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yesimwriting · 3 years

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playing vices

“A/n a blurb bc ive been working on my novel and ive missed writing for Kirigan :))

I am a fool that has played into her vices enough to make them addictions. That must have been Kirigan's plan. He knows that I don't agree with his methods. He is also much too aware of the fact that I am beyond attached to him. He plays into that fact often, lulling me to him whenever he feels that my conscious is in danger of driving a wedge between us.

Which is why I have become accustomed to falling asleep while running my fingers along his skin as he whispers things much sweeter than anything he would say while fully awake.

But now it's late and he's not here. I sit up, kicking the comforter off of me slightly. It seems Aleksander has been more and more absent these days. When he's not with me, the odds that he's doing something that hurts people are high. His absence is also starting to make me feel like he's losing interest in me. It would make sense considering the fact that he looked twice at me in any capacity has never seemed logical.

Maybe that's why we've never indicated commitment to each other. I don't know what commitment would be with him. He seems to grand to be considered a 'boyfriend', but there's something more than friendly about how he holds onto me. I've never cared for labels until I started feeling displaced.

"You're still awake."

I press my lips together, trying to seem a little calmer. "Couldn't sleep."

"Troubling thoughts?" The question is more weighted than it should be. Everything with him is.

“Has anyone ever called you dramatic?”

His lips quirk upwards, hinting at a smile. Warmth pools in my stomach, the way it always does when he lets me see the slight glimmer of light that’s still in him. Sometimes I think he only shows me this softness when he feels that I may pull away. It may be rooted in manipulative intent, but I know that it’s real.

“Only you would have the gall,” he says, voice low yet not dark.

Kirigan’s easiness coaxes a smile from my lips. A small one, but I can feel the way the crack in my tension feeds his confidence. He takes pride in slipping past the walls I only try to create when cautious or irritated. Today I’m both but I need to pretend like I’m neither. The more resistance he senses, the more forward and effective his advances become.

I keep my expression neutral. I’m sure Alina could get away with calling him that. I wish she was more unlikable. It would be easier to hide my irritation if I could blame that displaced feeling in my chest on two people. But of course Alina is wonderful, beautiful, and his equal.

Whatever. It’s not like we’re really anything. Every time I see him I wait for his betrayal. There’s nothing worth using me for, and somehow that makes me feel worse. He should have never looked at me twice let alone encourage whatever strange relationship we’ve created.

My silence seems to displease him because he approaches my bedside easily in quick yet patient strides. Now that he’s close enough to touch I feel some of the ice I managed to solidify melt.

Kirigan lifts a hand and places it on my knee easily. I stiffen instinctually, he runs his thumb over my skin to fight my resistance. “Who’s upset you?”

I breathe, forcing myself to ease. “No one has.” I don’t have to meet his gaze to know he doesn’t believe me. That’s the core source of our attachment, we can read each other with less than a look. “I’m just getting a headache,” not a full lie, “I’ll feel better after some sleep.” He squeezes my knee slightly, a soft way of asking me for more. “I don’t think I’ll be good company tonight.”

His hand leaves my knee, fingertips barely grazing my thigh as he moves his hand to hold beneath my chin. I still as he turns my head so that I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You don’t need to be good company when what I want is your presence.”

I press my lips together to avoid melting into the promising pools of warmth that make up his irises. He spent all day with Alina, took Zoya’s side in an argument I had with her earlier this week, and now he comes to me late at night. He seems to only want to acknowledge me when we’re alone, and it’s not like I want more than that. I just don’t know how long my heart will be able to teeter the line between nothing and something. I’m a fool for having let it go on this long.

The only problem is that his steady stare is chasing away all of my rationality. “I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone more in the mood to offer their presence.”

My curtness leaves something behind his expression dull, the hint of a smile that was growing on him has now vanished. I am met with a stoic disposition I have never had directed at me.

“They’re not you,” he counters, voice edged by something I don’t understand.

That’s the point. They’re not me--I’m average. I can’t offer power and my relationship experience is basic at best. I don’t want to have this argument, not when I’m basically fighting for him to let me go when that’s not what I want.

I’m making it easier. If it hurts this much when I was only on the cusp of something, imagine the pain I’l feel if I let it continue. I turn my head away so that he’s no longer holding my chin. “Not a bad thing.”

“To me it is.” He doesn’t hesitate, my chest swells. His thumb brushes against my cheek, soft and comforting. “I’m tired,” he says this like it’s a confession. His admission hangs in the air for a long moment, as heavy and weighted as my heart. “If you’re angry, wait until morning.”

Something in my heart cracks. “I’m not angry.” My gaze drops, my thoughts struggling to come together. “I’ll be nicer to deal with in the morning.”

“Y/n,” his tone twists from distant to warning, “the last time you asked me to leave was when you discovered something you didn’t like.”

I almost wince at the way he’s worded it. When I found out what his real plans were, I told myself I had to leave. He skirted past all of my reservations and walls, twisting my doubt away through coddling whispers and shy brushes of fingers.

“This isn’t like that.” Not a lie.

He exhales slowly, the sound dangerously sharp. “Then what is it?”

“Why did you come here so late?” The question leaves me too sharply. I’m exposing too much but I can’t help it. “If you don’t want to answer, that’s fine.” My voice is flat. “I’m sure Alina will be happy to fill me in.” I can’t bring myself to take in his reaction. “And if she can’t, I’m sure Zoya will be able to.”

He’s silent for a long second. “Unwarranted jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

His confidence sparks something angry within me. “I am not jealous.” The most blatant lie of the night, but I don’t care. I turn my head to glare at him, “and don’t just tact on ‘unwarranted’ before something that’s true just because it’s easier for it not to be.”

I watch his expression cautiously until the slightest tilt of his lips adds to my anger. He’s enjoying this or he did this intentionally or both. “Darling,” he hums, voice soft, “you are the only person that makes me feel peace.”

My stomach flutters, the sensation threatening to break my weak resolve. “I am not particularly powerful,” I breathe, voice stiff, “or particularly...” How do I explain this all to him? “Anything.” He’s everything, and I am nothing but average. “I’m average at best, there’s no reason for you to want anything to do with me, and that’s fine--but don’t lie and pretend that that’s not true.”

The sentence is barely out fo my mouth before I feel myself pulled towards him by the collar of my nightgown. His lips are on mine before I can question where this is going. I kiss him back too quickly, but any effort I expend is returned fervently.

He pushes me back slightly as quickly as he yanked me forward. He doesn’t explain. I don’t ask him to. I should demand an answer and shove him away from me or pull him back towards me. But I do nothing. I just stare at him as he stares at me.

When the weight of the silence threatens to break something in me, I force myself to speak, “Kirigan--”

“Aleksander.” The name is soft and so fragile I worry it will shatter in the air before it can fully reach me. “You know there’s much I’m not ready to say, but that,” he exhales, the sound so sad I want to reach for him, “that is the one name I have not given to myself and I want you to have it.” Something conflicted crosses his features. “I would never give that to someone average.”

Emotion swells in my chest, heavy yet not painful. “Aleksander.” I’m not sure if I’m trying to call to him or if I’m just trying to feel his name--his true name--on my lips.

His eyes widen, something unbearable behind them. He moves the hand holding the collar of my nightgown to my cheek. I lean into the contact like a fool as his eyes flutter shut. “Say it again.”

I don’t hesitate, “Aleksander.” I lift my hand, fingers hesitant to find their place on his cheek. “Aleksander.”

He sighs into both the contact and the name. “You’re the first thing I’ve allowed myself to want,” his eyes open, but I cannot bring myself to meet his gaze, “I should make you feel like it.”

Something about the way he says that is sad. “I think that if it’s fair to say you were a little distant, it’s just as fair to say that I was a little jealous.”

Aleksander smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m tired,” he admits, “I’ll enjoy my victory in the morning.”

I roll my eyes, but scoot over to give him a place by my side regardless. “I’m not sure you won, I think it was more of a draw.”

He takes the space I offer quickly, never letting the contact between us disappear as he settles himself against my pillow. I let him pull me towards him. “This feels like a victory.”

I try to ignore the warmth in my chest. “You’re lucky I’m tired enough to find that endearing.”

I relax as his fingers trace shapes I’ll never know about onto my back. “I agree.”

#shadow and bone #grisha #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #sab imagine #general kirigan x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan imagine #aleksander morozova #aleksander morozova imagine #aleksander morovoza #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morovoza x reader #the darkling #the darkling imagine #the darkling x reader #the darkling x you

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passable-talent · 3 years

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VADER X GN!READER

cryst am I writing a fic? what is that. who does that anymore akfkvjsb

dedicated to @sunsetkenobi bc she deserves it and I probably wouldn’t be writing this otherwise

okay so if you’ve seen how to train your dragon 2, this is that one scene. ya you know the one. I decided I wanted to break my own heart and here I am to do that so. ergo I do not own the song nor the original concept nor httyd akckcja

also I find writing vader exceedingly difficult thank u send tweet

my apologies for reappearing just to drop a mediocre fic

The stormtroopers took your saber when they captured you.

You had tears in your eyes as they ripped the blade from your grip, but you couldn’t do much about it, with force blockers around your wrists. You just had to watch as they carried away the last remaining piece of your husband.

You hadn’t seen Anakin since he left for Mustafar, intent on ending the Clone Wars. The last time you’d seen Obi-Wan, he told you that Anakin had been killed there, when a sith named Darth Vader struck him down.

Ever since, you’ve been hiding out. Hoping to escape the Jedi hunter who killed your husband. He was ruthless, and powerful, but you did your best to stay among the crowds, unseen, unnoticed.

Unnoticed was a word for it- you weren’t in Jedi robes, and you no longer had your saber. Being dragged through the bowels of an empire ship, stormtroopers flanking you on all sides, you looked like any other prisoner.

You got a cell far, far in the corners of the ship, like they were trying to bury you away. You took the steps down and into the cell and stood amongst it as the troopers left.

Your saber... who knows what they’d do with it. You’d made it with a piece of metal that Anakin had given you, a piece of scrap he’d found on one of his Padawan journeys with Obi-Wan. Nothing else... you had nothing else. You had nothing else of him. And now, your saber was gone, too.

So, your final few hours. You were caught as a Jedi, labeled a traitor to the empire. You were in the ship of Darth Vader, Jedi hunter. You were facing execution now, you knew it. You’d been caught.

So there was no need to hide anymore.

The cell was cold, but it wasn’t too bad. Your fingers would get chilly after a while, but for now, it was a good enough place to meditate. You hadn’t been able to take that risk in so long.

You sat down in the center of the cell, opening yourself to the force for the first time in years.

It was painful, at first. You felt great grief, all around you, surrounding you. It was familiar, too familiar, it brought you right back to the moment that Obi-Wan told you Anakin was dead.

But this was different.

It was a universal grief, one much bigger than one man. It was like a mourning of the force itself, mourning her lost Jedi, mourning each of the thousands of them.

You closed your eyes, feeling like you were leaving the cold cell, becoming bigger than it. You reached out to the ship, to the troopers who wouldn’t know the difference, the millions of miles of wiring working through the cruiser. You felt the metal, the heat, the drone-like worksmanship from the pilots and the sanitation crew.

And then you felt the anger. Rage, the likes of which you hadn’t felt in quite a while. It startled you, tossing you out of your meditation. You opened your eyes and fell backwards, catching yourself with your palms on the floor. And then the door opened.

You jumped to your feet, staring up at the imposing figure in the doorway. A black cape, a saber at his waist, and a menacing helmet.

He took a step into the room, and you took a step back. The door closed behind him.

“(Y/N) (L/N), Jedi scum,” Vader said, his voice deep and scratchy, even through the vocoder of his helmet.

“Lord Vader,” you answered, pressing your back against the wall. There was something to the area around him, the force felt so... unsettled. It was like he both channeled and reflected it, pulling it toward him and pushing it away. Like he was fighting it.

And yet... there was something familiar about him. Your gaze slipped back to his saber, which seemed so oddly familiar. His presence, as well. It made something in your mind ring, as though your own body felt him familiar, too.

How could that be?

“Keep your eyes from my saber,” Vader growled after a few moments of silence, “you won’t be taking it. You cannot escape.”

“I’m not thinking of taking it,” you assured him, hoping not to anger him. “It just... it reminds me of my husband’s saber.”

“Husband?” Vader echoed, his body unmoving. You wished he could at least take off the helmet so you could see his facial expression. “Jedi aren’t meant to marry.”

“I know,” you breathed out, trying to keep eye contact with the disturbingly familiar man, even through his helmet. “But I did.”

There was a moment in which the only thing you could hear was the humming of the ship. And then he turned, his cape spinning behind him, and made his way to the door.

Your husband- you would marry him again, if you could. He was the love of your life, and that was never going to change.

Your wedding, the most beautiful day of your life. Padme’s villa on Naboo, a gorgeous lakeside view, a beautiful ceremony, even if the both of you were still tainted with your padawan hairstyles. But then, later that night, sitting around a fire with a song you would go on to sing together every night you had to yourselves amidst the war. A song you’d develop a dance to, a song you could still hear in his voice, if you listened hard enough.

As Vader approached the door and began punching in a code, you turned your head to the side, closing your eyes.

“I’ll swim and sail on savage seas,” you began, whispering it under your voice, barely even melodic. You hadn’t intended for Vader to even hear you.

“With ne’er a fear of drowning, and gladly ride the waves of life, if you would marry me.” You glanced back up, seeing Vader frozen at the door. When you didn’t continue, he turned his head back toward you with the slowest movement.

“No scorching sun, nor freezing cold, will stop me on my journey...” Your nerves got the best of you and you trailed away, no longer having the bravery to continue, the strength. You couldn’t cry in front of Darth Vader.

“...if you will promise me your heart...” came that rasping voice, and you snapped your head up. A shuddering breath escaped the vocoder of his helmet as he lifted his hands to its sides, lifting it from his head.

He turned his gaze to you, and your heart pounded harder with every feature you recognized. His face was scarred over from burns, his neck crossed on each side of his throat with thin surgery scars. His eyes were yellow and red, but that much was expected from Darth Vader. His hairline was mottled with scars where the scalp hadn’t healed enough to grow hair, and the rest was unkept, but still it was a familiar gold.

“And love me for eternity...”

Your eyes widened and your hands lifted up, reaching forward to his face, tears already welling in your eyes. Anakin, Anakin was alive, he’s right here. Your husband is alive. You cupped his face, rubbing your thumbs over his cheekbones. His voice was different, rougher, deeper, but still you heard him. His eyes closed slowly, his face lowering into your palms.

“My dearest one, my darling dear, your mighty words astound me...” You took a deep breath to steady your voice, overwhelmed with relief, emotion, surprise. “But I've no need for mighty deeds when I feel your arms around me.”

Anakin’s eyes opened, and they were blue, that blue you hadn’t seen in so long, that blue you adored. A low smile pulled at his lips, one you never thought you’d see again, and he took his arms around your waist. There was a laugh to his voice as he sang.

“But I would bring you rings of gold, I'd even sing you poetry-“ You took slow steps, the cell smaller than your usual dance space, but you made do. His hands spread along your lower back, yours on his shoulders.

