#chronicles of fic writing

[asliceofzosan]

Sanji is a lightweight.

He can't hold his liquor for shit despite his failed attempts to hide it from everyone else. The signs are obvious — the flushed cheeks, the hooded eyes, and the constant smile on his face that remains even if he's not talking to a lady. He prances around the room, socializing and laughing at every little thing, from the cool summer breeze tickling his cheeks to Usopp's tamest of wild stories.

He's also very physically affectionate. When he'd usually reject a hug from Luffy's impossibly long outstretched arms, intoxicated Sanji would welcome the embrace with glee. Chopper is rained with little kisses on his head every time he does anything remarkably cute (which is all the time). And he's seen playing with Robin's fingers absentmindedly as he listens to her talk about the ancient history of a forgotten world.

But there's also one thing Sanji becomes when he's had one too many drinks in his system...

He gets... honest.

Sanji on a normal day is blunt and calculated. He calls things out as he sees it yet still knows how to use his words to twist something to his advantage. Like how he knows how to appease Luffy when he gets adamant over food. Or how he somehow convinces Usopp to do something he'd normally be too afraid to do.

Drunk Sanji is a different kind of honest. Drunk Sanji is honest about things he never even utters if he was even a lick sober.

And Zoro? Oh, he's always been the one to bare witness to Sanji's honesty.

Zoro likes to think of himself as an honest man. He can omit the truth every now and then for someone's safety or to preserve their blissful ignorance, but most of the time he doesn't see any reason to lie. If he finds you annoying, he'll say it. To hell with your damn feelings about it.

But though he values honesty and trust, he sure can hide the truth. Because his own feelings take the back burner. He can't be emotionally charged when lives are on the line. He can't let his heart win out when his brain tells him it's a bad idea. He can trust a gut feeling but never the tug of his own heartstrings.

So witnessing Sanji's honesty — so rooted in the tresses of his stupidly big emotional heart — always has Zoro freezing in place. He can't handle it. But he can't push him away either.

He can hide his true feelings but by all four seas, he can't ever push them far enough away for him to ignore them.

For the embarrassing truth of it all is that every time Sanji looks at him, smiles at him, laughs with him, or even fights with him — Zoro is irrevocably, unequivocally, and detrimentally smitten with the curly browed cook.

He doesn't remember when (somewhere between Little Garden and Thriller Bark... who knows, really...) but he definitely remembers waking up one day and wanting to see Sanji first thing in the morning. He remembers the rapid beating of his heart when the man prepared his comfort dishes when Zoro was having a rough day. He remembers the sparks of electric fire seeping to his bones from a single touch, a brush of fingertips against his scalp with a whispered 'you need a haircut marimo', the ice cold chill that runs down his spine of watching this stupid blonde man attempt to sacrifice his life over and over again to save his friends. All these feelings he remembers and dreads and looks forward to all at the same time.

All come crashing down upon him until he's stuck beneath a mountain of untapped, unrealized, unacknowledged feelings — all because Sanji decided that for today's party he will hold Zoro's hand, and guide him to the galley so they could be alone.

Alone.

"Marimoooo," Sanji sings, a light giggle cutting off the prolonged syllable, and Zoro has to actively remember not to crumble. He grips the edge of the kitchen counter, his knuckle turning white, with the other hand desperately clinging to a cheap bottle of sake.

"Auditioning for a musical, cook?" Zoro teases and Sanji sticks his tongue out at him. Zoro, despite all he's holding back, allows himself to chuckle.

"Shut the fudge up, dumb green haired muscle head doofus." (New note: when drunk enough, Sanji physically cannot swear.) He jabs a finger at Zoro's chest, unaware of the invisible mark he's left on his heart. "I wanted to tell you something, stupid."

"Can't it wait until you're sober and can kick my ass properly?" Zoro's deflecting and he damn well knows it. But Drunk Sanji is so unfairly adorable that if he lets him talk more, he might do something Sober Sanji would hate him for forever.

"I donwanna kick your ass!" Sanji throws his hands up exasperatedly. "No no no no thas' not important..."

"What could possibly–" When Zoro chanced a glance at Sanji, he stopped mid sentence. Hooded blue eyes were gazing at him intensely, an ocean of possibilities, a high tide of emotions washing onto the shore. Zoro can't look away. He wants to. He needs to. But he can't. Like a capsized ship at the edge of a whirlpool, Sanji's gaze sucks Zoro in with no pause for mercy.

Mercy that Zoro refuses to call out for.

"Zoro," He says it with a low tone, a soft voice, and with a breathiness he's never heard his name be uttered through before.

He feels Sanji's hand on top of his own before he could let go of the counter. He looks down and the man is tracing his scars. The ones faded overtime and the ones that are freshly closed over. There's a band-aid on his thumb that he's forgotten to remove from a week ago. Sanji's own delicate but kitchen worn fingers run over his knuckles. Each feather light touch sends electric shocks through his veins, a rushing heat that no shot of alcohol could recreate.

Zoro, despite everything his mind is telling him to do, turns his hand over and lets Sanji slip his fingers through and press their palms together.

They're closer now. He doesn't remember when that happened. But Sanji's face is so close, he could count the eyelashes fluttering gently between wakefulness and dreaming if he wanted to. He desperately did. Instead, his other hand raised up to cup Sanji's ever alcohol flushed cheeks, and feels his heart burst with the gentle smile Sanji gives him in return.

"Did you know?" Sanji whispers, thumb rubbing over a particularly nasty scar on the back of Zoro's hand.

"What?" Zoro indulges him. Just this once. "What don't I know?"

Sanji's smile brightens. He rests a hand on Zoro's chest. He feels Zoro's beating heart beneath his palm. Then he looks up, eyes twinkling with a simple but powerful emotion. Zoro's only seen him look like that once before. Back when it was just the five of them from the East Blue, their borrowed ship from Syrup Village, and their feet on a barrel promising to achieve their dreams.

Pure and utter joy.

"Did you know... that I'm so happy that you're my friend?"

Zoro's breath hitches and Sanji hiccups, sudden tears flowing down his cheeks. He doesn't attempt to hide them or wipe them away. Zoro feels them fall onto his chest as he watches Sanji cry with the biggest smile on his face.

"You're the first friend I had that was my age," He continued, bringing Zoro's hand up and nuzzling against his palm. "I never had friends growing up. Was surrounded by old geezers telling me what to do half the time. Joining the crew... This is the best decision I ever made."

Then a faint kiss was placed on every scar Sanji could see on Zoro's hand. Piece by piece, Zoro's resolve crumbled, and he felt tears prickle at the corner of his eye.

"You're my best friend, Zoro. Did I tell you that?"

"No," Zoro whispered. He takes Sanji's other hand and kisses the rough pads of his fingertips too. Sanji watches him, mouth slightly open in a dazed smile. Zoro wonders if he'll remember this in the morning.

"Why haven't I?" Sanji asks him, or perhaps wonders aloud. Zoro just shrugs and keeps kissing up Sanji's hand. With each kiss, Sanji lets out a sigh, gentle and inviting. Zoro chooses not to answer.

"I love having friends," Sanji says stumbling forward slightly at Zoro's ministrations. Zoro catches him before he falls and Sanji throws his arms around him, clutching tightly and giggling so much that he's almost losing breath. "I love having you in my life."

A tear falls down Zoro's cheek. He tightens his hold around the cook and thinks the exact same thing.

Sanji burrows his face into Zoro's shoulder, hiccuping again. "Can we stay like this for a little while?"

"We can stay like this forever, if you want." Like this as in always by your side. Like this as in holding you every time you ask for it. Like this as in who we can be if alcohol didn't make you forget everything you say to me.

"I have to cook tomorrow though." was Sanji's brilliant response and Zoro couldn't help but laugh. He's waited this long for something like this. He can wait until morning for a conversation a little more serious.

"Yeah, cook." Zoro obliges, leading Sanji to the cushioned bench by the dinner table. "We can stay like this for a little while."

"Yay," Sanji cheers softly, his voice already starting to slur. Zoro lets him rest his head on his chest as he curls up and around Zoro like a koala. "Warm."

Time moves by slowly. Zoro's fingers run through silky blond hair as they talk about silly insignificant things. Sanji's giggles get softer and softer. His breathing evens out. Soon enough, Sanji's eyelids have closed and he's sleeping soundly, clinging as tightly as his unconscious body permits onto the swordsman.

Zoro knows that when morning comes, they'll have to talk. But for now, Zoro allows himself to bask in the warmth of Sanji's honesty. Allows himself to let Sanji's genuine gratitude of meeting and joining the straw hat crew wash over him like the gentlest of cool sea breezes after a long and hot day.

And he can be assured, as he drifts off into his own slumber, that Sanji loves him.

And that Zoro loves him too.

inspired by this tweet

#welcome back to the chronicles of niki writing zosan brainrot at 1am and posting it with no context whatsoever #anyway #zosan #one piece #roronoa zoro #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji #zosan fanfic #one piece fanfiction #roronoa zoro x vinsmoke sanji #niki's fic: lightweight love and liquor

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

♡ chronicle #4 : welcome back ♡

wc : 5338

somehow, you've gotten used to living without your dragon man.

it shouldn't have been that hard to began with, you reason. since you'd only been living with him for a couple of weeks. you'd spent your whole life without this rude, bratty, infuriatingly handsome dragon guy. it really shouldn't have been hard.

you wake up to get ready for work feeling more tired than usual. this had been the case for the last two weeks now. you're lost at work, you've been really close to coming late more than once. you're coworker sachi has also asked if you were sick at least 5 times in one week, so you assume you don't exactly look your best right now.

you grab some leftovers from the fridge, hastily throwing them in the microwave to check up on your coffee. when you're done eating with the only background noise being the tv playing some game show reruns, you put your plate in the sink and remember a little too late that no one's there to clean them up for you anymore. you feel stupid, staring at the dishes like they'll suddenly wash themselves.

you'll wash them when you get back.

work goes by in a blur. you hardly remember what you did, who you'd talked to or what you had for lunch. the trip back home feels unfamiliar, like someone else was controlling your body for you. you don't mind as long as you can go home and sleep.

when you walk through your door, you check your couch reflexively, even though you've reminded yourself multiple times no one would be waiting there for you. the tv's turned off like it was when you'd left, there's nothing cooking on the stove, and there's no one on your couch.

despite reminding yourself.

you really need some sleep.

you order take out and eat while watching your favorite show for the 5000th time. it feels boring instead of comforting like it usually is, so you end up skipping a bunch of episodes straight to your favorite.

sometimes, you feel like it was all one big dream. falling in love with a dragon only for him to leave you seemed like something you could really only see in your own fantasy. but you know it isn't, because if it were you'd be able to forget about it. about him. but you can't.

it isn't painful, it doesn't feel like your heart is about to burst. it just feels so lonely. you feel like a part of you is missing, like a piece of your heart was filled to the brim with warmth only for that part to be taken away from you and leaving you cold and hollow. you don't like feeling like this. you shouldn't feel like this over someone you'd technically just met.

but it wasn't like that with him, it didn't feel like you'd just met. despite only living with him for a few weeks, you felt like you'd known him all your life. it was like you were catching up with an old friend the more you spoke to him. everything in you felt good with him. everything felt so right with him.

before you know it there are tears clouding your vision, you will yourself not to let them overflow. you hadn't cried since the day he left, you'd been distracting yourself with work not to. your favorite part of the episode comes up yet all you can do is focus on not bursting into tears. you can't go to bed feeling like shit since you've got work tomorrow. you decide to head to bed early tonight.

