedly. 

Alex snorts, dropping his hand from Michael’s hair. “That’s because you already live here. All of your things are here—”

“Not all of them,” he interrupts, defensively. 

Alex just keeps going. “And you already sleep here every night.” 

“That’s because it’s easier for you to move around here than the airstream with your crutches and all,” he argues. “Plus, the dogs need a fenced-in yard.”

“Michael,” Alex says, seriously. He waits a moment or two before Michael meets his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to move in with me because you were already here every night. It didn’t seem necessary.” 

“Is that the only reason?” he asks. 

Michael stares at him and it’s moments like this that he’s convinced Michael has the same psychic abilities as Isobel. He’s always able to see right through him. It was unnerving at first, but Alex has learned to appreciate it. He has somebody to call him on his bullshit. 

“I guess I was scared to ask because I didn’t want you to say no and lose all of this,” he admits. 

“Why would I say no?” Michael asks, not unkind but clearly confused. 

“Why would you say yes?” The words come out of his mouth faster than he can think and when he realizes what he’s just said, he’s positive that he’s just opened up a much bigger can of worms than simply a conversation about where Michael gets his mail delivered. 

Michael looks at him like he’s a dumbass. 

“Because I’m already here,” he says a fond smile growing slowly on his face. He tugs on Alex’s hand until he practically falls into Michael’s lap. They shift around until they are both comfortable, Alex with his head in Michael’s lap and Michael with his hands in Alex’s hair. 

“Does this ever feel temporary to you?” Alex asks, his voice barely a whisper, but Michael hears him just fine. 

“Like we’re living in a glass house?” he asks. Alex nods and Michael says, “Yeah.” 

“Why?” he asks, frustrated for the both of them. “We both know that we love each other.” 

Michael shrugs and leans his head back to look at the sky. “I guess I’ve never had anything permanent before. Or unconditional.” 

“You’ve had Max and Isobel,” he says. Alex’s own thoughts and feelings about Isobel and Max’s behavior towards Michael after Rosa died aside, Alex knows that they love their brother unconditionally. 

“Yeah, that’s different though,” Michael argues, and Alex almost misses it when he adds, “They’ve never left.” 

The defensive part of him nearly brings up the fact that Max died and left Michael to pick up the pieces, but that wouldn’t be fair nor would that help their relationship. They are supposed to be communicating. Alex has been working with his therapist on how to talk through his feelings without feeling the need to throw his walls up. 

“I’m not leaving,” is what he says instead, because it’s what Michael needs to hear.  

“I know,” Michael says quickly. 

“Do you?” he asks, watching Michael’s face carefully. 

“I do,” he says with a soft smile. “In my heart I do know that.” 

“But?” Alex asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. Alex feels it sometimes, too. On his worst days when his insecurity gets the best of him, he starts questioning how long this can really last. 

“I guess it’s hard to trust that I’m worthy of it,” he says. 

Though it’s the answer that Alex expected, actually hearing the words shatters Alex’s heart. He knows that Michael has a laundry list of traumas that lead to him feeling insecure, but the fact that he’s contributed to that list actually breaks his heart. 

“I know that we never apologized for the things that happened before,” he says. 

Michael shakes his head. “We didn’t need to. We wiped the slate clean and promised to look forward together and do better.” 

“We did,” he says carefully, choosing his words wisely because he’s never been very good at conveying what he wants to say in a way that Michael can actually hear. “But maybe we should have talked about it first.” 

“Okay…” 

Michael squirms around in his seat like he wants to be done with this conversation, but his eyes tell a different story and that’s when Alex knows that he’s right. It had been easy when they first were getting together to just look ahead and stop keeping score. But pretending like they’ve never hurt each other in the past and aren’t perfectly capable of hurting each other again in the future if they aren’t careful was the easy answer. It allowed both of them to avoid a difficult conversation where they would have to face some pretty ugly truths about themselves. 

“You know all those times I walked away were never about you,” Alex tells him. 

“Weren’t they?” Michael says with a scoff. “You’re a decorated airman and I’m a criminal.” 

Alex sits up, angry at the words coming out of Michael’s mouth. 

“You’re not a criminal,” he says sharply. It doesn’t matter who is talking badly about Michael, even if it’s Michael himself — especially if it’s Michael himself — Alex is always going to get defensive. 

Michael gives him a knowing look and Alex deflates. “When I said that, I was out of line. I didn’t mean it.” 

“You meant it,” Michael says, eyes trained on the game of tug of war that Wendy and Peter are playing so he doesn’t have to look at Alex. 

“Maybe I did,” he relents. “But I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I was just frustrated.” 

