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ice-mage · 1 year

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With the Teen Wolf movie coming out in two weeks, I decided to make a tier list of the characters from the show using this list here. Below the jump, I have added my rationale for all 65 characters I ranked. Feel free to reblog with your own tier list; I would love to see them.

Season 1 Main Cast

Scott McCall – B – This was the ranking that took me the longest to decide on. Scott carries a lot of baggage in fandom. And some Scott stans are rabidly anti-Sterek and anti-Stiles, which in response makes you remember all of Scott’s negative actions and attributes. But, for purposes to this list, I tried my best to not let the fandom baggage influence my ranking.

If I were going by what Teen Wolf tries to tell us Scott is, I would’ve given him an A. He’s optimistic, idealistic, caring, and attempts to protect his friends and family. There are a great many fics that highlight Scott’s best qualities. And some of Scott’s less than stellar moments are understandable given that he is a teenager after all.

But, when it comes to Scott, Teen Wolf does a lot of telling and not enough showing. Scott was only a werewolf for nine months when he became a true alpha, and even fewer months when alpha pack came to Beacon Hills in part because Scott had the “potential” to become a true alpha. Deaton even said that he thought Scott could become a true alpha when he learned that Scott had been bit. All the while, even though he enjoys the perks of being a werewolf, he hates it so much that he can’t fathom why others would chose to get the bite. So, Scott’s true alpha status doesn’t feel earned. Plus, Scott’s morality is a bit black and white, which gets boring pretty quickly.

Ultimately though, and this may in part be due to Posey’s mediocre acting, while I don’t dislike Scott per se, I don’t have a particular desire to see more of him on screen, which earns Scott a B.

Stiles Stilinski – GOAT – Is there any question that Stiles if the GOAT of Teen Wolf? From his first scene, you can’t help but like this precious little bean, this little ball of sarcasm and enthusiasm. Stiles is not only part of many of the funniest moments in the show, but also many of the most heartfelt moments. He would do anything for you if he considers you his. Stiles being the emotional heart of the show is an entire plot point of season 6A, and the show suffered when he wasn’t there.

Allison Argent – B – Allison is super sweet, and I want to like her more. But I can’t look past the way she sadistically shot Boyd and Erica with arrows for no reason.

Derek Hale – S – This man can communicate more with his facial expression than many people can with words. He speaks multiple languages, and is smart. Derek has the most tragic backstory. As a teen, he had to kill his girlfriend out of mercy, and then had nearly his entire family slaughtered by the older woman that seduced him. When he returns to Beacon Hills, it’s because his sister was killed. And yet, he tries to help newly-bitten Scott gain control over his wolf. Derek could have been a villain, but he chose not to be.

Derek wasn’t a good alpha in season 2, but you see in season 3 that under different circumstances he could have been. He teaches Isaac control on his second full moon. He’s willing to risk his life for Boyd and Erica, and although he doesn’t go about it the best way, he pushes Isaac away in an attempt to protect him. He cares about his betas. He gives up his alpha power to save Cora’s life. And he eventually gains the full shift. You want to root for Derek Hale.

Lydia Martin – S – Lydia Martin is Queen. She is brilliant, beautiful, and demonstrates some of the best character growth on the show.

Jackson Whittemore – A – Jackson is an asshole, but he’s a lovable asshole.

Teens

Danny Mahealani – A – Everyone likes Danny. QED.

Isaac Lahey – A – Isaac is just a precious baby. His face when he takes the pain from the dog. The scene when he tries to stay up to protect Melissa with Scott. I can’t help but like him.

Erica Reyes – A – Erica is fierce. The bite gives her a chance to shine after having to deal with her epilepsy. She might have overdone it a bit when she was first bitten, but you see her become more grounded at the end of season 2. She had a lot of potential and I wanted to see more of her.

Vernon Boyd – A – Boyd is the epitome of the strong silent type. I still can’t believe that they killed him right after they started to give him a backstory.

Matt Daehler – TRASH – Murderous stalker.

Cora Hale – C – Cora was there for a bit, I guess.

Aiden Steiner – C – Did he have any good qualities? He sort of had a redeeming death, I guess, which is why he isn’t rated lower.

Ethan Steiner – B – Ethan had more compassion than his brother, so I gave him a bump up.

Kira Yukimura – S – Cute, awkward, and badass.

Malia Tate – C – Was there a point to her character?

Meredith Walker – B – She’s a little confused, but she got the spirit.

Liam Dunbar – S – Liam is a little, angry puppy. Gotta love him.

Mason Hewitt – B – I want to like Mason more, but he always felt like he was supposed to be Stiles 2.0.

Sydney – C – Not very memorable.

Garrett – C – Gets a bump up for being smarter than his girlfriend.

Violet – TRASH – A murderer whose money-hunger made her stupid.

Brett Talbott – C – Another werewolf whose family died in a fire? I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t bring myself to care.

Lori Talbott – C – Cared less about her than I did for her brother.

Theo Raeken – S – Theo was an excellent villain. And a villain the same age as the pack too. He singlehandedly manufactured the breakdown of the pack.

Tracy Stewart – B – She gained a lot of confidence over the course of season 5. She grew on me

Hayden Romero – C – She’s 15 but works as a shot girl in a club? Make it make sense.

Corey Bryant – C – Even though I think Corey and Mason are really cute together, I just don’t care about Corey as an individual character.

Donovan Donati – TRASH – Nothing but a psychotic rage machine.

Josh Diaz – C – Just not memorable. Apparently, he was in nine episodes. I remember maybe two of them.

Gabe – TRASH – I was glad when he died.

Nolan – C – Nolan was pretty pathetic the entire time he was on screen.

Parents

Sheriff Stilinski – S – Papa Stilinski is top tier. There are a few questionable moments said in jest, but when it matters, when it counts, you see that he loves his son more than anything else in the world.

Melissa McCall – S – This woman singlehandedly runs that hospital. Loved her relationship with Scott, Stiles, and Isaac.

Peter Hale – S – This beautiful bastard brought himself back from the dead. Yes, he’s manipulative and power hungry. But he’s clever, cunning, and charming. Loved every second he was on screen (younger and older).

Chris Argent – S – You wouldn’t think you’d grow to like Chris Argent when you start watching the show, but you do. Despite losing his family, Chris comes back to protect Beacon Hills. Although he cares about the code, in season 1 its not because he thinks werewolves are worthy of the same dignity as people. It’s there as a check against hunters falling to their worst impulses and start killing simply for the sake of killing. But he grows and learns that the supernatural are just people, not inherently bad, but capable of doing/being good. Plus, he’s a total DILF.

Victoria Argent – A – She is badass. She was able to threaten Scott effectively just by sharpening a pencil. Died too soon.

Natalie Martin – B – Lots of ups and downs. She locked her daughter in an insane asylum, the same one in which her mother-in-law committed suicide (at least that’s what she believed at the time). But in season six she helps the pack actually graduate.

Mr. Lahey – TRASH – He locked Isaac in a freezer. Multiple times.

Talia Hale – C – We are told that Talia was a wise and respected alpha. But we know that she (1) convinced Corrine to give birth, (2) gave Malia to a human family, (3) took Peter’s memory of Malia, (4) apparently failed to keep tabs on her because she we know she did not find Malia after her adoptive mom and sister were killed and Malia turned into a coyote even though that happened before the Hale fire. Not sure what her redeeming qualities were other than her ability to fully shift, but what we know about Talia does not live up to what we are told about her.

Rafael McCall – B – Before he shows up, what’s said about him gives the impression that he’s a horrible person. But we never really see that. His antagonism against the Stilinskis doesn’t seem merited, and he’s not the best father, but we he’s not shown to be a bad guy.

Noshiko Yukimura – C – She is a 900 year old kitsune, but she can’t help her daughter gain control over her fox spirit? She calls on a nogitsune even though she should know better.

Ken Yukimura – A – He is adorable. Love the dad jokes.

Mr. Tate – B – Don’t really like or dislike him. But I enjoyed when he threatened the boys when they picked up Malia. Protective dad.

Corinne – TRASH – Why does she want to kill Malia again? Because she lost some of her power and it transferred over to her? But then why didn’t she do it right after she was born? And is she’s appears incompetent given that she didn’t accomplish the job the first time.

Other Adults

Alan Deaton – B – Deaton had a few badass moments, but he was decidedly unhelpful a lot of the time. Stiles calls him out for withholding information. He says that helping Derek was a promise he made to his mother, and yet he never really helps Derek.

Bobby Finstock – S – The bigger they are, the Bigger. They. Are.

Adrian Harris – TRASH – He has the most punchable face.

Kate Argent – TRASH – She’s a mass-murdering psychopath with a creepy attraction to teen boys.

Gerard Argent – TRASH – He considers werewolves to be no more than animals. He espouses that it is better to kill oneself rather than live as a werewolf. Yet when faced with dying from cancer, he plots to become a werewolf rather than die.

Marin Morrell – A – Marin intrigues me. She was the emissary to the alpha pack when all the other alphas had to kill their emissaries. But she still acted independently, sometimes at odds with her pack. Needed more of her.

Jennifer Blake – A – I obviously don’t condone her magically seducing Derek and attempting to sacrifice the parents. But she gets a lot of points for being a strong magic user. She used magic to change her visage, to hide her scars from the world, so that Kali didn’t recognize her at first. She used magic to physically push Kali away, and to telekinetically throw glass at her. I was rooting for her in her fight against the alphas.

Braeden – A – She was badass. She survived Deucalion slashing her throat.

Deucalion – A – He is the Demon Wolf. He is the alpha of alphas. Jennifer had to sacrifice numerous people to challenge him, and she came up short. Her magic was unable to harm him. Easily the strongest alpha on the show.

Kali – TRASH – Two words: feet claws.

Ennis – TRASH – He was so angry that one of his pack was killed he decided to kill the remainder of his pack?

Jordan Parrish – A – Creepy visions aside, Parrish is really sweet. He deserved a raise.

Araya Calavera – A – What can I say? She reminds me of my grandmother.

Severo Calavera – C – Never got a strong opinion about him, but demerits for threatening to take a chainsaw to Derek.

Satomi Ito – B – She is a long-lived wolf, so props for that. She seemed to have skills in fighting. But she was utterly incapable of protecting her pack.

Brunski – TRASH – Not only was he a serial killer, he was annoying.

Dr. Gabriel Valack – B – Props for going from a prisoner in Eichen House to basically running the place.

Mrs. Finch – TRASH – She was an alpha, but had no idea what was going on with her own pack. Plus, she let Liam get beaten up in her own class.

Garrett Douglass – TRASH – He is a literal Nazi.

Tamora Monroe – TRASH – Did she have any redeeming qualities?

#teen wolf #teen wolf: the movie #tw movie #scott mccall #stiles stilinski #allison argent #derek hale #lydia martin #jackson whittemore

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alligatorjesie · 2 years

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Aww shit. I’m sorry this took so long to reply to, I live my life outside fucking tumblr and this was all I was able to type out in between water and snack breaks from fucking @makemebehavelikeananimal ‘s mother.

It’s rich being told by a chucklefuck who can’t seem to shit out two sentences without a spelling or grammatical error that I’m not using the English language correctly. Are you a fucking grammar police? Are you going to shoot me because I told you fanfiction isn’t fucking new, that police kill people, and you’re a fucking moron?

How ironic.

Meow I do admit what I type out is filled to the brim with expletives and a few run-ons but I think I’m getting my point across. I do understand when you have shit for brains and the attention span as long lived as a snowflakes drifting into the fucking hell shit nuggets like you all must crawl out of it’s tricky for you to do something as simple as fucking read, so let’s hold hands and take a walk through what I typed out just for you since you seem like you need the fucking help.

As you can see at this point of the conversation I’m talking about the entirely un-unique ideal of people taking things that were already known media having fans write fiction about it.

There’s a fucking word for that.

It’s called ‘Fanfiction’

And it’s been around since at least the 14th century. It’s not fucking new.

Now this point here I’m very clearly speaking to the point of ‘If you don’t like the thing it’s as simple as not interacting with it.’

Anti logic fucking baffles me. Why the fuck are you spending time on shit you don’t like? If you don’t enjoy, say, the new Game of Thrones series, then don’t interact with it.

It‘s just that fucking simple.

I know I sure as flying fuck don’t after that absofuckinglutly disgusting pile of wet dog shit series finally.

Now having said that, lemme show you something:

This is my tumblr. As you can tell even though I have a strong opinion about GOT, I don’t post mindlessly hateful shit about it like it’s a fucking keystone personality trait in the Game of Thrones tag of all fucking places. I’ve never fucking posted in it once in fact, well I have now bit it’s more to make a point.

Because I’m not a needlessly hateful fucking cunt.

I’m just a regular justified cunt. Because I’ve been in two fandoms now that have been consistently shit on by everyone around them for my entire lifespan. If we’re not dealing with actual nazis

In the Star Wars fandom to the point it’s a fucking trope

AND in the Furry Fandom.

And even though every single person I know in both of these fandoms is shouting at the top of their lungs for everyone to, you know, just stop and listen to the fact there are

Real

And actual racists

in these fandoms

and we’re dealing with actual attempts on our lives from these shit stains

the overall news media seems quite content to just sorta laugh like it’s fun.

It’s not fucking fun.