“And I would keep you from all harm, if you would stay beside me!”

You pulled away, taking his hand, stepping into the familiar pattern. He didn’t step as nimbly as he did when you’d last seen him, but still he tried.

“I have no use for rings of gold,” you sang, falling into the familiar patterns, his smile, the way he looked at you, “I care not for your poetry, I only want your hand to hold-“ Finally his smile brightened to what you remembered, and you took his leather-covered hand between both of yours as you sang your last line, your voice no longer timid, now loud and happy.

“I only want you near me.”

You joined his voice, finally twirling in the circles you never thought you’d have again, holding the man you thought you’d lost.

“To love and kiss, to sweetly hold, for the dancing and the dreaming-“ His leather glove, after all this time, hadn’t changed. Did he wear the same one?

“Through all life's sorrows and delights, I'll keep your laugh inside me.” His voice wasn’t exactly the way it’d been when you’d seen him last, but still, it blended perfectly with yours. Six years... it had been six years.

“I'll swim and sail on savage seas, with ne’er a fear of drowning,” You took a spin, like walking on air. He stepped around you, never letting go of your hand.

“I'd gladly ride the waves of life, if you will marry me!” With the last word, he lifted you up by the waist, pulling you against his body, your knees only just on either side of his hips. Mostly, he held you up on his own, your forehead pressed to his. You’d missed that smile so much.

Your husband is alive. Anakin Skywalker is alive. You couldn’t help your breathy laugh as you settled your weight against his chest, cupping his cheeks.

“Oh, Anakin...” you breathed, closing your eyes, and for one blissful moment, all was perfect.

He dropped you.

You looked up, startled, into yellow eyes. His expression was blank, his glaze flitting over you. He turned with a whip of the cape that forced you to step back, and before you could say a word, he clipped the helmet back over his head.

He only gave you one more look before he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him.

And now the cell felt so much colder.

-🦌 Roe

#anakin x reader insert #anakin x jedi reader #anakin skywalker x jedi reader #star wars anakin #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #darth vader #suitless vader #vader x reader #vader reader insert #gn reader

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not-me-simping-for-blasty · 3 years

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so exactly 2 (two!) people asked for the playlist, which means i 100% am going to deliver

alright so without any more of my stupid commentary,, here is the bakugou playlist w/ a little bit of explanation bc i just like to talk about him

Title: *anger noises*

spotify link :)))

1. Love Me Dead - Ludo

lmao basically, about this one, bakugou would. he 10000% would say shit like “you're a parasitic, psycho, filthy creature, finger-bangin' my heart”. that’s all i gotta say about this one

2. Love Bites (So Do I) - Halestorm

look at the title of this song. you gonna tell me that’s not bakugou???

3. Scotty Doesn’t Know - Lustra

distinct blasty boy energy. very much a song i turn up in my car and immeadiately go “yeah- he would crush the dreams of some poor boy and then write a song about it. just to sing his own praises.”

4. Dead! - My Chemical Romance

ummm “Have you heard the news that you're dead? No one ever had much nice to say, I think they never liked you anyway.”

-i , sorry for the angst but??? thinkin about bakugou post-kidnapping and kamino ward???

5. Modern Swinger - The Pink Spiders

i mean, just the whole chorus rlly. listen to it- bakugou would think that. he would. but esp the line “And its love, It's heavy and it hurts and it's love”

6. Crazy Bitch - Buckcherry

this song is the best misogyny i’ve ever heard. the message is terrible but bakugou would. he would.

7. Highway Tune - Greta Van Fleet

i- the scREAM/yodel in the beginning of this song?? like “you are my special, you are my special, you are my midnight” , and the “There's one girl that I know I'm never gonna pass” and the “So sweet, So fine, So nice, All mine” , iTS BAKUGOU IT IS, I WILL LITERALLY WRITE AN ESSAY ABOUT IT

8. Witness - Mindless Self Indulgence

“Son of a bitch, god likes me, I am the best, fuck everybody else”

..... i - y’all already kno i aint even gotta explain this one

9. Vicious Love - New Found Glory ft Goddess Hayley Williams

i cannot explain to y’all enough how much this one makes me think about bakugou- PLS ITS ABOUT SEEING SOFTNESS IN OTHER RELATIONSHIPS AND WANTING IT,, BUT STILL ONLY BEING ABLE TO EXPRESS LOVE THRU CONFLICT

10. Uneasy Hearts Weigh The Most - Dance Gavin Dance

no explanation tbh,, the lyrics dont rlly apply but listen to this song n just tRY and tell me it wasn’t on bakugou’s 7th grade playlist

11. Little Monster - Royal Blood

“Heartache to Heartache, I'm your wolf, I'm your man, I say run little monster, Before you know who I am”

yep yep checks out thats bakugou isnt it

12. Run - Foo Fighters

“In another perfect life, in another perfect light, we run” and “Wake up, run for you life with me”

basically its about escaping a world in ruins with someone u love by ur side,,,,, every day i think about writing a bakugou fic with this premise but i havent done it yet and i should

13. I Don’t Care - Fall Out Boy

“I don't care what you think, As long as it's about me, The best of us can find happiness in misery”

..... yep. that last line especially. n just the whole song is big bakugou energy

14. The Suffering - Coheed and Cambria

“If it was up to me, I would have never walked out, So until the sun burns out, Oh, I hope you're waiting”

oooo and “Should we try this again with hope (Bye, bye) Or is it lost, give up the ghost, And should I die all alone as I knew I would, (Then burn in hell young sinner)”

pls i love this song sm, it’s just a rlly good song and it also have massive massive bakugou vibes so thats always a plus

,,,, okay and this last one- and jesus it hurts

15. My Hero - Foo Fighters

no bc it u think about how upset bakugou was after kamino?? with all mights retirement?? pls

“Kudos, my hero, leavin' all the mess, You know my hero, the one that's on, There goes my hero, Watch him as he goes, There goes my hero, He's ordinary”

no bc every single day i think about writing a novel on how much bakugou AND DEKU were affected by all might’s shitty teaching n the ways it’ll probably always set them up to be rivals in some capacity

#bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou playlist #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you

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shibaraki · 2 years

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i have returned and finished the fic ....

ok can i first just say you found a way to somehow make this entire fix so warm and comfy i just refell in love and its not even my life, even the smut was warm and even just reading it it felt so familiar

i love the way you characterize samu in this it made it really seem like he never stopped loving the reader and when you said he stepped back in their life without dust on them anymore was just .. a really creative way to show how long it had been but how close they both held each other still

mamoru is SO PRECIOUS honestly i'm really not a kid person but this little character you created is so full of love and life i cant help but fall in love with him

not only mamoru but this whole world you've created is incredible i cant even tell you how much better this is than what i was expecting, and i had high hopes!!! when i said you always found a way to impress me i wasnt lying i always love everything you write and this just takes the cake

you don't have to post this but you blew me away entirely and i can only hope i expressed how good of a writer you are in this little ask because you're so good!!!! genuinely

hi again beloved!!

yk a lot of people say that my fics are warm, and it makes me happy every time I hear it. I enjoy writing intimacy and love a lot, I’m a ridiculous romantic at heart and I’m so glad I can put it to good use. in all honestly it felt like I was the one being driven by the plot and not the other way around, I was literally unable to sleep sometimes bc I wanted to make sure I put a piece of dialogue down etc incase I forgot it later!

I’ve said this before but I cannot say it enough. I AM SO HAPPY PEOPLE LIKED MAMORU. children can be difficult to write and I know that not everyone can see themselves in a parental role, but I wanted the reader’s relationship with Mamoru to progress just as it progresses with Osamu. he clearly trusts his fathers judgment, knows that you’re important in some way, and he trusts you for it. ahhh I love him very much.

thank you so sooo much for coming to let me know your thoughts and for reading it. you’ve brought me a lot of joy by doing so!

#asks #guestbook

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actualbird · 2 years

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hello zak !!

i wanted to give back to you a little as a way of thanking you for all the writing you've shared with us, so i drew a marluke that i'll send in another ask because i have to come off anon😭😭

forewarning, i say thank you a lot in this message HAHA im no good with words but i want to convey how much i appreciate you !! you've been warned !!

to start, i want to thank you for all the laughs and the tears i got from your fics. i found your ao3 and tumblr during a rough time for me and fell in love with your writing !! they've all brought me a lot of comfort, so thank you for writing so many things, whether it be drabbles or full blown fics, and for sharing them with us !! you didnt have to, so i really appreciate that you do because your fics always make my day better !!

this is probably a weird to to thank, but thank you for being so active here HAHA

it's really nice to read your replies to our asks, and sometimes i learn new things !! (like how useful it is to have a knife on you and to learn how to cut my own hair,, ive taken the second one to heart and have been cutting my hair by myself since) some of your posts are really informative so thank you for posting them !!

lastly, i also want to thank you for your trans luke fic. while i still do not know what i identify as (most likely non-binary, but im in no rush to find out HAHA), that fic of yours hit me deep. it made me feel seen. i love it a lot. i dont think i can really put into words how much i appreciate that fic HAHA but i found it during a period where i was feeling real shit about myself, and reading it made me feel like there was hope that one day, people will see me for who i am too. i cried while reading it because the way luke felt was how i felt about myself sometimes and for someone to put into words how it feels to be trans,, i dont think i can express my gratitude enough. thank you so much for writing that fic.

i hope you have a merry christmas and have a ton of fun today !! and once more, thank you !! :D

-crow anon

hello, crow!!!! merry christmas and HHHHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH, THIS ASK IS SO SWEET IM 🥺🥺🥺

first off, YES I GOT THE OTHER ASK AND THANK U FOR THE MARLUKE AAAAAA. KEES. THEY KEES. AND THEY LOOK SO SOFT //PINCHES THEM BOTH. this is wonderful im on the verge of tears yo :(((

second off, you say youre not good with words yet your words pushed me off the verge of tears and straight into Just Tears.

im so, so happy that my works have been able to make you happy or emotional. im honored as well that what i make was able to help out during a not so great time. i really really relate to this, so many fanworks by other people have gotten me through some terrible times, and i cannot emphasize how much it means to me that my works can do something like that for others too huhu

im glad also u enjoy how im active here bc i often get worried that u all think im annoying and that i should deactivate KBJDKFJDSKG. YEAAA, CUTTING UR OWN HAIR ROCKS!!! super duper itll save on money in the long run also it's fun hehe. the power is in ur hands :D

lastly, hrgh. oh man. thank YOU for thanking me (roundabout, im aware kJBKJFD) for my trans!luke fic. i wrote that wholly for my own projection and benefit but it was my tiny hope that maybe some people out there who read it can feel seen or comforted by that story. hearing that that story did this for you makes my heart soar. and so from the bottom of my heart, i hope very soon you come across people who see you and love you for who you are. those people are out there and the feeling of being with them is absolutely the feeling of having found a home.

sorry i got cheesy at some points here, but this ask made me very emotional HAHA. i myself have been going through a teensy little rough patch irt mental eelness and writing insecurity, so reading this just....means so much to me.

thank you so much for all of this, crow!!! wishing you a merry christmas and a wonderful year ahead of you <3

#crow!anon #long post #ask #u guys r gonna kill me with feels i swear (affectionate)#gifts n comms for me

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ibijau · 3 years

Note

Can I request Yanqing? Prompt 67 - “I’m doing this.” “Then I’m going with you." Thank you!

(Untamed verse bc Yanli wouldn’t have been around when wwx confronts jzxun in the novel)

There’s just something off about Wei Wuxian.

Of course, there’s always something off about Wei Wuxian these days, Jiang Yanli reflects. He’s always angry, always on edge, snapping at everyone, acting insolently… She would never dare to say it out loud for fear of hurting him, but Jiang Yanli feels sometimes that Wei Wuxian has become the person her mother always accused him to be, reckless and selfish and endangering their sect simply to stroke his ego.

She hates those thoughts when they come to her.

Others might say what they will about Wei Wuxian, but she knows him better than that. There’s a reason he’s like this, there has to be.

Jiang Yanli knows about secrets. She has a few of her own, or else she’d have already accepted Jin Zixuan’s clumsy attempt at courting, wouldn’t she? And just as she's hiding hers, so deep that nobody ever thinks she's capable of hiding anything, not her, not sweet naive and weak Jiang Yanli, she knows there's something lurking beneath the surface of Wei Wuxian's disdain.

She listens attentively as Wei Wuxian comes for Jin Zixun's throat, ordering him around, demanding he be told where to find…

And here, Jiang Yanli almost cries out.

Wei Wuxian is looking for Wen Ning.

She knows those Wen siblings, they're like her and her brothers, never far apart, never for long. Where Wen Ning is, Wen Qing will be found as well. Jiang Yanli hasn't found a trace of her… her friend, not since the war ended. Of course she couldn't have asked Jiang Cheng, who wouldn't understand, or Wei Wuxian, who… well, he had his own trouble. Jin Zixuan assured her that all surviving Wen were being treated with more kindness than they would have done for others had they won, but by his own admission he hasn't been involved in dealing with them, the task left to his cousin and half-brother.

Her heart wild with worry, Jiang Yanli discreetly follows Wei Wuxian when he leaves Jinlin Tai. He doesn’t notice her. Nobody ever does, of course, but Jiang Yanli is hardly good at these sorts of things, so she’s irrationally cross at him, even knowing he’d send her back if he noticed her. She follows him through just outside of Jinlin Tai, hoping and hoping and hoping, until at last Wei Wuxian stops next to a beggar wearing rags that might once have been red.

Wen Qing all but leaps into Wei Wuxian’s arms as he whispers something to her, and Jiang Yanli’s heart skips a beat.

Wen Qing is alive after all.

Having seen her, Jiang Yanli can finally admit to herself how terrified she was that the dear friend she made in the Cloud Recesses had died, another casualty in that horrifying war, her head mounted on a spike somewhere like they did to Wen Xu and many others. It is such a relief to see Wen Qing again, to see her alive, that Jiang Yanli throws caution to the wind and stumbles forward to join the other two, pulling her dear friend into a tight hug.

“Shijie!” Wei Wuxian gasps. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here to help,” Jiang Yanli replies, letting go of Wen Qing, only to immediately take her hands. Her skin is cold, and she’s lost so much weight since they last saw each other. Jiang Yanli wants to bathe her, dress her in finer clothes, feed her. She wants to take Wen Qing somewhere safe, and keep her from harm for good. “What’s going on? A-Xian, you said something about Wen Ning earlier?”

Wen Qing shivers, and looks ready to cry. Jiang Yanli squeezes her hands with as much tenderness as she dares. She listens attentively as Wei Wuxian explains the situation, the Wen of Dafan Mountain being in danger, Wen Qing begging him for help, the Jin’s lies.

“I’m going to Qiongqi path right away to rescue the Wen,” Wei Wuxian announces in a wary tone, as if expecting resistance, but Jiang Yanli only nods.