“With me,” Michael says, always so quick to confirm whatever self-deprecating narrative he tells himself and Alex hates that. 

“No, that what happened with my dad unraveled your entire future,” he argues. “I felt so guilty for the fact that you didn’t become some brilliant engineer. I was mad at myself that I let my dad destroy your life.”

“What happened in that tool shed didn’t destroy my life, Noah did,” Michael says, tears filling his eyes. “Project Shepard did. Years of abusive foster homes did.” 

“I know that now,” he says. 

Michael opens his mouth a few times to speak, but closes it each time, shaking his head. Alex doesn’t say anything. Since adopting Bell, he’s been reading a lot about how to help animals that have been through severe trauma. He’s been surprised to find that so much of the literature relates to his own needs coming from an abusive home. He’s come to realize that both Michael and he have their own unique way of reacting to the trauma in their lives and those reactions, while they align nicely at times, often push against each other. 

This isn’t the time for Alex to force an answer out of Michael in an effort to gain the control that he feels he needs to be able to breathe. Alex needs to wait for Michael to come to him. He needs time. 

Bell comes over to them and Michael sits back so that she can jump onto the chaise with them and curl up between them. They both reach out to pet her, hands touching in the process and the smile that Michael gives him helps assure Alex that everything is going to be okay. Even as they discuss the ugliest parts of their relationship, there’s a trust there that Alex has never experienced before. 

Michael isn’t going anywhere. He never has. Even when things between them were at their worst, they still somehow always knew they could rely on each other. 

So Alex lets go of his need to control the conversation and refuses to allow his brain to start coming up with strategies on how to handle whatever Michael is going to throw at him. He just waits. Waits and trusts. 

“After you left that summer, I was really angry,” Michael finally says. “And I stayed mad for a long time. I used to hate that you could just show up, whenever you wanted and get whatever you wanted, and yet, I never seemed to get what I wanted.” 

Alex takes a deep breath, biting his tongue on the words that could so easily tumble out of his mouth right now. Nothing Michael is saying is untrue, it’s just bias. He doesn’t have the entire story, and that’s not Michael’s fault. That’s Alex’s fault. 

“I never got what I wanted either,” he says with tears in his eyes. “I wanted you. I wanted this.” He gestures around at the home that he thought they were building together. That he hopes they still are building together. 

“I know that now,” Michael says, repeating his words back to him with a soft smile. 

“I know that you were just being defensive because you needed to guard your heart and couldn’t trust me to stay… but when I first came back, the way you would speak to me sometimes just broke my heart,” Alex admits. “I fell in love with a boy who would whisper the cheesiest romantic lines in my ear, and I came home to a man who was sarcastic and bitter and looking to hurt me.” 

“I think we both were looking to hurt each other at times and knew exactly which button to press,” Michael says. “I’m not proud of how I acted when you first came home.” 

“You can be proud of some of it,” Alex teases, trying to lighten the mood since Michael’s face is starting to look too sad for his liking. 

“Like the reunion kiss?” 

“That was a good kiss,” he says, remembering how relieved he had been when Michael had finally reached out and taken what both of them wanted but Alex didn’t know how to ask for. “Or that time you told me you never look away.” 

Michael shakes his head making a face. “I don’t like that memory.” 

“Why?” he wonders. 

There aren't a whole lot of memories when Alex first came back to Roswell that he’d describe as happy, but pretty much everything from Michael telling him he never looks away right up until Isobel had shown up with those damn bagels, Alex holds pretty close to his heart. 

“Do you really feel like I’m the one that looks away?” he asks with a deep frown. “Like I was the one to leave back then?” 

“You never even said goodbye.” Alex isn’t trying to start a fight here, but Michael has to get that he’s the one that pushed first. 

“I was in jail,” he says defensively. 

“You got locked up on purpose,” Alex says, not letting go of this one. It’s one of the pains that has fed a large chunk of his Michael related insecurities. That Michael didn’t care enough about him to give him a goodbye. That perhaps Michael hadn’t loved him as much as he’d told Alex he did. 

“I didn’t know how to say goodbye to you,” Michael says, grabbing his hand over Bell, his eyes imploring him to understand. “My entire life was falling apart and you were the only good thing I had… Then you told me that you were leaving me and you never even explained why. You just said it like it was no big deal and I had all of 36 hours to adjust to the news that you were shipping off.” 

“I didn’t say I was leaving you. I told you I was leaving,” he corrects him. 

“Same thing.” 

“I would have made it work,” he said. “To keep you, I would have done long distance.” 