I don't fucking like you but I like you fucking less now that I see you dramatically flinging yourself over a fainting couch screaming about your incorrectly perceived racism and uhh transphobia? IDK were the fuck you’re even pulling that shit from but that’s an ass chewing for another time, because I mentioned that cops kill people and that you’re so fucking stupid you don’t understand that fanfiction has been a thing since humans could fucking write and just mind ya own fuckin’ business when I was actually awaken that faithful day in December back in 2014 while attending that very con at about 1 in the morning by hotel alarms and banging on our door that shit was going down right the fuck now and we need to GTFO.

Only to learn the sick fuck set the bombs off in the stairwells, the only way to get out of the hotel because the elevators were disabled. So there was lots of people just sorta trapped.

Not the ones who did try to use the stairwell in all the confusion by the way,

those ones breathed in chlorine which isn’t fucking healthy surprise surprise.

Because we were just told to leave the hotel. No one said a fucking thing about the chlorine bomb set off in the fucking stairwells.

19 living breathing humans got sick from that attack.

Many are still dealing with real life long term effects of what happened to them psychologically.

Some of them are dealing with real life long term effects of what happened to them Physically. Not to mention that this shit happened in the middle of December in Chicago. Everyone was evacuated outside, you know the ones who could actually get outside.

At 1 in the morning.

And told they couldn’t go back inside for many hours.

You know, just standing outside in their pajamas in the freezing Chicago winter. Only to be laughed at the next morning by almost every other fucking news channel out there.

You know, at the con that was chlorine bombed by a hateful fuck.

Someone kinda like you.

I have literally been closer to death in that instance and every single fucking day just by living were I do and being in the fandoms I’m in. My heart doesn't exactly fucking bleed for you because you got upsetty that cops in a country you don’t even fucking live in kill a lot of people and that statement is fucking triggering to you.

I don’t give a fucking shit.

Be fucking mad about it, but don’t be mad at Me about it. I’m not a fucking cop. I’m not even a racist POS like you want me to be. I’m just a furry and a reylo who wants you to leave the fucking reylo tag if you’re gonna be a prick about it.

We were chlorine bombed at a furry con because people like you hate people like me.

You know what’s triggering to me?

Assholes in my fandom spaces.

I fucking tired of assholes.

I’m fucking tired of anti shit stains who think it’s alright to hate the shit I love and think they can just openly mock fandom they don’t like to the point people in it have killed themselves from y’all’s harassment.

I’m going to happily spend every moment I’m alive telling you fucking pricks you’re not fucking welcome and to fuck off. And if I have to write a fucking mini novel to do it I fucking will.

I’m excited to watch that high horse you’re sitting on buck you off.

So the next thing I talk about here is how Tumblr’s ‘based on your likes’ algorithm works against you because you’re so fucking stupid you can’t figure out why reylo shit keeps showing up on your fucking feed. This one is actually pretty straight forward, but I’ll explain it simpler just for you:

Don’t want fandom shit you don’t like showing up on your dashboard?

Don’t interact with the fandom.

It’s just that fucking easy.

I don’t like the Naruto fandom and I don’t want to see the content show up on my dash. It’s just as easy for me to fucking avoid it.

Now this next part! My favorite part!

The part were I watched a whole person take their head and ram it so thoroughly up their own anus they’ve created a singularity that is now wildly spinning out of control, sucking every fuckwad who thinks it’s alright to send ‘kill yourself’ anons to fucking anyone at fucking all in close proximity right into it. So lemme ask what part here you read that implied I was sending you a death threat? Was it this part?

Naw probably not. I don’t see anywhere I typed something like ‘I hope’ or ‘I wish’ In fact I believe the wording is ‘You Could’

The line ’You could die tomorrow’ isn’t a fucking death threat you daffy fuck. ‘Could’ is an implication that life is fucking fleeting and it can all get taken away tofuckingmorrow. Learn to fucking read for fuck’s sake how do you even use this site? You COULD walk out your door and get plastered by a drunk driver. You COULD sit down to enjoy a nice dinner and choke to death. You COULD walk down the street and find a black bear riding a unicycle handing out candy. But probably not.

None of these are fucking death threats. It’s not my fucking fault you can’t read one single sentence and fucking understand it, that shit don’t make me a racist that makes you a fucking moron.

‘Could’ isn’t a fucking wish or desire. ‘Could’ is a fucking probability.

I don’t want anyone to be shot by a cop. Like I don’t want anyone to be chlorine bombed at their own con.

But my talking about either of these things dose not fucking automatically imply I wish them on people, how the ever loving fuck does your warped fucking mind work?

Do you fly off the handle like this every time someone plays ‘What if’ with you?

Do you throw yourself in to a diaper shitting baby tantrum every time someone tells you something you don’t wanna hear? Is this your fucking life?

How fucking tiring living with you must be.

Life isn’t a fucking guarantee. That shit can get taken away from you any fucking second, not by my fucking hands that for fucking sure. I just want you to fuck off out of a fandom tag you’re being a useless fucking prick in. I don’t want to fucking see you ever again.

But since you wanna make a big fucking deal about police brutality, let’s check something out here real quick @makemebehavelikeananimal

Oh, so you’re in the UK?

Well I’m glad reading literacy is just as fucking bad there as it is in America. Maybe the reason all these fanfictions getting turned into movies is so frightful to you is because you can’t fucking read and just assumed the movies have to be read too? Because you understand that’s not how that fucking works right?

Hey, lets check something out here:

Oh my sweet mother of fucking Christ sailing across the fucking Nile. You’re making 10 shades of shit out of someone pointing out one of the over 1,000 deaths by cops in the US alone in 2021 and turning that shit into some kinda race dig when YOU live in a country that saw 3 fucking deaths by cops in that same year?

What in the Kentucky Fried Fuck.

I have been to a furry con that was Chlorine bombed and live in a country that has had over one fucking thousand police killings in 2021 alone and I’m less of a fucking brainless preachy twat about death than you. I literally have higher odds of dying by cop and I make less a fucking stink about this shit when someone brings it up. I want people to bring this shit up. This shit is fucking appalling, like your reading comprehension.

I’m not fucking sure how you hear someone mention police brutality and the ever fucking fleeting fragility of life and automatically go ‘well they must be being racist at me’ like I ain’t the one actually living this horseshit every fucking day. What kind of special moron are you? You’re going to be spending more time being dead than you ever will alive. You’re just going to have to come to fucking terms with that goddamn shit however someone as fucking stupid as you can, but boy fuckin’ howdy I ain’t gonna sit here and let some ignorant fuck like you tell me I’m racist for simply bringing up death.

Death is a part of life. We all gonna die one fuckin’ day ya dumb slut.

You’re not immune, I’m not immune, your dear sweet mother whom I have been fucking with a healthy vigor every single waking moment since I met you isn’t immune.

I don’t fucking have to wish death on people. Death is just standing aside waiting for one of us to twist an ankle while walking down the non-fucking-exsistant sidewalks we have here in the US because some dicks for brains decided back in the 40s/50s that everyone should have cars and fuck pedestrians which will cause us to inevitably get stuck by a car traveling over 60 miles per hour next to us. Death is just waiting for you to stand too close unmasked to someone with Covid. Death is just vibrating with excitement as some stupid pricks light another gender reveal explosive in a field that hasn't seen rain in 4 months.

I don’t wish death on people. I make a point of that. I’ve been being told to go fuck off and die because I draw furries since I was a child. I know what it’s like to be told to go die. It’s not fucking fun.

I don’t send death threats on this shit stain site, not when I have useless fucking bell ends like ya’ll sending them to me all the time. We’re past the count of 18 by the way, 4 of them have been from your crew. Congratulations, your online friends are just as fucking trash humans as you are. I’ll be honest with you, I want you to live a long miserable life. I want you to survive until you’re a practically immobile shriveled festering lump of bitter old fuck that is just as dead on the inside as your cold fucking heart. I want you to die at an impossibly long age an old bitter cunt surrounded by people you hate and who hate you in kind since you’ve made every personal slight into issues that don’t even fucking involve you because that’s all your myopic world view can work with. I hope one day very far from now you die a very old lonely miserable person because you’re a fucking cunt who never made a single ounce of meaningful human contact in all your long lived years since you’re such a cantankerous stupid fuck who’s physically and emotionally repulsed any person that might have loved and cared for you in your last long moments. Fuck you OP. I don’t give a shit that your a POC. I care that you’re a fucking tasteless cunt spewing needlessly mean shit in a tag you don’t fucking like.

Now dick off.

#Anti talk #reylo #hate talk #death threats #nazis #furry fandom #tumblr has a lot shit tier people on it #not all #for sure #but a lot #who think it's fine to send anon death threats #that's not fucking fine what the flying fuck is wrong with you?#@makemebehavelikeananimal is a fucking monster #And also racist lets throw that one in there too for good measure #I'm going to take a page out of @makemebehavelikeananimal 's book and just start throwing insults out until one of them sticks

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ravenheartxvi · 6 months

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Good News!

Chapter 4 of Second Chances is officially in the works! It took me a while to figure out the outline for the chapter and then how to expand the outline. Meanwhile I got sidetracked by my Anidala Modern AU and well... life.

As an appreciation for my reader's patience and an apology for my procrastination, here is a sneak peak of the beginning of the rough draft of the opening scene. Special thanks to Fialleril for introducing their worldbuilding for Tatooine Slave Culture. It gets mentioned in my fic though it is not the focus. I enjoyed exploring this wonderful fandom as I delve into the psychology of Anakin Skywalker.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Anakin Skywalker was a boy, he spent his days toiling under the heat of twin suns for a harsh master who held the controls of his very life in his hands. At night, his mother, worn down by the same life, yet resolute in her belief in fate, in the inherent goodness of others, hidden and bogged down by fear and greed, would tuck him in and tell him a story. Her stories were often spoken in hushed, reverent tones, in the secret language of their people. She would speak of their history, the legends that made up their home. Those legends consisted of mythic figures, godlike in their fables. Shmi Skywalker often talked about Ar-Amu, the mother, but little Anakin skywalker had favored the stories about Ekkreth the unfettered, the trickster, the slave who made free, and from whom they had received their family name.

Little Anakin Skywalker had believed in Ekkreth without question, and he had believed that it was Ekkreth who had sent a Jedi and his company into their path to free them. It nearly broke him to learn that he would have to leave his mother behind in chains while he flew away, free to walk the sky. As Anakin grew, and he threw himself into his Jedi training, in effort to ensure that Qui-Gon didn’t die in vain, to prove himself worthy of his place within the Jedi, he believed in the old stories of his childhood less and less.

As Anakin Skywalker held his dying mother in his arms and begged to the Force, to Ar-Amu to spare her life, to not let him be too late to come home, his faith in the stories of their people had shattered. A piece of Anakin Skywalker died that night in that Tusken Camp along with Shmi Skywalker. The stories that Shmi used to tell her son at night were just that, stories.

“I tell you these stories, My Son, so that they might save your life one day,” Shmi Skywallker would whisper to her beloved son as she kissed his forehead goodnight.

Stories, fables, legends were nothing more than a small comfort to make a life of cruelty more bearable. Anakin was certain of this as he scoffed at the very idea of something so outlandish being true. He had turned his back on the heritage he was born within, favoring the knowledge that he knew to be true. The Force, which he could touch, feel, understand through his training, was far more real than any mythical figure in a bedtime story. There was no story that can withstand a lightsaber, nor can it combat against the greatest feat of the Force.

Stories were nothing more than a lie anyway, Anakin Skywalker, the former Darth Vader in another life, knew this to be true with a fatalistic certainty. After all, it was with the use of a fallacy, disguised as such a story, that had been the catalyst for the destruction of Anakin Skywalker and the birth of Darth Vader. If not for the tempting lie, crafted in the form of a story told to him by a man he was foolish enough to trust, he would not have fallen for the trap that doomed him, everyone he ever loved and the entire galaxy.

Stories do not save lives, they give false hope. Anakin Skywalker had no time for stories. He had a time-sensitive mission, after all. He needed to focus, to plan ahead, because the enemy is always several steps ahead. Anakin needed to rise ahead of Sidious. Sidious had decades to plot and all Anakin had was a little over a year or less if he wasn’t careful.

#anakin skywalker #star wars #time travel fix it #mentions of Tatooine slave culture #fanfiction #character psychology

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nyctophiliq · 1 year

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18+ Scrimbly lil teeny tiny mage here

-Overwatch

She/They Lesbian

I am 5'2 (shhh don't tell them the truth moss), very adventurous and inquisitive person. I am fairly oblivious, if people try hinting to me about anything it takes me the longest out of anyone to understand, I love nature and enjoy going out on the open sea or through the forest. I have a lot of hobbies including but not limited to Archery, piano, singing, writing, gaming, programming, mechanics, reading, biking, and swimming

MBTI: INTJ

Zodiac: September Virgo

Sorry the other fandom I want to request for is the moss fandom/j

your match-up and star messenger is . . .