From the start, her brother has favoured Wen Ning, treating him as a little brother… or something like it, anyway. Jiang Yanli has seen how happy Wei Wuxian was playing with Wen Ning in the Cloud Recesses, how he trusted that boy who should have been their enemy when Jiang Cheng was hurt… and of course she hasn’t missed the way Wen Ning always looked at Wei Wuxian like he hung the moon and stars.

“Then I’ll protect Wen guniang,” Jiang Yanli offers. “I’ll keep her safe with me until…”

“No, I have to go with Wei gongzi,” Wen Qing objects weakly. “A-Ning might need my help, or the others. If they’re wounded, I’ll… No, I can’t stay behind. I’m doing this.”

“Then I’m going with you,” Jiang Yanli simply replies, squeezing Wen Qing’s hands. “You have to let me help.”

Wen Qing doesn’t smile, but her eyes shine with gratefulness… or maybe she’s just that close to crying.

“Shijie can’t come, it’s too dangerous,” Wei Wuxian says. “It’ll also attract too much attention, and it’s not good for your health to be horse-riding such a long distance.”

Horse-riding, not flying a sword, Jiang Yanli notes. She expected Wei Wuxian to say he can’t carry two people, since Wen Qing doesn’t appear to have a sword anymore, and Jiang Yanli’s health doesn’t allow her to fly. It’s so odd. Wei Wuxian is a strong flyer, with a solid golden core, he should be able to fly to Qiongqi path with Wen Qing, so why take horses instead?

It makes no sense.

“I am not that weak,” Jiang Yanli protests, unwilling to be parted from the dear friend she’s only just found again. “And if I am present, I might exert more authority than you upon those people.”

“Or else everyone in the cultivation world will say I kidnapped you,” Wei Wuxian points out. “And then they’ll run after us to rescue you, and Wen Ning will be left to his fate. It’s safer if you don’t come. This doesn’t concern you, shijie, so let me deal with it alone.”

Because it concerns you, of course it concerns me, Jiang Yanli almost replies. Because it concerns Wen Qing, it also concerns me, she’d be tempted to add.

But that would only start a long argument, and Wei Wuxian is right about one thing: Wen Ning cannot be left to his fate. Besides, Jiang Yanli can find other ways to help.

“I understand,” she says, a touch too meekly. She sees a slight crease between Wen Qing’s eyebrows, and it pleases her that the other woman finds it odd for her to give in so easily, that she knows Jiang Yanli well enough for that. “I will stay behind… please be careful, both of you.”

“Don’t tell Jiang Cheng,” Wei Wuxian simply says, sounding oddly on edge at the idea her brother might be involved.

A horrible, terrible idea starts to form in her mind at the memory of those days they spent in Wen Qing’s house, so desperate to find a way for Jiang Cheng to regain his golden core, and how he never seems to do any sort of regular cultivation these days.

With hardly so much as a shiver, Jiang Yanli puts that suspicion aside. Later. She’ll deal with this later.

“I won’t say a word to him,” Jiang Yanli easily promises. “Go now, time is of the essence.”

Wei Wuxian nods. Wen Qing hugs her, just a touch too tight, as if expecting it’ll be the last time. Jiang Yanli has been hugged by Wen Qing for the last time repeatedly, so she knows how that feels of course.

Jiang Yanli watches as two of the three people she holds dearest in the world leave together for a rescue mission that she cannot imagine going well, not with Wei Wuxian’s temper these days. She watches on until she’s sure they’re gone, then heads back inside Jinlin Tai, her pace slow and careful to avoid attracting attention.

The men inside the banquet hall are all shouting and arguing, accusing Wei Wuxian of every crime under the sky, making it sound as though Jiang Cheng is weak for not keeping his head disciple under control. Jiang Yanli ignores them all, and they ignore her back. Sometimes it pays to have little presence.

While everyone argues, Jiang Yanli makes her way to Jin Zixuan’s side and pulls lightly on his sleeve. She would have expected it’d take effort to get his attention, but he instantly turns to look at her, and even tries to smile at her.

“Jiang guniang, I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding,” Jiang Zixuan says. “Since you’ve vouched for him, I believe Wei Wuxian cannot be that bad, or he wouldn’t have your trust. I’m sure we’ll sort this out, once everyone calms down.”

Jiang Yanli smiles back. If there weren’t more urgent things to consider, she’d be touched by his trust, by his gentleness.

“Jin gongzi, as it happens, I need your help,” she says in a low whisper, glad for the noise around them that hides her words. “I need to get to that place your cousin mentioned, Qiongqi path, and I need to get there quickly, but I cannot fly, and I cannot ask my brother.”

The smile on Jin Zixuan’s handsome face disappears, replaced by a severe expression as he glances around and tries to decide what to do. Jiang Yanli wouldn’t even blame him if he turned her down, not in the current political climate, not when his own cousin has just been assaulted. If this doesn’t work, then Jiang Yanli will try with someone else. That nice second Jade of Gusu Lan perhaps. Or else…

But she doesn’t need to think of an alternative. Jin Zixuan nods shortly, and discreetly motions for her to go back outside. She obeys, and he quickly joins her, sword in hand.

Flying is quicker than horses, so they’ll get there before Wei Wuxian and Wen Qing, and if Wen Ning is in any danger, they’ll save him.

And then…

Then it will be another problem.

But Jiang Yanli has just found Wen Qing again and she’s not going to let anyone take her dear friend from her again.

#yanqing #jiang yanli #wei wuxian #wen qing #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #jau writes #this one really isn't super shippy oooops?#Anonymous

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taetaespeaches · 4 years

Text

“Please forgive me if I end up breaking your heart.”

jimin x reader (or oc) genre: fluff word count: 3.2K

a/n: I hope this isn’t too much of a mess :( as I was editing I ended up changing things and adding a bunch so I’m not sure if it flows all that well but nonetheless, here it is. This takes place a week after Jimin and Dear define their relationship in “I think we should avoid overthinking.” I hope you all enjoy and thank you for reading! :))

p.s. Happy Jimin Day! I love this sweet, one of a kind man so much!! I hope he had an amazing birthday <3

p.s.s. Happy birthday @thatredwine!!! <3 Jimin’s birthday twin :( thank you so much for all of the support you give me and my writing. It’s unreal and I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you found this blog. I love having you here and I just adore you. 28 is going to look amazing on you. I hope you enjoy this drabble, it’s for you <3 (it also features a bit of Joon bc you deserve it)

WITH his hand encasing yours, fingers intertwined, he dragged you through the hallway, you giggling as you he told you to hurry up.

“We have about thirty minutes, maybe more,” he told you, turning the corner, Namjoon’s studio door in sight. “Gotta hustle, Dear.”

“You’re gonna yank my arm out of its socket,” you joked, Jimin scoffing as he looked back at you with a fond smile.

“So dramatic,” he teased as he pulled you against his chest, wrapping his arms around your body and leading you backwards toward Namjoon’s studio, your hands enclosing over his slim waist as you giggled. “Remind me to get you a crown.”

“Huh?” You asked in confusion, Jimin smirking.

Suddenly, he halted, his arm leaving your body momentarily to knock on the door. “Drama queen,” he told you simply, you huffing as you rolled your eyes, Jimin letting out a light chuckle.

Knocking on the door again, Jimin’s eyes pulled together in question. You both waited in silence for a moment, hearing no “come in” or “one second”; just complete silence, which would have been fairly normal for Yoongi’s studio, but not Namjoon’s. Jimin knocked again, you both waiting for a response, still receiving none.

“Should we just walk in?” He asked, you shrugging against him. Waiting a couple more seconds, Jimin tried the knob, and when it turned, he shrugged and pulled the door open, turning his back to it as he walked backward into it, you peering over your boyfriend’s shoulder to spot Namjoon’s new but very close friend shaking out her hair as Namjoon straightened his posture in his chair, spinning around to look at his intruders.

“Oh?” You said in surprise, Jimin quickly letting you go as he turned around in suspicion.

“Oh, sorry,” your boyfriend immediately said, both of you staring awkwardly at Namjoon as he sat in his chair, his hair slightly disheveled as his friend stood beside him, her hand on her hip as if to look nonchalant. “I didn’t know you were here, my bad,” Jimin explained, the girl shaking her head as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“What are you two up to?” She asked, trying to act normal, despite you and Jimin nearly catching them in a… compromising position, despite the duo’s claim to be ‘just friends’.

“Ah, not much, I just finished recording for a bit,” he told the girl. “We’re actually just heading to do the thing I told you about,” Jimin said, directing his comment to Namjoon, the man’s eyes widening as Jimin spoke. “So I just thought I’d let someone know in case they need me sooner than they expected,” he explained to Namjoon, the older man clearing his throat as he nodded.

“Oh, yeah, cool,” Namjoon continued to nod, his friend holding back a smile. “Have fun,” Namjoon added, smirking as he caught the girl fighting her amusement.

“Yeah,” Jimin said, grabbing your hand. “You too,” your boyfriend noted with a teasing tone, Namjoon snorting as his friend slapped his arm. Leading you out of the room, Jimin chuckled to himself, you following along with an amused smile of your own.

Shutting the door behind you both, you and Jimin looked to each other with knowing expressions. “They’re just friends,” you told Jimin innocently, the man throwing his head back in laughter, falling against you adorably.

“Ahh,” he yelled out, pushing you down the hallway, “so awkward,” he did a little wiggle to physically express his discomfort at catching them as they were up to something.

“Oh shush,” you giggled, “they’re cute. And they’re taking things at their own pace, which we know all about, now don’t we,” you told your boyfriend, the man smiling as he nodded.

“Points,” he noted, you scrunching your nose at him. “Now come on, we got places to be,” he told you, you giggling as he led you to god knows where. Reaching the elevator, you gave him a skeptical look. “Just trust me,” he giggled. “Close your eyes.”

With a bit of hesitance, which was just to tease him, you shut them, allowing him to press the floor number without you watching. Stepping behind you, he placed his hands over your eyes to shield your vision from his pending surprise.

“Where the hell are we going?” You asked through your massive grin, Jimin pressing a kiss to the back of your head.

“Patience,” he whispered into your hair.

“I have none,” you added, Jimin giggling as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

When the elevator dinged, the door opening, he gently guided you out, you both taking a few steps forward before stopping. “Ok,” he breathed out. “We’re nearly there.” Spinning your bodies 180 degrees, he continued covering your eyes. “Any guesses?”

“I literally have no clue,” you admitted, just as Jimin’s giggles intermingled with the sounds of a door opening, street noises soon joining the mix. Hit with a rush of cool air, you gasped. “Oh my god, are we on the roof?”

Uncovering your eyes, Jimin stepped back from you as you turned around to see him standing with his arms open, the Seoul city lights shining behind him. “Surprise,” he told you softly, you shaking your head in disbelief.

“Jimin,” you cooed. “This is so cool, oh my god.” Looking around in surprise, you wondered why you had never been up there before. “Wait, I didn’t even know there was access to the roof, since when is this allowed?”

Letting out a light chuckle, he reached out for you, pulling you into him as he held you in a hug, your arms easily wrapping around his waist. “Honestly, I don’t know if it is allowed, which is why I had to tell Namjoon where we are so he can tell me if I’m needed. That way we can hurry down without getting caught,” he chuckled, you pulling away to shoot him a look of shock.

“You’re so bad,” you smiled as you teased him. “Sweet, and unbelievably amazing, but so bad.”

“Thank you,” he smirked. “Come here,” he told you, grabbing your hand and leading you further into the space, allowing you to see the little picnic basket, which you immediately recognized at Jin’s.

“Chim, oh my god, what have you done?” You asked, the man laughing in amusement by your surprise.

“We’ve been a couple for a week now, and I haven’t had time to take you out on a proper date yet,” he told you, turning to look at you. “So I thought maybe this would be a decent alternative until I can take you out.”

With the moonlight and the Seoul skyline reflecting off his face, you were able to make out his bashful expression, his nervousness etched into his pretty features. Driven by pure love and appreciation, you wasted no time in placing your hand to the side of his face, pressing your lips to his as you kissed him passionately.

Since deciding to take the step from friends to lovers, there had been a lot of kissing between the two of you, but this one felt different as you tried to pour every ounce of love and admiration and gratitude you’d developed for him, not just in that moment but over the course of your entire time knowing the man.

No man had ever respected you and cared for you the way Jimin did, and you found it easy to open up to him, which was rare for you. You’d been in love with him for so long, you forgot what it felt like to not love Jimin. And that’s what you wanted to tell him with the kiss.

You were afraid that words would never be enough. Or that you wouldn’t be able to speak the words as you meant them.

Pulling away just slightly, you pecked his lips once more before whispering, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to express to you how much I love you, and I’m sorry for that.” Tears began forming in your eyes as you spoke. “But please know, you’ve changed me and my life, and I couldn’t be more grateful for you and your existence.”

Jimin let out a breath of air, as if he had been holding it in, scared of missing a single syllable of your confession. “I-“ he started, searching his overwhelmed mind for the right words. “This really isn’t much, Dear,” he downplayed the thought he put into the evening.

“It’s everything, Chim,” you assured him. “Thank you.”

“I love you,” he told you before kissing you repeatedly, you giggling at the action, the kiss becoming perfectly messy, riddled with laughter and smiles. Pulling you against his frame, he hugged you close and tightly, you exhaling into the embrace as you melted in your boyfriend’s arms. “Do you want to see what I brought?” He whispered in your ear, alluding to the picnic basket.

Pulling away from him to look at his face, you nodded. With a stunning smile, he turned away from you, releasing you from his hold as he crouched down next to the basket. Pulling out a bottle of wine, he gracefully used his other hand to model it, you gasping in appreciation.

“Is there even food in there or is it just wine,” you teased, Jimin giggling as he pulled out some insulated lunch boxes. “Wow, my boyfriend, everyone,” you noted, looking around at the city. “Incredible.”

“Jin helped me,” he exposed himself, you giggling as Jimin set the food and wine down. “I did however forget wine glasses, because I’m an idiot,” he told you as he pulled out a pair of plastic cups. “So I stole these from Yoongi’s studio.”

“Resourceful,” you complimented with a grin. “That’s sexy.” With a snort, he put the cups down, grabbing his phone and connecting it to a Bluetooth speaker before starting some music. “You really did plan everything out,” you appreciated, Jimin smiling shyly as he worked on uncorking the wine.

The song that echoed across the rooftop, fading into the night sky, was ‘Sweet’ by Cigarettes After Sex. As you swayed to the song, Jimin pouring the wine into the disposable cups, your eyes were set on him. Looking up at you, he smiled before standing, holding out one of the cups to you.

You know that I’m obsessed with your body

But it’s the way you smile that does it for me.

Jimin’s smile. There really was nothing quite like it in the world. You were obsessed with it; especially when it was directed to you, his expression full of love.

Taking the cup from him, you tapped it against his own. “To us,” you spoke softly, Jimin’s smile only widening, his eyes turning to crescents.

“To us, Dear.” Both of you took a drink of the wine, the swallows a bit larger than what most people would take. And as soon as the slightly bitter liquid slid down your throats, Jimin’s arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you to his body as he swayed with you.

“I still can’t believe you did all of this,” you told him, Jimin’s gaze scanning over your face thoughtfully.