Michael shakes his head. “No, Alex. You wouldn’t have.” 

“I would have tried,” he argues. 

“Really? You would have risked everything with your dad and Don’t Ask Don’t Tell? You would have risked that all for me?” Michael says with disbelief.  

Alex sighs, thinking back to what things were like for them back then. Perhaps Michael is right. Maybe he was too broken and scared back then to fight for what he wanted. But he’s not that boy anymore. 

“I wanted to. I wanted you. I just… I couldn’t deal with everything,” he admits. Michael reaches over to wipe a tear from Alex’s cheek. “I’m willing to risk everything for you now though.” 

“I know,” Michael says, thumb caressing his cheek lovingly. “I know you are and I love you for it.” 

“I wish I had been braver back then,” Alex says. 

“Hey, we’re here now, right?” he says, and Alex is so grateful that they are at this point in their relationship where they can talk about these things without it dissolving into a huge fight. But still, it doesn’t change the fact that not talking about all of their past has led to both of them feeling insecure in their relationship. 

Alex leans over Bell to give Michael a sweet kiss. When they break apart, Michael has that look on his face like he wants to say more but isn’t sure he should. 

“What?” 

“Was I really that bad?” Michael asks. “I mean, I know I was getting into fights, but I was getting into fights with the town bigots. It’s not like you never punched any of those assholes. And I was stealing because I couldn't go to the doctor and I couldn’t afford medical supplies. But I was never violent around you. The worst I ever did around you was smoke weed, and half the time you were the one supplying it.” 

Alex debates how to explain it to Michael in a way that he’ll understand. Even now, with some distance and time, he’s not entirely sure that he was seeing things clearly back then. To Alex, it didn’t matter that he rarely saw Michael drunk and out of control, or that he never actually saw him in any of the fights around town. He heard about each of them. 

And each time he would hear about it, all he could think about was his dad, who would come home to get drunk most nights and with each drink his abuse would shift from emotional to physical. He didn’t want to stick around and see how long it would take for Michael to escalate. 

Now, he knows that Michael never would have. He knows that Michael has spent his entire life learning to control his temper and his powers. That he never drinks enough to lose control. That he never lets himself get violent with anyone unless they’ve said something hateful about somebody he cares about. Michael is soft and good. He’s not the kind of man who thrives under anger and violence. 

But how was Alex supposed to know that at the time? All he’d ever known was anger and violence. 

“You weren’t the only one who never had anything permanent or unconditional,” he says instead. “I didn’t know what I was doing either. Or how to help. And I didn’t know how to handle the guilt I felt around you for what happened with my dad. I think… I think it was easier for me to run.” 

“Run off to war,” Michael says, giving him a look that has Alex rolling his eyes. 

“Yes, I see the irony, thanks,” he says, rubbing at his leg. “It’s not like my dad gave me much choice in the matter.” 

“So he forced you into it?” Michael asks. “When I asked you if your dad was making you do it, you brushed me off. Gave me some bullshit line about finding your own power.” 

“My dad told me that I was either going to enlist or I would be cut off completely,” he said. “Those had been my options since junior year when I started looking at colleges. I was prepared to be cut off. But after Rosa died and Liz left and you started spiraling… I just didn’t feel like I had anyone.” 

“You had Maria.” 

“Maria was never leaving Roswell. And I sure as hell wasn’t staying. So I enlisted,” he says. “I know it must sound stupid to you, the fact that I didn’t know how to survive without my dad’s money… But I didn’t. And I still really wanted his approval for some stupid reason. I felt like… Like maybe if I enlisted…” 

“Like he would finally love you,” Michael finishes for him. 

Alex nods. “I know you think I’m stupid for giving him so many chances to be a decent human being.”

Michael looks like he’s about to give an angry retort of his own, but swallows it down. “I should never have called you stupid that day, I was just frustrated,” Michael says. “I’m just not like you. People suck and the world is overwhelmingly awful. My anger does make me feel safe. It’s what fuels my power. I don’t know how to let it go and I’m not sure I want to.” 

“You don’t have to,” Alex says quickly. “I mean I do hope that you eventually will. Because anger is bad for your health and I’m assuming that is true whether you’re human or alien. But it’s not fair for me to criticize your healing process. We both have a lot of trauma in our backgrounds. And we survived this long because we each came up with different coping mechanisms to get through. We shouldn’t judge each other or expect each other to deal with things in the same way.” 

“Did Dr. Celan tell you that during your last checkup with Bell?” Michael asks with a teasing smile, wiping away the tears from his eyes before Alex has a chance to. 

“Hey, dog trauma and people trauma isn’t that different,” Alex argues. 