you'd like to think you can fool yourself into believing you've gotten used to living without katsuki. but unfortunately, you have to admit you aren't that good at lying to yourself when the first teardrop hits your pillow.

katsuki feels incredibly wrong.

it's way past the time he's usually asleep, but despite tossing and turning he can't keep his eyes shut because every time he does he sees you.

you, with your stupid bright smile. you with your stupid puffed out cheeks and pout when you'd caught him nabbing your food too late. you with your bright eyes when you come back from work to see he's made your favorite.

and you, with your glossy wet eyes when he told you he was leaving.

he really needs some fuckin' sleep.

for the last two weeks, he's been telling himself that this was better for you—for you both. he knows he could never truly be good for you. no matter how well he'd learn to cook your favorite meal. no matter how many movies and tv shows you watch together. no matter how good it feels to be with you, you'll always be a human and he, a dragon.

you're different beings made for different lives. he wasn't raised for battle, but it is a primary part of the dragon code, especially in his faction. survival of the fittest and whatnot. you were made for office jobs and midnight take out and romance movies, not for anything he was.

his friends were more than happy to see he'd finally come back home. they had basically choke-slammed him to the ground to hug him, and he can't deny he felt really a little bit happy to see them again.

he'd expected his mom to nag his ear off like she usually does but he was more than shocked to feel her wrap her arms around him tightly. she had told him she was happy to see he hadn't caused any trouble for himself and he could hear the quiver in her voice and feel the slight shakiness in her tightly strung limbs. he hadn't said anything and simply quietly held her back. his father had joined the group hug soon after and katsuki closed his eyes, indulging in the warmth of his parents' love.

this is good. this feels nice. this is where he's supposed to be.

it felt nice at the time, he recalls. but it didn't feel right.

for the last two weeks, he's been trying to tell himself that despite how much he aches, how much he yearns for you, you aren't made for him.

unfortunately, besides admitedly being a horrible liar, katsuki will forever be a selfish dragon. he only focuses on what he wants, and he wants you more than anything. he needs you more than anything.

" fuck this.." he mutters, throwing and arm over his eyes. he starts absentmindedly rubbing at his hair, like you used to. but it doesn't feel as comforting, so he huffs again.

he'd been told he unfortunately couldn't do anything about the tournament, but on a better note the guy he faced off again would be disqualified from participating since he did end up getting something from a witch, like katsuki thought. kirishima had wrapped an arm around his shoulder and told him it was a good thing. but to be honest, katsuki had almost fully forgotten about that shitty tournament. his father told him there would always be a next one. the next one in ten years. the thought of not seeing you in that time crosses his mind at makes him feel like he swallowed something sour. there's a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought but he can do nothing but try to ignore it.

just as he's about to turn to the other side of his bed when a knock his door startles him. his mom walks in shortly after, opening the door halfway before walking in when she sees him awake.

" i didn't say you could come in." he grumbles half heartedly, sleep riddled voice slightly groggy. mitsuki simply sits on his bed near him, patting at his leg over the covers.

"m'not allowed to check up on my runaway son ? don't want you to leave again." she jests. katsuki knows she's joking, but he still feels a pang of guilt in his chest. he grumbles something unintelligible in response.

no words are exchanged for a moment, then mitsuki pats her son's leg a little harder, he snarls at her but she simply smiles at him.

"what do you say we go get some air ?"

the night air feels good.

soaring through the sky feels comforting. feeling the way the wind rushes through his scales feels almost therapeutic to him. it can be thrilling to soar through the air the same way it can also be calming. it provides him serenity he can't quite put into words.

katsuki finds himself wishing he could fly like this with you like when he brought you back home from work. he remembers how you'd screamed your lungs out, clutched onto him so tightly and when you'd landed back home with wobbly legs and messy..everything, you'd proclaimed it was the first and last time you'd ever go for a dragon ride. he remembers how hard he laughed and he chuffs to himself unconsciously at the memory.

flying around when he was irritated or stressed wasn't uncommon for him but he only remembers a handful of times he'd went flying with his mother. other than the times he was younger and still learning how to get the hang of it. he has to admit that that feels good, too.

they decide to rest on a nearby mountain they saw in the horizon. as soon as they land katsuki changes back into his human form, stretching as he let's out a yawn. the only remaining traces of his dragon form being his red horns and scaley tail accompanied by large red wings. he hears his mom flap her wings behind him as she also let's out a little yawn of her own. she sits down onto the gravely bottom and katsuki raises a brow before taking a spot next to her.

it's quiet as they both silently stare at the moon. it's a little chilly out but katsuki doesn't mind much.

"so," mitsuki sighs, taking a large gulp of the fresh air " you gonna tell me what happened when you went on your little expedition?" she bumps her shoulder with his playfully, katsuki growls but doesn't snap back like he usually would.

he simply shrugs "it wasn't an expedition." he gulps, it feels like a knot grows in his throat. "it wasn't anything." he doesn't notice the way his hands are tightened into fists, but his mother does.

"that so ?" she utters. she speaks in a nurturing way. that soft tone that only a mother could use for her child. it upset him even more as the knot in his throat tightens.

"i.." katsuki starts "i was around a lot of humans.." he admits. his mother hums in response, urging him to continue. "saw a lot of things, tried a lot of human stuff."

"human stuff ?"

"human foods and desserts and stuff. and movies. they're people moving around acting inside a big box that they call a tv." he tries his best to explain it in the simplest way considering it took him a while to grasp the concept of electronics himself. he can tell his mother doesn't really understand, but he's thankful she simply nods and let's him continue.

"it wasn't too bad." he concedes. " i didn't wanna kill too many of them." he jokes, his mother chuckles in response.

"anything else happen ?" she asks with a smile. katsuki can already tell shes's onto him. screw this mother's intuition shit.

he opens and closes his mouth a few times, nothing he wants to say seems to come out right.

"ma.." he starts, she hums " when you--how did it feel for you when you fell in love with pops ?"

her eyes widen at his question. she sits and thinks about it for a minute, then a smile grows on her face. " it's not something i can really explain. i just knew it when i saw him, i knew he was meant to be mine."

"even though he's a human..?" he mumbles quietly. his mother doesn't seem fazed, her dazed smile remains.

"yeah." she answers simply.

"it didn't bother you ?"

"nope." she immediatly answers, popping the p.

"it wasn't weird ?"

" it took a little gettin' used to." she hums "we're completely different after all. his family wasn't exactly on board with it. but they didn't say anythin' when i showed 'em my dragon form, i think they were just really amazed." she laughs at her own joke and katsuki fights an eyeroll.

"how'd you do it then ? how'd you..get used to it ?" he asks almost urgently.

her smile hasn't faltered since the beginning of the conversation. it seems to have gotten even wider and even brighter. " i didn't do anything. i loved your father, i still do." she sighs dreamily " when i was around him i didn't worry about anything. i didn't worry about what others thought to begin with, but i didn't worry about that. i wasn't scared of the future or anything."

"there was nothing for me to be worried about when i was around him. it always just felt like things would work out. we made each other happy, and when i was around him it all felt so.." she can't seem to find the right word to use but katsuki finds one for her immediatly.

"right ?" he finishes.

"yeah" she smiles, eyes softening as she looks at her son "yeah, it felt really right."

for the last two weeks, katsuki's been trying to deceive himself. by now he knows it isn't working. at all. he'd been trying to keep his mind quiet. he's been spending time with his friends and it's been nice. but there's clearly something missing. something he knows that his parents or his friends can fill, despite them caring so much for him. and he feels bad because he cares, he really does. but there's something he needs.

you're the one he needs.

"i think.." katsuki jumps a little when his mom speaks up again "i think there's somewhere you need to be, isn't there ?" she asks, though that knowing look she gives him clearly says she already knows the answer.

katsuki bites his lip, looking down towards the ground below. he can't see the bottom.

"i'm scared, ma.." he admits, meekly. mitsuki's heart squeezes at her little boy's heart showing in his eyes, scared of the unknown despite trying his best to convince himself he isn't.

his mother places her hand ontop of his and squeezes " i know, i know you are.." she comforts.

"w-what if it's too late and i messed shit up ?" she shakes her head, shushing him.

"you didn't, i know you didn't." she speaks carefully "if that person is the right one for you, then there's absolutely no way you have." she pulls him into a hug and he hugs her back tightly. no more words are exchanged as katsuki and his mother sit there. she pulls away and presses her forehead to his.

"you get goin' now, okay ?" she feels him nod after a moment and her smiles grows wider. she ruffles her son's hair and he grumbles, pushing at her arm and he fights off a smile.

he's sure, he knows what he needs to do now.

he gets up with vigor and stretches out his limbs and his wings as they flex and expand on his back. before he takes off though, he hears his mom call for him. he turns to look at her proud smiling face.

"you'd better come and visit !" she grinned, sharp fangs on display. katsuki smiles back at that, sharp grin rivaling hers.

" obviously !" he affirms, before taking off.

you wake up like you'd had the best sleep in your life. probably because you cried yourself to sleep.

you're awake an hour earlier than you usually are and you can't seem to get back to sleep. so bitterly, you decide to just get up and start your day an hour early.

you're definitely not getting ready for work at this hour, so your hello- kitty jammies are staying on. you remember you have a half eaten tub of vanilla-caramel-brownie ice cream in the freezer and it makes you a little happier. you walk over to your fridge with a little skip in your step.

when you sit down on your couch and turn your tv on you can already see the sun rising from your balcony. and it makes you dread having to go to work in an hour and a few minutes, you do your best to ignore it and watch a rerun of some old drama tv show you found.

you take your first bite and hum to yourself happily. the ice cream melts on your tongue and the flavours burst onto your tastes buds. if you could you'd eat ice cream every single day.

but katsuki would scold you for it.

it feels a little harder to swallow down your next bite.

the female and male lead on the show are arguing about something. the man says he only has eyes for the lady. he says that it's always been her, that if he were reborn in another life, in another country, he would still always find his way back to her.

you quietly keep watching, taking smaller and smaller scoops of ice cream. the lady is doubtful, she asks the male how she knows he won't break her heart. he responds that she only needs to trust him, that she needs trust herself.

"what is your heart telling you right now ?" he asks.

"it's telling me.." there's a dramatic pause " that i love you..!" she declares.

the two share a hug and an old ending song plays, you can hear an audience clapping like you sometimes do in old sitcoms. you really wish you could go back to sleep when you check your phone and see that only twenty minutes have passed. you wonder if you can call in sick as you play around with your ice cream, but you draw the line at that. that'd be too childish and you're too grown to be faking sick just because you got your heart broken.

you switch through a couple of channels before you land on an animal documentary. it's about red panda's and red panda's are adorable, so you shuffle on your couch to get comfortable and scoop up another big bite of ice cream.

the moment you bring your spoon to your lips though, you suddenly feel a big gust of wind. accompanied by a loud crash. and a giant hole through your fucking wall.

your spoon stays frozen against your lips, it's cold but you can barely feel it. slowly, you turn to look at something coming out of the cloud of smoke caused by the debris.

or no, it's a someone. you can see them stand up straighter as huge wings stretch on their back along with huge pointy horns and—actually maybe it is a something after all.

except you squint and you realise that it isn't a something.

it's katsuki.

it's katsuki and he's looking at you, bright red eyes focused solely on yours. he's here, he's here with you.

and he's once again blasted a hole through your wall.

you almost want to laugh, but you're afraid if you do you'll start crying. so you simply stare at him. he takes a deep breath and opens his mouth

“hi..” he exhales.

he’s heaving, taking in the force at which your wall was blasted into pieces one could assume it was probably because he was flying really fast, and he was. but this wasn’t really going all out for him. frankly, katsuki bakugou is heaving because he’s so incredibly nervous.