Cocking his head to the side, he pulled his eyebrows together slightly. “Of course I did this for you,” he told you sincerely. “I want to do more for you. I want to give you everything.”

“You love me in a way that no one ever has,” you whispered. “With my dad,” you started, Jimin nodding in understanding, making it so you didn’t have to elaborate on your father’s absence in your life since you were young. “And my dating history,” you added, your boyfriend’s hand sliding from your lower back to your side, squeezing comfortingly. “It’s hard for me to feel worthy of you sometimes.” The admission had him shaking his head slowly at you.

“You’re worth more than what I can give you,” he assured you while also revealing one of his own insecurities. “But thank you for allowing me to try to love you the way you deserve.”

“Jimin,” you started, your boyfriend talking over you.

“I’m always going to be trying,” he told you firmly. “I promise.”

“I wouldn’t ask you for more, Chim,” you assured him. “What you can give me is more than enough. Never doubt that.”

Leaning toward you, Jimin caught your lips with his own, kissing you passionately, expressing unspoken promises into the action. You knew Jimin was very much in love with you, and though you loved him just as deeply and devotedly, you were still learning to trust yourself with someone as generous and sensitive as your lover.

Resting his forehead against your own, your hand met the side of his face as you cradled his soft cheek. “Jimin,” you breathed out shakily. “Please forgive me if I end up breaking your heart.”

You weren’t sure where the words came from. Perhaps it was the song’s bridge, repeating the lyric, “And I will gladly break it, I will gladly break my heart for you,” and your knowledge that Jimin would do just that for you. Or perhaps it was your internalized belief that you could never treat someone like Jimin the way they deserved to be treated. You didn’t mean to speak the words, but you realized how truly you felt them. If you broke his heart, you wouldn’t just lose a boyfriend, you’d lose your best friend. Your favorite person. Your soulmate. And it would be all your fault.

“Hey,” he interrupted your thoughts, placing a sweet peck to you lips to bring your attention to him. “You won’t break my heart.” Before you could protest, he shook his head. “No, I trust you, Dear.”

You hoped he was right.

Nodding, he smiled comfortingly at you. “I love you,” he told you for the second time that night, your lips curving into a small smile that you just couldn’t hold back.

“I love you, Chim.” The phrase had been exchanged frequently between you both but you didn’t think you’d ever tire of hearing them, or saying them.

As the song faded out, the next one starting, you rested your head against his shoulder, nuzzling your nose against his neck in a way that made him squirm from being ticklish.

In that moment, the man who owned your heart blissfully happy, you could see the accumulating moments throughout your friendship that led you to this rooftop with him. It was as if it was playing back in your mind like a movie montage on one of those old film reels…

Your first meeting with Jimin on that October night, his birthday, his smile as bright as the street lamps and neon signs shining in the night sky; the time he brought you body wash, handing it to you as you showered, you splashing his face with water, teasing him about sneaking a peak at your naked frame; the countless times he had brought takeout and wine to your apartment after work asking you all about your day as you both downed the bottle, becoming increasingly touchier the more the alcohol influenced your actions; the night you first told him about your childhood, opening up about the absence that had impacted you throughout your life; dancing with him in the studio a few weeks prior, nearly kissing him for the first time before Taehyung barged in cluelessly, asking if you wanted to go get pancakes at 11 pm; and the night you and Jimin finally crossed the line of friendship, just a week ago after two years of holding back, hands feeling every morsel of flesh as you tried to grasp onto the reality of the moment, feeling rushes of excitement and relief, Jimin’s stunning features glowing in the low light of your bedroom as his darkened eyes focused on you and only you.

With the past two years of experiences with this man running through your head, you realized that maybe you didn’t completely trust yourself with loving him quite yet, but it was Jimin. And as much as no one had ever loved you like Jimin did, you also had never loved anyone like you did Jimin.

Placing your trust in the universe that led you into one another’s arms, and more importantly, in Jimin, and his unwavering faith in you, you realized that was enough. This moment, him, it was all enough. Relaxing in his arms, you kissed the side of his neck tenderly.

“I think you’re the end of all my endings,” you whispered, Jimin smiling as he soothed his hand overtop your hip.

“I know I am,” he said simply, you giggling at his surety as he lifted his cup to his lips. Downing the wine in a few gulps, he nodded to you, you smiling before doing the same. Taking the cup from you, he dropped them to the ground, grabbing your hand to pull you against him, leading you in a proper dance as he hummed along with the melody of a song you didn’t recognize.

Soaking in the moonlight, every touch Jimin placed upon your body felt like home while simultaneously sending a rush throughout your frame. Spinning you under his arm, you threw your head back in laughter at nothing but the bliss that came with being with Jimin in this way. Carefree and in love. So fucking in love.

Draping your hands over his shoulders, his find your waist, you sighed contently. “Thank you for always believing in me,” you sincerely expressed your gratitude for the man. His gaze was kind as he watched you carefully. “You help me see the good in myself.”

Jimin’s soft eyes scanned your features, a smile forming on his pretty lips. “I won’t stop until you see what I see,” he told you with a grin. “And even then, I won’t stop.” You giggled at the comment, Jimin pressing his lips to your cheek. “Do you think there’s another us somewhere in the world?” He asked thoughtfully, his orbs staring into yours.

Lightly chewing on your bottom lip, you hummed. “No,” you answered simply, watching as the smile on your boyfriend’s lips widened, his eyes crinkling. “Maybe that’s naïve,” you shrugged, “but I don’t think there’s anyone else on the entire planet quite like you,” you told him. “And I think we’re special.”

“I agree with that last statement,” he nodded cutely. Giggling at his adorableness, you pulled him into another kiss, the man easily falling into step with your lead, arms wrapping fully around your waist as he pulled you flush with his own stature.

With the music humming in the backdrop of the chilly night air, you basked in the rareness of your union, your lips moving against his own. It was that moment that you vowed to always fight for Jimin. Fight for your us. You promised yourself and you promised the man, though he was unaware of it, that you would battle anything that tried to come between you both. Even if it was your own mind. You wouldn’t let him slip away.

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years

Text

νοσταλγία (Prologue)

(Gif credit to @honestsycrets)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Greek/Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: Like 7k, I’m sorry

Warnings: As usual, mentions and descriptions of blood, death, torture, injury and people being burnt alive. Mentions or allusions to rape. If there’s anything else I didn’t mention, please let me know. Fair warning that the Reader Character may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but please give her a chance.

A/N: So, in this universe, bc fuck Michael Hirst, Sigurd is alive (tho Ivar did throw the axe) but married and away, Bjorn is still somewhere sunny, and Dublin was founded in Saxon land by Hvitty, Ivar and Ubbe, but it is the latter the one in control, prompting Ivar to eventually return to Kattegat and take the throne form Lagertha (she is alive just like in the show, only Bjorn is not here -I like to think he would understand his brothers wanting to avenge Aslaug?- and Floki departed bc he didn’t want to have to choose between supporting the kid he raised and an old friend), leaving him as King, Ubbe as ruler of Dublin, Hvitserk in Kattegat for now like in the show, Bjorn getting a tan in the Mediterranean, and Sigurd alive and happy cause goddammit killing him was a stupid choice. Sorry and btw this isn’t my creation, this is based on some exchanges I saw on reddit and a lil bit of me lol)

The warrior hesitates before letting you enter the tent, but you do so quietly and without a word, like it is expected out of you, and the men discussing war take no notice of you as you slip into a seat and watch them discuss.

Narses, still in the armor of a Byzantine Strategus despite his back having been turned to the Empire for a long time, turns to look at you as you enter. He doesn’t say a word, but in his green eyes there’s a plea for you not to speak, one that you must obey with gritted teeth and bitten tongue.

He understands, and there’s relief in Narses’ eyes.

Your friend. Your confidante.

Your fool.

His lips are pressed into a thin line, his hands supporting most of his weight as he leans on the war table.

“Our numbers are strong enough to hold until support from Strepshire arrives.” The Christian you recognize as Leofric -a bishop? Cleric? You have no idea anymore- speaks, his voice not much unlike the sound of the Byzantine soldiers’ armor plates rustling together as they march down the streets, burning idols and slaying the poor fools that believed the Gods would save them.

“If we retreat, we can-…” Narses argues, but is quickly interrupted.

“You belong to us!” Leofric barks, and you startle at the sudden aggression, “You have made a deal, Greeks. You must honor it.”

“I am aware. I am also aware you Saxons would sacrifice everything for your revenge.” Narses scoffs back, interrupting the Saxon and your train of thought at the same time.

“You want the same, boy. Is it not why you insist on gaining our support?” Stithulf, the leader, states, leaning back on his chair and resting his hands on the back of his head.

His posture screams of arrogance, his young age of a boy with too much power, his scars of a monster eager to fight.

You could use someone like him leading your army. You have seen too many of the so-called soldiers in your home bend the knee to a false Emperor. Maybe you need a monster on your side, someone with the same thirst for blood Greece left you with, someone willing and able to bring the Gods down from the very Olympus for retribution.

And as he leans back he catches sight of you, his expression tightens into a scowl, and you discard the remote possibility.

Not only is he a Christian, the same brand of men that burned your home, your mother, and years later you as well; but he looks upon you like all you are to do is be one of more of virginal maidens for his strange pantheon.

“What is the witch doing here?” He asks out loud, and you swallow down the words you want to say, but still holding his gaze.

“She is to be my wife, I trust her advice.” Narses sentences, sending you a glance that you return with a grateful one of your own.

“I didn’t know you Greeks were ruled over by your women.”

“Greek women are the only ones to birth real men.” You quip before you can stop yourself, reminded with the bittersweet feeling of nostalgia of when your father told you those exact words.

“Is that what your Goddess tells you, Heathen?”

Even the cadence of Leofric’s voice is enough to get you to twist your lip as you turn your gaze to him, but he remains stoic, a quiet sort of anger bubbling behind his eyes. You could swear a small smile tugs at his lips, as if he truly believes a simple word is enough to silence you.

The loud interruption of Narses’ fists colliding with the table stops his mocking, and the man’s eyes shift to his Byzantine ally within a moment.

“Do not call her that.”

“It is not an insu-…” You start, but your friend turns to you once again, begging you in silence to keep quiet. Biting down a sigh, you lean back in your chair and return your eyes to the map.

A long way from home, setting tents alongside Christians, and shutting your mouth because a man told you to. For all the visions and counsel the Gods have sent you through the years, a word of what was to become of your integrity would have been appreciated.

The sound of the curtains of the tent flapping open and closed makes you lift your gaze from the map, and you see Stithulf’s retrieving back.

Narses sighs, not looking at you when he concedes, both to inform you and the rest of the Saxons and Arab mercenaries in the room,

“We will hold.”

A cold hand grips your heart and the names of the Goddesses you seek for guidance and comfort are at the tip of your tongue, shaped by your lips but never spoken.

The Christians leave you two alone, and you walk to the soldier hunched over the war table. Your native Greek feels like a soft song evoking nostalgia as it dances past your lips:

“You cannot…”

“Please, my love.”

Anger bubbles within you, and you stand up straighter as you meet his eyes, “Narses, the Varangians will overpower us, you know we lost too many already, the support from Ivar the Boneless’ incoming army will crush us, you know h-…”

“This is a matter of war, love, let me handle it.” Narses interrupts, to which you frown.

“I know of war Narses! And I know this is a foolish move!”

“Do you know how to lift a sword?” He retorts, a challenge in his voice that does not go unnoticed.

“I…” You clench your teeth, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. “I do not need to fight to…”

He laughs bitterly, interrupting you, “Are you hearing your own words?”

“Are you hearing yours? The Varangian King has a crown made of bones and blood, Narses, don’t be foolish. Athena rejoices when he wages war, his army carries her favor.” You spit out your words, trying to make him understand. Narses remains impassive, though, eyes on the map and jaw clenched tight.

“You cannot argue of battle if you have never-…”

You interrupt him with a scoff, pointing an accusing finger at him even when he doesn’t meet your eyes, “I do not need to know how to kill to know the Varangians will swallow you whole. And you’ll drag our people with you.”

At your last words, his head snaps up, eyes facing yours with ferocity and more than old anger, “What choice do I have, huh? We will freeze or starve come winter, we need to move for Eleusis soon!”

“Our people…” You start, but he interrupts you again.

“Our people chose to follow me, and they will.”

“They followed me, they believe in me,” You correct without hesitation, teeth bared, “You followed me, Narses, and I let you, because you promised me an army.”

For a second he hesitates, takes you in with what seem to be new eyes. He seems to have forgotten there’s more than a meek priestess to the woman he followed from Attica. He seems to forget the bloodied hands and hungry smile that greeted him when you gave him the choice to be at your side.

“And I followed you because I love you, because I believe in you!” He exclaims, making shame and regret churn at your insides. You deviate your eyes from his, gritting your teeth.

“I begged you not to force our people to fight against these Norsemen, and you didn’t listen,” You grit out after a few breaths, anger returning to your voice, “Where was your love, your trust, when you chose to ally with these…Christians?”

He takes one of your hands in his, and the touch feels cold.

“You must trust me with this,” He intreats, warm eyes looking for something in your own you don’t think he can find. “Can you trust me?” A small pause, and you taste your own regrets in your mouth, “Love me?”

You press your lips into a line, and because you cannot say anything else, because the lie has gone on for too long and you might as well offer a truth before you entreat your soul to Hades, you whisper,

“Once, I could have.”

But he shakes his head, fervent and certain as he finds your eyes again,

“I promised you Attica, and it will be yours.”

But his words are empty. You do not care for that kingdom if the people that you love are not alive and prospering in it.

“Pray to the Gods you are killed by the Varangians, old friend. I will sacrifice you to Hades myself if you dare return alive from the place you are condemning my people to die on.” You sentence, unable to keep from showing the curl of disgust in your lip, the ancient pain in your eyes.

Narses walks closer to you, eyes searching yours and hands on your shoulders. You clench your jaw. He is gentle, he always is. Gentle, but so were the men that held you as their brothers in arms dragged your mother out of that temple.

You take a step back, but Narses speaks still, ignoring your discomfort,

“These Christians care not for their God, they just want Ivar the Boneless and his brothers. We give them to Stithulf, and they will march for Eleusis with us.”

You shake your head as you watch him believe his own lies.

“Even if we succeed, you are exchanging one master for another, Narses.” The words are your farewell as you turn your back to him and walk towards the entrance of the tent.

____

You walk into your tent and are greeted with a language these Saxons want to have you killed for speaking. The tongue of savages, of barbarians, of Vikings.

“Did they threaten to burn you yet?” Sieghild asks, and you can hear the smile in her voice even if her back is turned to you as she tends to the fire.

“Narses and Stithulf command us to remain,” You confess instead, voice breaking, “Kattegat’s army will be here in a day’s time to aid Dublin’s, but we will not retreat.”

The gasp she lets out forces you to shut your eyes tight in hope of keeping the tears at bay.

You both remain silent for a few instants, and you let yourself fall to the log she brought as a seat. Taking a seat next to you, she places a motherly hand on your knee, squeezing lightly until you look back up at her.