SOMBRA / OLIVIA COLOMAR (entp) !

you guys are the "making everything a competition is love language" couple

oliva and you see each other for who you really are, you both are innately curious, look deeper, and notice traits about each other that other people don't see.

the both of you have softer, more emotional sides to you but you tend to be private, and hide your feelings behind a mask for the outside world. olivia and you might need some time to warm up to each other on the feelings part of your relationship. but once you do, you'd be surprised how similar the two of you see the world.

an oblivious person like you needs a witty person like olivia, who is no short of pranks. the hacker inside olivia might tell you that she is just as afraid of socializing as you but in reality, if she can she spends most of her time around others. which is perfect for you because you need to be pulled out of your comfort zone.

bickering and having small arguments are no strange for the two of you. bullying each other like that is less about insulting one another and more about outdoing each other in a debate. outsiders might think you two just don't work when seeing these events occur.

some aspects of your relationship would be:

her constantly picking on you about how boring your hobbies sound but in reality, she loves you even more for them

bunch of random pop-up messages, sent anonymously by her (she hacked your phone)

ferry boat dates! criticizing the other passengers is one of your favorite things to debate and draw prejudice about

learning and speaking spanish with her, either for a purpose or just out of fun

MEETING EACH OTHER !

version 1

you were sitting in your chair somewhere around town, busy on your laptop, working away on something you needed for work or school, you couldn't remember. your eyes wandered everywhere around the internet café remembering thinking, a change of scenery couldn't hurt. she came up behind you and made a comment about how slow your laptop is while already reaching for the keyboard to fix it. between your disbelief and surprise by the time you realized what was happening, the stranger had already fixed your laptop. she asked for you to pay for her coffee and give her your number willingly.

version 2

talon was occupying a city with the means of getting information about overwatch and their next move to take the terrorist organization down. you were one of few locals who were familiar with overwatch's set-out outreach center that contacted the heroes and were asked to give up some security codes so talon could get ahead of their rival. sombra took a liking to you and what something started out as interrogation soon turned into genuine interest for you.

YOUR SONG IS . . .

cherry blossoms by shady moon !

#📼 › moss tapes #📞 › moss' phone #match up #overwatch match up

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witchthewriter · 2 years

Note

Hi! I know I've done this before, but I'm here for the open ships as long as you are alright with that! (if not feel free to just ignore this!) My pronouns are she/her, and I am bisexual! A bit about my personality would be that while I can act very serious, or get angry quite easily, I can also act a lot like a child and I love to talk to people about the things I'm passionate about, whether that be a hobby, a book, a character, or something they're doing! Probably my biggest hobby is writing, and I love to get warped into worlds of my creation, and I also love to pick out different outfits, especially for summer, I also love roller and ice skating and talking with friends! Whether that be texting, talking, or running through a mall with them and going through random shops for fun! A few things I dislike would probably be loud cafes, not being left alone, and people constantly badgering me about the same thing or people just using me.

Fandoms I am doing this for:

Stranger Things, Harry Potter (Marauders Era), I know this one isn't on the list but throne of Glass or Maze Runner (otherwise please feel free to do this for The 100, I don't want you to feel like you have to make exceptions or do a specific fandom)

Want to be shipped? Here be the instructions 🦋

For more reblogs I can do personalised headcanons, if you’d like <3 thank you for participating xxxx

What each ship has in common:

⋆ Leaders ⋆ Quick-thinkers ⋆ Heroic ⋆ Prefer certain company ⋆ Fierce

𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬

𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

I ship you with Nancy Wheeler. I think you would be the type of couple that’s great at communication, loves to takl about the future and your dreams/desires. She would listen to you and reciprocate your passion.

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

・Learning a particular language together so you can speak it whenever you want privacy

・Always there for each other

・I think her nickname/pet name for you would be honey but only when it’s the two of you

・Going to museums, galleries, skate rinks, seeing the latest movies

・She would definitely have your back and protect you, especially from anything to do with the Upside Down

・Can you just imagine Nancy in cute pajamas, snuggled up in bed, waiting for you to get in and cuddle her????

・Taking bubble baths together <3

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

I ship you with James Potter; you would definitely bring a lot of joy into his life. I can also see you being good friends with Sirius, Remus and Peter (we have to include Peter because this is before the betrayal).

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

・You guys would have a complicated friendship, where neither of you wanted to admit to your feelings.

・It wasn’t until James stood up for you that you let those feelings overflow.

・You kissed him first. He was so shocked, that it took him a while before he could react.

・Spending a lot of time at his parents’ place. They absolutely adore you.

・Loves to make you laugh; he thinks it’s one of your best features. When you laugh at his jokes he feels like he’s floating on air

・Piggy back rides, hand holding, PDA (he really doesn’t care who may be around)

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐳𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫

𝐷𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

I ship you with Thomas from the Maze Runner. I think you would have a really honest relationship where everything is on the table. It’s like a ride or die type of situation.

𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

・Brushing his hand against yours when you’re walking with the group

・Him telling Minho to back off whenever he gets too flirty with you

・Making sure that you’re alright, and that you’re safe. You’re always his first priority and makes sure you’re never alone

・Having a hard time explaining his feelings but getting there eventually

・Throwing hands whenever someone makes you uncomfortable

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squigleyssnakesfics · 1 year

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Words that feel like home

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), White Collar (TV 2009)

Relationships: Peter Burke & Dick Grayson, Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey, Dick Grayson & Original Character(s)

Characters: Dick Grayson, Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Reese Hughes, Original Characters

Additional Tags: Don’t worry she’s not a Mary Sue she’s just an old woman, Neal Caffrey and Dick Grayson are the Same Person, Romani Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Speaks Romani, Damian Wayne speaks Romani

Words: 1787

As usual, Dick Grayson entered the FBI white collar department as Neal Caffrey. And as usual, Neal Caffrey was met with a cacophony of noise; phones ringing, people talking, coffee brewing, victims crying.

Unlike usual, however, a lot of people were crowded around one particular crying victim. She was an old woman in a long, pink, flowery dress with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Her skin was dark and wrinkled and she was sobbing frantically and pointing at photos and saying things in a language nobody seems to be able to identify. Dick could see how desperate she was for someone to understand her, he remembered feeling like that when his parents died.

He remembered being taken away from their bodies by policemen who couldn’t understand him, past his thick accent and the few English words he knew. Because while they had been a travelling circus, they hadn’t visited many English speaking countries, since they were mostly based in Eastern Europe and Asia. One month, Dick remembers, they had gone South to the Pacific Islands and even did a small tour in New Zealand and Northern Australia before heading back to South Asia. Dick remembered learning some English in New Zealand but it hadn’t been much and some of it was very particular to that country and more like slang, so when Dick’s parents had died he had barely been able to communicate his basic needs as he was ripped away from his family at the circus. And no matter how many languages Dick knew it didn’t seem to change the fact that so many of them were monolingual.

Dick walked slowly towards the sobbing woman, because while god knows she was already swarmed enough by FBI agents trying and failing to understand her, Dick almost certainly knew a few more languages than them. ‘Plus’, he figured, ‘this is exactly what I wanted when I was a child’.

As Dick reached the table she had been sitting at he caught a few of the words she threw from her mouth like they’re dirty: “he stole it”. She was pointing at the photo lying on the table of a painting of a woman with long, dark, curly hair and golden skin and yelling desperately that it isn’t the true painting. And she was yelling it all in Romani. Dick’s hand moved slowly to cover his mouth, before he carefully lowered it and moved past all the people gathered around her to kneel beside her.

“Ma’am,” he said, carefully in Romani, “are you Roma?”

The woman heaved a sob and reached towards his face, grasping it gently and nodding, “yes, yes i am Roma, oh thank god, someone can understand me. Can you help me?”

Dick took her hands in his and nodded encouragingly, telling her to tell him everything that happened.

“There was a man in our house, I think he was one of my granddaughter's friends from college. He killed my granddaughter and took my grandmother’s painting. He knew I couldn't speak much English and nobody could speak Romani, that’s why he left me alive! He killed my granddaughter!”

Dick squeezed the woman’s hands and said “I am so sorry this has happened to you. I’ll let the Agents know what has happened and they can help you. Unfortunately, I believe I'm the only other Roma here so I’m the only one you can speak with unless you can speak any other languages.”

“If I calm down I might be able to speak some Arabic. Thank you so much for your help young man, may I ask your name?’

Dick considered for a moment, he hadn’t spoken to another Roma person since he was a child. It felt oddly calming, “It’s Dick,” he spoke carefully, “and I speak Arabic too, if you need me. These men know me as Neal though, so maybe don’t call me Dick unless it’s in Romani.”

She smiled and laughed softly, lines tightening around her eyes, she nodded and then asked if he could get all the Agents away from them. Dick nodded right back and stood.

Dick turned to all the Agents in the room, transfixed on their conversation, and said loudly to them all, “her granddaughter’s college friend killed her granddaughter and stole her grandmother’s painting. Now can all but the essential people please leave?”

The Agents slowly shuffled away, grumbling and muttering amongst themselves until only Peter, Diana, Jones and Hughes were left. Hughes glared at Dick, “what language was that, Caffrey?” he asked.

Dick glared right back, “None of your business, Hughes.”

“Except, it is, Caffrey, I’m overseeing this case so I need to call for a translator.”

Dick shrugged, “you don’t need one, you have me.”

Dick ignored Hughes’ scoffing and shaking his head and turned back to the woman, “what is your name, Ma’am?” he asked.

The woman responded Quickly, “it is Nancy Kahn, and my Granddaughter is Caroline Kahn.”

“It is lovely to meet you Mrs Kahn,” Dick says.

“And the same goes for you, Dick. I thought that I'd never meet another Rom again, after we moved to America.”

Dick laughed slightly, “I thought the same.”

“Do you mind if I ask, Dick, but your words are sharp with the American accent, how long have you been here?”

Dick smiled sadly, “that is a long story, Mrs Kahn, i came here with my family when i was 8, and then my parents died and i had to stay here, the policemen couldn’t understand me, they wouldn’t let me stay with the rest of my family after that and I had to be adopted. I haven’t spoken Romani fluently with anyone since I was 9.”

“I’m sorry that happened, my dear.”

“Thanks.”

Dick felt a gentle tap on his shoulder and turned behind him to see Peter. Peter motioned for him to follow him and Dick muttered a quick goodbye to Nancy before following Peter to a secluded spot in the department.

“Seriously, Neal,” he starts, putting his hands on his hips, “How are you the only person here who can speak that language, whatever it is. We are in a building of a huge amount of Federally trained Agents who worked their asses off for years to be even considered for a spot here. There isn’t a single monolingual person in this office, how is it that you are the only one who knows that language?”

“What? You don’t trust me Peter?” Dick asks, crossing his arms and smirking.

“I trust you. I just don’t trust how coincidental it is that you’re the only one who knows it.”

“It’s a closed language, Peter. You have to be born into it. Just drop it, honestly I don't want you digging into my past anymore than you undoubtedly already have after the other week. Just know that it’s not a language you’re gonna guess or find a translator for.”

Dick had to admit that he was thoroughly grateful for the fact that Peter dropped it after that and even went as far as to divert Hughes’ attention when it strayed back to the Romani he’d been speaking earlier. Neal was about to go out and assist Hughes on the case before he remembered something.

While he was passing his desk he quickly sat his fedora back onto the desk and jogged back to the conference room where Mrs Kahn was taking refuge from the muddle of unavoidable Agents and questions just outside. Dick opened the door and let it fall quietly shut behind him. He sat in the chair next to Mrs Kahn and smiled warmly at her.

“I’ve really enjoyed speaking with you Mrs Kahn. It’s been so long since I’ve had a long conversation in my native tongue: I’m teaching my kid to speak Vlax Romani, but he’s not quite fluent yet. I’d love to talk some more with you,” Dick wrote his number quickly on a sheet of paper and passed it to her, “and don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything, anything at all.”

The woman beamed at Dick and accepted the paper held towards her, “thank you,” she said, “one day bring your boy around and I can help with his learning, I’d love to be able to chat with more people.”

Dick chuckled softly and said to her, “I’ll try to convince him,” even though he knew he wouldn’t be able to see Damian until the mission was over. He waved goodbye to Mrs Kahn and stepped outside of the conference room, feeling lighter than he had in years, and yet somehow heavier at the thought of his family, old and new, at the thought of them combining through the language he’d grown up with. He hoped Damian was keeping up with his language revision, one day he would have to use it, one day Dick would introduce him to Mrs Kahn but in the meantime, Dick would just have to keep in touch with Mrs Kahn and wait for the day he could see his family again.

— — —

Neal had once again graced Peter’s living room with his unannounced and uninvited presence. Neal and Elizabeth had been having a lovely chat, as they always did when he broke in but then his phone had buzzed and continued buzzing intermittently until he excused himself and went outside to the verandah out the front of the house with no explanation but the murmuring of, “Mrs Kahn,” directed towards Peter before he waltzed away, Satchmo following as if he were Neal’s dog.

As soon as Neal shut the door behind him, Peter leaned in his spot on the lounge towards El, a smile on his face that made sure she knew that he had gossip.

“Spill,” El said intently.

“I have information about Neal and the woman he’s talking to,” Peter responded.

“So spill,” El repeated, already invested.

“He knows this language that absolutely no one else in the office knows. The fact that it’s a closed language and we wouldn’t be able to find any translators for it, was the only information I got from Neal. He's currently speaking to Mrs Nancy Kahn, she was a victim in a case Hughes was looking at, she speaks barely any English but she does speak whatever it is that Neal knows. He’s been talking to her for weeks.”

“So Neal has a new girlfriend that speaks a rare language?”

“No, god no. She's like 80. I think he sees her in the same way he sees June.”

“You’re adding this to the other information you have on him aren't you?”

“Elizabeth, what kind of friend would I be if I didn't keep a file on the mysteries of my other friends?”