“h-hi..” you utter back, wide eyed. katsuki zones in on something on your face and furrows his brows.

“you’re eating that cold shit that early in the morning ? you’ll get sick.” he chides. this time you do laugh, because he’s so insanely ridiculous, how could you not.

“yeah well, no one was here to stop me so..” he knows the other meaning to your joke very well and his heart hurts at the sadness in your eyes when you fully realize he’s actually here.

“why did you—i thought you had to go home ?” you stutter. he takes a hesitant step towards your couch, towards you. his hand twitches, wanting to reach out to you, to touch you, but he holds back for now.

“yeah i did.” he nods “so here i am.”

your heart feels like it’s beating while being held down under a huge weight. you want to do so many things. you want to cry, ask him so many questions and kiss his mouth off but you can only bring yourself to ask “why ?”

katsuki frowns at the way your bottom lip wobbles and he immediately decides he can’t have that. he walks up to you and grabs your hand to pull you towards him, you stand up with a squeal as he pulls you into him. you’re ice cream long forgotten as neither of you notice the tub hitting the floor.

right now you’re only focused on him and he on you.

“i-i tried to tell myself that i didn’t need you at first, that it was better if i didn’t. we both know we’re—more than completely different,” he chuckles humorlessly. “tried telling myself that i didn’t need you because i didn’t need you my entire life, so why should meeting you, a human, change anything ?”

"but then—i don’t know, i realized that i’d spent so much time with you and your normal human life. with your weird habits and routines and your cheesy animal love stories. and then suddenly i just—" he stops himself mid rambling, he’s still heaving and he can’t seem to calm down. until you reach up and place your hand in his hair.

in seconds it’s feels like he can breathe again. your hands in his hair feel like taking a flight in the dead of night. your entire being is like the way it feels when the wind rushes through his scales.

he needs you, he needs you, he needs you, he needs you and he needs you so bad.

he plops his head against your shoulder and you hear the purring sound from when you’d first pet him in your office building. when you didn’t really know why you did, and that it just felt right to.

“suddenly i realized that i couldn’t be without you. i couldn’t see myself without you and your stupid smug face whenever you’re being a smart ass. without you and your weird taste in movies and your hands in my hair and your smile and—" he cuts himself off again. seemingly realizing he’d said too much. you don’t want to embarrass him too much too soon so you hold back the giggle bubbling up in your throat.

“i thought you liked my taste in movies.” you joke, playing with the hair on his nape. you feel him huff a chuckle against your shoulder.

“never said i didn’t like it. said it’s weird.”

“is there really a difference?” you snort.

“hell yeah there is,” he retorts “ya go from watchin’ that weird demon cat on your phone to watching the conjuring in the same breath.”

“ that just means i'm open to a lot of genres, it’s a good thing !” he snorts then grumbles some kind of agreement under his breath “and don’t you insult hello kitty like that ! she’s done nothing to be classified as a ‘demon cat’.”

“ it’s fuckin’ weird. why doesn’t it have a mouth ? and why are it’s black beady eyes starin’ into my fuckin’ soul ?”

“ quit calling her 'it' ? and she’s adorable !”

“she’s freaky is what she is.” you groan.

"you're insufferable. so incredibly annoying." you grumble in defeat. he lifts his head up to look at you then, his award winning cheese on display with a tiny fang poking out.

"yeah, maybe..but you missed me." he counters. you huff, but you really can't lie "yeah, yeah i did" you say. it comes out sadder than you'd wanted it to, and he seems to notice it. his eyebrows furrow and the remorseful look on his face makes your heart burn. your expression mirrors his as you speak.

"i really did miss you, katsuki. i really did." you whisper sorrowfully. you feel him wipe the tears you didn't even know where about to spill from the corner of your eyes. he grabs your cheeks in both of his large hands and wipes at your eyes, then rubs at your cheeks softly. his eyes burn with unspoken words and feelings and you don't need to hear him say anything to understand. you understand him better than anyone. human or dragon.

and that's all you need.

"i know." he leans in until you're inches away and your eyes flutter closed when he nuzzles his nose against your tenderly. he places his forehead against yours in a way you can only describe as loving. "i know." he whispers again.

"but i won't leave again. i promise." he vows, rubbing his nose against your cheek. the gesture feels very animal like and you giggle a little. he huffs against your cheek in amusement. "you're mine, you've always been. i know that—i'm sure of it now." he corrects "so i'm not goin' anywhere." he's so close. just like that night.

you want to let go, want to give yourself to him and trust him but there's something holding you back. katsuki can tell you're doubtful. he nudges his head against your softly, "talk to me." he urges.

"i just..i'm scared.." you admit "what if things don't work out ? i really, really like you katsuki." your voice trembles and your bottom lip wobbles the slightest bit "i don't want you to go away again.." he shakes his head adamntly, his hair tickles against your forehead. he breathes a sigh and pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes properly.

"i don't know how the future will turn out, or what's gonna happen." he knocks his forehead against yours again "but that doesn't scare me. mostly cus i'm not scared of anything," you roll your eyes but you can't help the chuckle that rips out of you. he smiles, obviously proud of his joke.

"but also because i know you're it for me. no matter what happens, i trust that i'll always come back to you." he seems to realize he's been awfully out of character. a cute blush grows on his face but that doesn't deter him in the slightest, as his eyes stay fixed on you. it makes chills run down your spine.

"you..were made for me. that's all i need." he closes his eyes, embarrasment catching up to him. you smile at how adorable your cranky dragon man could be when he wanted to be.

that's all he needs. you're all he needs. the thought fills your body with so much warmth and love.

you bring your hands up to his cheeks. he opens his eyes. looking down at you with half lidded eyes and so much affection it makes you giddy.

"what is your heart telling you right now ?"

you smile up at him, a watery giggle slips past your lips.

" i love you."

you trust yourself. you trust katsuki. you trust your love for him.

his eyes widen. and suddenly he's leaning down and all he gives you as a warning is a breathy whisper of your name. you don't think twice when you nod your head fervently and then he's closing the distance and kissing you.

in a second it's like you feel whole. it's like he breathes life into you with the kiss he presses onto your lips. and the next one, and the one after that.

he pulls back to catch his breath for no less than three seconds before he's stealing yours away again. but you don't mind in the slightest. you'd give all of yourself up willingly to him. you wish you could stay close with him, holding onto him like this forever.

but then there's a sudden sharp pain in your lip.

"ouch !" you yelp. katsuki immediatly pulls back, eyes racking over your face until he notices red on your lip. you lick at your bottom lip and taste blood. you look up at him, a mix of amusement and suprise on your features. after a second, you let out a chuckle.

"guess you missed me lots, huh ?" you laugh some more when he growls at you. trying his best to seem somewhat intimidating despite the state he's in. he's breathing heavy and he's sweating a little bit, cheeks fully red.

"b-be quiet, human." he leans down and licks the blood off your lip. it flusters you despite him meaning it innocently, dragons are way more direct when it comes to physical affection, it seemed. "i'll roast you alive."

"no you won't, liar." you answer arrogantly. you bring your arms to rest around his neck, your hands play around with the hair on his nape. "you like me too much."

"you're gettin' real cocky, aren't ya ?"

"am i wrong ?" you counter. he narrows his eyes at your challenge but lowers his head in defeat soon after. he shakes his head with a chuckle. "no, guess you're not." he concedes.

"you guess ?" you tease.

"don't push your luck, loser." he nips at your nose, and you giggle. he snarls at you when you tug at his horn, but he can't hide the smile on his face.

"i—uh." he looks away, off to the side towards your tv "love. you. too..or whatever you humans say.." he confesses shyly. too much direct eye contact for one day, it seems. you giggle, then lean in and press a sweet kiss to his lips. it takes him a second before he eases into it. slowly, just as passionately as the first time, but you both know there's no rush to let each other know how you feel. you've got all the time in the world together.

"i'm glad.." you say once you pull away. "so, can i assume that means you're back now?" you joke.

"i told you i'm not goin' nowhere. you're mine." he asserts " i'm back." he states with a fanged grin.

you smile wider at his words. you're smiling so hard your cheeks start to hurt but you really don't mind "welcome back." you answer lovingly.

this feels right. this feels like where you both belong. he's back.

back where he belongs.

you pat his nape "to make yourself back at home, you can make me breakfast !" you chirp. "you owe me at least twenty five homemade dinners too, so you'd better get to work." you laugh out loud when he pokes at your side with one hand, with the one on your face squeezing your cheeks out.

"cheeky brat, already puttin' me to work, hah ?!" he grins "i guess i do owe you dinner though, but definetly not fuckin' twenty five of 'em !" you both laugh at each other some more and you wish all of your days with him here could feel like this. but even if they don't, you're not worried. as long as you're together, you know everything will be okay. you trust that with all your heart.

"katsuki ?" you start after a moment. he hums in response, urging you to continue while he nibbles and presses smooches on your shoulder. you smile, you're so incredibly happy.

"fix up my damn wall, would you ?"

and here it is yall, the final chapter ! thank you all sooooo much for the overwhelming amount of love for this silly lil series. i couldn't be happier that you guys liked this fic just as much as i did writing it ! and i hope this ending makes yall happy (cuz some of yall were losin it last chap LOLOLOL) take this super fluffy ending as an apology for that then !! much luvv <333

taglist ! : @sikuthealien @rosemarygalaxy @guccirosegold @queenpiranhadon @k0z3me @katsuisbaby @lovra974 @katsus-mistress @briokayama @sixxze @lupikekee @nymphsdomain @berryvioo @roboticsuccubus83 @yao-ai @haruesme @omayrac @raatass @touyasprettydoll

#ITS TIIIIMMEEEE #im SO SORRY I MADE YALL WAIT SM ML'S BUT ITS HERE NOW!! #pls take this sweet ending as an apology for last chap i noticed yall were in shambles over it..</3 #fire breathing roommate chronicles #last part yall :((( #im attached i loved writing this little series it feels like my baby #thank you sm for the love and support on my silly little fic yall ily muah muah #lollolol im not getting emotional at all lololol #it was sm fun to write tho ! #cant wait to make more !! #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou imagine #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou fluff #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n #bakugou drabble #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugo fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n

[chthonic-cassandra]

"In an effort to save the story from Interview and to save Claudia," [Anne Rice] said, "I suggested we make Louis a woman [in a proposed film version] It works. It's all the same passivity, the same philosophical ideas, the same inability to fight Lestat's domination. It's fine for Louis to be a woman because he is a woman - he's really me." With Cher or Meryl Streep in mind, she set about creating a transvestite, trans-gender female [sic], whose husband and daughter had died on the way to Louisiana from the Islands. Since women could not inherit plantations, the character steps on shore in her husband's clothes and challenges anyone to say she's not a man. Everyone knows she's a woman and she gets into brawls. "She was a good swordsman," said Anne, "and a good gunfighter, and she kept her plantation, which everyone wanted, by fighting people off. So it was an interesting story. And there were very famous transvestites in this era. It was a common motif."

Katherine Ramsland, Prism of the Night: A Biography of Anne Rice

#is anyone going to write this transmasculine louis fic? #anne rice #vampire chronicles #vc reread

[always-a-king-or-queen]

Miss Pevensie, they say, can you identify these bodies for us? And you try, gentlest sibling, you try your best. But the tears are thick in your throat and the grief is bitter on your tongue, and when you shut your eyes you see fire and steel, twisting together and crushing the breath from their bodies.