Blueish ink traces ancient marks on the skin of her face, and she moves a lock of your hair away from your face, the rattling sounds of her bracelets and trinkets reaching your ears and filling you with a sense of nostalgia you have difficulty explaining.

“If we must, we will die. Resisting, like your mother and I taught you.”

“This is not the war I will die fighting on!” You yell back, closing your hands into fists as they start shaking. “I will not see my people die fighting a cause not their own, Sieghild. I can’t.”

She takes your head in her hands gently, and, pressing cold lips to your forehead, she gives you the comfort only a mother can.

“Even if we die tomorrow, the Gods are with us. They have been close to you since your birth. You will understand soon.”

“I will certainly see Hades soon.” You smile bitterly, but Sieghild doesn’t falter.

“Then challenge his throne.” She states, and the feral, hungry, look in her eyes makes you think she is not speaking of your God.

You do not even believe in the same Gods, and yet Sieghild remains at your side, you at hers, since she found a crying child clutching a wooden carving of Persephone.

“They want me to give them up, but I won’t.” You argue stubbornly, as the red-haired woman cleans your face with a warm wet cloth. She smiles.

“Arguing about Gods is a matter for adults, little one,” She silences your next argument with a single finger, inked and painted like her face and arms. “They cannot make you believe in their God.”

“But…Mother’s altar, th-they…”

“Those are merely worldly things. The Christians fight with fire what Logi and Glöð themselves have created.”

“Who?”

She chuckles, fingers going through your hair and places a finger on your chest.

“Your faith, your legacy, remain here.”

And at dawn, when the men sound the horns and ready for a battle they must know will be lost, you whisper a prayer to Athena and Enyo, your heart griped tight by the cruel mistresses of Fate.

Even all the tales travelers and mercenaries told you about the army of Kattegat, the sheer strength, the flawless tactics, the barbarian-like warriors; none of that prepared you for the display of forces, however small considering his actual army, Ivar the Boneless has displayed before you.

You catch a glimpse of Narses and Stithulf approaching the King, you hear faintly of the Viking’s taunts.

“Narses is a fool.” You bite out, anger poisoning your voice even as tears clogging your throat make the words wobble.

“A Byzantine Strategus doesn’t fall without a fight, girl. Do not grant my countrymen their victory just yet.”

Even if you hide it as you lower your face, a surge of pride for the foolish warrior that followed you to the ends of the world makes a small smile blossom in your face.

“Do I hear you admitting us soft citizens stand a chance against your brutes, mother?” You mock with a smile, even as you discuss the imminent danger that the Norse men represent to you and your people. Maybe it’s because of the way Sieghild, with all her harshness and tough lessons, comforts you even facing death itself. Maybe it’s the Gods that have guided you your whole life embracing you as you near your descent to Hades.

She laughs, raspy and warm, as always. “I’m saying your boy may give the sons of Ragnar an entertainment.”

A crow flies overhead, cawing loudly and taking your gaze away from the soldiers ahead and into the sky. Something within you, something primal and asleep seems to follow its path in the skies with more than just your eyes.

“Odin is watching. History will be made today.” Sieghild whispers behind you, but you cannot take your gaze away from the black feathers as you answer.

“Apollo sends us an omen. The Gods do not favor us.”

She laughs quietly, shaking her head as she rests a heavy hand on your shoulder

“Your Goddess surely revels in this, dear. The spilled blood of those who will be to arrive at her kingdom waters her flowers, after all."

Flashes of a life before chaos blossom behind your closed eyes, images of a life under the spring sun, of fertility festivals and your mother’s warm laughter as she honors the Daughter of Nature.

And for a second, with the warmth of nostalgia encompassing you, you want to argue that Persephone looks after life; but when your eyes open and all you see is war and cold, you realize maybe she wasn’t the one captured.

Maybe she was not a stolen maiden, but a bloodthirsty usurper.

“May she rejoice, then, and be merciful when we reach her Kingdom.” You whisper.

The war cries reach your ears before you can even see the warriors attack, but soon chaos follows the chariot, that marches not with the set pace of Apollo’s, but free and leaving chaos and death at its wake.

With a heavy weight on your stomach, you hold your place as the battle begins, the injured and dying falling back to the area you look after with Greek soldiers at your back, granting a safe haven for the fallen, either to give them another chance to fight or a merciful end.

_____

It’s been days and the Saxons still push for victory, despite the losses. And, despite their losses and bloodshed, the Vikings push ruthlessly for death.

The camp of healers you have set by the entrance of the woods is so filled with the stench of blood and death that you fear you will never be able to smell a flower again. The warriors come and go, the drachmas in their eyes or in their hands. Your heart dies a little with every familiar face you send off to Hades.

You are working on pressing down with the poultice of herbs to stop a soldier from bleeding from the wound on his back when you hear, past the yells and death and fighting, your name.

You would know that voice anywhere, and you leave the safety of the healing camp to follow the hoarse call.

Narses’ figure stumbles and crawls as he tries reaching you, and, not caring for battle, you run the space separating you. Your knees dig painfully into the earth as you kneel at his side, but the pain in your heart drowns it all.

“No, no, no,” You sob, shaking fingers tracing his bloodied cheeks as he gasps in pain in your arms. His eyes are focused on you, and you cannot deny him the answer of yours, even if battle still goes on around you. With another broken gasp, you whisper, “You fool, you fool.”

Galla calls your name from somewhere at your side, and you turn blind attention to her, murmuring to have people take him to the healers’ tent. She agrees, and you start to pull away from your childhood friend.

Narses opens his mouth to speak, but only blood pours out. You silence him with trembling fingers against his lips, granting the kiss you cannot. Your heart begs you to do something, anything, to keep him alive, to take away his pain, to…to…

But all you do is remain kneeling on the ground, and you cannot take your eyes off his shield. Splattered with blood and mud, left behind a few feet away from you, on the cold and unrelenting earth.

Your mother’s last words to your father, you remember them as if it were yesterday, as if you could still see the warmth in her gaze, the hardened adoration in his. Her delicate hands offering him the shield with Sparta’s symbol on it as he prepared to storm Macedonia, her words a murmur that meant come back to us, my love even when her sentence was other.

Return home with it, or on it.

With it, or on it. With it, or on it. With it, or on it.

But Narses never returned home, none of you ever did. He never returned home, he didn’t die for your home, he died for…for…

You hear hurried footsteps coming towards you, the feeling of having Varangian eyes on you makes you turn just in time to see the warrior approaching. You grab Narses’ shield from the ground, moving as fast as you can to guard your back and block the Viking’s strike with the metal shield.

It is sheer anger and grief, nothing more than the desire to hurt back, that pushes you to take an arrow from the quiver at your back and drive it through the warrior’s knee with your bloodied hand.

He falters, stumbling away from you, but you don’t let go, holding on tightly to the shaft of the arrow and inflicting as much pain as you can. When he finally hits the ground with his back, you crawl over him, sitting on his stomach and bashing his face with the shield.

With your weight upon him, his axe cannot find a home in your skin and instead meets the shield. Over and over, metal meets metal. With a growl, the Viking lets go of it and grabs your hair, pulling roughly and forcing your blows in his face to stop.

You let go of the shield, and your eyes focus on the skies above for a moment before you find the strength to fight.

A yell leaves your lips, and your hungry teeth find the tender skin at the inside of his arm, forcing him to let go of your hair. Blood fills your mouth and almost makes you gag. You spit the flesh from your mouth and with a snarl you drive another arrow through his eye.

He screams as your whole weight leans on the arrow, making sure the projectile you use as a spear kills fast. Your hands keep slipping from the shaft as the blood you have tried to keep from spilling and the blood you have spilled wets your hands.

When he finally stops moving, you know you should feel nothing but emptiness and dread.

Looking with frantic eyes for Narses and Galla, you find him being carried by two of his soldiers back to the tent. You should follow, but you cannot bring yourself to do so.

You look down at your dress. Red, the color of a bride’s veil, stained with the blood of the man you just killed. Your ears ring, your eyes cloud with tears as you realize what you have done, and you scurry away from the corpse as if your breath cannot get into your chest because of your proximity to him…to it.

You know what you should feel, you know what a Priestess, a woman, ought to feel at the sight of death, you know. But dread and horror are not the only things you feel. A part of you is satiated, like a snake curling satisfied and vindicated after injecting its poison; you taste the blood and feel alive.

When you lift your gaze to the battle again, you catch the eyes of the Varangian King. You know who he is, you have heard the tales and even without the chariot he sits on you would still recognize the eyes of the man that rules over Kattegat.

Ivar the Boneless.

He looks at you for a few moments, and you fear he is to call for his men or kill you himself, but he doesn’t. A slow, cruel, ruthless smile starts curving at his bloodthirsty lips, and when he regards you, you feel he can see through your eyes and into whatever it is that made you kill that man.

He lifts his arm not on the reins, bloodied axe held in his hand and slowly, with the same terrifying grin still on his lips, the King points towards you and grants you a curt bow of his head. If it’s a recognition of your kill, a promise to kill you himself, or something else, you cannot know.

You scurry back to the woods, fearing an axe to your back that never comes.

____

Whatever advantage the Christians were so sure to have quickly dissolves like mist, and within days the Vikings push forward with no regard for the lines your people or your unwanted masters wanted to protect.

There’s three injured men under your care when you hear the warning that a group of enemies is coming your way. A quick glance towards Galla, the childhood friend that followed you from Eleusis into this cold hell lets her know what to do.

Her dark eyes fill with understanding before you can even utter a word.

“Lift them up, we are retreating.” She barks at the other soldiers, bow held tightly in her hand betraying her fear, her pain. The men accompanying her hesitate, looking at you for a second before turning to her.

“I may not be able to fight like a Strategus, but I can distract them enough for you to run.”

“Our people…” One of them starts, but you interrupt with a shake of your head, reaching forward with a courage you do not believe to truly possess and take his sword from its holster.

“Our people live on in you,” You promise, and even as your voice wavers you still try not to show how fear grips at your throat or how unbalanced you are with the new weight in your hands. Galla’s eyes lock with yours, and you give her a nod, “Go.”

I pray you find Sieghild on your way out of this slaughter.

“You better make it out alive.” She threatens in good will, and you find yourself smiling. Just before she is to take off with the others, you call out.

“Galla,” You hesitate, feeling like asking to deploy this would be an acceptance of your death. Still, you take a deep breath and say, “Once the dust settles, send some of your people to Thebes, Constantinople and Sparta.”

“What for?” She asks, but in her tone you can hear she understands your words: she is to protect your people, she is to lead them. Because you will not be alive to do so.

“You’ll need spies. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do with them.” You sentence, and after a moment of hesitation you hear the girl’s footsteps fading behind you.

Galla’s hoarse yells in Greek to call your people to retreat become the rhythm at which you let loose arrows to find the Viking warriors. You tell yourself it’s just like hunting deer, you tell yourself it is not men and women you kill. Brothers, sisters, friends, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters.

You tell yourself it is just like hunting, but the tears clogging at your throat and making pain and rage accompany your moves as you let the arrows loose show you that you don’t believe your own lies.

It doesn’t matter how fast you move, how efficient your shots are, there will always be more of them. And you know this, and fear has a cold grip on your heart, even as you continue trying to take out any straggler that chases after the retreating Greeks.

So, the bodies dropping and the injured yells bring the attention to you, and you buy Galla and the others as much time as you have arrows and legs to run on.

Running helps when the Vikings can be distracted by something else, but after you took down some of his countrymen, this warrior seems to only have eyes for you. You scramble to lift the sword you took from your warrior before they took off, and, cornered as you are, you are forced to face the offending Viking.

The Viking strikes first, but you block his attack with the sword. The blunt force of his swing makes it so that the axe stops just shy of the intended blow to your head, opening a deep cut on your forehead as it is slowed by the sword.

Wincing past the pain you hold your ground, facing the hungry gaze of the warrior with your own, although you are forced to close one of your eyes as the blood from the cut in your forehead starts dripping down your face.

The man’s attack has failed, but he smirks, though, before wrenching the weapon from your hands with a twist of his axe.

You can do nothing but stumble back, you Goddess’ name on your lips as you face him with wide eyes.

He mutters something in his own language before discarding your sword and moving to strike again. This time you are defenseless, and can only step back and try and dodge his continuous blows with increasing panic.

Blood, probably his own and his enemy’s, stains his mouth, his face, his hands. He still smiles, and you wonder if bloodthirst becomes more literal than what Sieghild explained in her tales of her people.

His movements stop suddenly, though, and he falls limply to the ground, a small axe protruding from the back of his head.

“I told you you’d need to know how to fight, little one,” Sieghild boasts as she approaches you. The axe leaving the dead man’s skull makes a horrible sound, but she’s not bothered by it, choosing instead to say, “Even you Greeks must see the advantage of fighting like a Viking.”

An arrow in his knee, you feel the iron piercing the muscle, the bone, the tendons. The edge of the shield breaking the bones in his face, the sound it makes. Screams of pain, that you silence with another arrow in the eye.

The King’s hungry smile when he spared you.

You shake your head, returning your thoughts back to the moment, and regard the woman in front of you with a smile.

“Galla told me you chose to stay behind.” She states, and years knowing her let you know of the reprimand shining past the gruff tone. Her hand, bloodied as it is, reaches for the cut in your forehead, inspecting it with the eyes of someone that saw countless wounds and fought in countless wars.

“I wanted to distract the warriors from the path they took.” You offer in explanation.

“For someone so…small you sure take a lot of risks, my child.” She sighs. You’re about to answer when the thrumming of the ground underneath your feet stops you. Sieghild’s movements stop, your breath dies in your lungs.

Bees swarming. You remember an Arab merchant telling you about Varangian armies, and he spoke of chaos and deadliness and bloodthirst. And as you watch the Varangians flank the battlefield, archers at the ready, warriors beating their shields, while the King that crossed the sea to assist his brother commands them to hold with a single gesture; you cannot help but think why didn’t the merchant talk about the grace of it all, the beauty in the blood.

“That boy carries his father’s cleverness with him. And his mother’s favor.” Sieghild mutters in the strange calm that settles as Ivar the Boneless and his brothers taunt Stithulf, dare him to continue the fight and face certain death or retreat.

“You knew that before.”

“So did you. You tried to warn Narses against facing him, little one.” She says, and the name makes a pit of guilt and grief form in your heart.

“Maybe my warnings are the reason he is dead now.” You bite out, voice quivering and eyes burning.

The shieldmaiden turns to you, lips parted and eyes wide. You offer her a nod and a tight-lipped smile, a small sign that it is okay, that…that it is Fate.

You promised Narses you’d kill him yourself for sending your people to die, and grief and pain do not stray you from that resolve. He sentenced your people to die at the hands of these Varangians, it is only right he leads them to the Underworld.

It doesn’t help the pit of pain and absence and fear and cold that forms at your chest, but…but it makes it easier to burden.

Murmured words in Norse startle you out of your thoughts, and you find Sieghild’s eyes still on you, expression still stunned and in a mix of awe and terror.