John comes walking over to them and collapses on the ground beside them, whining in the way he always does. 

“Guess it’s probably time to get them back inside in the air conditioning,” Michael says, leaning down to pick John up and hold him against his chest. 

Alex looks across the yard to where Wendy and Peter are currently harassing a poor rabbit. “Wendy! Peter! Leave that thing alone!” Alex calls after them. 

“Let ‘em. That damn rabbit is going to destroy the garden,” Michael complains. 

“Yeah and the moment those two idiots bring a dead bloody rabbit to the door, I’m going to lose my mind,” he says. 

“You’ve been to war and a dead rabbit is too much?” Michael teases.  

“What if they eat it?” 

“You worry too much,” Michael says, standing up and walking towards the door, whistling for the kids to come inside. 

“Says the dad who literally carries that one everywhere,” Alex says, grabbing his crutch so that he can follow everyone into the house. 

“He gets cold,” Michael says defensively, covering John’s little ears as if his feelings might get hurt. “And his legs get tired.” 

Alex smiles at him fondly, rolling his eyes. Michael is ridiculous but he loves him for it. Seeing Michael with the dogs has only increased Alex’s desire to see Michael with a baby. With their baby. But they shouldn’t get too ahead of themselves. First, he has to convince Michael to move in. 

“So, back to the original topic,” he says. 

“Which was?” Michael asks, distracted as he puts John down in the kitchen in front of his water bowl. 

“Moving in with me.” 

Michael stands up and gives him an amused smile. “Are you asking?” 

Alex lets out an annoyed huff at Michael being deliberately obtuse, because he knows that Alex isn’t always the best with his words. But if Michael wants to hear him say it, he can do that. 

“Michael Guerin, will you move in with me,” he asks. 

Michael beams at him, moving to stand in front of him and place his hands on Alex’s waist. “Of course. I was waiting for you to ask.” 

“I want you here,” Alex assures him. “Always.” 

Alex leans in and captures Michael’s lips with his own, tasting the coffee and Baileys on Michael’s lips as well. His hand slides up Michael’s sides as they shift closer together and deepen the kiss. He holds onto his crutch with his hand, feeling unsteady, but trusting Michael to make sure he doesn’t fall. His hand moves around his shoulder until it finally finds its way into his beautiful curls. Their tongues slide against each other as they both pull one another closer, Alex feeling Michael support his weight with his telekinesis, so that he doesn’t have to cling so tightly to the crutch. Alex’s hand moves to pull at the drawstring of Michael’s sweatpants when Michael pulls back. 

“Before we change the subject completely,” Michael says, sounding out of breath, which gives Alex endless satisfaction. “Can I tell you something?” 

Alex nods. 

“I’m not angry all of the time,” he says. 

Alex gives him a confused look. Unsure what he’s getting at. 

“You said that you want me to let go of my anger and I said that I wasn’t sure that I wanted to,” he says. Alex nods. He remembers. “I’m not angry all of the time.” 

“Okay...” 

“I’m not angry when I’m here with you. With the dogs. I’m actually pretty content,” he admits. 

Watching the way that Michael smiles at him, Alex is pretty sure that he understands exactly what Michael is talking about — He’s never been more content in his life.

Tagged: @callieramics​ @redstalkingdeath​ @alexmaanes​

#fic: sunday mornings #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #domestic bliss

[raisansgrapeon]

My Views on Some of the Cast of the DSMP

We got a lot of things flying left, right, and center right now about characters in the dream smp fandom and I love it. I love seeing the perspectives and the stances and everyone's opinions as long as we're all being civil about it. So, I'm civilly putting in my two cents about... Well... Everything. But mainly just Ghostbur, Phil, and Techno since this post would get obscenely long if I did everyone.

I'd like to just say one thing about my approach to this story:

The characters are morally ambiguous. No one is the good guy. No one is the bad guy. No one is an exception.

Yes, even Dream falls under this.

These are all people, and I always hesitate to call people bad or good in real life because there is so much more beyond what I can see of them, and I think it's a testament to the wonderful acting, improv, writing, and character establishment/writing that it can get me to see fictional block men who do things like claim their mother is a salmon and fill their palaces with flamingos as people.

With that information, I say that I love every character for who they are in the context of the narrative and how they play their role in said narrative.

And I love how each and every one of them are in the wrong somehow in some way.

Ghostbur is suffering the loss of everything he built, technically, a fourth time over.

First with Dream's initial explosion of L'Manburg, second with the actual explosion of L'Manburg, third with the explosion of Logstedshire, and finally with the final explosion of L'Manburg. He's hurting and yes, we all feel immensely bad for this little amnesiac ghost boy who only ever wrote books and built what he loved.