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pumpkinpaix · 3 years

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mdzs fandom, diaspora, and cultural exchange

Hey everyone. This post contains a statement that’s been posted to my twitter, but was a collaborative effort between several diaspora fans over the last few weeks. Some of the specifics are part of a twitter-localized discourse, but the general sentiments and issues raised are applicable across the board, including here on tumblr.

If you’ve been following me for a while, you’ve probably seen a few of my posts about this fandom, cultural exchange, and diasporic identity. For example, here, here, and here. This statement more directly criticizes some of the general issues I and others have raised in the past, and also hopefully provides a little more insight into where those issues come from. I would be happy if people took the time to read and reblog this, as the thought that went into it is not trivial, and neither is the subject matter. Thank you.

Introduction

Hello. I'm a member of a Chinese diaspora discord server - I volunteered to try and compile a thread of some thoughts regarding our place and roles in the fandom expressed in some of our recent discussions. This was primarily drafted by me and reviewed/edited by others with the hopes that we can share a cohesive statement on our honest feelings instead of repeatedly sharing multiple, fragmented versions of similar threads in isolation.

This was compiled by one group of diaspora and cannot be taken to represent diaspora as a whole, but we hope that our input can be considered with compassion and understanding of such.

For context, we are referencing two connected instances: the conflict described in these two threads (here and here), and when @/jelenedra tweeted about giving Jewish practices to the Lans. Regarding the latter, we felt that it tread into the territory of cultural erasure, and that it came from a person who had already disrespected diaspora’s work and input.

Context

The Lans have their own religious and cultural practices, rooted both in the cultural history of China and the genre of xianxia. Superimposing a different religious practice onto the Lans amidst other researched, canonical or culturally accurate details felt as if something important of ours was being overwritten for another’s personal satisfaction. Because canon is so intrinsically tied to real cultural, historical, and religious practices, replacing those practices in a canon setting fic feels like erasure. While MDZS is a fantasy novel, the religious practices contained therein are not. This was uncomfortable for many of us, and we wanted to point it out and have it resolved amicably. We were hoping for a discussion or exchange as there are many parallels and points of relation between Chinese and Jewish cultures, but that did not turn out quite as expected.

What happened next felt like a long game of outrage telephone that resulted in a confusion of issues that deflected responsibility, distracted from the origin of the conflict, and swept our concern under the rug.

Specifically, we are concerned about how these two incidents are part of what we feel is a repeated, widespread pattern of the devaluing of Chinese fans’ work and concerns within this fandom. This recent round of discourse is just one of many instances where we have found ourselves in a position of feeling spoken over within a space that is nominally ours. Regardless of what the telephone game was actually about, the way it played out revealed something about how issues are prioritized.

Background

MDZS is one of the first and largest franchises of cmedia that has become popular and easily accessible outside of China. Moreover, it’s a piece of queer Chinese media that is easily accessible to those of us overseas. For many non-Chinese fans, this is the first piece of cmedia they have connected with, and it’s serving as their introduction to a culture previously opaque to them. What perhaps is less obvious is that for many Chinese diaspora fans, this is also the first piece of cmedia THEY have connected with, found community with, seen themselves in.

Many, many of us have a fraught relationship with our heritage, our language—we often suffer from a sense of alienation, both from our families and from our surrounding peers. For our families, our command of the language and culture is often considered superficial, clunky, childish. Often, connecting with our culture is framed as a mandatory academic duty, and such an approach often fosters resentment towards our own heritage. For our non-Chinese peers, our culture is seen as exotic and strange and other, something shiny and interesting to observe, while we, trapped in the middle, find ourselves uprooted and adrift.

MDZS holds an incredibly important place in many diaspora’s hearts. Speaking for myself, this is literally the first time in my life I have felt motivated and excited about my own native tongue. It's the first time I have felt genuine hope that I might one day be able to speak and read it without fear and self-doubt. It is also the first time that so many people have expressed interest in learning from me, in hearing my thoughts and opinions about my culture.

This past year and a half in fandom has been an incredible experience. I know that I am not alone in this. So many diaspora I have spoken to just in the last week have expressed similar sentiments about the place MDZS holds in their lives. It is a precious thing to us, both because we love the story itself, and because it represents a lifeline to a heritage that’s never felt fully ours to grasp.

It’s wonderful to feel like we are able to welcome our friends into our home and show them all these things that have been so formative to our identities, and to be received with such enthusiasm and interest. Introducing this to non-Chinese friends and fans has also been an opportunity to bridge gaps and be humanized in a way that has been especially important in a year where yellow peril fear mongering has been at an all-time high.

History

However, MDZS’ rise in popularity among non-Chinese audiences has also come with certain difficulties. It is natural to want to take a story you love and make it your own: that’s what transformative fandom is all about. It is also natural that misunderstandings and unintentional missteps might happen when you aren’t familiar with the ins and outs of the culture and political history of the story in question. This is understandable and forgivable—perfection is impossible, even for ourselves.

We hope for consideration and respect when we give our knowledge freely and when we raise the issue of our own discomfort with certain statements or actions regarding our culture. Please remember that what is an isolated incident to you might be a pattern of growing microaggressions to us. In non-Asian spaces, Asian diaspora are often lumped together under one umbrella. In the west, a lot of Chinese diaspora attach themselves to Korean and Japanese media in order to feel some semblance of connection to a media which approximates our cultures because there are cultural similarities. This is the first time we've collectively found community around something that is actually ours, so the specificities matter.

There is a bitterness about being Asian diaspora and a misery in having to put up a united front about racial issues. Enmity towards one group becomes a danger to all of us, all while our own conflicted histories with one another continue to pass trauma down through the generations. Many of us don’t even watch anime in front of our grandparents because of that lingering cultural antipathy. When the distinctions between our cultures are muddled, it feels once again like that very fraught history is flattened and forgotten.

Without the lived experience of it, it’s hard to understand how pervasive the contradictory web of anti-Asian and, more specifically, anti-Chinese racial aggressions are and how insidious its effects are. The conflation of China the political entity (as perceived and presented by the US and Europe) with its people, culture, and diaspora results in an exhausting litany of criticism levied like a bludgeon, often by people who don’t understand the complicated nature of a situation against those of us who do.

There is often a frankly stunning lack of self-awareness re: cultural biases and blind spots when it comes to discussions of MDZS, particularly moral ones. There are countless righteous claims and hot takes on certain aspects of the story, its author, and the characters that are so clearly rooted in a Euroamerican political and moral framework that does not reflect Chinese cultural realities and experiences. Some of these takes have become so widespread they are essentially accepted as fanon.

This is a pattern of behavior within the fandom. It is not limited to any specific group, nor does it even exclude ourselves—we are, after all, not a monolith, and we should not be placed on pedestals to have our differing opinions weaponized against one another in fandom squabbles. We are not flawless in our own understandings and approaches, and we would appreciate it if others would remember this before using any of us as ultimate authorities to settle a personal score.

It is difficult not to be disheartened when enthusiastic interest crosses the line into entitled demand and when transformative work crosses into erasure, especially when the reactions to our raised concerns have so frequently been dismissive and hostile. The overwhelming cultural and emotional labor we bring to the table is often taken advantage of and then criticized in bad faith. We are bombarded with racist aggressions, micro and macro, and then met with ridicule and annoyance when we push back. Worse, we sometimes face accusations of hostility that force us to apologize, back down, and let the matter go.

When we bring up our issues, it usually seems to come with the expectation that there are other issues that should be addressed before we can address ours. It feels like it’s never really the time to talk about Asian issues.

On the internet and in fandom spaces, Western-coded media, politics and perspectives are assumed to be general knowledge and experience that everyone knows and has. It feels like a double standard that we are expected to know the ins and outs of western politics and to engage on these terms, but most non-Chinese have not even the slightest grasp of the sort of politics that are at play within our communities. We end up feeling used for our specialized knowledge and cultural background and then dismissed when our opinions and problems are inconvenient.

As the culture represented in MDZS is not a culture that most non-Chinese fans are familiar with, we’d like to remind you that you do not get to decide which parts of it are or are not important. While sharing this space with Chinese diaspora who have a close connection to the work and the painful history that goes along with being diaspora, we ask that you be mindful of listening to our concerns.

Cultural erasure is tied to a lot of intense historical and generational trauma for us that maybe isn't immediately evident: the horrors of the Pacific theatre, the far-reaching consequences of colonization, racial tensions both among ourselves and with non-Chinese etc. These are not minor or simple things, and when we talk about our issues within fandom, this is often what underlies them. This is one of the first and only places many of us have been able to find community to discuss our unique issues without feeling as if we’re speaking out of turn.

With the HK protests, COVID, the anti-Chinese platforms of the US election etc., anti-Chinese sentiment has been at the forefront of the global news cycle for some time now, and it is with complete sincerity that we emphasize once again how important MDZS fandom has been as a haven for humanizing and valuing Chinese people through cultural exchange.

Experiencing racial aggression within that space stings, not just because it’s a space we love, but because it feels like we’ve been swimming in rapidly rising racial aggression for over a year at this point.

Feelings

This is a difficult topic to broach at the best of times, and these are not the best of times. Many of us have a wariness of rocking the boat instilled in us from our upbringings, and it is not uncommon for us to feel like we should be grateful that people want to engage with something of ours at all. When we do decide to speak up, we’ve learned that there is a not insignificant chance that we’ll be turned on and trampled over because what we’ve said is inconvenient or uncomfortable. When it is already so difficult to speak up, we end up second-guessing and gaslighting ourselves into wondering whether there really was a problem at all.

We’d like to be able to share what we know about our culture and have our knowledge and experience be taken seriously and treated with courtesy. This is a beautiful, rich world built with the history of our ancestors, one that we too are trying to connect with. When we find it in ourselves to speak up about it, we would appreciate being met with consideration instead of hostility.

We don't have the luxury of stepping away from our culture when we get tired of it. We don't get to put it down and walk away when it’s difficult. But if you're not Chinese or Chinese diaspora, you get to put this book down—we'd like to kindly request that you put it down gently because of how much it matters to all of us in this fandom, regardless of heritage.

What we are asking for is reflection and thoughtfulness as we continue to engage with this work and with one another, especially with regards to how Chinese issues are positioned. When we raise issues of our own discomfort, please take a moment to reflect before reacting defensively or trying to shut us down for spoiling the fun—don’t deprioritize our concerns, especially in a fandom for a piece of Chinese media. We promise most of us are not trying to start shit for the sake of a fight. Most of the time, all we want is acknowledgement and a genuine attempt at understanding.

Our hope with this statement is to encourage more openness and understanding between diaspora and non-Chinese fans while we navigate this place that we’re sharing. Please remember that for many of us, MDZS is far more intense than a typical fandom experience. Remember that the knowledge we have and research we do is freely and happily given, and that it costs us both materially and emotionally. Please don’t take that for granted. Remember too that sometimes the reason for our discomfort may not be immediately evident to you: what seems culturally neutral and harmless might touch upon specific loaded issues for us. We ask for patience, and we ask for sincerity as we try to communicate with one another.

We are writing this because there’s a collective sense of imposed silence—that every time the newest round of discourse crops up, we often feel as if we’re walking away having created no meaningful change, and nursing new wounds that we’ll never get to address. But without speaking up about it, this is a cycle that will keep repeating.

This is not meant to shame or guilt the fandom into throwing themselves at our feet, either to thank us or beg for forgiveness—far from that. We’re just your friends and your fellow fans. We are happy to have you here, and we’re happy to create and share and play together. We just ask to be respected and heard.

Thank you. Thank you for listening. Several of us will be stepping back from twitter for a while. We’ll see you when we get back. ❤️

* A final addendum: here are two articles with solid practical advice on writing stories regarding a culture other than your own.

Cultural Appropriation for the Worried Writer: Some Practical Advice

Cultural Appropriation: Some More Practical Advice

The thread on twitter is linked in the source of this post. Thanks everyone.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #the untamed #the untamed meta #cql #asian diaspora #chinese diaspora #race #racism #mine #mymeta #once again my tag failing me because this is a collaborative work #but! for the sake of organization #statistically average #cultural appropriation #cultural erasure #what else do i tag this im so wired

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megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms · 3 years

Text

Studying Abroad

Based on this request: Would it be possible for me to request a poly!mate fic for Twilight? Felix and Demetri are soul brothers who turn to each other for comfort and companionship only to soon learn that they share a true mate in the reader who is taking a semester to study abroad in Italy when she runs into them for the first time?

Here you are! *Familiar characters are NEVER mine!*

Fandom: Twilight

Warnings: True Mates. Angst (sorry), Poly-ish(If that's a warning)

Pairings/Characters: Felix Volturi x fem!reader x Demetri Volturi

It wasn't often that both Felix and Demetri had time to relax at the same time. When they did, the soul brothers often turned to each other for companionship in every way. Yes, they had their fair share of dalliances with other people, but there was no real connection between them. Both Felix and Demetri figured that would change when they met their true mates. They never expected that, like many other things, they would share a true mate. When they met you, their world turned on its head.

The two of them were walking through the semi-dark streets of Volterra when an intoxicating scent hit Demetri's nose. He froze. Felix took another couple of steps before he stopped dead in his tracks as well. He glanced back at Demetri. "You smell it too?!" he asked and Demetri nodded. Without even discussing it, they decided to find the source.

They raced as quickly as they dared so they didn't attract human attention. Felix suddenly stopped short again. Demetri was glad for his quick reflexes so he didn't run into his soul brother. He looked around Felix and saw you. You were sitting on a bench, occasionally glancing up at the buildings in front of you. On your lap sat a notebook and a textbook laid open on the bench beside you. The lights of the piazza were more than bright enough for you to read/write by.