“When the last of the chains of nostalgia fades away even as she clutches it in her arms.”

“What did you say, mother?” You ask, taking a small step closer and looking into her eyes searching for any answer.

But the shieldmaiden is quick to put on a smile on her face,

“You told me before you had no interest in what Lady Freyja has to tell me, little one.” She mocks, but there’s a shadow in her expression, a strange darkness looming behind her eyes.

A familiar one.

“You are the one that taught me-…”

“I taught you to be your own woman!” The Varangian roars, and for the first time you realize exactly the kind of fire the women from her homeland have, that made them capable and free. “I taught my daughter better than this!”

“What choice do I have? We need the support from Narses’ army, we need someone to lead the men into battle the way I know will grant us victory!”

Two long strides, and the tall and imposing shieldmaiden is standing before you, a mix of reluctant softness and angry stoicism in her inked face.

“You fight. You fight against the notions these men have about you, you fight against that boy that only listens to what you have to say when you promise him love in exchange,” Her green eyes burn into yours, “You fight, little one. That’s what I taught you to do, what you were born to do.”

“Narses is a good man, mother. I will not fight him.” You reply, as calmly as you can even as your chest caves under a strange pressure, as evenly as you can even if the words leaving your lips taste like lies.

“You wouldn’t give your love without a fight though, minn dóttir.” Her hand grasps at your chin, and there’s a strange storm in her gaze, “I won’t lose my daughter to that boy’s whims.”

“I am not lost to any man.”

Her lips curve into a smile, a little savage, a little Viking.

“I know. You are my daughter, after all.”

“He was a good man, mother.” You offer quietly, and even if the binds to Narses, the binds you set on yourself and your mother hated the most, are gone, there’s still the same dark desperation, that same stubbornness you saw in her eyes that day you told her about your choice to marry him.

“Not good enough,” Is all she replies, and her eyes focus somewhere past the two of you, on the center of the battlefield where everything seems to have stopped. Sieghild sighs, “And your Gods and mine know that, little one. Your Mistress may have touched your soul, but Freyja lays claim to your heart.”

With your eyes on the thick of battle, you watch Stithulf and his trusted men lay down their weapons, and slowly retreat. You have been defeated.

____

“I told you only death would follow,” You say, your back against the foot of a table as you sit on the cold ground, your bloodied hands in your lap, motionless. You allow yourself a small laugh, manic and broken as it is, “You fought for so long, sacrificed so much, and you couldn’t even make the Varangian King bleed.”

You followed the Saxons back to their decadent city, and now sit past their walls awaiting the death that will follow. The city may have held for long enough that the Saxons could secure an escape, back when your people were with them and they didn’t have more corpses than soldiers.

But now, now it is just a matter of time before the Varangians return to finish it all.

Stithulf turns to you, cold fury shining past his gaze, but you hold his stare. The man walks over to you, armor rustling and making a sound that rings in the ears that have heard nothing but war for so long now.

He bends down to be at your level, face close to yours and lips set on a snarl.

“You ordered your people to pull back.” He accuses, but you shrug in response.

The pretense of what a good little fucking woman you ought to be to make these fools content with their idea of supremacy is long gone from your mind. You will die without masks, and if it means earning a few deserved hits from these Saxons for not shutting your mouth, then so be it.

“It was never our war, Christian.”

“Where have they gone to!?” He asks, ignoring your words. His fascination with how the Greek forces work shines through his bloodthirst and anger as he regards you. You know the reason why he went to Narses for an allegiance in the first place is because of the tactics, the fighting style, of your people; and you know he longed to make them a part of his own army.

But you will leave your own under the boot of a Christian the day Persephone calls for your soul to become one of her Furies.

“You will never find them.” You promise through a tired and battle-worn smile, morbidly delighting yourself in the way he seems to grow more enraged.

“How are you so certain?”

“The Varangians, Vikings, will find us first. They will kill us all, and you know this.” You sentence, standing up. You cannot help it when your eyes fixate themselves on the drying blood staining your hands.

You wish you could say most of it was Christian, or even Varangian.

But no, the blood of Greeks stains your hands. The blood of thousands, even if only less than eight hundred died today.

“And why are you so certain?”

“If you had retreated before that King came from across the sea-…”

“Narses told us your mother is Viking, how are we certain you did not plan this, plan to betray us?” One of his trusted men speaks out, limping from his place by the war table. You watch the deep and bloodied gash in his thigh, wondering why that old man survives being incapacitated while in battle but Narses is to fall.

You shake your head mutely before offering him a hollow chuckle.

“Me betraying you would imply I ever faked loyalty for you, or pretended to care for your survival.”

“You live, witch. Any sane man would question why.”

“You think…what? That I have helped any of the sons of Ragnar defeat you?” You let out a small laugh. “No, I did not. I will not let you blame me for your own weakness.”

You move to leave the tent, but Stithulf’s hand wraps around your arm. His voice is low when he speaks.

“If you tell your soldiers to fight with us, I can-…”

“I am not Narses, you cannot fool me with empty promises,” You interrupt, wrenching your arm from his grasp. Less than two hundred Greek warriors still remain in this city, and the Saxon wants still for every last drop of their blood. “The Greeks that remain here will not die quietly, but do not fool yourself into thinking you can ever command them.”

He stalks even closer, looming over you with enraged factions, and you cannot help the pang of fear that the murderous intent in his eyes sends through you.

His sword leaving its holster startles the room of men into silence, and you feel their attention set on the two of you. The blade finds a home right under your chin, piercing mildly at the soft skin.

Your breath quickens in fear, and when you swallow past your dry throat you feel the tip of the sword inflicting sharp pain in your neck.

Stithulf smiles darkly, “I could kill you now and leave them leaderless, heathen.”

But you refuse to let him see the fear in your eyes, instead promising, “Make me a martyr and you will not survive the night, Christian. The Greeks will kill and die for me.”

Even as you leave the tent behind, you hear the heavy footsteps of the Saxon behind you. A call of your name, and you stop. Not your title -Anassa, Hiereiai-, not an insult -heathen, pagan-, not your lineage -Daughter of Athens, Daughter of Sparta-. Your name.

“If you wanted to kill me you would have done so in front of your men.” You state without turning around, and the Christian reaches your side with his sword holstered.

“I don’t want to kill you,” He insists, shaking his head, “But I should do it regardless. You are a smart woman, which makes you dangerous.”

Not even a muzzle would keep your next words from leaving your lips, “Dangerous? Is a man dangerous for being knowledgeable?”

“If he has nothing to lose, like you, yes.”

“What are you saying, Stithulf?”

The Saxon sighs, an act of regret and humanity you don’t believe for a moment.

“I’m saying you should know that you have forced my hand, Greek, that I had every intention to have you wage war alongside us, had you chosen to do so.

_____

Hi, I’m kinda amazed you got this far down lol, but thank you so much for reading! This is one of the first projects in a while that I am really loving to write, and I hope you like it!

Please let me know what you think, I am one needy fuck when it comes to feedback :)

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar x reader #vikings imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings #νοσταλγία prologue #νοσταλγία

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lizacstuff · 3 years

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Bölüm 45 asks

Plus a few asks from 44, and one about the fragman for 46

Read more under the cut

Anonymous asked: I cannot believe that Ayse revived the "Kemal is Serkan's real father" theory but I think I'm down for it? At least now Kiraz has one decent grandparent and he seems like genuinely nice man. I've been wishing for him to have some scenes with Serkan because the way they set up this S2 plot, they could relate to one another and I was sad to see that he spent 5 years hiding instead

I'm down for this plot! See, now that I know they're doing the long-lost-father plot, it makes all the sense in the world why Serkan doesn't like Kemal and they didn't forge a relationship in the last five years. If they had, then finding out he's his dad would have been a lot less jarring and dramatic. Finding out now and then forging the relationship I think will be a bit more meaty story so it works for me.

To me this story works on a lot of levels, and makes sense with who Serkan is and his very strained relationship with Alptekin. It's like Alptekin sensed it, and resented Serkan his whole life. For those worried that Serkan will no longer have the last name Bolat, I'm not sure where that's coming from. Maybe I'm just not familiar with other cultures, but that is his name, Alptekin raised him, adults don't just up and change their name because of genetics. If you're adopted and you meet your bio dad as an adult, you don't change your name to your bio dad's.

Serkan's name is very much a part of his identity. Which is why this story has so much potential, because it could shake Serkan to his very core to find out who he thought he was, was wrong. He thought he was unlovable, most importantly maybe he'll finally realize there was more at play there and it wasn't at fault.

Anonymous asked: There were a couple things in the last episode that didn't sit well with me. 1. I can't believe Eda made Serkan sleep outside at night and didn't feel bad in the morning when she realized he got sick! 2. The way Seyfi announced Aydan and Kemal's secret relationship. It wasn't his secret to tell, though Aydan did deserve the way everyone reacted. So I got over that pretty quick. 3. Burak!!! He's not the one for Melo. She deserves better and if they end up together in the end, I'm gonna protest.

1. Unless you're going to put the same energy into not believing that Serkan had the gal to remove his bed on the floor as a way to maneuver himself into Eda's bed before she was ready, I really can't relate. It was done for comedy, my advice is to unclench and just giggle along.

2. Or you could look at it as being unfair of Aydan to burden Seyfi with that secret and require he lie to his other employer for five years. I mean I don't disagree that it wasn't his secret to tell, but Aydan had plenty of chances, and it was time for it to come out.

3. This one we are in 100% agreement about. MELO DESERVES BETTER. I will die on this hill.

Anonymous asked: Hi! Do you think Serkan actually believes in Kerem's abilities (he trusts Eda's faith in Kerem) or is this part of his plan to win Eda back? Either way I'm okay, just wondering what you think.

No, I do not think he gained a sudden belief in Kerem's abilities, but I do think he believes in Eda. And if Eda believes in Kerem then when push comes to shove that is enough for Serkan. Of course, he did it as part of his plan to win Eda back. Serkan is taking every opportunity to let Eda know that he respects her and believes in her and I think this was another example of that. There was also an aspect of him trying to win over another person in Eda's circle who was suspicious of him. The fewer people he has working against him, the better! He knows he has no shot with Burak or Ayfer, so this episode he worked on Melo and Kerem. But mostly it was him trying to make Eda's life easier, by smoothing over a personnel problem she was having, thus making working out of Art Life a more attractive option for her. All of those things in one!

Anonymous asked: What do you think about Eda and Piril's friendship? This episode really highlighted how close they've gotten.

Yes, they have gotten close, and I'm happy Eda has a friend, but at the same time I don't trust Piril. This is a woman who discarded Eda and embraced Selin when she was manipulating and abusing a brain-damaged Serkan.

Eda might be able to forget, but I can't. Also as a character she's just boring, rigid and humorless. One of my least favorites on screen.

That being said I do like the triad dynamic of Kiraz/Can, Serkan/Engin, and Eda/Piril, it was fun when they were calling each other at the same time.

Anonymous asked: Idk if they reached out to Maya just because she looked like Hande considering she had no acting experience, but this little girl is like the best casting I've seen. The chemistry with Hande and Kerem is amazing. She's so expressive. I am a Kiraz stan.

She's doing a fantastic job, precious thing! I have no idea how they found her, I know she was an instagram model, but the SCK casting director strikes again. This season doesn't work if we don't fall in love with Kiraz. Thankfully, we did!

Anonymous asked: Hi! Since it seems that we will have 13 episodes, do you think that Edser reconciliation/wedding will be left for the finale, 12-13 ep? Cause Ayse loves to drag and keep them apart.

I think the wedding might be closer to the end, but I think reconciliation will be a bit sooner than that.

However, I have to say that it's really not like they're apart.. is it? I mean this episode we had them living together, sort of casually planning their future together. Next episode we have them pretending to be married and ramping up the sexual tension to white-hot-sun levels, these are all good things. With episodes like this, I don't personally consider the show dragging it out.

In fandom I see a lot of peeps upset because Eda isn't getting immediately back with Serkan and I am feeling inpatient as well, do you think the writers are making a mistake keeping them apart?

Again, I guess my response to you is, by what definition was this episode "keeping them apart?"

Yes, they aren't having sex, but they are living together, working together, raising their daughter together, and I'm a-okay with having a couple of delicious episodes of that while they are still not fully back together romantically. Let's be real, they're still waking up in bed together, flirting, and having a romantic dinner together, so it's not like things aren't moving forward, they are. I'd advise putting aside your impatience, and just sit back, relax, and let the story take its course. There is no need to be anxious with this one. They are going to end up with their happily ever after together, but what we're seeing right now is delightful. It's them in family and domestic situations, them with their child. Most shippers only dream of getting to see this.

This sort of goes back to my stance on episodes 16-24, I know that was a frustrating time for a lot of fans because they were "broken up" but I've always said they may have been officially broken up, but they were in a committed relationship that entire time. And I enjoyed those episodes from that perspective, that tension of them being "apart" but still functioning as a unit and still being emotionally tied together underneath it all. There's kind of a similar situation here, they aren't officially back together, Eda is resisting him, but they are in a committed relationship and I don't understand what the need is to rush through this part? Enjoy the sexual tension of them living together, but not sleeping together. Enjoy the rom com romp of Serkan trying to get in her bed, and Eda taking steps to keep him out. Enjoy their daughter putting them in situations that force them into close proximity, and enjoy them falling into easy compatibility without even trying. Enjoy Serkan planning romantic dinners, and Eda enjoying it despite her every effort to protect her heart.

To me this is very good stuff, and spending this time being impatient and wanting what didn't happen yet, instead of enjoying what did happen is pretty much the recipe for unhappiness not just with this show, but life.

Anonymous asked: i feel like i've seen the exact same frustrations ppl have had with eda right now back around the 20s too after serkan told her about her parents' secret. it was like, now that he's told her the truth, she should automatically forgive him and get back together. same thing happening here, with him accepting his role as kiraz's father. it feels like the same impatience that's put on eda to just forgive him already bc everyone wants happy edser and she's in the way lol.. like girl needs time!

Agreed, and it makes me wonder if these folks have ever watched television before, lmao. Patience! There's a story unfolding and from the first 6 episodes it's clear they have a season long arc planned. All in due time.

Eda spent five years thinking that Serkan stopped loving her, and discarded her for work. The second time he used that excuse to break her heart. My goodness, it's more than okay if she needs a little time to adjust and learn how to trust him again. PLUS that means we get to watch him work on her, try to make inroads, romance her, forge a relationship with his daughter and earn Eda's trust back. What's bad in that?

What did you think of the fragman? It's kind of dumb and unrealistic that they have to dance for a school admission interview.

LMAO. Yes, yes it is, but my question to you is, sana ne?

I mean why do you care if the set up is dumb or not? Or if it's realistic? It's a device to get Serkan and Eda to pretend to be married before they're fully back together and an excuse for us to see Edser smash themselves together in a sensual tangle of limbs while they pretend to be unaffected, while both are being engulfed in USTy flames.

I'm not complaining, why are you?