But he acknowledges that he's also hurt people. He knows that. That's why he wants to be resurrected. Even if he forgets conversations, impressions and residual feelings and ideas still hold over, since he clearly didn't just forget about his desire to be resurrected after he forgot his spat with Phil. He recontextualizes his desires and feelings under new sources but the idea of, this is the only way I can make everyone feel better, still lingers. Fundy told him that he needed to stop running away from his problems and face them. He may have forgotten that conversation, but the idea that who he is and what Ghostbur, as an entity, represents is hurting everyone, lingers.

Ghostbur has hurt people. Not of malicious intent, but intent does not dictate the feelings and actions of those around you in response to your own actions. Ghostbur uses his blue to forget his sorrows, and that action cuts those around him off from the emotional reconciliation Ghostbur knows they need from him.

Even then, who he is is not primed to deal with the fallout that would come if he even had voluntary control over his amnesia. Ghostbur insists he's not Alivebur, but he kinda is in a way. Both are very rigid in their beliefs when their mind is made up. There is no negotiation afterwards. Ghostbur's fundamental ideals have been locked in from the start of his existence. He makes others happy, and he restores L'Manburg. The idea that he no longer has the capability to do either of these things as he is now lingers without context. A ghost of a conversation forgotten that got held onto as the only good thing to come out of it.

Ghostbur is not 100% good. He's airheaded and well meaning, but he's never addressed the core issues that he caused.

Phil is trying to prevent what happened to his son from ever happening again.

Phil is a bigger picture man. He sees the world around him as a collective that works together to maintain itself. He doesn't have many personal ties beyond Techno and Wilbur in canon. He truly acts like a third-party hanging above the fray watching as the tides of war ebb and flow. He sees the corruption and sickness that lies within L'Manburg that killed his son thrive long after the mad king had been struck down. He held hope that in the wake of tragedy, Tubbo and the citizens would turn the tides, but they proved him wrong. What killed his son tried to kill his friend, and Phil was going to stop it.

But Phil was too zoomed out to see the personal aspect that L'Manburg held. He was too focused of the bigger picture to remember that Friend was in his house. He couldn't see L'Manburg as the home of many. He was still too detached from the feelings of the people to understand why Ghostbur was upset in the first place. The conversation between the two was not about Phil trying to get Ghostbur to understand why L'Manburg needed to go, it was Ghostbur trying to get Phil to understand why this was not the right option.

Philza has hurt people. He hurt his son by not only aiding in the destruction of his son's home and Friend, but also refusing to see the individuals in the conflict. He hurt Fundy by rejecting him the moment he realized that his grandson was following the tide of battle in the wrong direction. In the end, Phil never chose to see the situation from any other perspective other than his own.

He's disjointed and disconnected from the world around him. He truly loves and cares for two, at one point three, people on the server canonically and beyond that is an ambiguous blur. This isn't really his battle, in all honesty. He came when he saw that Wil was gonna do something everyone would regret, and he tried to step in and stop it, but beyond that, he was never there for anything. He never cared about L'Manburg and he never cared about its people. He's kind and caring to those in passing and he has a sense of nobility and honor where he respects and helps those who helped him. Still, he sees the world around him as a collective, and rarely anything more.

Philza is not 100% good, but he's not 100% bad. He's principled and intelligent, but he has no concept of how his actions affect the individual beyond the collective.

Techno has been abandoned and played like a fiddle this whole time.

Technoblade is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the most straightforward character in the smp in terms of motivation. He is explicit and blatant about his anarchy and goals. Yet, somehow, everyone keeps falling into the thought that Techno is a naturally passive force that can be activated into action. In actuality, Techno is very proactive. He prepares and plans beyond wartime. He acts swiftly and precisely. He follows Sun Tzu's tenants faithfully. He does not idle and sticks to his most recent plan to a T if he thinks he can win.

But Techno doesn't see outside himself. He knows what works for him but is blind to others' needs and desires. Anarchy is how Techno can live comfortably, but not everyone can and certainly not everyone in the server. He plays by his rules and rational and imposes those thoughts onto others, not understanding when they act contrary to his understanding and thus rules them to being irrational on purpose. That they just want to ruin his life.

Techno has hurt people and we all know this. Everyone here believes that Techno betrayed them not when he wouldn't join their government, but when he wouldn't leave well enough alone. He did that too late. If he had conceded at the end of the Manburg-Pogtopia war that he did what he was called to do and just left for retirement in the first place, he could've lived just fine. But he's proactive, and he felt betrayed by them when they instantly instilled not only a new leader, but one under the same format and structure that had already failed twice. But who ever said that was his problem?