The two stared until you seemed to feel their gazes on you. You looked up, your eyes meeting their red ones, and gave them a nervous smile. Felix and Demetri exchanged a glance. "She's my mate," they said in unison, softly enough that only they could hear. Their eyes widened. Then they turned back to you. "I'm sorry. Am I in your way?" you asked with a look on your face that said you hoped they spoke English and the two vampires nearly melted. It weirded Felix out and he found he had trouble speaking up. He never expected to have a true mate at all. Fortunately, Demetri was there.

"Not at all, tesoro! We were simply admiring your beauty." You snorted out a laugh. "I bet you say that to everyone. Does it work?" Demetri feigned a look of hurt. "Never!" You laughed again before looking at Felix. "Strong, silent type, huh?" Demetri chuckled. "You could say that. My name is Demetri and that mountain of a man is Felix."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Y/N. Sorry if you feel like I'm forcing you to speak English. I do know some Italian, but I'm terrified of saying something wrong." Demetri waved your apology off. "We do not mind. English is one of the many languages we've learned…for work."

While Demetri spoke to you, Felix let his eyes wander to the book on the bench. It was a textbook. "Are you a student?" he asked. Your eyes went to him, then the book and back to him. "I am. Architecture major. I got the chance to study here in Italy for a term. It's so beautiful and the detail in the architecture here is amazing! It's so artistic!" Felix smiled at how you gushed. It was one thing he did envy humans. Their passions. Vampires often lost their passions for things after a while, especially without their mates by their sides. Humans held onto passions with a zeal.

"Perhaps Felix and I could give you some insight while you're here. We've seen all there is to see in this country." You bit your lip as if you were worried about something. "I-I don't know. I did just meet you," you started then, taking a deep breath, you continued, "But I feel like I've known you forever. Is that crazy or what?"

Felix's deep chuckled caught your attention. "Italy has that effect on people" You shook your head before glancing at your watch. You frowned slightly. "Is that really the time? Sorry, I'd take you up on your offer, but I've got to get back. Busy day tomorrow." You grabbed your belongings and shot to your feet. Demetri and Felix hid their disappointment as you bid them good evening and darted away.

For the rest of the night and into the next day, you were the only thing the two vampires could think about. It was sort of bittersweet. They had gotten to meet you, but it was going to be a difficult relationship to begin and maintain. Eventually, you would leave Italy and return to your home school. The thought made the two upset. They didn't realize that things were going to change very, very quickly.

Felix and Demetri were waiting for the newest tour group when your scent hit them again. Felix's eyes widened and he met Demetri's gaze. Was their luck really that rotten? The doors opened and your smell hit them like a ton of bricks. They both froze when they saw you in the midst of the tour group that was about to become dinner.

Chaos broke loose and before he could even think, Felix raced forward, grabbed you, and sped you out of the room. Once in his own rooms, he stopped and set you down. "Felix? What the fu-" Your question was cut off by the sound of screams. You looked up at Felix with wide eyes.

"I will not hurt you, tesoro. I promise. And Demetri and I will explain everything later. But please, stay here until I return. Please." He didn't give you a chance to reply before he left the room to return to the others, hoping he hadn't missed his chance to feed. He knew he would have to explain to the masters what had happened, but he hoped they wouldn't be too harsh on him. He would take all the blame if necessary to protect Demetri and you.

Much to his dismay, Felix was the center of attention when he entered the room. "Felix, I trust you have a reasonable explanation for what you've done?" Aro asked, his voice sending chills down Felix's spine. Felix glanced at Demetri, who nodded. Felix offered Aro his hand so the leader could read his thoughts.

After a second, Aro let go of Felix's hand and let out a laugh. "Well, that is wonderful! Demetri and Felix have found their mate! Go, explain to her what has happened then bring her to us so that we may meet her. She is to be a part of our family if she accepts the bond between you." The two Elite Guards didn't have to be told a second time and left to see you.

They found you curled up in a corner with tears streaming down your face. "Oh, Y/N, don't cry," Demetri cooed and moved closer. You tried to scoot away from him. If it had been possible, Demetri's heart would have broken then and there. "I don't want either of you near me until you explain what the hell is going on! Why were those people screaming?!"

Felix stood back. He knew he had a more intimidating look about him, but he wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in his arms and console you. "Could you come out of the corner? We shall keep our distance if you wish." You glanced between the two and slowly stood up. Demetri gestured to the chair at Felix's desk. As soon as you were seated, Demetri began his explanation. You sat enraptured by the story, your eyes wide and your body shaking slightly.

"We felt it last night. The pull of our true mate. You," Demetri finished after what was no time at all to the vampires, but probably seemed like an eternity to you. "Let me get this straight. You two and everyone else in this castle are vampires…and Felix saved me from a horrible death because I'm supposed to be mated to you both?!" The vampires nodded.

"I-I can't. I can't do this. I have school! My family! Friends! I can't just drop everything and accept a supposed bond with two men I met YESTERDAY!" You stood and tried to leave the room.

"Please," Felix finally spoke. You turned to look at him. "I understand it is a lot to process. You're frightened and rightfully so. But please don't reject us without giving us a chance. That is all I ask. Give us a chance." You pulled your lip between your teeth again and shook your head. "I don't know. I don't think I can." You opened the door and left the room. Demetri lost his cool, picking up the nearest thing and throwing it against the wall. Felix knew he was hurt and not really angry. "I'll make sure she leaves the castle safely," he muttered, leaving Demetri to his own devices. Felix's own un-beating heart was breaking as he escorted you out in silence.

(a/n: I hope you like it! I am open to writing a 2nd part if you lovelies would like!)

#twilight #felix volturi #demetri volturi #felix volturi x reader #demetri volturi x reader #felix volturi x reader x demetri volturi #felix x reader x demetri

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slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 3 years

Note

Writing smut without cringing the whole time? How do you do it.

Writing Smut 101: Overcoming Smut Shame

CONTENT WARNING: NSFW RELATED CONTENT BELOW.

The short answer, nonnie, is: you don’t.

That is to say, writing smut is always kind of cringe—especially if you’re new to it, or simply “not in the mood” to write.

But rest assured, feeling embarrassed is completely natural. The trick is learning how to overcome the cringe when it does happen, instead of letting it deter you.

I’m going to break this up into a few sections: 1) Why you might be feeling this way, 2) How I, personally, combat the issue, and 3) Some more tips that might help you get the ball rolling.

1. Why You “Cringe”

It’s important to find the root cause of any form of writer’s block so you can pull the weed out instead of just trimming it back. Smut writer’s block is its own special brand, and generally, the main issue writers have when it comes to smut is stigma.

Speaking openly and honestly about sex, in Western society, is still very much a taboo.

No matter how “progressive” we like to think we are, the inherent shame surrounding pleasure-seeking experiences, and the detailing/consumption of them, has been ground into us since we learned how to understand the concept of gratification.

And I’m not just talking about sexual gratification. This applies to everyday things, as well. Eating, shopping, relaxing (or doing virtually anything in capitalist society that does not directly contribute to capitalism).

So it makes sense that you would feel any amount of embarrassment, awkwardness, or “cringe” when writing smut. It’s something our society teaches us is wrong to want. Unfortunately, that shame translates to writer’s block when we sit down in front of the computer.

A lot of this blockage might stem from not giving ourselves permission to write the thing.

We’re staring at the blank document, knowing we want to write smut, and suddenly the thoughts start streaming in: This feels wrong, is this wrong? What if someone comes in and looks over my shoulder while I’m writing? Am I describing this right? Is this too unrealistic? I have NO idea what I’m doing, and everyone is going to know it.

These are all perfectly normal thoughts, and definitely ones I still have from time to time. But they’re also probably the direct cause of why you feel so blocked. Luckily, I have some bits of advice to give you on how to unblock yourself.

2. How I Combat Smut Block

✦ First, when the intrusive thoughts occur, instead of ruminating on them, think of each one as an impermanent object. You can use any metaphor, but I like to use the imagery of leaves:

Each negative thought is a leaf floating down the river of your mind. If you focus only on the leaf, you’ll exert a lot of energy running to try and keep up with it, consequently miss everything else around you. But if you acknowledge that leaf as a temporary part of the scenery, and let is pass, you can process and appreciate the beauty of your surroundings a whole lot better.

Remember: you are separate from your thoughts. You are not defined by them. The things you think sound stupid might be incredibly exciting to someone else.

If you can string a sentence together, you can write smut. This is all part of giving yourself permission to write the thing that makes you feel uncomfortable.

✦ Second, I’d suggest giving good thought to how you personally experience embarrassment, how you experience excitement (of the sexual variety), and how those two might sometimes commingle or feel similar.

For me, they are very comparable, like different shades of the same emotion—but there are differences which are important to note.

If I’m making myself blush from excitement, this is a very good thing for writing smut. It means that what I’m writing feels real enough to evoke something in the reader, even if the reader, like me, knows what’s going to happen.

If I’m making myself cringe, however, it may be time to take a step back and readjust my perspective.

✦ Third, ease yourself into it! Don’t jump straight in the deep end and expect to know how to keep your head above water if you’ve never swum before.

The way I eased myself into smut was first by writing “Steam”—a category of fic I made up because the current vocabulary lacked an efficient term for fics that straddled emotional romance and explicit content.

Essentially, steam is smut-adjacent but not explicit, and here’s a step-by-step example of how I transitioned myself smoothly from one genre to the next:

I first wrote my fics Wicked Game and You Are (both of which feature either a heavy make out session or teasing + lots of sexual tension) with this “steam” concept in mind.

I wrote the first chapter of Fine Line, which has brief but explicit descriptions of fantasies, framed by a very sexually charged scene.

I released my fic Crashing, which is probably more of a bridge between Steam and Smut, and features soft-focus fingering. Nothing in it is explicit—it focuses more on the emotions than explicit detail—but it’s very clear what is happening.

After I wrote those, I felt just confident enough to make that final stride over the threshold into smut. I wrote my fics Holy, King, and the second chapter of Fine Line all within weeks of each other.

And trust me when I say, once you get the momentum going and receive that validation from people who’ve read your work, it becomes SO much easier to sit down and start writing.

You just have to finish that first piece.

✦ Finally (and I know I’m going to sound cliche when I say this), just like any other skill, the more you practice the more confident you will feel and the better you will get.

So practice, practice, practice!

If you’re nervous about posting smut for the first time, have a trusted friend/mutual Beta read it for you. It’s the online equivalent to someone holding your hand before jumping off the cliff, and works wonders for the nerves.

3. Keep The Smut Rolling

Now that you have some tools to help get you past the blockage of writing smut, here’s how to keep the inspiration flowing.

✦ Start by incorporating smutty fanfiction/erotic fiction into your regular reading rotation-

Of course AO3 is a fantastic resource for smutty fanfiction.

If you’re a fan of TFOTA or ACOTAR and want some of my personal fic recs, visit my fic rec masterlist.

In terms of erotic fiction, my personal favourites are anything Anais Nin (specifically Henry & June and Delta of Venus), The Thornchapel series by Sierra Simone, The Godwicks series by Tiffany Reisz, and The Original Sinners series by Tiffany Reisz.

There are also sites like Literotica and sexstories.com, which play host to explicit short fiction (not fandom based).

✦ Next, I’d recommend having a designated digital space for smutspiration-

This can be a list of “smutty” words/phrases kept on a separate document on your computer, for those days when you just can’t think of the right way to describe something.

Or you can create a private side-blog or Pinterest board for your favourite smutty fanart or other kinds of visual smutspiration.

✦ For that matter, try following some smutty/18+ blogs (ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+) here on Tumblr-

Many of them have a plethora of what I like to call “lemony snippets”, a.k.a. short text posts that describe (usually in conversational language) explicit scenarios.

This is useful because it will normalise the concept of sexual fantasies in your brain, making it less weird for you when you try to come up with ones of your own to write into smut.

Not to mention, your dash will be rife with inspiration.

✦ I would also suggest checking out 18+ ASMR on YouTube (AGAIN, ONLY IF YOU’RE 18+).

My favourite account is Professor Cal Official, but Auralescent also has some good content.

Headphones are highly advisable for this, as their stuff is very dangerous for work.

So, nonnie, I hope this has provided you with at least one helpful tip. Whether you took anything away from this or not, just know that the feelings of embarrassment when it comes to writing smut are entirely normal. And the best way to keep those feelings at bay is to confront them head on.

-Em 🖤🗡

Writing Advice Masterlist

Writing Masterlist

2K Celebration!

#writing #writing advice #writing tips #smut #fanfic #writeblr #ao3 #writer things #em's 2k celebration #smut 101: overcoming smut shame #fluff #angst #writer's problems #asked and answered #em answers #nonnie #anonymous smut cringe

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 3 years

Text

Saturated

Author’s Note: Here it is, the long awaited one-shot that ended up a mini story in length. This wasn’t a planned idea, just something I went with and this is the result. I know this fandom is starting to shrink due to the show ending, but I hope those of you still here are having fun!