You look at your father, and mother, and cousin, still and silent on their backs, bruised and bloodied and unsmiling, and their faces are anything but familiar. Were their eyes open you would be looking into the face of a stranger. You press your hand over your mouth, and you do not cry, and you tell them what they want to know. These are my parents, you hear yourself say. This is my cousin. They nod, they thank you, they direct you forward. More, more, more corpses to identify. More losses to count.

You look at your eldest brother, golden blond hair spread across his forehead, thick like the mane of a lion. There is gravel in his skin and soot on his cheeks and his face is pale, hands folded over his chest and blood threaded into his yellow sweater. Red against gold. For a moment the combination brushes your brain, touches a distant memory of battle and clashing swords, but you blink and it is gone. This is my brother Peter, you say, in a voice choked with grief. The sky looks black outside the window, and your brother’s arm still feels warm when you touch it a final time.

You look to your younger brother, dark hair tousled, blood leaking between his lips. His skin is frost pale, like snow, so white he appears to be made of stone. Shrapnel cuts into his cheeks and sends crimson trails across his face. His hands are clenched, cap askew on hair smeared with blood. They tell you he died with his sister in his arms, body curled around her in a vain attempt to keep her safe. You stare at him with a lump in your throat, and for a moment you seem to see him, silver crown upon his head, smiling with quiet gentleness. It fades, and you whisper, This is my brother Edmund. The tree outside the window seems to wilt a little as you speak. Your brother’s cheek is like ice beneath your fingertips.

You look last at your sister. She is peaceful, lips lifted in a smile, hair tangled beneath her head and shoulders. She grips something in one hand— a tiny wooden carving. A lion. Your throat clenches to see it, but you do not know why. Her skin is warm, like sunlight, but there is such coldness in her face. Such emptiness. Blood smears her sky blue dress, and you weep to see it. Blood does not belong on your baby sister. For a moment the red makes you remember her, dancing wild by a fire with berry juice smeared on her hands and mouth, but surely not. Surely such a thing never happened. This is my sister Lucy, you murmur, and are able to say no more. For a moment it seems as if a mist touches the window, and your sister’s skin is hot against your palms.

You turn away, raven-dark hair falling over your cheek, and stare out the window with tears burning your throat. There is no sun, and you think that perhaps there will never be sun again. It has been taken away forever.

(For a moment you seem to hear a voice, deep, gentle, loving. To the radiant southern sun. For a moment you feel the weight of a crown in your hair. Perhaps you are losing your sanity, bit by bit. Perhaps it was shattered the moment you heard the news).

They asked you to identify the bodies, and you did, because they are your family. They were your family. You loved each and every one of them. You loved your mother's soft fingers in your hair and your father's deep chuckle. You loved your older brother's fierce kindness and your little brother's quiet demeanor and your baby sister's merriment. You loved them all. And now you stare through the window at a sky that is heavy with rain and think of flames and twisted metal and the blood on your siblings' skin.

You close your eyes. For a brief moment you think you smell lilies, and salt, and Lucy is laughing and Edmund is smiling and Peter's arms are slung around their shoulders, and then they are looking at you and beckoning and there is a lion with golden eyes and the sun is rising into a damp new sky.

Your eyes open slowly, glazed over with tears that spill down your cheeks like rain.

And for a moment, just for a moment, you remember.

#susan pevensie #i am in the midst of writing a fix it fic for her #bc lewis encouraged it #and her story wasn't finished #and and and #also the premise of the story is super duper fun #but it will be sad too #but will end happy #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #ramblings from the void

[kyoshi-era-week-24]

KYOSHI ERA WEEK 2024:

POLLS MASTER LIST

To commemorate The Rise of Kyoshi’s 5th anniversary on July 16th, the Kyoshi Era Week 2024 will happen from July 14th to July 21st! That’s a Sunday to Sunday week and we'd like to present writers and artists three prompts per day, so we’ll need 24 prompts total.

Thanks to everybody who contributed, we’ve collected more than a hundred amazing prompts! We’re so excited about each and every prompt, but we’ll have to choose only 24. So, we’d like you to vote on the prompts you like the most! From today to April 14th, we’ll hold 12 polls with 9 options each and the two most voted options in each poll will be added to the event.

Please VOTE and REBLOG!

FIRST POLL // SECOND POLL // THIRD POLL // FOURTH POLL // FITH POLL // SIXTH POLL // SEVENTH POLL // EIGHTH POLL // NINTH POLL // TENTH POLL // ELEVENTH POLL // TWELFTH POLL

Thank you for participating and enjoy the event!

Do you want to be a mod? Do you need a tw/cw tag? Do you want to join the Discord server? Please send us an ask and we'll answer privately.

Check the event rules

Check the event schedule

#KyoshiEra24 #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #the legend of korra #the rise of kyoshi #the shadow of kyoshi #kyoshi novels #chronicles of the avatar #atla #tlok #trok #tsok #avatar #avatar kyoshi #kyoshi #avatar yun #yun #avatar kuruk #kuruk #atla poll #atla fic #atla fanfic #atla fanfiction #atla art #atla fanart #atla drawing #atla prompt #prompt poll #writing prompt #drawing prompt

[completeoveranalysis]

Did you know that there are two alternate deleted endings to the Celes/Seresu arc? Fai gets killed at the end of the arc in the first one and the 2nd one, he is left forever waiting for Kurogane to come back to save him from the magical bubble that he was trapped in as the world was closing. Kurogane tries his whole life to find a way to save him but doesn't succeed. (Clamp mentioned it on Twitter and an old interview.)

That's the exact kind of heart wrenching tragedy I would expect from the older Clamp narratives! The drama of it all!

I for one am very glad they considered those endings but ultimately broke their own pattern and went with a narrative that is all the stronger for it. They've done tragedy enough that breaking the trend is even more impactful, especially in a story like this, and how it adds to the overall theme they've built so far.

But VERY delicious to consider all the same.

#I hope someone had fun writing the fic version of those endings #THOSE WOULD BE SO JUICY TO READ #THE DRAMA THE SADNESS #And as writing processes go there's always endless things that get changed as you go #and I'm VERY glad they committed to this new version of the story instead #replies #daydreamingshipper #Liveblogging the reservoir chronicle #Tsubasa #Kurofai

[idyllcy]

seven, seven, seven || holy matrimony

word count: 3.1k

summary: sacrifice or spouse? immortal or mortal?

On the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year of every decade, a village girl is sacrificed at the foot of a mountain, left to be devoured by the dragon at the tip of the mountain. There is a rumor that above the clouds of the mountain of green, there resides a dragon, sky clear where he lives, his palace made of pure jade and lined with gold, his gates lined with pearls, and his scales as bright as the blue sky. There is a rumor that in the palace, the furniture is made of the finest of woods with cushions made of the finest silk in all of the land. There is a rumor that in the palace, a dragon with purple eyes sits on his throne of gold, asking for a bride on the seventh day of the seventh month every ten years. 

On the seventh day of the seventh month of your many years in life, you are put at the base of the mountain in the snow, left to die, adorned from head to toe in red robes symbolizing your holy matrimony to the dragon in the sky. 

On the seventh day of the seventh month of that year, you are disguised as a 17 year old despite your older age, and you are dressed like a bride, skin powdered and body bathed, lips red and lashes curled, dressed like the dolls you used to see on display at the city, left for your holy husband who doesn’t seem like he is coming for you. On this special day of the most luckiest day in the year, you are left at the foot of a mountain under a fictional jade palace adorned with gold in its cracks, painted as a bride for a man that exists only in a folktale that people still believed. 

You stay at the base of the mountain instead, rubbing at your arms, whimpering from the cold, fingers starting to freeze from the snow and lack of clothes. 

The villagers left you to rot, technically. 

You pull at the hanfu on your body, trying to conserve your body warmth, teeth chattering as a breeze passes you, and you whimper. God. If you knew you were just going to die like this, you would have at least given your friends the key to your apartment so they could clear out your place . Seriously, what kind of family calls you up claiming that there was a crisis in the family only to wrap you up in wedding robes and send you to the base of a mountain to wed you off instead of their precious daughter. Oh, right. Not you. Your sister. Your step-sister that your mother treasured more than her own. You suppose this is what you get for being so naive as to helping them one last time before you wanted to permanently sever ties with them. 

It’s a mistake on your part, and as the hanfu slips further from your skin, you hiss at the cold, the tears that were swelling up in your eyes freezing on your skin and cracking. Your cleavage shudders as you try to pull the dress further up, a breeze causing you to shake further as you whimper, your breath fogging from the cold, and you sigh shakily. This was how you were going to die. The frost would kiss your fingertips and your skin, and your skin would turn to ice from the winter cold. That would be how you pass. Not in a hospital surrounded by the old– but by the hands of a family that despised you— who had sent you in place of their daughter that was selected. 

On the seventh day of the seventh month of the seventh year of the decade, the strike of luck you receive is to die in the hands of winter herself.

Then, your mind strikes something.

You recall the first bride to be taken up in the old folktale, and you open your mouth, pulling your dress further down to show your cleavage. Your cheeks flush pink as you breathe, skin starting to turn red from being exposed to the cold, and you exhale. The tears in the corner of your eyes spills, and it ruins your makeup, but you continue, pulling your dress further to show more cleavage, desperate to escape this situation even if it was simply an old story from a folktale. Then, you open your mouth as you begin to weep for your husband.

“My husband…” You mumble, eyes getting droopy. “Do come claim your bride…”

Somewhere in the distance, bells jingle in the background, and you feel yourself slip from consciousness as you fall into warm arms, smooth lips pressed to yours as you see black.

When you wake, you are in a room of jade, golden silk draped over you, the red from your hanfu hung up across from you, and a pair of piercing purple eyes meeting your gaze from next to your dress. You blink owlishly at the man, lips parted as you take in his gaze. Silver hair cascades down his shoulders, his skin pale as porcelain, horns blue as the sea as you shrink under his gaze, swallowing your saliva with your dirty thoughts as your eyes trail down to the robe on his skin, white like the snow you had passed out in. You press at the bare skin of your arms, and you finally notice that you are bare under the gold of the blanket. Warmth spreads up your neck immediately as you meet purple eyes again, this time, your skin flushed warm with embarrassment.

“Did you rest well, my bride?” He smiles gently, lips pulled up, eyes strangely gentle.

“A-are you my husband?” You ask, pulling the silk up as it slides from your chest.

He nods. “Welcome to your new residence, my wife.”

You blink at him through your lashes, nodding slowly. 

“Is this… my room?”

He nods, standing up as he does, stepping over to you. “Would you like something to eat?”

He offers you his hand.

You take it, letting go of the blanket as you are exposed to him— yet you do not feel uncomfortable being bare in the presence of your husband. He offers you a robe, fingers gentle on your skin as he helps you into a green silk, and you stare, eyes big as you stare at him in awe. He’s pretty. So pretty. You watch as his fingers slip between the silk of the ribbon of the robe, tying it around your waist as his voice comes out smooth as honey, tempting as sin, and you swallow slowly, heart racing in your chest as you answer him, his words going in one ear and out the other. You wonder if you plain next to him. He must have washed off the ornaments that the servants had done to your face, so you must look <i>painfully</i> simple next to your god of a husband, but you do not falter, blinking slowly as he offers you his arm.

“Love.” He mumbles. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” You whisper, lips pulled into a smile. “You are beautiful, my husband.”

“And you, my bride.” He smiles.

You wonder if it’s some sort of curse that overcomes you and makes you dizzy with desire for him, but you do not complain, listening as your husband takes you through the palace, the pond with sacred fish, and trees of three pink peaches and purple plums. You blink at them as they tempt you to take a bite, but you don’t when your husband tells you not to. Instead, he takes a bite of the peach, juice dripping down his chin as he presses his lips to yours, making your head spin deliciously with want as you taste the nectar on his lips and tongue, lashes fluttering as your body relaxes into his. Your body warms, but not uncomfortably, and you chase after your husband’s lips as he pulls away, making him chuckle.