Techno, as well as everyone but especially Techno, sees himself as the one in the right all the time. He doesn't regret a single thing he's done, at least not anywhere I've seen. He is sure in his beliefs, lifestyle, principles, and logic. He enforces these on other's and sees them as ignorant and dumb for thinking different to him. It takes a lot for him to let bygones be bygones, and it's easy to provoke him into action. Albeit, none of this is helped by the literal chorus of voices constantly memeing in his head, but my point still stands.

Technoblade is not 100% bad, nor is he 100% good. He's motivated and honest, but he doesn't think about other's preferences having the possibility of having a logic behind them.

I could go on and on with nearly every main player in this story but this is what I have off the top of my head.

Basically: no one is good. No one is bad. They all make mistakes as a result of their flaws and those mistakes negatively affect real people in real ways. And I wouldn't have them act any other way.

Your favorite doesn't need to be a saint. You don't have to bend over backwards to defend your fave in order to make them the morally correct person in any given situation. Let yourself love a rich, flawed character. Because they deserve to be loved for their flaws and all.

They deserve to be loved as people.

#ghostbur #technoblade #philza #ph1lza #wilbur soot #philza minecraft #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp wilbur #dsmp philza #dsmp techno #dream smp writing #character analysis #dream smp analysis #dream smp doomsday #dream smp spoilers

[bltngames]

Review: Hotshot Racing

(For this review, Hotshot Racing was played on the Nintendo Switch and the Personal Computer)

If you were to ask me what the most important features of a racing game are, somewhere near the top of the list would be artificial intelligence. Racing games are one of those genres, like fighting games or shooters, where simulating how real human people play the game is vital to the experience. They are inherently multiplayer concepts, even if you’re playing by yourself.

Focus on multiplayer artificial intelligence has waned over the last 15 years. With the rise of the premium multiplayer subscription, it’s more important than ever before to drive players to play matches with flesh-and-blood human beings online. Thus, advancements in “bot” (simulated human player) development hasn’t just slowed down, but in some cases actively regressed. Epic Games, once home to some of the smartest, most robust first person shooter bots in Unreal Tournament, now features bots in their popular Fortnite Battle Royale that fumble around the map with low attention spans and aim like they're blindfolded.

Humans are hard to simulate. The basic functions of a player are easy to emulate -- navigation, aiming, and so on, but it’s the organic logic underneath that proves to be the primary challenge. Humans have lapses in judgement. Humans make mistakes. Mistakes compound on other mistakes. A person wins or loses a given game because of a constantly cascading sequence of decisions, all feeding in to and out of themselves. Whether they realize it or not, every individual person is their own infinite web of chaos. For a computer, which operates in a binary of either perfect success or total failure, no amount of processing power can make for an accurate duplication.

As such, artificial intelligence has to “cheat.” Flaws are introduced into the simulation in order to throw the player a bone. Intelligence almost doesn’t even enter the equation; instead, it’s more about developing a bot that the player simply believes is human, like some kind of a magic trick. It’s a tight balancing act -- if the bot is too good, it looks like an unfeeling terminator. On the opposite, well… compare my Fortnite example up above. There’s a sweet spot that must be hit: smart, but not too smart. Dumb, but not too dumb. It’s easier said than done.

Racing games are a special category here. On top of simulating a human, they must also simulate an automobile, with all of its physical interactions. Tire friction, suspension bounce, weight distribution, and horsepower efficiency just to start. I’d argue that this lends to a much greater tendency for natural mistakes to occur, as the two different simulations (vehicle and player) interact and bounce off of each other. This has led to racing games relying on a handicap known as “rubberbanding.” Essentially, if the player is doing a little too well, the game will start giving tiny advantages to the computer-controlled racer. A boost to top speed, a reduction in weight to improve handling, whatever it takes to ensure the player does not remain unchallenged for very long.

Which finally, at long last, brings us to Hotshot Racing. Developed by Lucky Mountain Games, with assistance by Sumo Digital, it attempts to capitalize on the growing faux-retro-3D trend. It promises visuals to remind you of Sega’s Virtua Racing or Namco’s Ridge Racer, but with decidedly modern vehicle physics and a bit more content than any of those old games could muster.