Come on, this show is silly, it has been from day one, enjoy the fact that we are getting silly plots that force our couple into hilarious and hot situations, because Hande and Kerem are going to give us gold, I guarantee it and I'm going to smile through every second watching it.

xxxxxxxxxx

These asks are from episode 44, they came in and I didn't have time to answer before 45 aired:

Anonymous asked: Do you think there is a point when there are too many “parallels” and it becomes more like scenes are being recycled? Because I kinda felt that way in the last episode. Like she’s just tossing in as many things as she can from those first 11 episodes but I’ve already watched those and Id rather we focus more character progression. I feel like they regressed from those honest conversations last week and were back to being petty this week.

I guess my answer is... no, I don't think there have been too many parallels. Episode 44 was partly about truth bubbling to the surface, with the biggest truth being that Serkan has been in love with Eda every minute of every day since they parted. That is a very important thing for Eda to understand and know and they really can't move forward until she does, because she felt unloved and forgotten all those years. Most of the parallels were illustrating that by showing that he held on to their history, he remembered their history and he honored it. Okay by me.

Anonymous asked: There were some amazing dialogues in the episode. I have two that tie for top. One was when Kiraz said that Serkan was her wish (when blowing her birthday candles), and the other was when Serkan said Apollo was never going to give up on the woman he loves nor on the cherries! Oh my heart had feels both times. What were your favourite dialogues in the episode?

Oh man my head is in 45 now, but both of those examples of yours were great. I loved both of them.

The other than springs to mind is while fishing, Eda telling Serkan that he didn't need to be perfect for Kiraz to love him, he just had to be himself.

Swoon.

That's so important for Serkan to hear, because he doesn't think he's worthy of love as himself, so hearing that from Eda is impactful.

Anonymous asked: reading your ep review, i think a big reason some people are hanging on to hate the s2 plot no matter what are just bc they hate the writer. of course not everyone, but a lot of people will just hate on anything she writes out of spite, even if objectively the episode is very good. idk why that is or when ppl decided they hated her but it's not warranted at all imo. i can understand not liking the premise of this season, but after watching it so far there has been SUCH an improvement edser-wise.

People can like, dislike, love, hate anything they want. Consuming entertainment doesn't have to be a team sport. That being said, from what I've seen I'd agree with your assessment. Teams have formed (Anti-Ayse, Pro-Ayse, etc) and the former are too invested in hating everything she does, the former possibly too forgiving at times. That's their choice, but I have to say I feel bad for the anti brigade, this is a show they loved, and most of them are still watching, but they've completely sabotaged themselves from finding any joy in any of it and I think they're going to regret it once it's over.

Also season 2 is so much better than I thought it could be. I honestly thought there was no way to get back to the early quality, but it's here. The show is really watchable and fun this season, and it's a shame for those who've let their attitudes get so negative that they can't enjoy it.

Anonymous asked: Ok so I'm aware this would be highly uncharacteristic of a dizi - but if they know there's only 6 eps left, my dream would be no more big bad events and just spend it rebuilding EdSer as a couple and a family. Would that be too much to ask lol. They've jumped from one disaster to another. Since we're at the end & they have the luxury of knowing it, I just want to see them working through things as a real unit. They've dated for like 7 eps out of 45? Can we get that above 10 at least????

Congratulations! Because that's exactly what we've gotten so far in season 2. Once we got past the trauma of the 5 year time jump, all the drama has been internal to Eda and Serkan and their relationship. The whole season so far has been about rebuilding Edser as a couple and a family. And if you're watching without the tauntruming twitter teens in your ear, you'd realize we ARE watching them work through things as a real unit.

I'll say this until I'm blue in the face (apparently) just because they are not currently sexing each other up, does not mean they aren't emotionally doing all the things necessary to reach their full potential as a couple.

They are. It's happening. Enjoy it.

#Sen Çal Kapımı #sen cal kapimi #edser #sckask #sck 2x45 #sck 2x06 #sck episode discussion #edser discussion #asklizac

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misterbitches · 3 years

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hi! this is long as shit i’m sorry. i hope it makes sense. i ahve adhd and like 5 million learning disorders so this is just word vomit cos there’s so many words in my brain. my b.

i’ve had such a tough day so thank you for replying and sharing! @yeedak

i was thinking about what i wrote and i meant to clarify that as well. some cases are fine for both parties and it’s not like you weren’t consenting and it seems like you were happy! same with my friend who was dating a 20 yr old. if they’re happy you know i’ll clown on ‘em but yea. so for anyone that sees these posts your relationship with your partner who is older or whatever. i’m some dumb girl on the internet okay. ill side eye older ppl tho

i think a lot of people feel the same way you do now (me included.) it feels really good at the time but alter we can see the dynamics playing out. i’m 29 now and i think aging is just such a huge process. it’s wild how you at 31 are a totally different person, right?

and the US racism is probably some of the worst ever in its iteration because of slavery which started from europe etc but USA is so fucking unique bc of columbus bringing slaves here and displacing indigenous peoples or hispanola and because america is so influential the way it views race, particularly with black people as objects, has so deeply permeated into the current historical psyche globally. it’s fascinating to track how necessary anti blackness is to the flourishing of america but also the world at this point. also want to point out how fuckign scary sinophobia is here especially for covid. one is a straight historical line (black ppl + the US) and the other had to be manufactured and to continue to exploit the non-white americans and keep antiblackness in tact.i could go on about this all day. the pain of this place is immense.yet as bad as it is here, this is still the only place i truly feel safe as a black person. because of the unique experience we have in america and through the diaspora especially because we are veyr much ocncentrated here. it would be nice to like move to norway and have some alleviation financially or get free healthcare it’s just not feasible if no one looks like me. it’s fucking tough.

i hope you don’t hate it here though and people treat you with respect. but as you know being a woman and jewish and an immigrant....shit is tough. the USA is a hellhole. :( america is so deeply tainted and desperately bad because it was founded on strife and blood and there’s no way to reverse that and what this country did in turn when it gained enough power and could capitalize off of the colonial forefathers. this is why we hsould all luv revolution!!!

HOWMEVERRRR

boy oh boy oh BOY OH BOYYYYYYYY. well wlecome to the world of BL lmao especially as an adult with some obviously deep perspective just given your background. it is a fucking mess and it’s a hard mess to like but it pulls you in. i approach it like i do with soap operas since these are essentially telenovelas, you know? just like the drama at a billion. but the tricky part of that is like....what parts of it do we understand for critiquing? because so many of the shows are so bad at being like good pieces of things to look at just production wise and story wise. but i feel like these shows ask us to take them seriously, so why shouldn’t we take the content seriously? and this is being primarily peddled to young girls.

i bring this up often but i read this thing about yaoi and the interest younger women/girls have in BL and its fascination with pederasty essentially. this component i think is key when we talk about who gets affected by these things the most. society in general is bad 4 girls bla bla we know lmao but in “more sexually conservative” societies it may be harder for these girls to feel safe even expressing normal emotions romantically and sexually and particularly with guys. some people hypothesized, and i think i agree with this hypothesis, that they can live through the casualness of BL. they don’t feel threatened because they can put themselves into the shoes of the other character. oftentimes, the more feminine or the younger. this was in conjunction with the age gap aspect (they say pederasty as well because there’s unethical age gaps that r gross and that is indeed what we would at least call a touch of sexual abuse if people dont feel like calling it an obsession with youth and power and uhhh young ppl and perhaps kids) where maybe girls could see themselves in these situations as the person being saved, loved, taken care of, and sadly also sexually active and penetrated.

i think that’s just one aspect of it but i do think there’s validity in who gravitates towards it. i cannot imagine seeing this stuff and not getting enough information as a young kid, i sure as fuck know i didn’t!, and seeing these things and you look at it with 0 critique because you’re young and you may have no interest in it or you simply cannot understand what is wrong. no one is teaching you these things and these shows confirm it. and it is wild how intrinsic patriarchy is to BL although in its existence it also can’t be in line with patriarchy given the nature of two [cis] men!

it begs the question about the replacement aspect. is it just so girls can put themselves in these characters shoes? if so then that means we believe that gender is so interchangeable within our relationships and interactions and that doesn’t seem right. there’s more to lgbtq+ than just existing; it’s finding ways to communicate, finding a family, safety, your people, being a free person. there’s a lot to gain and a lot a lot to lose. and a gay man is also not a woman because those are also two distinct experiences. especially in societies that have a more hidden aspect to sexuality (idk how to word this bc the BL industry would NEVER survive in america but in a way there’s a more “progressive” look at homosexuality but it’s still fucked up because we live in a Society, you know? at the same time look at what we are doing to trans kids. literally waging war so it’s bonkers how we all collectively have some real progress happening but at the same time not at all. the concept of ‘ladyboys’ and the frequency we see trans people in thai shows is wild and something that we absolutely do not see here in the US. still, none of these groups feel safe or are getting better material conditions in either place. we just show the ways we can try and tolerate oppression witout eliminating it imo)

to me it is clear: it’s money. which most things exist to make money so. but also who is the audience for these shows? and they have to market towards them. all that said all hope is not lost there are some decent shows. it’s just like regular media on TV though where it’s so fucking saturated as an industry that it’s literally sifting through garbage. and there are some days when you can handle the trash and others where it really fucking hurts to watch the violence, the rape, the manipulation, the violations, the stupid messaging. i have never seen more people trying to do mental gymnastics and seeing if things were “technically rape” than in teh BL fandom and that is so fucking sad.

i came into these shows at 28 with almost 0 clue of what as media BL was like esp as media that countries can use as soft power with the revenue. but i realize like...i’m 29 now and so many people don’t have a sizeable, though not huge, amount of life experience. and i wonder for people on the internet who are usually searching for something if they spend so much time on it like what a 15 year old girl thinks. what a 20 year old girl thinks.

it is incredibly problematic and so awful but there’s also some rewards. if you haven’t i would definitely watch i told sunsset about you which i don’t think i’m going to finish and i doubt i’ll watch the second installment (watch this be a lie) but when i say some fucking impeccable storytelling and art? phew. now that is a fucking piece of media that works. it takes from moonlight heavily and you can see like...the artistic dedication is there and the story makes its world and sets up its stakes extremely well.

i think because this is marketed towards much younger people too they know they dont have to try as hard. but they SHOULD because then you can have a fucking masterpiece like that. i think even this prolific gay thai filmmaker (who is like solidly against the government) who is so respected (and who i like a lot! if u wanna know i can tell u lmao but the films are very uhhhhhhhh “artsy”) would like i told sunset about you. i wish more people had budget like that and also just cared about the stories. it’s the fucking magic of art to figure out what you can do but there is very little incentive honestly. idk i am very pessimistic. there are days when it’s really a great pick me up and distraction but it is never a place i would love for to feel seen or heard but i’m more of the mind of i never trust the mainstream until they prove me wrong ;)

or i never trust the mainstream and i still buy into it anyway and then cry when i don’t like what i see adn i yell “BOO GET OFF THE STAGE!” when an old man won’t leave a teenager alone

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ashistrashhh · 3 years

Text

here are some fic recs!! including sakuatsu, bokuaka, kuroken and matsuhana bc i couldnt help myself

if you want, ask me about a certain ship and ill give you some recs!

-sakuatsu-

Marble and Sandstone by red_camellia

rating: G words: 12,937 chapters: 2/2

author summary: Miya Atsumu only cares about volleyball and nothing else. That is, until he develops a strange obsession with the marble statue of a young man that seems vaguely familiar in his university's arts department. One day that statue comes alive as the very real Sakusa Kiyoomi, and they are left with the mystery of why Sakusa Kiyoomi was turned into a statue and only came back to life when Atsumu touched him. Their new-found connection and the strange mystery turns Atsumu's life upside down, not least because of his growing feelings for Sakusa.

my notes: this was a rlly cute fic!!! 11/10 would read again!!

let it go (paint my body gold) by lunarism

rating: T words: 3,272 chapters: 1/1

author summary: It becomes a routine for them. Sometimes they go grocery shopping and make dinner together, other times they end up talking until Sakusa feels like his own shower and bed is calling him. Every single time Sakusa gets home, shrugs his coat off, balls it up, and proceeds to scream profusely into the fabric for a few minutes.

my notes: pining!!! sakusa!!! also casual painter!atsumu!!! and they paint together!!!

craft a miracle with these hands, lips, (silence) by chrysanthe (sonderesque)

rating: T words: 4,252 chapters: 1/1

author summary: ‘Someone is here to ruin your night,’ his door tells him. ‘You should let them in.’ “I’M HOMELESS OMI-OMI. HOMELESS,” yells the one here to ruin his night. “LET ME IN.”

(What does Kiyoomi sell his sanctuary for?)

my notes: hnnn rlly fuckin cute,, and domestic,,,,

Clipped To You by littleboat

rating: T words: 8,174 chapters: 1/1

author summary: It starts with Hinata Natsu, of all people.

Well, if Atsumu’s being honest with himself, it started way before that, but he’s not, so that’s besides the point. And thankfully, he’s just petty enough to blame all of his problems on a thirteen year old girl.

or Sakusa starts wearing hair clips and Atsumu is more than a little obsessed

my notes: minor kagehina, bokuaka // god these fics rlly make me simp for fictional characters even more than i should. but!! sakusa!!! in hairclips!!! and a pining atsumu!!!

learn how to lay me down in something other than danger, other than fury by rosevtea

words: 34,211 chapters: 1/1

author summary: All of the ways fellow college TA Miya Atsumu reinvents Kiyoomi's definition of normal.

my notes: god i loved this. it’s a fake dating au and like,, even though they’re “dating” sakusa keeps letting his guard down little by little around atsumu and it surprises everyone. komori and akaashi just know that they’re were genuinely pining for eachother

among probabilities and a thousand fates by aalphard

rating: T words: 15,675 chapters: 1/1

author summary: prompt fill for “in a world where the red string of fate exists, person a’s finger always twitches when person b, who can see the string, tugs on their string” | or sakusa thought he had a tic and atsumu liked to see his confused expression when it started to happen exclusively when he was around.

my notes: i! loved! it!! so basically atsumu and osamu have the rare gift of seeing the red string of fate, so they know its real but sakusa, like most other people dont believe it exists. so atsumu gives sakusa a (kinda) hard time. rlly cute!! i love soulmate aus!