The kiss was chaste, yet you felt as though it were sinful. 

“If I give you any more, beloved,” His thumb wipes the mess of nectar on your chin and lips, “then you will become sick with addiction to a fruit you can not have.”

“Why not?” You whisper, eyes focused on his fingers as he presses his thumb to his lips, licking it clean. 

“You are not a god, my love.” He whispers. “No mortal is to consume it too quickly at once.”

“You lie.” You whisper, listening to him anyway. “The emperor Wu of Han consumed one in the tales and planted a tree.”

“He is the only mortal to do so.” Your husband whispers. “Have a plum for now to quench the thirst.”

You take it from him and bite down, sugar flooding your system as you smile in content. “Thank you, my beloved.”

He nods, offering you his arm again as you continue through the halls of his palace, the jade embedded with gold glistening as the sun starts to set, and your lips are parted in mild surprise as it is, smiling at the gold that reflects in your eyes. Your husband looks down at you, squeezing your hand affectionately as you blink up at him. He leans down slightly, pressing his lips to your forehead, and your head spins again as the smell of the peaches flood your system. You blink up at him big-eyed, silently hoping he would give you another taste of the peach from earlier, but he only shakes his head, taking you back to your room as you watch him shut the door behind him.

Would it be too early to ask him to sleep in the room with you?

You suppose it wouldn’t be wrong for a wife to visit her husband’s chambers at night.

You wander through the halls, the gold engravings lighting up as you do, and you blink owlishly once you arrive at your husband’s chambers, knocking on his door as you wonder if he is awake. The light in his room flickers as a shadow opens the door for you, and you blink up at your husband, red mark on his forehead glowing hazily, and you blink up at him, opening then closing your mouth as you realize you don’t have a reason as to why you decided to join him in his quarters. 

“Were you scared, my wife?”

“Yes.” You whisper. “The palace is so big and my room feels so empty without you.”

He chuckles, letting you in, pulling the covers over you as you blink at him. 

“Will you rest up with me?” You pout. “We haven’t… consummated the marriage either.” You whisper. 

“When your body is no longer weak.” He whispers, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I shall watch you rest for the night.”

“Please rest well.” You whisper. 

“For you.” He hums.

When the sun rises in the morning, you rise with it, body well rested as you sit up, yawning as you do, staring at your husband who has fallen asleep on the couch. Had you known you would have been such a hassle, you would have not entered his chambers and asked to rest with him for the night. The blanket you drag with you is draped over his body, and you tuck him in, lips ghosting over his forehead as you kiss him to rest well, leaving the room as you wander around to head back to your own quarters.

The pillars shimmer as you pass them, signifying your arrival, and you enter your room again, tugging the robe off your body as you slip into your bed, eyelids growing heavy as the silk hugs your skin, your consciousness slipping as you rest once again.

Your husband arrives at your door, knocking before entering, eyes blinking at your sleeping form, skin and heart racing in his chest as he brushes the hair from your face. The black of your hair rests around you on the pillow as you shift, leaning into his touch unconsciously, making his heart skip. Ah, you were… how pretty. You’re so pretty.

He mumbles to himself as you continue sleeping, lashes soft against the plush of your cheek, hand small as he places his over it, making him blink. He wonders how many times it’s been since the last sacrifice’s prayer. Though, most of them either died waiting or froze to death while running away. It wasn’t that he was lonely, per say, it was more… waiting. It had been a long time since he had met his wife, after all. He was simply glad that the right one had returned. He doesn’t recall how many times the other sacrifices had tried to seduce him— going as far as entering his chambers while he was resting to have their way with him.

At least he doesn’t need to worry about it with you.

Your soul wouldn’t allow it.

A soft amber glows in your chest as you rest, and your husband blinks slowly.

Same shade as the past. How warming.

The two of you fall into a pattern. His fingers tug on yours as the two of you hang out at his place, and you watch as he busies himself with his garden and fish, eyes focused on his task, body lax as he goes about his day. You wonder how someone is able to look so relaxed yet dignified at the same time. You don’t worry yourself with it, settling for staring at the fish while they flock to the food he gives them instead.

“Love.” He hums.

“Hm?”

“What is your name?”

Bells ring in the distance when you tell him.

“And you?”

“Ye Xuan.” He smiles. “Your husband’s name is Ye Xuan.”

“My Ye Xuan.” You hum, cheeks dusted with color.

“Yours.” He chuckles at the color on your ears.

You find that your husband is so, so lovely.

Your lips are curled upward sweetly as you eat with him, wandering out into the garden to pick plums and take a bite. You do not touch the peaches, blinking at them slowly while your husband takes a bite of them instead, offering you a nibble. You do not take it out of a fear that you will grow to become addicted. You do not know why, but you find the taste of peaches luring but not enough. You do not care for immortality. It is a blessing to be able to grow old and follow everyone else of value to you. 

You wake up at the strike of noon, stretching your arms as you hear something crack, eyes going wide. Then, the door slides open, and you blink at your husband, aquamarine scales on his cheeks, scarlet lips curled into a smile.

“Did you rest well, wife?”

You beam. “Yes, husband.”

“Ye Xuan.” He hums, sitting at the edge of your bed as he hands you the bowl of porridge. “I hear the people still make century eggs on earth, so I thought to make you some.”

“Thank you,” You smile cheekily, eating as he observes you.

Delicate. You are so much more delicate than he ever thought you would be. You look of skin and bones, years of weariness and exhaustion in your body, nowhere near the age of the myth in the tale promised by the people in your hometown. He wonders why the age had been so young and why they had never bothered to check before sending the poor girls.

“What happened to all the previous girls?” You tilt your head, 

He stares at you, sighing. 

“Are they all passed?”

“it has been a long time since someone remembered that they are to call to me when they are sacrificed.” He whispers. “The lot of them… passed.”

“Is there a reason why it is every ten years?”

“Every seventy.” Ye Xuen hums. “That is typically how long it takes a soul to reincarnate.”

You blink at him owlishly.

“The soul matters?”

“It is also why you do not respond to the majority of the brides?” You mumble.

He nods solemnly, taking the bowl from you as he sighs. 

“If the soul does not match, then the peach naturally rejects her.”

“So you don’t go based on looks?”

Your husband laughs, lips quirking up as his eyes smile at you, shaking his head.

You find something familiar about the palace the longer you spend there. You stare and blink at the peaches, plums growing to be good, but not enough to satisfy something. You crave something richer, and it seems that it will not be right without it.

“You crave the peaches.” Your husband tells you, taking your plate from you. “You can not have them.”

You stare at your husband. “Will it kill me?”

He shakes his head.

You crave it.

You wonder just what would happen if you did not listen to him for once.

Your fingers rest on the branches of the peach trees, licking your lips as you hum slowly, lashes fluttering as the fruit tempts you, lips curling upwards as you crave it. You wonder why your husband refuses to let you have it again. It is just a fruit, no? It could not hurt you. If the first emperor had three and achieved immortality, then how come you were not to become as him?

You snap the fruit from the tree, tucking it into your pouch as you hear your husband approach.

“You can not have it.”

“I know.” You continue staring, watching as the peach grows back on the tree, humming.

“Did you take one?”

“No.” You tilt your head. “I did not.”

Your husband raises a brow, but does not speak up.

You cut the fruit open later that night. 

It tastes sweet on your lips, biting the fruit, and you blink slowly at your nectar stained hands, sucking on the juices from your fingers. Through the cracks of your door, your husband watches you, purple eyes peeling past the wooden doors, stuck on your figure as you finish, settling into the warmth of your blanket.

Again.

It has happened again.

Your husband opens the doors once you are asleep, fingers pressed under your nose as he feels the air slip out of your lungs, skin pale and features in peace as he holds your head to his, forehead pressed to yours, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows as he loses you. 

You are gone. You are gone now.

Again.

You are gone again.

The fruit of the tree of immortality is still too much for your soul to handle, lips paling as your blood stops flowing, his ears listening to the way your heart stills and then stops.

Next life. Next life. 

#☾.suggestive #yexuan x reader #cael x reader #lovebrush chronicles x reader #☾.fics #lovebrush chronicles #reader insert #for all time #for all time x reader #got lazy at the end im not writing no more

[paragonrobits]

Talk to the people that fight the monsters in the dark, skulking in the alleys no one remembers and hiding behind suits and smiling faces in the expensive buildings, they'll tell you stories. They say there's a city block that doesn't belong to the city anymore.

Don't make trouble for the people there. The unspoken statement is that the people there aren't... exactly human anymore. They used to be. But there's worse things in the dark then men with the hearts of wolves or undying monsters that drink the blood of the living; worse than patchwork men that spread disaster in their wake and don't understand why. Sometimes, a terrible mystery ensnares someone, trapping them in promises and story and lies, and drags them away.

What comes back isn't human anymore. It's still a person, though. They reason and understand things, same as the humans they were, once. You leave them alone, the local Union rep says. They're no harm to no one, as long as you don't bring trouble to them.

Don't rat to them, you get warned. If someone who looks too good to be true comes around sniffing for their addresses, you just smile and nod and say you never heard a damn thing. Don't rat them out. Because the people in that place will know, and they'll find you, and your family. You try to throw them back into hell, they'll return the favor three times over.

But it goes both ways; if you watch out for them, mind your business and keep their secrets, they'll help you out.

The Union rep tells you a short little story; he says that most of the time, the people in that city block look the same as you or me. There might be a few signs; a girl with teeth unnaturally sharp and pointy, or a man who knocks on wood and it makes a noise like HE'S made of wood. But if things are going normal, you won't see what they really look like, just a kind of magical mask that hides them. But they got their fancy tricks, and they know all about escaping bad situations.

So if you do your part in the deal, they'll help you out. Pretty much anything; a single mother went down to them after some bad business with her ex came up and her kids went missing. Well, she talked to Pop Hammerfist, the big ol' dude that looks like someone carved a tree into a man. Her ex was on the news in the hospital a few days after, yelling about the trees following him, and her kids were back home safe and sound, and with the ex having already signed a few agreements to pay his damn alimony already.

Or a little boy with a missing cat came up to them and asked for help. If any of the real hunters or Union folk had heard about it, they would have stopped him, but the people in the city block didn't turn him away. They nodded, and listened, a few hours later came back with the little boy's cat, safe and purring up a storm. You help them out, they help you out; I hear that kid tells 'em stuff he heard. 'Spose there's a lesson in that. We're all in this together, long as we don't tear the boat down with us in it.

Reminds me of a story about the lady who brought the cat in, in fact. A big lady; has to go to special shops to get clothes that fit. Weird shiny teeth, too, with the weirdest damn braces I ever saw, if those are braces. You hear some funny stories about her, that when she comes knocking the whole floor shakes, but she couldn't be a sweeter lady. Nice to kids, loves cats, always help out. If she's got the weird habit of speaking in rhyme before she says anything else, well, we all got our promises, I guess.

Well, a while back, we had a Slasher. Yeah; the thing that happens when a Hunter goes bad, or someone just gets too much of a taste for murder. Killing opens up a soul, and some part of us leaks out, or something else gets in. This particular fellow liked to call himself a real genius; a real nasty piece of work that liked making elaborate death traps and leaving people to die. Well, we worked out he was there when they started finding the bodies, and by that point he'd already gotten the Big Lady.

...Yeah, that's the name of that lady I mentioned. Long story.