It honestly makes for a weird first impression. This is a retro-looking game that does not feel like any retro racing game I’ve ever played. Some would undoubtedly argue that’s for the better; like with most sports games, there’s this sense that more simulation is always better. Even modern “arcade” racers like Need for Speed or Wreckfest run pretty robust physics simulations under their hoods, even if they do not necessarily adhere to the rules of reality. But I’ve honestly never seen a problem with this -- I will readily go back to something like Daytona USA or even Stunt Race FX on the Super Nintendo, and never feel especially bothered by their primitive simulations. To me, racing is often more about the sense of speed, how well the controls respond, and the track design than any notion of feeling “realistic.”

That’s not to say it’s really a negative that cars in Hotshot Racing have some vague facsimile of modern weight and “realism” applied to their driving physics, I guess. It’s just something that takes a little bit of getting used to, because seeing these cars drift and sway like the racing games of today is a little anachronistic to the era being called back to. If you still burn a candle for the eventual release of the long-lost Kickstarter darling “90’s Arcade Racer,” know that this isn’t that game. I think it’s fair to say it’s trying to scratch a similar itch, but it’s doing so in a very different way.

One of the more important things Hotshot Racing brings to the table is a roster of personalities to race as and against. When you think of characters in a racing game, your mind probably more naturally gravitates towards something like Mario Kart or some other similarly kid-friendly cartoon racing franchise. For most "serious" racing games, your opponents are unknowable, faceless competitors, but Hotshot gives them voices and identities. Every character in the game has a garage of four cars unique to them, in addition to having their own story to tell. It’s nothing especially deep; most plot manifests in a single cutscene played at the end of a given grand prix, sort of like what you'd get for finishing arcade mode in a game like Street Fighter 2. It’s just a snippet, a taste of what motivated these people and what they’re going to do after winning, but it’s enough.

It goes back to what I said earlier, and how it’s important for the player to believe the artificial intelligence is more than just a computer. Making the racers into characters, with identifiable personalities, faces, and dialog goes a long way to fleshing things out and makes you connect with what’s going on just a little bit better. Or at least, that’s how things would work in theory.

The problem is… well, none of that matters. Put simply, the actual artificial intelligence you race against kind of sucks. In fact, it’s hard to even call them competitors, because your opponents seem to be running a different race where you straight up don’t exist. During any given event, your rival computer drivers seem to be totally blind to your presence, as they will spend the entire race trying to drive straight through you. I don’t know how else to explain it. This isn’t a simple case where the computer drivers are a little aggressive, because they usually aren’t racing to be destructive. They never seem to specifically go out of their way to attack, they just don’t seem to be able to see where you are, and make no effort to react to your presence. You happen to be in their way, so they plow through from behind, ram from the side, and generally just knock you around as if you were invisible.

A side effect to this is something I’ve started noticing in games that bear the Sumo Digital name: computer drivers can hit you way harder than you can hit them back. Whether rubbing against a rival car or engaging in a full-on collision, computer drivers always seem to be able to overpower player vehicles no matter what. In Hotshot Racing, I’ve encountered multiple scenarios where a computer driver shoves me around with little effort, but any attempts to return the favor and my car may as well be made out of styrofoam for how little impact there is. I know Sumo Digital only assisted Lucky Mountain Games on the back half of developing Hotshot Racing, but this has been a consistent element I’ve noticed in Sumo’s Sonic Racing games, too. The computer can be as aggressive (or as blind) as they want, but human players are never allowed to retaliate in a way that feels meaningful.

The worst, by far, is what I mentioned earlier: rubberbanding. “First place” in Hotshot Racing is an often endless war of attrition, where no matter how fast you drive, there are always cars nipping at your heels. Hotshot Racing has a boost system, wherein by drifting or drafting you charge up a segmented meter. Once a segment is full, you can burn it for a burst of speed. I’ve spent 2, 3, even 4 consecutive boosts in a row and the same three opponents were still right behind me, aiming to blindly smash my car out of the way. Hard, medium, or easy mode, it doesn’t matter. They are always there, just a few feet from your rear bumper, magically closing the distance to constantly steal your lead.

From a game design perspective, I understand why rubberbanding exists. It’s to keep the player feeling challenged and engaged. Spending too long in first place going unopposed can start to feel boring. Some game designers view that as a turn off. Races are meant to be battles. At the same time, being able to totally shut out my opponents and gain huge leads makes me feel good. Hotshot Racing robs you of that sense of total domination because of some artificial rule of competitiveness. It’s not that the computer-controlled racers are better than you; they don’t seem to race with any sort of great care or skill. Instead, they catch up and pass you strictly because the Hand of God bends the rules to accommodate them. That doesn’t feel very challenging and it certainly doesn’t feel fair.