-bokuaka-

love in the time of wifi by dalyeau

rating: G words: 4,177 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Akaashi is coming to terms with the fact that he might be romantically interested in his volleyball captain. Hence, doing what any sixteen year old with a problem should do. He asks about it online.

my notes: really cute fic about akaashi asking what he should do about his crush on a site similar to reddit. its kinda a “i didnt know it was you” kind of fic and it made me happy

steam by orphan_account

rating: E words: 8,474 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

bokuto: why is he so hot bokuto: why am i so gay kuroo: LMAO you mean your vice captain right bokuto: yeah

The coach blew the whistle for practice to begin, and Bokuto drummed his fingers against the bleachers, awaiting Kuroo’s reply. He was about to walk away, when his phone buzzed in his hand.kuroo: i got this bro bokuto: what bokuto: wtf does that mean

Bokuto started to panic.

my notes: explicit!!! but really wholesome. kuroo is honestly the best wingman. i also think this is my favourite bokuaka smutfic??

just to miss the sun by rosevtea

rating: T words: 15,126 chapters:1/1

author summary: Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

my notes: akaashi is a booktuber and bokuto crashes one of his streams. fans begin to speculate. rlly fluffy and can u tell i like bokuaka

brain fish by iceblinks

rating: T words: 12,026 chapters: 6/6

author summary: Akaashi wakes up to a string of texts from an unknown number.

my notes: i love text fics and i love wrong number aus so u can tell how much i loved this. really fluffy and i come back to it time to time

-kuroken-

us three by honey_s

rating: T words: 5,137 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Kuroo’s gaze flits over to the utensil. His eyes bulge out of his skull. “Wh—is that a meat hammer? Put it back!” Akaashi’s head recoils back in confusion. “I don’t understand the problem here.” “Why on Earth have you got a fucking meat hammer? We aren’t going to kill somebody!” “Well,” Akaashi begins, clearly taken aback, “I apologise for assuming. I had heard Kenma-san had been hurt in school and after getting a message from both of you to meet late at night, I merely filled in the blanks and assumed we were going to beat someone up, for lack of a better term.” “Not literally! I meant metaphorically, or figuratively, or something!” “Idiomically?” “That isn’t a word, Bokuto-san.” “Jesus Christ,” Kuroo groans, dropping his head into his hands. “We're going to jail."

my notes: bokuaka and kuroo are ready to beat someone up for kenma!! and we stan!!

Cherry Pits and Cat Tattoos by strawberryriver

rating: G words: 6,141 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

Kuroo has been in communication with his soulmate ever since they were kids. They've known each other for so long that he never really worried about when or how he would meet them. At least, not until he meets the roommate of Bokuto's soulmate.Soulmate AU in which things written on your skin show up on your soulmate. Companion piece/same AU as Serendipty

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

Kuroo Tetsurou liked to write on his arms. Despite his mother's half-serious warnings about “ink poisoning” or staining his skin, he insisted on marking his arms and legs wherever he could. Not like his best-friend-since-always Bokuto Koutaro, who had to write on his arms or he’d forget to breathe, but artfully. He’d draw designs, animals, the occasional chemical compound. The whole idea behind soulmates fascinated him: how one person could mark their arm and someone potentially thousands of miles away, would have that same mark appear. The amount of articles, studies, and books he’d read about the topic, even at a young age, could put an undergrad researcher to shame.

my notes: again with the soulmate au bc i cannot help myself. but really cute!!! probably gonna read this again later!

Boom, Toasted by protostar (hearthope)

rated: T words: 6,782 chapters: 1/1

author summary:

FROM: yuuji any bets on who hes texting??

FROM: eita He's smiling at his phone. Kuroo, probably

FROM: kentarou Kuroo

TO: fake family Have any of you ever once considered not prying

FROM: eita You deserve it

FROM: yuuji how can we not when ur in love!!

Kenma gets a text from an unknown number. He'd be lying if he said the guy behind it wasn't kind of endearing.

my notes: again, i love wrong number texts. it focuses more on kenma’s friendship, but kenma’s pov with texting kuroo is more than him realizing feelings and stuff. really cute, ive read it multiple times.

Japan's most subscribed by NeverNothing

rating: T words: 3,631 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Kuroo Tetsurou @blacktetsurou changed his bio : volleyball player, co-owner of Bouncing Ball Corp. and so much more ;)

my notes: i! love! social media! fics!!! really cute and basically people wondering who the mysterious kuroo is to applepi.

MATSUHANA!!! the underrated gem

texting (with a capital S) by parenthetic

rating: M words: 2,119 chapters: 1/1

author summary: Hanamaki breaks his No Texting In Class rule, and it's all downhill from there.

my notes: honestly more funny than it suggests, but its matsuhana, they’re meme lords.

rated m for by orphan_account

rated: T words: 10,692 chapters: 1/1

author summary: He should have known that there was a Specific Reason™ why it was so absolutely vital that he and Matsukawa specifically meet for a reading of the script. He should have known that there had to be some evil catch beyond sitting in a tiny, cramped studio with his newly sworn enemy.

Hanamaki stares at the title of the script he’d so gracefully neglected the night before.

FORBIDDEN PARADISE

“Excuse me,” Hanamaki starts, raising a pen in the air while staring blankly at the packet in his free hand. “Just to clarify, you want me to record a boy's love CD with Matsukawa?”

my notes: a very good voice actor au. there is some misunderstanding on hanamaki’s part bc he didnt finish listening to matsukawa, and this is really cute and i love matsuhana.

In A Quiet Night, All Sounds Carry by levyovochka

rating: E words: 4,794 chapters: 1/1

authors summary: “Ah, ah, Too—!”

Hanamaki hates his university dorm.

“—ru, let me cum, please!”

Hold up. That’s a fucking understatement. Let him rephrase it: Hanamaki loathes his university dorm with passion. Detest the damned abomination, abhors it—

“—ru! Coming, coming—”

It has only been a month and Hanamaki already wants to die.

my notes: as u can guess minor iwaoi // rlly well written and bottom hanamaki rights and maybe my favourite matsuhana smutfic??? and hooh boy i simp for matsukawa

call me maybe by totooru

rating: T words: 33,689 chapters: 14/14

author summary: Hanamaki texts the wrong number when trying to extort tips out of Oikawa in order to defeat Iwaizumi in arm wrestling, and then continues to text the witty stranger who had answered.

my notes: minor iwaoi, daisuga, bokuaka // god i think this is my favourite matsuhana fic overall, maybe in general, but my god is it great. this is probably a common rec, but its understandable as to why it is. basically au where makki texts matsun (who goes to karasuno) instead of oikawa for tips to beat iwaizumi at an arm wrestling match. but they keep messaging. and holy shit i love their conversations. please read this, it is 256/10

there we go!! i might go a part two with more ships (kagehina, tsukkiyama and iwaoi) but this took up way to much time lol. i have an essay due in a couple hours. but hope u like these fics as much as i do!!

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writerman · 3 years

Note

Prompt: Thranduil and Bard went to college together but yearned from afar. Some 20ish years later they see each other again bc their kids go to college together. They weren't even aware that they lived in the same town until Legolas and Sigrid come back for vacation. Kind of like the last prompt I sent you.

Hallo, friend!

Please find my response to your prompt below. Thank you for supporting my stories by sending in prompts for me to respond to.

Please enjoy!

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It was 5am the airport was deserted and Bard really, really wished he’d filled his travel cup with coffee before he had left the house to collect Sigrid from her flight home.

It was freezing inside and outside with winter well and truly settled in for the holidays, the snow had finally stopped and Sigrid had assured her father their flight had not been cancelled but her friend she was travelling with had booked an earlier flight to be sure they’d get back the day they wanted.

The blast of colder air from behind him and the sound of the automatic doors meant he was now not the only one in the airport and when he turned around he was greeted with someone bundled up in a long black fur coat and deep green scarf that covered half of their face. Though they wore no hat and their long white-blond hair was dusted with snow that had started lightly falling again outside.

They stood a few feet away from him and gazed up at the arrivals screen which wasn’t even switched on before they huffed with irritation and turned to Bard tugging down their scarf so they could speak to him.

Though, Bard was not ready for 1) how maddeningly gorgeous the man was and 2) how it appeared to be his old crush and roommate Thranduil from university some 20 years ago. This did not go unnoticed by the blond who broke into a bright smile as his expression changed from cold indifference to joyful recognition.

“Bard!” He moved forward without prompting and slung his arms around Bard’s shoulders in a tight embrace. “Ah, how long has it been since we last saw one another?”

It had definitely been at least 20 years since they parted ways in University to chase their dreams with a youthful exuberance that no longer existed within them. That boundless energy at the prospect of seeing the world, true blue-sky thinking with their hopes tripping from their tongues regaling all who would listen regarding their futures.

What had Thranduil done with his life?

What had happened to have the man come back to Dale of all the places in the world to settle?

“I had no idea you were in town, what brings you here?” Bard asks as they broke the embrace, he tried to hide the fact his face had flushed pink the second Thranduil had thrown his arms around him.

“I’ve lived here for years, what about you?”

How strange it was, Bard had never seen him wandering the streets, not even once in the 10 years he had been settled there in Dale.

Flight 206 Arriving from Mirkwood Intl at 5:30 am has been delayed.

The booming yet cheery voice over the tannoy gave Bard heart failure but the dismay at hearing Sigs flight had been cancelled was enough to cover the thundering of his heart.

When he looked to Thranduil he looked equally upset and he turned on his heel and headed towards the door.

“Come on, let’s not hang about, while I loathe the place, MacDonalds is open and they serve semi-decent coffee. It’s better than hanging about here.” Thranduil looked over his shoulder with a small smile and Bard, O, he followed behind the blond like a puppy, the same as he had all those years ago.

He was still a puppy, and still absolutely harbouring a ridiculous crush and still terrified of confronting those feelings. Somethings just never changed, not even after 20 years, a marriage and children.

And so, that was how Bard found himself sat in the plastic chairs of a booth in the fast-food restaurant catching Thran up on his life, the loss of his wife and the kids. It seemed the blond had a similar story just with one less child and they sat in tense silence for a few moments before Thranduil leaned over the table and put his hand over Bard’s with a coy smile.

“As inappropriate as this may sound after our conversation,” He glanced around the empty restaurant lobby before continuing. “I had such an infatuation with you when we were at university. Gods it took over my life at one point, nothing obsessive, I promise but I was absolutely in love with you,” He sat back almost immediately after he’d finished speaking, clearly feeling better now he had admitted his secret.

The information did not help Bard in the slightest.

“What about now?” Bard ventured feeling brave for literally no reason other than perhaps he was over-caffeinated and it was now just after 6 in the morning. “Ahah, I don’t know why I asked that. Gods, it’s too early, who books a flight this early?” Bard tried to cover his embarrassment with an inane question but Thranduil waved that away looking so serious suddenly.

“What about now?” Thranduil mirrored the words, but the emphasis was solely on the last word and Bard couldn’t hold his gaze to the blond any longer and instead stared at the plastic lid of his coffee cup.

“Aren’t we too old to be working through ancient crushes?” Bard asks quietly, he lifts his drink to his lips and feels the still scalding liquid slide down his throat. It was the only distraction at his disposal and being unable to talk due to it sounded like the best thing for him and his mouth that seemed to run off without engaging his mind.

“You think now you’ve hit your 40s you cannot go in search of love?” Thranduil asked, arching an eyebrow and still managing to look elegant even when unimpressed. “Don’t age yourself in such a way. Personally, yes, I struggled with the loneliness and finding new relationships for the longest time but I always knew I deserved to love again and again.”

Surely it as easier for Thranduil to find someone to adore him. No that wasn’t fair, adoration wasn’t love.

“Did you find love again, you didn’t mention you married again.” Bard cast his gaze to Thranduil’s hands, long fingers still smooth and as pale as he remembered… musicians hand he had always said and Thranduil had always enjoyed playing the piano when they had any sort of downtime from studying.

There was no ring though.

“Ah, no. It is difficult to find love and raise children at the same time. But now that Legolas is in university and Tauriel is in high school, perhaps I can try again. What about yourself?”

There is no time for a reply as Bard’s phone begins to play the Coca Cola Christmas music signalling a call from one of his kids.

It is Sigrid, their flight had just landed and she was currently waiting for her luggage and was he at the airport?

Both men spring from their seats and exit hastily in a bid to get to the airport before their children realise they had been sat cosied up in a MacDonalds trying their hardest not to flirt with one another.

They had failed, of course.

Again, they went their separate ways, collecting their children and bidding one another happy holidays before heading to their separate cars likely not seeing another again.

That was until the next day and Bard is sat on the sofa struggling to wrap Tilda’s Christmas gifts while she was out, Sigrid wanders in and hands him a piece of paper with a contact number written out neatly in her own handwriting.

“Legolas said his dad wanted you to have his number in case of a flight delay like the last time.” A flimsy excuse and she saw right through it, Bard knew that when she grinned and plucked the half-wrapped gift from his hands to finish for him.

“I think you should probably go call him.” It wasn’t a hint, it was an order and Bard wasn’t sure he enjoyed his children knowing anything about his love life, not like this anyway… but, rather than argue with her about anything to do with Thranduil, he merely nodded and headed to the kitchen dialling the number into his phone’s keypad as he did so.

Thranduil answered on the second ring with a very smooth and professional greeting which melted away into a warm and friendly tone as soon as he realised it was Bard on the other end of the line.

That was nice.

It was nice that Thranduil seemed excited to hear from him.

“I want to get straight to the point, Thran.” Bard began realising it was far easier to talk about his feelings when the icy blue of Thranduil’s eyes weren’t rooting him to the spot speechless like they had all those years ago. “I had a crush on you in university and I hate saying crush because I’m 40 fucking years old but it never went away and I was hoping I could take you out for dinner sometime?”

There was a sigh of relief from Thranduil’s side of the line and when he spoke Bard could hear the smile in his voice.

“Look who is being so brave. You garnered the courage before I could- you win this time. I’d love to have dinner with you. I admit, being wined and dined by Bard Bowman sounds like a dream.” That was a rather big statement to make and Bard forced the oddly youthful giddiness forced down back inside himself before he said something to ruin it all.

“A dream? How am I a dream date?” He didn’t really want to know, he was afraid Thranduil would tell him he was the perfect kind of dull for a man his age, even if that sounded out of character for the blond it was still a fear.

“Oh come on, you just want me to stroke your ego. But, fine, I suppose you deserve it after all these years.” Thranduil sounded like he was shifting to get comfortable before he spoke again, “You’re incredibly handsome, and you seemed to have gotten even better with age. You’re kind and gentle and you’re funny. I like a man that can make me laugh.”

Funny?

He’d never been called funny before, perhaps he had been a comedian in university but he couldn’t recall, however, if Thranduil thought he was that was enough for him.

“Ok, ok, you’ve made your point, I’m your dream man. That works well for me, so if I stuff this up I still have a chance?”

There was laughter from Thranduil and the deep rumble of it made Bard lightheaded for a second before he brought himself firmly back to planet earth to ask the most important question.

“So, when would you like to meet?”

“Hmm, is tonight too soon?” No, no it was not, even if Thranduil had asked to meet him an hour from then he would agree.

After all, hadn’t they spent enough time apart already?

There was no need for him to play hard to get or even casual.

“Tonight is fine, I will pick you up at 8. Text me your address and I will see you then.”

“I am looking forward to it.”

When the call disconnected Bard wandered past the living room where Sigrid was sat talking quietly on the phone, she spotted her dad and grinned knowingly giving him a thumbs up.

He received a text later that day from Thranduil containing his address and then another right after simply saying:

I have the house to myself tonight ;)

The night would be an eventful one but who was Bard to complain?

This year was going to have a very different ending to all those he had spent in the past alone. Even if he was terrified of this whole new adventure, at least he was doing it with someone who wanted to be by his side for the entire ride.

#Barduil #Bard the bowman #Thranduil #The Hobbit #Writing prompt #morticia-butler

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