Well, we found what was left of him, and his death traps. The whole place was smashed to pieces by something big. Big and helliciously strong, I'd say. It was like the set of those torture horror movies got hit by a storm. And they found the guy, or. What was left of him. Looked like a wild animal had bit him up, or a jaguar.

Well, from what we heard, he got her all right. But she might have been a bit more than he bargained for. I'm not sure exactly what she did to him, but they were cleaning his blood and bone off the wall for weeks. They said his skull looked like something real strong had just slugged him, so hard he sorta splashed. Don't make me draw you a picture, pal.

But, yeah. Funny thing is, they said the fist mark was so big you'd need a person the size of an elephant to throw that kind of punch. And we kept seeing cats around the area. Really, really big cats.

..You remember about promises. You keep 'em with the city block folk, because they got all kinds of things keeping promises to them.

What happened to the Big Lady, you ask? Oh, she's still around. Helps out the local Union cell now and then. Good hand if you need brute force.

She don't much like having to handle anything that's got too much iron in it; steel is fine, but not real iron. She saws its an allergy.

...Yeah, I know how it sounds. But we got our funny ways, and she keeps her promises, so keep your nose out of it, yeah?

#hunter the vigil #changeling the lost #nwod #chronicles of darkness #my writing #fics #queued

[romance-rambles]

319 ROSES AND A DATE

Alkaid gets asked on a date by the girl he desperately wanted to ask out, at least before he found out who the flowers were for. You'd like to maintain that nothing you said was a lie.

— pairing: [modern] alkaid mcgrath x little painter/you

— word count: 2.8k

— tags: takes place after alkaid's florist ending [everything else happens the same way, except alkaid's first meeting with mc happens after godheim], misunderstandings [not unrequited love], some angst

— note: i was moved to try and write a flower shop au at least once after godheim but destiny's call really helped me out. handed me everything on a gold platter and said, "go to town, aya."

return to lbc masterlist | series: none

ALKAID STARES DOWN BLANKLY AT the bouquet of white roses in his hands. At some point during his stunned silence, he had unwittingly taken them off yours, just as you had hoped for.

All 319 of them, to be precise—which is a number that, put in a different context, can also refer to 3/19, the day of his birth. Even with the limited capacity he has at the moment to sort out the events that led up to this moment, he can't help the way his heart flutters at the knowledge that you remembered, even though so much time has passed.

"Alkaid?" A gentle tap against his shoulder robs the flowers of their spotlight. "Do you...not like the flowers?"

He looks up and sees you, still here—still dressed so beautifully he's once more in danger of succumbing to asphyxiation, with a fretful expression that makes him wonder if he's already there. When he does not respond, you close the remaining distance between them, obscuring all else from his vision.

It is a problem only because he has nowhere left to run.

"No," he croaks out finally, leaning back over the counter to accommodate you.

Obliviously, you move closer, leaving him with no choice but to avert his gaze once more. Alkaid can only hope you aren't offended—that you don't think he finds you unattractive, with how often he does so. It's only that your beaming smile reminds him of what it feels like to stare down the sun.

"They're lovely."

Satisfied with his answer, you pull back. Your hands are clasped behind your back, and your ponytail sways slightly, once more retreating behind your shoulder. There's an adorable star-shaped pin fastened onto the strap of your cross-body bag.

He sighs discretely, relieved, and pulls the bouquet up to his face as casually as he can. The petals, he hopes, will be enough to cover up the deep scarlet staining his cheeks.

"I'm glad!" You clap your hands together. "I was worried they wouldn't be to your liking. Maybe I should've asked you what your favorite flower was before I tried asking you out."

A self-deprecating laugh slips out as you scratch your cheek. An intricate design spans the length of your nail now—shades of red and green shaped into what he can clearly recognize as halves of a rose hugging the edges—against a black background.

Alkaid bites his lip, converting the interrupted gasp into a quiet exhale.

"You guessed right. I like white roses," he says, hoping desperately that his words are nothing less than reassuring. "Though they share that spot with lilies as well."

"Lilies," you repeat, a determined gleam in your lovely eyes. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

He bites his lip harder.

THE MORNING HE'S DUE TO hand off your flowers, Alkaid finds himself contemplating the benefits of coffee behind the register.

Though his favorite concealer and his usual color corrector have done much to brighten up his undereyes, they can do little for the grogginess that comes with staying awake the whole night (Why such a specific number? Who are they for? Do you remember him at all?). And, by the time the clock strikes nine, he's already downed three cups of strongly-brewed tea.

What pushes him to finally break away from his usual preferences is a simple headache.

The store is empty, and there remains more than half an hour before you're set to arrive. A sharp twinge of pain in the side of his head as he stands up to check on your flowers draws out a careful hiss. Alkaid, with some amount of lingering hesitance, flips the sign on his door to closed, with a note explaining the rough length of absence. Then he walks out the door, his destination the artsy cafe across the street—the one that makes him think of you whenever he walks in.

Allen, the normally deadpan barista on duty, seems to shut down when Alkaid corrects him on his order. Soon, the news spreads to the rest of the employees, who take turns staring at him as he leaves with a warm thermos of coffee in his hands.

But, in the end, it proves to be an unnecessary trip.

You're already in front of his flower shop when he returns, half-crouched and studying the sign the way someone might study a work of abstract art. Today, too, you have a large, dark blue backpack slung over both your shoulders, its surface decorated with various pins and stickers—mostly of a cat, your cat, but also of a popular manga that you seem to like.

In Passing, that is.

It's about a love triangle featuring a tyrant emperor and a well-liked leader of the rebellion. Even without the reviews praising it for subverting expectations, Alkaid would've picked it up anyway.

He's on the third volume right now, and—

Hmm? His eyebrows furrow. Where did I leave it? In my bag?

All of a sudden, the sleep that had been so insistent on dragging his eyelids down vanishes. Alkaid wracks his brain desperately for the answers, stomach churning at the thought of you finding out about his latest reading material.

Unfortunately, you choose that moment to turn around.

"Oh, Alkaid!"

Your confused expression soon melts away, leaving behind only a cheerful smile. Tightening his grip on his thermos, he exhales silently, before flashing you a gentle smile.

"You're here." Time stops as you begin to approach him, your keychains singing a short jingle to accompany you. Your expression softens, as does your voice. "You didn't forget about me, right?"

Alkaid can only sputter out a half-coherent apology.

The words get drowned out by the insistent, purposeful beating of his heart. It's as if it wants to claw itself out of his chest and entrust itself to your hands, as it is, with shattered bones sticking out of it.

You laugh prettily, as always. "It's okay. I'm just joking."

Then, like a moth to a flame, his gaze falls upon your lips. A soft red, with a glossy sheen, one that matches the color of your skirt. On a plain canvas, it's all the more striking. It leaves him wondering about things he, currently a stranger, shouldn't be fretting over.

He's not sure how long he stares for, with slightly parted lips and a series of half-realized thoughts chiding at him to stop—only that it's not long enough for you to grow uncomfortable.

Alkaid clears his throat, holding up his thermos (I should've bought her something too, he thinks) as an explanation. "I apologize for the wait. I went over to the cafe across the street."

"Coffee lover?" you guess, making room for him to open the door.

"I'm usually more of a tea person." As he slips inside the store, he can't help but chuckle self-consciously, remembering all the different ways he imagined this scene playing out. Naturally, his next words are nothing more than the most blatant lie he's ever told. "I thought I'd try something else for a change."

"Is it a nice place?" Upon seeing the puzzled look he sends over his shoulder, you clarify, "The cafe. I've seen the reviews, but I think only experience can beat the testimony of someone you know."

He considers your question for a moment. "The staff is very friendly. I often stop by during lunch for their sandwiches."

"I see..." you murmur.

"I think you'd like it," Alkaid blurts out as he slips in behind the register, happy to note that his copy of Volume 3 is, in fact, in his bag. "The owner enjoys collecting art—there's a lot of different paintings all over the cafe. Um, since you're an art major."

"Well, now I have to try it out." You don't seem particularly startled that he knows about your major; instead, you take to drawing patterns across the wooden countertop. He thinks he sees the familiar curve of an A. "The cookies you recommended last time were really great too."

When he keeps his silence, the complete opposite of what the state of his mind currently is (she remembers?), you look up.

"Hmm?" You tilt your head, confusion clouding your once smiling expression. "Do I have the wrong person? You're Alkaid, right? From that time in the snow mountains?"

He forces himself to nod, but that too is enough.

A shy smile blossoms on your lips, paired with both a brief flash of relief flitting through your gaze and the slight, almost imperceptible widening of your eyes. Placing your hands above your heart, you sigh exaggeratedly.

"You had me worried for a moment," you say. Your eyelashes cast a dark shadow on your undereyes. "I thought we'd never meet again."

For a moment, he wonders if there's more to your sorrow than you let on. Does it have anything to do with the way you disappeared? Somewhere so far away that no one could reach you at all?

Alkaid shakes off his thoughts.

"But we did," he responds carefully. I never thought we'd meet again either, he does not say instead. "Whether it was destiny, whether it was just a coincidence, we did. All we can do is make the most of it."

A tinge of sadness mars your lovely smile. "I think that sounds lovely."

SOON AFTER THEIR REUNION, DONE properly this time, down to exchanging numbers, Alkaid excuses himself to go fetch your flowers. When he returns, lovesick heart brimming with curiosity over the recipient's identity once more, he finds you've returned to doodling on the counter.

"Here they are, 319 white roses," he announces.

There's a blank expression on your face when you look up. Slowly, as recognition dawns upon you, it melts away to something bitter and rough. Its jagged edges dig into his his heart, leaving a paralyzing mix of sadness and longing to wash over him.

And then—

"Thank you," you say, and take the flowers off his hand.

His hand twitches, yearning for the camera he still keeps in his backpack, for the days where he feels like memorializing something instead. Lovely is the only word he has to describe you as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and pull the bouquet close with a faint smile.

Then, you close your eyes, and you inhale deeply. Once more, you are somewhere else—somewhere far, somewhere he can't reach.

"Ah, sorry." You crack one eye open. Now, the bouquet is clutched against your chest, but your sadness remains. "I guess I'm a bit nervous. I don't know if he'll like the flowers."

He? From some far corner of his mind, he recalls the image of your guardian. A tall man, with long silver hair and a pleasant, but guarded expression. Cael, he thinks is the name.

"For your guardian?" Alkaid inquires.

Your smile drops entirely at the mention of your guardian. A complicated series of emotions flash in your gaze, soon averted to one of the potted plants at the display. Scratching your cheek, you offer him a polite laugh.

Today, only some of your nails are a plain black. The rest remain bare.

"No, it's not for Cael." You answer carefully. "Actually—"

Looking down at the flowers, you take a deep breath. When next you speak, your voice has reclaimed the softness it'd shown him earlier—your searching gaze as well. You leave him with the truth, imparting it onto him like a mischievous secret.

"There's someone I'd like to ask out."

His stomach drops, and you leave him with the memory of lovelorn smile, forever imprinted behind his eyelids.

"I hope he says yes."

[3:00 PM] you: Alkaid, do you have any plans tonight?

[3:17 PM] alkaid: No, I'm free

[3:21 PM] alkaid: Did something happen?

[3:22 PM] you:

[3:22 PM] you: I haven't asked him out yet. Gonna do it soon

[3:23 PM] you: All of my other friends are busy rn.

[3:24 PM] you: Is it okay if I stop by after you close up shop?

[3:24 PM] you: I'd want to talk to someone about it

[4:31 PM] alkaid: Of course

SOMEHOW, ALKAID MANAGES TO GET through the rest of the day.