That being said, the pseudo-realistic physics mentioned earlier do have their own downside: I found it a little too easy to lose control of my vehicle and spin out. If you brush against a wall wrong or get bumped by a rival during a drift, you often find yourself in a tailspin and unable to recover. Combined with the blind artificial intelligence and the rubberbanding, you have a recipe for getting frustrated. I want to feel confident in my losses, not because I couldn’t predict what Mr. Magoo was going to do next. To add insult to injury, the rubberbanding only gets more prominent as you move up in difficulty, so expect to get spun out more and more as you progress through the game.

There also isn’t a lot to do with your vehicles, either. For many, tuning is an important aspect of racing games, going all the way back to 1989’s “Super Off Road” in the arcades. No upgrade path is available for any of the vehicles in Hotshot Racing, with a basic unlock system geared towards limited cosmetic tweaks. There's tons of tracks to race on, and you constantly earn currency for winning races, but I never cared about spending any of it, because there wasn't much worth buying. Arguably the specific mid-90′s era that Hotshot Racing is aiming at wasn’t really heavy on upgrading or modifying around vehicle stats, but neither were they focused on visual customization either, so it does feel a little arbitrary what they chose to modernize about this experience and what is intended to be a retro tribute.

Beyond standard racing, Hotshot does offer a few alternative modes, but none of them are spotlight features. “Barrel Barrage” has you earning an explosive barrel to drop behind you at every checkpoint until the track becomes a minefield. “Drive or Explode” takes the concept of 1994’s “Speed” and straps a bomb to your car that will explode if you slow down for too long. Finally, “Cops & Robbers” is a confusing push-and-pull where you must steal money as a robber and alternatively wreck other racers as a police officer. Of the three modes, “Drive or Explode” is the clear winner, as it most easily fits into the standard three-lap structure the game centers around. “Barrel Barrage” is merely okay, and benefits more from an increased number of laps, as things slowly get more and more dangerous as you progress. These modes would also benefit if I didn’t get thrown back to the menu after every race; they really needed some kind of Grand-Prix-style playlist.

“Cops & Robbers” deserves its own entire paragraph for what a weird idea it is. It’s less about stealing and arresting and has more in common with the “zombie” modes seen in other games, where everyone gets converted to a specific team until there are no more players left. The idea is that you start with a pot of money that slowly depletes, and you have to race to the next checkpoint to cash out. The faster you get there and the higher amounts you cash out with, the more the cops specifically will target you. Once they wreck your car, you become one of the cops, and it’s your job to wreck the remaining robbers until they all become part of the cop team. Once all the robbers become cops, winners are tallied based on who stole the most money. On paper, this works, because it plays into the game’s slap-happy nature, but in practice I would find myself miles ahead of my fellow robbers and once I finally switched over to a cop, I had to slam on my brakes and wait for everyone else to catch up. By then, the computer-controlled cops had usually done most of my work for me and I lost for... being a better robber than a cop, somehow? It left a lot to be desired.

All of these modes can be played online, where presumably human players would make them more balanced and fun, but finding random pick-up games proved difficult in the time I spent with Hotshot Racing. Now, to be fair, I didn’t try especially hard -- racing games have always been a single player experience for me, as should be obvious by my spiel on artificial intelligence. But I did spend a couple nights trying to match into an online “Quick Race” on the Switch, where I universally came up empty handed. On the PC version of Hotshot Racing (which I received as part of a Humble Bundle), the application completely froze upon trying to start a “Quick Race” lobby, forcing me to ALT+F4 to close the game. For what it’s worth, the Switch version does also include a “local multiplayer” option for playing wirelessly with friends in the same room, and all versions support traditional split-screen.

Despite all of these shortcomings, I just can’t bring myself to hate Hotshot Racing, and it’s hard to pinpoint why. I’m definitely in love with this aesthetic -- the retro visuals, the upbeat music, the blue, blue skies (that I see), it all appeals to a certain part of my brain that likes razor-sharp, ultra-clean polygons. The introduction of named racers with backstories and character-specific “endings” is a really smart, fun idea. I just wish it was more fun to actually, like… run a race in this game. I understand the necessity behind concepts like rubberbanding, but it feels like the artificial intelligence cheats just a little too much, and as a player I don’t feel like I can do a lot to fight back. Running a good race isn’t always good enough.

Some games deliberately incite a feeling of disempowerment in their players, and that can be a totally valid design decision. But should that really be the goal of this kind of racing game? I guess I don’t have an answer for that, but I do know that I probably won’t be going back to Hotshot Racing very often.

#writing #review #hotshot racing #lucky mountain games #sumo digital #artificial intelligence #racing apex