Masterlist

Summary/Pairing: Ivar x Reader In which Ivar thinks he’s found a daughter of the goddess Rán

Wordcount: 9642

Warnings: Language, Angst, Smut NSFW

The night was warm and still when Ivar made his way down to the stretching shore. It was a difficult trek the older he became because he had to wade through the sand that seemed to double his weight and sap his strength. After all that effort, he was reminded why he put himself through such a trial when he came into the blessed solitude. When he was a boy he had found an old fishermen's dock that was no longer used, and it was a quiet place he could go without being bothered. Sometimes he would look out at the water and imagine all the lands that were waiting for him to bring them terror and glory. When he was feeling less ambitious after drinking with his brothers, he would lie back on the creaking boards of the dock and gaze at the stars and wonder if the gods were watching in forethought.

His mother told him it was the sea that would take him from her. Her eyes would grow empty yet full of sadness, and he could only watch without being able to comfort her. Ivar wanted to journey, and he assumed his mother's vision meant that either it was by ship or drowning that he would be taken. When one entered a longboat to go raiding, the chance of a storm crashing down was always a possibility, but it was a risk worth taking for honor and legacy. He loved his mother, more than anyone, but he could not stay in Kattegat forever. His fate was out there waiting, and he needed only to extend his hand to take it.

A sudden movement in the water broke his focus and he looked out over the dock to the rippling surface. His eyes adjusted, and he thought his mind had gone when he recognized the whites of a pair of eyes staring back at him. There was a person in the water, bobbing just to their nose above the surface. At first, Ivar reached forward with his hand. They must have been frozen to the bone in the frigid sea. Kattegat's waters never warmed, even in summer.

When he looked at his hand cast forward, he felt foolish. With his useless legs, he couldn't swim. His upper body strength might support him a moment or two, but then sink and be wrapped under in the weeds before he could take a breath. He withdrew his hand only to find the eyes were no longer where they should have been.

Ivar scooted closer to the edge of the dock, searching the black water for the face he thought he saw. He rubbed at his eyes. Perhaps he hadn't slept well enough, or maybe he had ingested something spoiled during the last meal. He chose to believe his senses were sharp. They had kept him alive this long, and while trying to match his brothers no less. His eyes did another sweep of the shore before he called out, "I know you're there. You should know you cannot hide from a son of Ragnar."

His legs that dangled over the pier were parted, and a figure came straight out from the water to rest its arms on his thighs. Ivar flushed when he saw the figure was womanly. A beautiful and terrifying face, with large silver eyes, peered up at him. He had mistaken you for a woman, but you were something more. The hair that tangled down to your waist dipped into the water, and below was not a pair of legs kicking. Black scales with a pearlescent shimmer. You were one of Rán's creatures, or perhaps a daughter to the goddess herself.

"Ragnarsson," You spoke, and he was struck dumb by your voice. "Few may hear the siren's song calling."

Ivar's eyes shot to your hand as it trailed up his leg. Your nails were long, and there was a transparent webbing between your fingers. What surprised him even more than your strange claws was how gentle your touch was. It was a caress barely felt through his trousers.

"Who are you?"

You smiled. "I am (Y/N)."

"I am Ivar."

"I know you," You replied, and your sweeping hand switched to cupping his cheek. "You have your father's eyes and spirit."

"You know Ragnar Lothbrok?" Ivar asked while leaning into your touch. Your hand was warm despite the brisk waters you waded in.

"I know many faces of your home. I like to watch and learn from your people. Your father was a gazer too, but his eyes were to the horizon. You search the stars and night sky."

When you began to pull away, Ivar grabbed your hand and brought it back to his face. "Do you know my brothers?"

"I have seen them, but my song does not reach their ears. You are unique."

Ivar simpered. He could hear what his brothers could not. While they were off in barns and clearings, playing under the skirts of thralls, he was alone in the quiet of the night with a goddess. The sea had chosen him, though youngest and deformed.

"Why have you sought me out?" He asked, desperate to have his hopes confirmed.

"I wish to talk with you, and learn more of your kind. But we must always meet under darkness, for many of your people would rather hurt me than trust me."

Ivar knew why. Fishermen told tales of beautiful women taking sailors to the water, down to the sea bed of Rán's hall, never again to surface. He did not think you had the malice to do such a thing to him.

"How do I know you'll return? Is this even real?"

He couldn't help the creeping doubt from springing forth, and you flashed him a look of pity before plucking the knife from his belt. That got his attention, and he lurched forward to reach for the thing, but you held no ill intent. Instead, you pulled your hair over your shoulder and cut free a length to give to him. It was softer than any wolf pelt, and he clutched it tight to his chest.

"Giving a lock of hair to another can be one's undoing, so believe that I will return or curse me should I ever be treacherous," You said, and you slid his knife back into place before dragging your hand down his thigh. His cock gave a twitch, and your grin told him you knew. "Farewell Ivar."

You slipped back into the water like a needle through silk, and he was only able to catch a glimpse of your tail before you disappeared into the deep.

ooOOoo

Ivar went back to the dilapidated dock every night, and true to your word you would be there waiting in the water. You only approached once he took his place at the end of the pier, and Ivar would keep his legs apart so you would come rest between them. As you spoke of things unimportant, he would weave his hand with yours, playing with your fingers and the thin membrane of webbing. You would return the affections with little pets of your own, and you always left a kiss to the corner of his mouth before parting.

The lock of hair you had given to him was always with him. He had braided it together into a bracelet that he wore everywhere on his wrist. If his brothers thought anything about it, they never voiced such concerns. Ivar presumed they figured he had found his own thrall to be with, and as distracted as they were with Margrethe, they didn't dig further into his affair. His mother had noticed the thing as well, and always she would give it a long stare. Ivar always anticipated her to ask, but she avoided mentioning it as if it were a matter too delicate to speak of.

Ivar wished he could bring you to meet his family if only to brag to his brothers that you had chosen him. But he knew that could never happen. They would fear that you were a deceiver after his life, and his mother would have you killed to keep him safe. She probably would never let him near water again.

"Ivar," You called, clasping both hands on either side of his face. "Your mind is elsewhere tonight."

"Sorry," He said, looking away momentarily. "I just was thinking what it would be like to live our lives together."

"Come with me to the water," You suggested, and you gave a small tug on his arm that scooted him closer to the edge. He almost let you drag him in before he grew hesitant and pushed back.

"I can't swim like this," He said, scowling at you and then his legs.

"I will keep you safe." Ivar searched your face for any deception, but he only saw your smile. "You don't trust me?"

"I do," He said quickly. "But I…"

You heaved yourself upwards on the dock until it was just the tip of your tail whipping strokes in the water. Ivar caught your bare torso against his chest, and he flushed as your breasts pressed up against him. You were practically sharing the same air, noses brushing together as you steadied yourself in his arms. Your eyes met and you breathed a laugh that eased his previous concerns.

"We won't go far. I just want to show you that your legs aren't the burden you think they are."

You weren't pleading, and Ivar was intrigued by your suggestion. He gave you a short nod, and that was all it took for you to wrap your arms around him and haul him down into the depths. Your strength was surprising, but the admiration was banished from his mind the moment the cold water soaked straight through to his blood. He thrashed his arms, grabbing for purchase at imaginary aids that weren't there. When he tried to let out a shout, he swallowed saltwater. The sea was going to take him, just as his mother feared.

No. You were there, and you had never left. Like a spark to wood, Ivar was enveloped in a new warmth, and he floated to the surface with your arms around him. He took his first breath of air, but his throat was raw and he sputtered and choked. Your lips closed over his while he continued to cough, and it was as if you pulled all of the water out from his lungs. He didn't know if it was a real kiss, but he wore a shy grin as you pulled away.

"Breathe," You instructed. "Breathe, and look up at the stars you love."

Ivar first looked back at the shore and realized you had kept your promise. You had only taken him out far enough so his feet wouldn't brush the sandy floor. He then craned his neck up to the sky and found the familiar sight of his stars. They were the same out in the water as they were on land, a comforting thought for when he would one day sail away from home. The sky would always be there.

"Lie back and let the water hold you," You whispered in his ear from behind.

Ivar didn't know when you had maneuvered around to his back, but he continued to put his faith in you as you guided him down gently into the water. He was lying face up with his body floating across the surface weightless and free. You joined beside him, and together you shared in the silent night, bathed in the moonlight with the motion of the sea carrying your bodies. Ivar forgot for a moment about his broken legs. Drifting there beside you, he felt whole.

"You didn't answer me before," He spoke up, and you watched him with curiosity. "About us living our lives together. Is it possible?"

"There are those of my people who have given up the sea's blessing to live on land. Some may even live among your kind, though I doubt you would recognize them."

"How did they do it?" Ivar was sure even the dumbest farmer in Kattegat would have noticed a child of Rán flopping about.

"When my people choose to live a life as a land dweller, they simply have to go ashore. The blessing of the sea will fade, and in place will be a soft and weak human body, " You explained, and you turned your eyes away from him. "But the sea is vengeful and she hates those who leave her waters. Once the blessing fades, we can never return to her currents, or else we would be reduced to nothing more than foam that settles into tide pools."

If you were to be together you would have to give up everything you knew to be with him. Ivar wanted to ask this of you, but he was afraid of your answer. Being a prince as well as his mother's favored son meant he never had to work for anything. What he wanted he got, and always in plenty. If you refused him, he feared the rejection and what his reaction could be. He wasn't beyond forcing you out from the water onto dry land if it meant keeping you for himself. Better to not ask now. It was too early to demand so much from you.

He heard you shift in the water, and you were at his side again while supporting his back with your strong hands. "You don't want to ask me?"

Ivar shook his head. "Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow."

"I know you will soon, Ivar. It's in your eyes, they darken with hunger."

"What would you say if I did?"

He let out a shiver as you righted him back into your arms, holding him in your embrace that let him know you were in control. "I would say that you could also give up your life to be with me. Right now, I could take you down there, and you would never again have to worry about dragging yourself upon the land."

The idea of never having to crawl again was tantalizing, something he had always wished for, and yet...even if he was with you, he knew he wouldn't forget all that he would leave behind. He wanted to show his people he could lead and conquer better than any man, even without working legs.

"I couldn't," He murmured.

"Then it is good I did not ask, and nor will you ask it of me. We will take comfort in the joy we have now, and forget everything else."

You met his eyes with your own. Silver, just like the treasures that were brought back over from raids. Ivar refused to fluster under your gaze, even though your peering felt like a piercing dagger. He wanted to appear self-assured, and not as some young lad who needed you to hold him. He pulled you close and planted a clumsy but heartfelt kiss. Your lips were cold but your mouth was warm, and he tried to keep up with your feverish pace as you devoured everything from the kiss.

When you clapped your hands on his cheeks, Ivar could feel himself trembling, and he knew it wasn't because of the kiss. Your mouth left him, and he tried to find your lips again. You placed a finger to his mouth to stop him and gave him a shake of your head. "You are like ice. I've kept you here too long."

"Not long enough," He retorted before sneaking another kiss on you.

You laughed while gently prying him back. "You have your father's confidence."

"Good, maybe you can find out what else of his I have." He gave you his best wolfish grin.

"We'll have our time," You promised, and you secured an arm around him before starting to swim back to shore.

The water seemed to grow colder as you glided through it and by the time you made it back to the pier, Ivar couldn't control his shivering. You urged him up onto the dock, and your concern had made you grow quiet. Ivar didn't mind that you fretted over his well-being, but he missed your smile.

"How will you make it back home?" You asked while looking over him to where the edge of the town was barely visible through the treeline. It was a long way off.

"I've travelled further," Ivar excused, though he had his trepidations. His damp clothes were sticking to him, and his hair felt like grass after the thawing in spring. The cold made his muscles tighten, and he wasn't looking forward to pawing at the ground with stiff hands.

"Go now, while you have the moon's light to guide you."

"When can I see you again?" It was becoming more difficult each time he had to leave you, and his thoughts revolved around when you could be together.

"I'll come back until I feel you no longer wish to see me." You reached your hand out to him, and Ivar took it, bringing it to his chest.

"That will never happen."

What he was saying must have been madness. Maybe you were Rán's daughter, and you had him under a spell. If you did, he didn't care. He would gladly stay under your enchantment. It was a warmth all his own, and a happiness he didn't have to share or contend with his brothers over.

"Goodnight my love." You placed your lips once more on his hand before returning to the sea.

Ivar did not watch after you as he usually would. It was a luxury he couldn't afford. The desperation to get inside by a fire drove him to turn towards home, and he struggled through the terrain as fast as his dragging would get him. He only passed by drunks and stragglers that did not give him a second glance upon realizing who he was. Ragnar's youngest son, the cripple. No one important.

He huffed his way up the stairs of the Great Hall, nudging on the doors with his shoulder until they parted. A low fire was burning in the pit, and his mother was asleep on her throne. She was still all done up from the last meal, and he realized she must have waited up for his return. His guilt propelled him forward, and he went towards her instead of his room. Careful not to wake her, he collapsed on the furs at her feet where sleep found him quickly.

Ivar didn't know how long he had been asleep, but he was startled awake by screaming. It took him a moment to realize it was his voice shouting, and he had jack-knifed into a seated position, clutching at his lower right leg. He knew he had broken a bone, and his mother, who was alert at his side, knew it as well. She called for two able-bodied guards to take him back to his room, out of sight of the thralls who had now gathered. None of his brothers were about, and he was relieved to be spared the humiliation. The weakness of his body during moments like this was only for his mother and the healers.

He was placed down onto the fur-covered palette in his room with one of the guards already off to fetch a healer. His mother was already trying to soothe his agony with her words, and as she brushed the hair on his forward she grew a frown.