His heart is held together haphazardly with duct tape and carefully-placed staples, though their efforts are thwarted constantly by a popular refrain (You hardly know him. Of course there's someone else.), and he's one stubbed toe away from being reduced to tears, but he manages. Somehow.

He swallows down his what-ifs and maybes and waits, watching the hands on his wristwatch inch ever closer to six in the evening. And eventually, the vaguely promised time arrives.

As he's stepping out from behind the register, a familiar chime echoes cuts through the silence. Alkaid looks up and sees you, dressed still in red and black, your turtleneck and skirt swapped out for a knee-length dress.

"Hi."

The bouquet of white roses—held in both hands, a stark contrast to the black leather jacket you're wearing—covers up its neckline. You smile sheepishly at him, pulling at the mesh of your bright red skirt to mimic a curtsy.

You're beautiful. Even the flowers surrounding them pale in comparison. Even the aurora they'd seen together pales in comparison. You rob him of his breath and leave gasping for a reprieve, but so long as he keeps his memory in even the smallest capacity, that's simply impossible.

The familiar knife called jealousy stabs into his heart, leaving him keenly aware of his longing. He averts his gaze, but the damage has already been done. You are beautiful, and he has waited years to see you.

"Hi." Alkaid swallows uncomfortably, as the sound of your footsteps draws closer. In a panic, his hands brace themselves against the edge of the counter. "Was something wrong with the flowers? I thought—"

A mysterious expression sits upon your features when you pull his gaze onto you, seemingly oblivious to your magnetic power.

With a deep breath, you thrust the flowers at him, knuckles brushing against his chest. You pull back for a moment, taking your flowers with you, and the soft coral of your blush makes it difficult to discern whether you find yourself a victim the of same scarlet blooming across his cheeks.

"That's—" You cough politely. There's a heart-shaped pendant dangling from your golden necklace. The dress is either strapless or your jacket has covered up the straps. "—what I'm here to find out."

Alkaid tilts his head. His confused gaze darts across his surroundings and stops at the glass window of the store's display, thinking perhaps that your mystery boy might be outside. But while the streets are not barren, there is no one outside his store.

You say his name in the same way you told him your secret. Like it's something precious. Like it's something you love. And the truth begins to settle into his bones with a finality that deafens the half-coherent puzzle pieces he's been trying to fit together—he is the only one you could possibly ask out in this empty store.

He has no choice but to look back. At you, and the bouquet you're offering him.

"Would you like to go to the movies with me?"

AND THAT IS HOW HE finds himself with the beginnings of a bruise forming on his lip. He doesn't mind, not when the sting he feels as he wets his lip reminds him that this is not, in fact, a dream (It feels like it though, he thinks), nor a fantasy.

"You...you don't have a girlfriend, do you? It's been a while since then..."

You rub your arm lightly, muttering about something he can't understand, and what else is Alkaid meant to do but take your hand? He squeezes it gently, tickled to find that he can return the favor for all the times you've stolen his breath away.

Your lips part slightly, but whatever you hoped to say does not leave the confines of your mysterious mind. Instead, you draw some of your hair from both sides over your flushed cheeks.

"Nothing like that," he reassures, smiling gently at you. "I'm just surprised. I didn't realize you were talking about me."

"That's a reli—what." In a single moment, your voice goes from girlishly breathless to an irritated flat. Releasing your hair, you blink uncomprehendingly at him. "How?"

Watching you descend into another muttered ramble, Alkaid shrugs. "If you'd still like that date..."

You whip your head in his direction. "Then it's a date!"

The first time he met you, it was when you had fished out of the snow and offered him a warm drink to fight off the cold. They had talked about miscellaneous things, from your half-hearted desire to request a camera for your birthday to who could make the better model between them both.

And back then, he had thought to himself that there was no sound more beautiful than your laugh.

Almost four years after the fact, as he watches you giggle, Alkaid can confidently say his past self had the right idea. Such a specific title leaves him with room to declare your follow-up smile to be just as breathtaking.

#fics by aya #lovebrush chronicles #lovebrush chronicles x reader #alkaid mcgrath #alkaid mcgrath x reader #lovebrush alkaid #lovebrush alkaid x reader #lbc alkaid #lbc alkaid x reader #little painter #rambles from here on -> #i feel like lars has the common sense not to act like a ceo in a manhwa but i really do think cael would think this is fine #i feel like he'd probably be like “this is the least i can do” #that said i am curious if mc paid for those flowers with her own money?? is her mom rich too #i feel like she'd still be funded by lars (because fan) LOL he also coached her on how to ask alkaid out it's the blind leading the blind #should i write mc's pov too LOL #this was just supposed to be silly little misunderstandings and now there's ANGST and BACKSTORY and MORE ANGST

[apoptoses]

Armand lived in Venice during the absolute sluttiest period for mens’ clothes and I gotta talk about it.

Anne constantly used Botticelli as a reference for clothes (who was at his peak in the 1470s/1480s) but Armand was in Florence when Savonarola died, which puts him in Venice the late 1490′s. Fashion was moving fast, there was a big moral panic over society falling apart and becoming too secular, and in Venice it was time to let your inner ho out.

The look: Short. Tight. Made of as many expensive scraps as possible.

Let’s get into it.

The words used to describe clothes in TVA have zero basis in reality but were probably chosen because the average reader can picture a tunic easier than they can suss out what a cioppa was. So for quick reference:

Shift: a shirt (made out of linen, unless you want Armand to be the stinkiest boy in Italy. Shirts needed to be white, which meant they were bleached with piss, and ammonia eats away silk. So he could not have worn a silk shirt unless it was never going to be washed and he was happy to run around with pit stains, which would have been horrible). Considered an underwear layer.

Doublet: the renaissance equivalent of your shirt. Wool or silk, either is fine.

Cioppa: a pleated ‘tunic’ worn over your doublet, always sleeveless. Wool or silk.

Gamurra: your coat. Wool or silk.

Hose: pants, always made of wool flannel

So most folks reading probably picture Armand in something like this, ala Botticelli’s time:

Long cioppa, down mid thigh or to the knee, puffy sleeved doublet, not too risque. But this is like 25 years out of date by Armand’s time, and when he goes shopping it’s with a bunch of teenage boys with Daddy’s credit card. Marius, with his ever present Botticelli hard on, might have had them wear this stuff sometimes but this is not what a fashionable boy at the time would go out and buy himself.

Now the dude on the right here:

This is the look.

Doublet? Tight

Cioppa? Short

Ass? Out.

The entire point of the style was to show off your snatched waist and manly thighs and boy did the Venetians do just that.

Also doublets by this period were basically scraps of fabric tied together to show as much shirt as possible. Which was scandalous because your shirt is your underwear, so running around like this was the renaissance equivalent of wearing a sheer shirt with your bright pink bra exposed.

As a little rich boy and Master’s favorite, Armand would have been able to afford the finest linen, so sheer it would have been nearly see-through. Which makes a helluva statement when your doublet was split down the front like this:

His hose would be bias cut wool flannel for maximum stretch and maximum ass sculpting. Until the later 15th century hose were just thigh high stockings, and your doublet had to be long enough to cover your underwear. Now that doublets were being worn cut off at the waist hose had to be joined like modern pants. But how did you keep your junk safely in the trunk?

Enter the pre-cursor to the codpiece, which I mentally refer to as The Dick Flap:

This was a little triangle of fabric, shaped to hold your goods. It tied to the waist at each upper corner. Hose were so tight you couldn’t wear underwear (!) so you just had to tie your flap tight and go about your day. Like the modern zipper, it made for easy access (do with that info what you will)

This was the first time in European history that men just ran around with their full crotch emphasized and on display, so having your doublet so short it just all hangs out was both sexy and shocking to people.

But how did these pants stay up, you wonder?

Your pants would be tied to the hem of your doublet. Which meant that every day, Armand had to have someone lace him into his super tight clothes. I personally headcanon that he and Riccardo helped each other get dressed every day while he was mortal but you can feel your own fantasy on that one.

Another fun trend during the period was having your family emblem or a symbol of your trade embroidered on the sleeve of your gamurra:

Which Marius would have taken full advantage of, and put his fleur de lis in pure gold thread on every gamurra Armand had.

Here’s some more fashion fit pics just for fun:

Fleur de lis branding on the gamurra and the hose? Marius would have been into it.

The tied on sleeves! The shift pulled out of every seam! The renaissance man ass everywhere!

A plump and juicy young man indeed.

Anyways I hope this was useful or inspirational, or at least makes your next reread of the Vampire Armand more fun. Because the clothing descriptions in there don’t even begin to touch the painted on fashion fantasy that was going on in 1490s Venice.

(also if anyone really, really wants to see details on what Armand would have seen when he put on his clothes, I’m making a 1490s fit with all historically correct methods right now and I can post some of that if there’s interest)

#is it any surprise every living being in venice wanted to bang it out with amadeo when he was wearing all of *that*? #this is probably the nerdiest and most pedantic thing i will ever post #i refuse to feel shame #i hope this inspires some really slutty fanart #or some fic of someone lacing armand into his clothes #i need to edit my lestat/armand fic or i'd just write it myself lmao #armand #marius de romanus #the vampire armand #the vampire chronicles

[covenofthearticulate]

Words: 10k Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Armand/Lestat de Lioncourt Characters: Armand, Lestat de Lioncourt Additional Tags: Armand's Unethical Dentistry, canon-compliant smut, Medical Kink, Blood Sharing Summary:

“Stay still.” Armand snaps the second Lestat’s claws begin to scratch at the vinyl arm rests. Does it hurt?

No. Yes. No. I don’t know. Lestat’s thoughts are scrambling as his breath becomes quicker, in and out of his nose like a panting dog.

“Does it hurt, or is it just sensitive, Lestat?” Armand asks the question out loud, and only then does Lestat realize he cannot hear him over the rasping, labored breaths heaving from his chest.

I do not like to repeat myself. Does it hurt, or is it just sensitive?

It’s sensitive! He throws the words into Armand’s mind like a high-pitched whine.

“Alright.” Armand nods. “Tell me when it hurts, then.”

[READ ON AO3]

#she's here!!!!!!!!!!!!! #fucking hell this took me twice as long as as usual to write but I hope it's worth it #baby's first lestat/armand fic please be nice LOL #special shoutout to Faye for being my cheerleader on this one <3 #my writing #lestat de #lestat de lioncourt #armand #the vampire armand #vampire ch #vampire chronicles #mine

[deus-and-the-machina]

its not deeply touched upon in game besides a couple of lines but I constantly think about the scene where after mythra first awakens and turns back into pyra after voicing her frustration and pyra goes "that's not fair..." and how pyra constantly has to deal with the weight of a history and crimes that are just a distant memory to her, one she didnt even technically live through.

She doesn't even deny it whenever the people in game say that the Aegis sunk three continents, because what does it matter if she sunk one or three? the guilt still weighs (and interesting to think about how mentions of "aegises" probably conflated into just one aegis overtime + indol wanting to cover up what they did to spessia. in general people in 2 seem a bit hazy on the details of the war)

And obviously pyra and mythra, being the same person, know their pain very well and would understand the other intimately, but I do think its a shame that it wasn't explored that pyra might have some feelings about having been created as a coping mechanism and dealing with the fallout of things she didnt do and doesnt fully remember in mythra's stead. add onto the fact she's the weaker of the two, and I imagine pyra must have so many confusing emotions of inferiority and frustration about her entire existence. she isnt the aegis that can take out whole continents, but she's not the aegis who's the most useful to her friends and comrades either. and the scene where she forcefully takes control of siren is sooooo juicy in the context of this. anyways yeah

#I might write a fic exploring smith like this but I have no idea how id go about that ngl #xenoblade #xenoblade chronicles #pyra

[hekateinhell]

Chapter 1 - 5.4k

"And here I thought you were a good little girl who could listen to directions. Instead, you decide to turn around and make fools out of us both. But I am not unkind," Armand pauses to run her hand over the swell of Lestat's hip and down to the back of her thigh, fingering her exposed skin through the black fishnets.