"You're burning up," She said, feeling his forehead and then his chest. And your clothes are damp."

He swatted softly at her hand, frustrated with her observations but with never enough ire to cause her any harm. "Go away."

"Ivar, where do you go? All of these nights you leave my sight and no one knows anything about it." She plucked at the bracelet of your hair on his wrist before he jerked it out of her reach. "Who is this woman you see?"

"Get out, please," He begged. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, and he didn't know if it was from the fever or the pain in his legs.

He was spared any further argument from her when the healer entered with three other thralls to assist. With soft voices, they were able to make her leave, at least until they finished addressing his fracture. Ivar would have felt awful at banishing his mother from his side if he could summon any other thought that wasn't about the hurt he was feeling.

The trek back through Kattegat had proved to be too much, but he didn't regret the night spent with you. In the water under the stars, and in your arms sharing kisses was where he wanted to be. He kept those thoughts in mind as the healer got to work on setting his leg in place, slathering it in a warming salve before wrapping it tightly in bandages.

"My Prince, you will need to stay in bed for the next few days to give the bone time to mend."

He gazed up at the rafters of the ceiling with contempt. How was he supposed to stay put knowing you were out there waiting for him? He couldn’t let the time pass and risk losing you, but he would need help.

"Go and bring me Ubbe," He instructed one of the thralls who shuffled out of the room at his request.

The healer continued to try and force some foul brew down his throat that he cursed her for at every turn of his head. Ivar knew he was notorious for being difficult to treat, but this healer had stuck through the bad times at his side. He admired her tenacity. If the situation was reversed, he would have given up on himself a long time ago.

After he had taken a large enough dose of the revolting stuff, he was left alone. The medicine made his head foggy, and he drifted in and out of consciousness while waiting for Ubbe to arrive. His eldest brother was best suited for the task in mind because he was soft when it came to Ivar's condition. Hvitserk didn't care about his legs either way, and Sigurd made a point to disparage him at every turn so he was definitely out of the running. Ivar guessed they had to all be out to the hunter's cabin. Following the commotion he had caused in the morning, one of them would have heard about it by now if they had been in town. It was nothing new really. He was used to being left behind.

Just as he was about to slip into another fitful bout of sleep, his door was forced open and in came his brother. He looked out of breath from running at least half of the distance back. Poor, gullible Ubbe.

"What happened?"

"The usual," Ivar started to explain as he forced himself to sit up. "Another broken bone."

"Mother says you also have a fever," Ubbe retorted as he took a seat at the end of the palette.

Ivar groaned. He hadn't estimated that his mother would be playing watchdog. "She got to you already?"

"She's worried about you."

"What else is new? She always worries about me," He grunted out as his leg twitched in pain.

"It's not just her this time. We all are concerned. You disappear at late hours and you're always tired. Even Hvitserk has noticed, and haven't you realized that Sigurd no longer says anything to you? For him, that's practically a defeat."

Come to think of it, Ivar couldn't recall the last verbal sparring match he'd shared with his third brother. Had his time with you sapped him of his usual energy?

"I need your help with something."

"Alright," Ubbe agreed with a nod of his head. "What is it?"

"When night falls, I need you to go down to the water. There's an abandoned dock if you follow the shoreline westward. Wait there and call for (Y/N), and tell her what has happened to me."

"Is she the woman who gave you that?" Ubbe asked while indicating to the bracelet on his wrist."

Ivar nodded as he began to twirl the thing around. It meant more to him than an arm ring. It was proof you had chosen him. "She's a daughter of Rán."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see for yourself when you meet her." He smiled something Ubbe couldn't understand.

"Feel better, brother," Ubbe said softly as he made his exit from the room.

Ivar could feel the headiness of the brew still working, as he was pulled into visions of you. Together you danced under the moonlight. He could recall the feeling of working legs even though he'd never had a pair before. You glided with him in his arms, but Ivar could not see if it was feet you stood upon or you had somehow managed to balance on the tip of your tail. The strangeness made him privy to the knowledge it was just a dream, but he allowed himself to be carried away in fantasy regardless.

Sometimes his mother would pop inside to have a check on him. Her long hands caressing his forehead and pushing back his hair made him feel like a boy again. The worry on her face had settled now that he was no longer writhing in pain. They only shared in a handful of words while the healer continued to tend to him. It was their special connection, a bond she did not have with his brothers.

When night came and darkness fell, Ivar sat himself up against the wall and waited for Ubbe to return with word of you. It was the first time in a long line of sneaking away that he didn't escape to go find you. A strange emptiness filled him at the thought, and he rubbed at his eyes to combat the sleep that threatened to take him. He couldn’t miss the update about you because he had fallen asleep.

A thin stream of silver light poked through a cut out in the roof of his room, and he imagined you in the water beneath the stars. He wondered what your reaction would be to learning of his injury. Concern he hoped, and not pity or regret for the night they had shared.

As Ivar's thoughts began to spiral out, he was relieved from further gloom when the door opened. Ubbe had returned, and he had on a perplexed frown that furrowed his brow.

"Well, did you speak with her?" Were the first words out of Ivar's mouth.

Ubbe shut the door behind him before coming further into the room. "I called for (Y/N) and waited on that pier, but no one ever came, Ivar."

He took a moment to juggle that information in his head while Ubbe looked on with worry. You never showed. Had something happened to you? Perhaps you were riddled with guilt about taking him in the water or you had seen Ubbe from a distance but did not approach. That had to be it. His brother was a stranger who did not hear your song as he had.

"I have to go there."

Ivar threw the furs off and started to twist to the side. His broken leg protested the rapid movement, and he grunted through his struggle. Ubbe was already at his side pushing him back. He latched onto his brother's arm and tried to shove him off, but even his upper strength had waned and he ended up flopping back down like a lifeless fish.

"You can't leave this room like that," Ubbe scolded. He took a seat down beside him, preventing him from trying something foolish again. "You'll end up losing that leg entirely."

"What's that matter? I'd be no worse off than I am right down."

Ubbe sighed. "I understand you care about this (Y/N), but I don't believe she would want to see you harm yourself this way."

Ivar knew you wouldn't. That's why he had to see you again and be surrounded by your love. "You could take me there."

"We'd never make it past the throne. Mother has seen fit to have eyes on who comes and leaves your room. I think she is looking for the woman to blame."

"(Y/N) won't come here," Ivar said and he could see the confusion on Ubbe's face, but he didn't elaborate. "I've probably lost her forever now."

"If she truly cares for you, she'll still be there," Ubbe argued, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "When you are well enough, I promise I'll help you back to the dock."

Ivar knew from past experiences that it would take many moons before he'd be fully healed. His eyes closed as angry tears threatened to fall. Why had the gods cursed him with these horrible limbs? The faults of his parents should not have fallen onto him. It was a cruel fate.

When he didn't continue to speak, Ubbe must have assumed he had fallen back asleep. He crept back to the door and exited the room as softly as a mouse scuttles through the kitchen.

Once he was alone, Ivar opened his eyes and took off the bracelet from around his wrist. He held it close to his lips, feeling the silk strands as he kissed the braided band. Maybe you could sense him reaching out. He decided to keep it enclosed in his hand and across his heart. If you were calling out, he would feel you in his sleep.

ooOOoo

In the many days that went by, Ivar became more frustrated with his leg. His broken bone was mending, but not fast enough that he was allowed out of the great hall. The slow progress had him taking out his anger on everyone, and they must have felt as trapped in with him as he was feeling about being locked up.

After a brief appearance to sit down to a meal with their mother, he had not seen his brothers again. This time he could admit he was to blame, and that they made the smart decision to cut and run back to the cabin. He had made the meal as uncomfortable as he could manage out of some need for vengeance. While they were free to run about Kattegat with their thralls, he was stuck in bed with wrinkled healers painting noxious salves on his body. He couldn’t be with you, so he chose to be spiteful.

Even his mother began to show signs of being fed up with him. Her smiles were now close-lipped, and she would linger by the door when she visited to make a hasty exit. He had yelled at her only once, and it had to do with her wanting to leave him just like everyone else. Ivar knew that wasn't true, and the moment she let out an anguished sob he had apologized.

Rather than continue to hurt those around him, he knew what he had to do. His leg was well enough that he could crawl again, and if he secured it tightly in his leather bindings it should protect the bone from any trauma as he moved. He had to get down to the pier himself and find you again. The call from the sea had him more desperate for water than a man dying of thirst. No thrall or guard would dare refuse him, and even his mother would not be able to stop him from going. He was doing this for her as well, even if she wouldn't see it that way. After causing her tears, he wouldn't be the reason for any more of her sorrow.

He needed the light to travel, so he began the trek from his room when the sun had only just begun to kiss the horizon. Much of the activity in the great hall had died down once the last meal had been served, and many of the thralls had already gone off to the barn. His mother was not on her throne. Ivar smirked at his good fortune and made for the doors as fast as he was able. Once he had them nudged shut behind him, he began his descent down the stairs. It was the most difficult part of the journey, guiding his body down feet first so his leg wouldn't bounce on every step down.

By the time he had cleared the treeline, the sun had set further and shadows were popping up in every corner. Ivar was more winded than he would normally be due to being bedridden, and he was mindful that he would have to work on building back the strength he had lost. But none of that mattered now. The dock was in sight. He had made it. He went together well with the solitude of the place, and when he sat perched on the end the creaking boards welcomed him home.

"(Y/N)," Ivar called out while searching for any ripple in the water. The surface remained still as glass, and he frowned while giving your name another shout.

Perhaps it was still too young in the day. He waited for the complete pitch of night to hit while letting his mind run wild with all the things he wanted to tell you about. It would be like a reunion of two lovers, and he couldn't fathom how one could be separated from their woman while gone on raids. Of course, his mother and father detested one another's presence, so it must have come as a balm to be away from one another.

The clouds parted from the moon, and one by one the stars surfaced in the sky. He called for you again, then held his breath to listen for any break in the water. Instead, he heard the crunch of footsteps behind him, and over his shoulder, he saw Ubbe approaching.

"I figured you would try coming back soon," Ubbe said once he stood at his side. "How's the leg?"

"Stiff," He replied tersely. "What do you want?"

Ubbe took an uninvited seat beside him which caused Ivar to shift over. There wasn't nearly enough room at the edge of the dock for both of them, and the wood groaned with the added weight.

"I never told you, but I've been coming back here every night after you sent me to search for (Y/N)."

Ivar frowned. "Why?"

"Because I saw how important it was to you to get that message to her, and I wanted to help. I might not be able to take away your pain, but I will still be your legs where I can."

Ivar looked at his lap as the heat built up in his face. He never knew how to take to his eldest brother's kindness. None of the rest of them had it, but from Bjorn's mouth, it was said that he inherited it from Ragnar.

"She never came back, did she?"

Ubbe shook his head. "She must only come for you."

"I don't think so," Ivar said as he looked out at the water. "It's been too long, and I've missed my chance. I don't think she'll come back."

"If she cares for you as you do her, I'm certain she'll be back."

Ubbe's words floated off him as he gazed down at the black water. He was struck with an irrational idea to force your hand if you were near. Before his brother could react, Ivar threw himself off the dock and into the water. It wasn't deep this close to shore, but it was enough that he began to sink. Ubbe was quick to follow, and Ivar tried in vain to bat away his saving hands. He was so desperate to have you come back that he would risk drowning. What a fool.

"Idiot," Ubbe cursed as he dragged them both up onto the sand. "What were you trying to do?"

Ivar turned his head away as he coughed up water. He felt embarrassed by what he'd just done and angry that it didn't earn him anything more than soaked clothes. "You wouldn't understand."

"I don't understand, and you won't help me to," Ubbe said, and his tone lightened from annoyance to mild irritation. "I need my little brother back. The one who's smarter than me at every turn, and doesn't make me fish him out of the sea."

Ivar started to laugh. It began in a quiet snicker and grew deep from his belly until Ubbe joined him. Neither of them knew what the humor was in the situation, but Ivar felt it was better to give in to the urge. He wanted to forget you weren't there, and giggling like a child with his brother in the sand was a good way to accomplish that.

"Should we head back?"

Ivar gave his leg a tug with his hand. "The bandage has soaked through and is starting to fall off. Guess I'd better have it looked at."

Ubbe crouched down beside him and indicated for him to climb up on his back. "C'mon, it'll be faster."

For once Ivar didn't argue. He couldn’t benefit from another disagreement, and he didn't want to be in wet clothes longer than he had to. Ubbe or Floki were the two he trusted most to support him. Hvitserk had dropped him one time, and he refused to let that happen twice. Sigurd never offered.

Once he was secured up to Ubbe's height, they started back home. He chanced one last look over his shoulder for as long as the water was in sight, clinging to the idea that you would spring up from the depths. The only movement out there came from the wind and the tide.

Neither brother spoke another word, but Ivar suspected Ubbe knew he had taken that last glance. How could he not? He wasn't ready to give up on you or accept the idea that you had abandoned him. Thoughts of you being in harm came to him, and he to banish those away because of the helpless feeling they gave him. You were a daughter of Rán, and the sea couldn't hurt you. Repeating it enough times had to make it true. As they journeyed through the night back to Kattegat, Ivar clung to the hope of seeing you again, and his thoughts warmed him up and dulled the pain until he found rest.

ooOOoo

Time passed by for Ivar and the pain in his legs dulled back into its usual ache. With his bone mended he could return to training with his brothers, and hunting up by the cabin. While his physical injury may have healed, it was not so for the throbbing in his heart. He had gone for sparse visits to the abandoned dock again, with each ending in the same sorrow until he had decided to give up going back. What's more, your bracelet that he had never let out of reach had vanished one day. Perhaps you had never been real, and he had dreamed you up.

What more could the gods take from him? First, it was his legs, then his father, and recently he was drifting from his brothers due to their infatuation with Margrethe. It was his mother he looked to as his constant, but she had grown distracted by visions. It was now common practice for her to disappear to her room after the last meal, when not so long ago she would be the last to leave with a chalice of wine. All of this left Ivar alone, and his thoughts had become unbearable. He needed something to dull the noise, a distraction.

More than anything Ivar longed to keep up with his brothers, and that's when he decided he wanted to fuck a woman. He approached Ubbe with the request to convince Margrethe. She had a pleasant face, and she didn't resemble you. If she had taken three of the other sons of Ragnar, he should be no different. Ubbe appeared torn when he first asked but did agree, and Margrethe was hardly in a position to refuse.

Now that the moment was approaching, and he was being brought over to the cabin by boat, he wondered if he would be the one to refuse. From what he'd always seen, men loved to hump a beautiful woman. It's what led to his parents' affair and marriage. So what was wrong with him that as he grew closer to the destination he felt ill? Ubbe certainly wasn't sharing the sentiment. He wore a dumb grin and was humming an old song to himself.

"You're happy I'm about to lay with your woman?" Ivar asked.

Ubbe laughed. "Margrethe isn't my woman, she's still a thrall. But I am happy because this is a good day for you, brother."

The day is still young, Ivar thought with a bitterness that was ingrained in his bones. Was sex such a powerful thing that it would shift who he became? Other than to have children, Ivar never dwelled on the matter. He'd never had a lover, and the closest he had come to obtain such a relationship was with you.

The boated jilted back and forth as it hit shallow water. Ubbe tied off by a tree before coming to fetch him. He was to be carried by his brother to his first tryst with a woman. Not nearly as humiliating as crawling he supposed, but the difference was negligible.

As they passed through the threshold of the abandoned cabin, Ivar stole a look around the place. It smelt like fire and driftwood, and there was a bed that had been piled thick with furs. The flame burning in the hearth let him know that Margrethe was already there.

Ubbe deposited him down on the bed and turned to get a look at him. "I'll leave now so you can be ready for her. Relax and enjoy yourself."

Ivar swallowed. That was easy for any of his brothers, they all had working parts. A handful of times he had felt his prick twitch and stiffen, but it was never a long event and he had never dared to try to take himself in hand. It was silly, but he was afraid of his cock.

He began to disrobe with haste, not wanting Margrethe to walk in on him without his trousers and his legs exposed. Once he was free of his garments he threw the heavy furs over himself and clutched them at his waist. All he could hear was his heart pounding, and he kept his chin tucked into his chest, straining to listen for the woman in the cabin.

She came to him from behind in light, cautious steps. Perhaps she was nervous, or his trepidations had seeped into the air and spoiled the mood. Ivar resisted the urge to peek until she stood at the side of the bed. When he glanced up he saw that she wore a fisherman's net as a veil. Her features were distorted, but he could make out the subtle difference that alluded to her being anyone other than Margrethe.

"(Y/N)?" He whispered and hoped.

You lifted back the thin mesh from your face, and you put on a dazzling smile. Ivar had never seen a better sight, not the first sacrifice of spring or the storms of Thor could hold a candle up to you. You donned a crisp white gown that was cinched at the waist with a strap of brown leather, and your hair was a wild tangle of waves. He had never seen you without your sodden tresses.

You took your first step to come closer, but you lost your balance and fell onto the bed in his awaiting arms. This was where you belonged.

"Shit," You cursed, pulling back enough to look him in the eye. "I was supposed to be beautiful and graceful, but these legs are too light. If I run fast enough, I'm sure I could soar like a bird."

"You have legs?" Ivar exclaimed while pulling you onto the bed beside him with all of the strength he could summon. "Let me see."

You swung your legs across his lap, careful not to rest any weight on his thighs. He hitched the skirt of your dress up to your thighs, exposing the new flesh. His hands didn't know where to touch first. This must be the work of the gods. In place of your magnificent tail were two gorgeous limbs that he was happy to smooth his hands over. You wiggled your toes, content to observe Ivar as he studied you.

"How is this possible?"

"I told you my people can choose to abandon the sea. Now I'm a soft creature like you," You said while giving his arm a playful squeeze.

He caught your hands before you could pull away and placed a kiss on each of them. They no longer had the webbing or claws, but there was a strength to them that he could feel under your touch. "Where did you go? I tried so many times to find you, and I even sent my brother."

"You had your life up here, and I had mine below," You said as your eyes grew vacant. "When I did return to the surface, I could no longer find you. All of these things left unsaid caused us to miss each other."

"Then why are you here now, like this?"

You reached for his wrist, finding it bare. Ivar knew what you searched for. "You no longer have my precious gift. Did you think I turned treacherous?"

"I misplaced it. I would never have thrown it away, even if I thought you'd left me."

"I know," You said as you ran a hand down his bare chest and over his heart. "You were in more pain than I understood that night. The blue in your eyes."

Ivar tensed. "How did you learn about that?"

"Your mother told me."

"My mother…" Ivar knew his mouth was hanging open in question, and he snapped it shut to regain composure.

"She found your bracelet. It was her voice I could hear beckoning me to the land. She must be a powerful woman to do such a thing."

You didn't have any animosity in your voice, but Ivar couldn't help but feel angry for you. His mother had taken your life from the sea by force. He had considered the heinous deed himself for a time, but he would have never risked your resentment. What if that came to pass now that the unthinkable had happened?

Ivar couldn't keep himself from looking at you now. He wouldn't let you go a second time. "She said the sea will take me. Perhaps you are meant to stop that from happening."

"Or maybe I am the sea," You said, shifting your hips as you hovered over his lap. With a firm shove you had him down flat on the furs, and he nearly lost his air as your thighs squeezed at his waist. "Come to take you myself because I couldn't stand the thought of that Margrethe touching you."

And then Ivar realized...Ubbe had known he was taking him to you. You had been on land long enough to learn to walk and find out about his pathetic setup with the thrall. His face flushed and he turned his head to the side before feeling your fingers grasp his chin. You tilted his face back around, and he saw only tenderness.

"I know the weariness from being alone. My heart has been there as well."

"You'll stay?" Ivar knew he sounded a touch petulant, but he did not want to suffer another morning with you vanishing.

"Until the gods bring you home and the sea turns me to froth, I will remain by your side, Ivar Ragnarsson."

He didn't know who's lips touched first, but when your mouths connected, it was like being awash on the deck of a ship. You were a cool drink of water with the tang of salt, and Ivar threaded his hands through your hair. The more his hold tightened, the more it pulled him in like reeds in a marsh.

You withdrew slowly, and you held his gaze, even when he wanted to look away from the thrill of what you'd just done. With careful hands, you shed the veil from your head, and then the dress, all collecting into one pile on the floor with his garments. You were naked before him. All of your scales were gone in place of smooth flesh and pleasing curves. Ivar knew he was gaping at your breasts, how they rose and fell with each rapid breath you took. As you gave a coy grin, you peeled back one corner of the furs and slithered your way in beside him. You pressed up against his side, and his body went taut as you tangled your legs with his.

"Is this alright?" You asked while your toes brushed up and down his shin.

"Yes," He said as a puff of air escaped him.

It was stifling hot under the covers, and your hand seemed to sear his flesh as you dragged it up to his thigh. Your fingers just teased next to cock before brushing up his abdomen. Ivar shifted, his hand reaching yours to halt your motions.

Your eyes flashed to his, and you smiled with patience. "Tell me what you want."

"I…" He paused, unable to form the words, and he could feel himself losing his nerve. With a tighter grasp, he took control of your hand and brought it back down to his half-hard prick. "I just want you."

"You have me," You murmured back as your hand began to fondle his shaft. He continued to grow in your hand, and Ivar let his eyes roll back at the feeling of you working him. His cock had never been so stiff, and his free hand clutched at the furs as he tried to recognize everything he was feeling. Fluid was beginning to bead out at his tip, and he struggled to push you back.

"S-stop," He sputtered.

You pulled back with a shy expression, and you were breathing just as hard as he was. You enjoyed what you could do to him. "Are you alright?"

Ivar bobbed his head, not sure if he agreed or not with your question. "I was losing control too soon, and I haven't even touched you yet."

"Is that all?" You rolled yourself on top of him, pushing back the furs while the cold air of the room pebbled your nipples. Ivar looked up at you in awe. "Touch me then."

Your slick center was rubbing on the base of his shaft now pressed up against his stomach, and he could feel his hips give a few practiced ruts. He saw the flash of delight in your eyes, and you hummed out a moan that was as long as a horn that bellowed in war.

"I'm still adjusting to this new body," You panted. "I've never felt like this before."

Ivar felt a strong sense of pride for bringing you these new experiences along with him. Even though he lacked the skill, he had a newfound confidence that had him reaching for you. His hands felt rough and clumsy against your untouched skin, squeezing and pawing to see how much pressure to apply and where. Your breasts were soft and pliable while your backside was firm and rounded, and you leaned further into him as he grasped onto your cheeks. You placed a wet kiss in the hollow of his throat that had him moaning. He wondered if you could hear his heart racing.

"Please," He choked. "I need to feel you."

Your hand reached down between your bodies, and you pulled back to watch his face as you clutched his cock. Lining it up with your slippery center, you brought your cunt down to the hilt. Ivar was under no delusions that he would last long or immediately be worthy of infamy in bed like his brothers, but being surrounded by your wet heat, he thought he'd cum right then. As you sat up straight to readjust, he let out a gasp. You did too, only when his eyes cracked open to get a look at you, your eyes were shut and your face was screwed up in pain.

"What's wrong?"

"Is it supposed to hurt like this?" You whimpered, hands grabbing at his chest. It seemed everything about your human body was new.

"For human women, it does the first time." He wrapped his arms around you and spun you down onto the bed with himself still connected between your legs. It would be difficult for him to manage this way long, but it would be better for you this time. "I've got you."

Your eyes were blurry from unshed tears, but he could feel you relax in his arms as he began to set a slow pace. On the first withdrawal of his cock he could see a small amount of blood seep out which he regretted feeling thrilled about. You were his now, and he was yours.

The strength in your legs was unmatched, and as you grew more comfortable you squeezed at his waist with your knees. He knew his end was already in sight from the tightening in his balls and the burning in his gut. You had thrown your head back, hair tousled and mouth open to show your sharp teeth. It was the only telltale sign that you weren't a human, and he bought his lips down on yours to explore the fangs with his tongue. You teased back with little nips, and you gave a harsh tug on his hair that separated him from the sloppy kiss.

"Fuck," He breathed out, and his hips began to lose rhythm. "I can't go much longer."

You ran a hand meant to soothe down his back, but it only spurred him on. His hips snapped at a frenzied pace with his thighs smacking against yours. Nothing could stop him chasing the feeling of his release, and with a few more pumps he felt himself empty deep inside you with a profane groan. All of the strain he'd put on his arms to keep from balancing on his legs gave out, and he collapsed on top of you. Your hot skin stuck to his, and he could feel you twitch beneath him.

"Sorry," He whispered embarrassedly. He rolled off of you and his cock made a wet pop as it slipped out from your folds. "You didn't get to finish."

You rolled onto your side to look at him, still breathing fast and on the precipice of your release. "Forget that. This was about you getting to enjoy me tonight."

Ivar shook his head as he turned into you. "But I want you to enjoy me as well."

His hand dove for your core, chubby fingers fumbling around in your wet pussy that was now a mix of your blood and his cum. This was the first time he had felt a woman's warmth, and he watched your reaction as he felt around your lips and the tiny bud at the top. When he stroked over it with his thumb your legs jerked and you whined. He continued to swirl his digit around the nub while experimenting with varying degrees of pressure. You were now experiencing his love for you, and he could read what you enjoyed most with how expressive you were with your body. He settled into a comfortable pattern, and your hand shot down to join his when he hit a perfect cadence.

"Yes...there," You cried.

Ivar plunged his longest finger into your depths as you began to wither and shake. He could feel your pussy clamp down on him as you came, and he knew he wanted to feel that on his cock next time. Your eyes blinked rapidly as you started to calm, and he withdrew his hand, only to bring it to his mouth for a taste. You watched him in rapt attention.

"A warrior tastes the blood of his enemies in battle, so should he not also taste his lover's in bed?"

You brought your hands back together with his and pulled yourself against his chest. "If the gods willed it, then let it be so."

You laid in silence together, and Ivar felt your little puffs of air even out as you fell asleep. He pulled a fur over the both of you, the fire had long gone low and the night air colder. Indeed the gods must have willed it. Ivar now knew he was favored by the gods above all other sons of Ragnar. You were a daughter of Rán, and you had chosen him. His mother knew it as well, or else she wouldn't have summoned you back into his arms. In his heart, he had already forgiven her for taking the bracelet.

The sea had come to take him, and he had gone willingly into the mouth of the current. It was comfortable there, like a never-ending waterfall over rocks beating him down onto your altar. You opened it up and took him in, and now you were both drenched.

The cabin grew cold and black, and Ivar went to sleep beside you that night with the comfort that the stars still shined overhead, and that when dawn came he would not have to face another day without you.

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