"Perhaps you have been cruising through life on your looks alone because, from the sounds of it, nobody ever taught you any different… not your friends, not your teachers."

Lestat's breath catches, goosebumps visibly rising on her skin.

"Not your mother."

[READ ON AO3]

#i feel like i just gave birth LMAO i definitely invest much more of myself writing women than i do men! #i really hope you guys like it!!! 🥹💖 #tumblr ate the quality of my banner RIP and i adhded so hard over it just click it please look at my girls 🤧 #armand/lestat #armand #lestat de lioncourt #the vampire chronicles #vc #vc fic #vamptember

[kyoshi-era-week-24]

The Kyoshi Era Week 2024 will happen from July 14th to July 21st and we can't wait to see your contribution!

There are only 90 days to go, so check the prompts and rules and start preparing!

#KyoshiEra24 #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #the legend of korra #the rise of kyoshi #the shadow of kyoshi #kyoshi novels #chronicles of the avatar #atla #tlok #trok #tsok #avatar #avatar kyoshi #kyoshi #avatar kuruk #kuruk #avatar yun #yun #atla event #atla fanfiction #atla fanfic #atla fic #atla fanart #atla art #atla prompts #writing prompt #drawing prompt #fic prompt #art prompt

[tngrace]

Prologue

And here we go finally! Part 1 of Maverick Chronicles. Will update on Fridays. Enjoy!

Tumbler: Masterlist: Main, Mav Chronicles ; A03

Even at five, Pete knew his world was changing. The men on the porch caught his mom when she went down, but he’s not sure he’ll ever forget her cries. She’d always been a little distant when his dad was away, but when his dad never came back, he lost his mom as well. She stayed in her room, only emerging to get another drink and restart the song. He hated that song. He’s not surprised when he comes home from school one day a year and half later to find officers at his house and his mom is gone. He doesn’t cry; he lost his mom a long time ago. 

None of his relatives wanted him; he was a young child who had already been through too much. He was already acting out at school, getting into trouble, but no one took the time to see that he just needed a little attention, a little love. When none of his aunts would take him, he was placed in the system; a system that wasn’t very kind to him. A system that reinforced his beliefs that no one would want him, that he was inherently bad, that he deserved all the pain and heartache he received. But what he didn’t know was that someone was fighting for him; someone, two someones, wanted him very much. 

When he was eight and a half, Mike and Carrie started to come visit. He vaguely remembers Mike working with his dad, but it takes a couple of visits before he warms up to them. The social worker is surprised with how well-behaved and nice Pete is when he is with Mike and Carrie. But they talk to him, they listen, they give him attention and they’re nice to him. He likes them, and he really likes when Mike tells him stories about his dad. He trusts them, and he’s always so sad when they leave. He doesn’t show it, showing his tears are a weakness in his current foster father’s eyes, but he always cries for a solid hour when Mike and Carrie leave. He’s always so surprised when they come back too. 

On their fifth visit they bring their daughters Catherine and Jamie with them. Cat’s three years older than him, but she plays with him on each visit, and she seems nice. Jamie is almost one, and she loves using Pete to pull up on. She grins at him every time she does it, and Pete can’t help but smile at her. After their tenth visit, his social worker asks if he’d like to go live with them. He doesn’t believe it, doesn’t believe they could want him full time, but he’s honest and says yes. A week later they’re in front of a judge, and he has to answer a bunch of questions honestly. When it’s over, Carrie pulls him into a hug that’s so tight, he’s sure he’s going to snap in half. “Want to go get your stuff kiddo?” Mike asks. 

“I’ve got it,” he says nodding to the backpack that’s beside him. 

He sees Mike and Carrie share a look, and he’s afraid he’s already messed up. 

“Tomorrow we’ll go shopping; or maybe when we’re back home.” 

“I’m fine,” Pete promises. He has all his important mementos and pictures in his backpack with two pairs of jeans and shirts. 

Mike gently squeezes his shoulder, but he agrees with Carrie. “Let’s get back to the room, get some food, and book the tickets home.” 

It’s a whirlwind after that, and before Pete knows it, he has his own room in a house on the beach in California. His room is between the girls, and they let him decorate it anyway he wants. It takes several months of being there, probably closer to a year if he’s being honest, before he relaxes into the fact that his room isn’t going anywhere. He starts putting his pictures out on the dresser. There’s the one of him and his dad with his dad’s plane in the background. Then there’s the one picture of the three of them where they were happy. When he comes home from school one day, he finds them in a frame next to his bed and he tries not to cry. He finds Carrie in the kitchen cooking; “Thank you,” he tells her quietly from the doorway. 

“For what sweetheart?” 

“Putting my pictures in a frame. I… I was always afraid they’d get ruined and I’d lose them.” 

Carrie kneels down for a hug, but she always waits for him to come to her. Pete runs into her arms, clinging tight. 

“You’ll never have to worry about losing them again Pete. We can even make some copies just in case, if you want.” 

Pete nods against her shoulder, as he buries his face in her neck. “Thank you mama,” he whispers. 

It’s the first time he has called her that, even though both she and Mike have told him they would be more than happy with whatever he called them, but that it was ok to think of them as mom and dad now. She hugs him tighter trying not to cry, and that is how Mike finds them after getting Cat started on her homework and getting some hugs from his two year old. 

“Everything ok?” he asks quietly, so as not to startle Pete. 

“Yea…. Yea. Everything is perfect,” Carrie gets out. Thankfully, Pete doesn’t notice the tears in her voice, but Mike does. He cocks his eyebrow at her, and she gives him a watery smile. 

Even though he’s almost ten now, Carrie picks him up and holds him. Mike walks closer and wraps his arms around them both. Pete lets out a shuddering breath as he clings to Carrie tighter. He feels safe; he feels loved, and he has for the last year. 

After a few minutes, Pete wiggles down, giving them a blinding smile before he’s off to do his own homework with Cat while Jamie runs around their feet. 

“What happened?” Mike asks once Pete is gone and Carrie falls into his arms letting the tears fall. 

“He thanked me for the picture frame and called me mama.” 

Mike’s arms tighten around her and he smiles. It took a little longer than they expected, but Pete was finally settled; he was home. 

It takes another year before he calls Mike “dad.” Pete had been sick, and Carrie couldn’t get out of work for the day. Even though it was generally frowned upon, Mike had brought him to base to rest in his office while he had class. He didn’t have any hops that day, so he figured it would be fine. When Mike comes back from class, Pete is curled on the couch in Mike’s sweatshirt, looking awful. 

“Alright kiddo, ready to go home?” Mike asks, brushing the hair off his forehead. 

Pete is burning up, so Mike gets him some more meds and then helps him up. It’s a struggle to get Pete to take them, but he finally manages to get them down, and he rests his head against Mike’s abdomen where he’s standing in front of Pete. His fingers are brushing through Pete’s hair in the way that always calms him, and Pete lets out a shuddering breath. “Don’t feel good, Dad,” he whines. 

Mike has to force himself not to react and freak Pete out, but he feels the lump in his throat all the same. “I know bud. Let’s get you home and into bed. How’s that sound?”

“Will you stay?” Pete whispers. 

“As long as you want,” Mike promises. He helps Pete up, and gives him his aviators to hide behind even though they’re way too big on the kid, and then leads him out of the office. Once home, Pete curls into his side in bed and promptly falls asleep. That’s how Carrie finds them once she gets home. 

At sixteen, Pete starts asking Mike questions about the Academy and joining the Navy. He wanted to be a pilot just like both his dads. Mike was more than pleased to answer any and all of Pete’s questions, and he snuck him on base over summer break more than he probably should’ve. But Pete had him wrapped around his little finger since the day he was born. Mike worked for those two years to get the mission he’d flown with Duke declassified so the truth could be revealed, but it was to no avail. He knew the rumors that swirled around the Navy, and he knew Pete was going to have a hard go at it, but he was still surprised when the rejection letter came. To say Pete was heartbroken was an understatement, and when he asked Mike why he thought he didn’t get in, Mike told him the truth as much as it killed him. Mike watched his carefree teenager transform before his eyes. It was the same stubbornness and determination he’d seen in his long deceased wingman that shown in his kids eyes now, and he knew nothing would stop Pete from finding a way. 

What did surprise him was Pete wanting to cut off all contact with them. Pete thought he was protecting Mike and explained it as such. Carrie was able to convince Pete that he was still able to write to her or the girls so they didn’t lose full contact with him, and Mike was relieved. He wasn’t ready to let his kid go just yet. Pete fast tracked through college, and before Mike knew it, his kid was in flight school. It was there that he met Nick and Carole, who took him into their little family like it was nothing. Mike was glad to see him gaining friends and support outside of them, and he hoped it would be a good thing for Pete. Nick and Pete seemed to click so well, and Mike wasn’t all that surprised when he’d heard they were a pilot/RIO pair. He even understood when Pete changed his emergency contacts to Nick and Carole, even if it broke Carrie’s heart just a bit.

Out of flight school, they had a brief station at Pensacola, and it was there that Pete met Tom Kazansky. He’d mostly kept his sexuality to himself as a teenager, but his older sister knew he tended to favor males. He had a suspicion that Mike and Carrie knew as well, but they’d never said anything, so he didn’t either. While it could get him a dishonorable discharge if anyone in the Navy found out, Pete made sure to always be discrete. Hence why Nick didn’t even know. But one look at Tom Kazansky, and Pete knew he had to have him. It took a couple of weeks and several, several, nights at a bar and nightclub, but Pete finally succeeded and got his man. It was one of the hottest and greatest nights of his life if he’s being honest, but the next day, he and Nick were restationed, leaving Tom behind. 

In between deployments, he would sometimes sneak home for a short visit; Carrie insisting on seeing him alive with her own eyes. It always felt great coming home, but he was always worried his connection to them would be discovered and he’d ruin Mike’s career. It was the last thing he wanted, knowing how hard his dad had worked for that top position at Top Gun, so he spent a lot of his leaves on his own or with Nick and Carole. They’d done three years of random length deployments, Mav making a name for himself in the Navy and trying to out fly Duke’s ghost, before they were sent to Top Gun. It felt odd knowing he’d actually been the second choice, and if it hadn’t been for Cougar turning in his wings, he’d still be waiting for his chance. But Mav was beyond ecstatic to be going home, and to finally be able to fly with his dad.

#my writing #Maverick Chronicles #pete maverick mitchell #tom iceman kazansky #mike viper metcalf #carrie metcalf #icemav #icemav fic #top gun #tg #top gun fic #tg fic

[steamworksfairy]

Thinking about how the silence between Kit and Ty has to be the loudest thing Ty has ever heard. He can handle crowds and the heat of battle because he has his headphones helping to filter the noise out. But they can't help him with Kit. Not when all there is is silence and waiting for the day that Kit forgives him...

(And Kit wishing he could 😭😭😭😭😭)

#i be angsting today 🫠 #you probably understand my last post better now lmao #idk kitty just does this to me #tbh this is based off something I was beginning to write as a fic #but it was too incoherent #so it became this post instead #rip kitty angst is so brutal #kit x ty #ty x kit #ty blackthorn #kit herondale #kit rook #the wicked powers #twp #the dark artifices #tda #the shadowhunter chronicles