#we start the chapter with her drowning metaphorically and end it with her drowning literally

[ghost-proofbaby]

“He wouldn’t leave your side,” Shadowheart’s voice drops to a whisper, looking right into Aruna’s eyes, as though she needed to make sure the girl was processing every single word spoken, “He wouldn’t let any near you without first knowing their business. And even then, he hovered. I don’t think he tranced once during the days you were down, showed no interest in eating either. I believe the only reason he allowed us to take you into my tent was due to the lack of his own.”

summary: the gang gets a dog, and aruna finds out that shadowheart is an excellent person to gossip with. just not when it's about aruna's own personal life.

wc: 5.8k+

warnings: some more leftover description of the blood-drinking ordeal, mentions of dead bodies, astarion is being avoidant again.

a/n: we've finally made it to scratch!!! and karlach!!! wahoo. also, i'm trying something new with the chapter dividers, so bear with me. <3

ao3 | masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

“What-” Astarion is the first to speak up between them, pupils so large that they swallow his eyes in pitch black. A drop of her blood has long trailed past his chin, marking down the side of his neck now as he takes a shaky breath, “-was that?” 

Aruna feels as though she can’t move as she brings ginger and nervous fingers up to her neck, pressing into the wound left behind. A damaged neck, a damaged mind – she was certainly acquiring quite the seen and unseen wounds, wasn’t she? 

“I don’t know,” she mumbles, slowly pulling up her knees, trying to dispel all her dizziness, “I- Gods, I don’t know.” 

One moment, she was getting lost in it all – in Astarion’s fangs inside her, in his hands holding her so closely, in the weight of his chest pressing to hers desperately and matching each of her ragged breaths – and the next, it had simply been pain. 

Were they memories? Were they wishful hopes? 

They felt so real. Each image had burned into her as though she’d already experienced them. Like she knew every inch of Astarion’s skin already, like a well-loved and memorized road map to all that she could be. As though she might have spent endless nights watching him with careful consideration as he would trance, not just under the stars but within a tent with her at his side. Even now, the ghost of how he had felt curled up against her haunts her vividly, somehow warming her despite the chill she knew he would leave behind. 

“What in the Hells was that?” he repeats himself a bit more aggressively this time, quickly lifting a hand to swipe away at her blood trailing down his throat. He leaves behind the scarlet trail of her across his lips and chin – a painful reminder of what she had just given him. 

Of what boundaries they had just crossed, only to be burned. 

“Like I said two seconds ago, I don’t know,” she snaps this time, palm still cupping where his mouth had been. The blood flow had finally slowed, clots that would turn to scabs beginning to form. 

“Was it your magic?”

“No-”

“Was this all an elaborate ploy just to get me close enough to use your magic against me? Conjure images just to-” his eyes flare with mistrust as he stands quickly. Against her better judgment, she follows, “Just to trick me?”

“It wasn’t my magic,” she grits out. She wishes it was – she wishes she didn’t believe any of those images to be real. She wishes she hadn’t just been handed over something to miss, “I don’t know what it was, but I had just as much control in it as you did.”

Dark holes in her mind, slowly growing over with all those memories. Gaps being filled, questions being only half-answered. It was as though a piece of herself had just been returned to her; as though she’s one step closer to being whole again.  Fragmented puzzle pieces that were finding their place in her psyche whether she wanted them to or not. 

He’s quiet for a few moments, still fiery with misplaced fury.  “If it wasn’t your doing, what was it?” 

Memories. Glimpses into a past, glimpses into another thread of time similar to this one, just a tad bit different. Frayed in different segments and taut where this one twists. 

She knows that’s what they were, even if her churning gut and tired mind want to deny it to all Hells. 

“I don’t know,” she lies with slumping shoulders, accepting the weight alone, “I wish I did.” 

Gods, why is it so hard to lie to him? Why is her tongue suddenly so heavy as she forces each word out? 

She could tell him what she feels is certain, ask him to indulge her in the possibility that what they just saw were real moments that had slipped from their grasp. Maybe she should ask him if he felt it too; if he felt a large, gaping hole in his chest as residual damage. She could ask him if it aches for him the way it aches for her. 

But she isn’t going to.

She lets the weight of what they saw wash over her just as suddenly as the creases in his face smooth over. He’s compartmentalizing; she’s drowning. 

They’re going to pretend it never happened. For real, this time. 

He won’t admit to being a vampire, he’ll never tell the others that he’s tasted her blood, and he won’t be entertaining any theoretical discussion of all those moments they’d just seen. 

There was too much vulnerability there to be witness to. The way that version of him had preened beneath her touch so comfortable, the way his body had melted against hers as if it had always belonged at her side. She feels like a stranger in her body as she recalls that softness that lingered between her and the man before her in those snippets that had just flashed between them. None of it existed in the here and now. She’s sure if she tried to lean her weight against him as she had in that memory (or whatever the scene had been) now, he’d scoff and toss her aside without second thoughts. 

Where the Astarion that had been shown was all molten softness, there only lay sharp edges before her. Jagged bits and serrated defenses. 

“Very well,” his mask returns in the blink of an eye. His chest puffs out again, his posture straightening and his chin lifting as he takes a few steps around her, adamantly keeping his distance, “In that case, I should retire back to my tent for the night,” she doesn’t turn to watch him, only listening to the soft crunch of his footsteps over twigs, “Before anyone notices our absences.” 

Keen. Precise. Stabbing. Not an ounce of whatever gentle notions she’d seen from the version of him who had been tugging a blanket around her to ward off the cold. No softness to spare. 

She can’t blame him. Even more haunting than the contrast of that version of him compared to this one is the difference between Aruna.

Someone kind, confident, and determined. A version of her with purpose. 

For every sharpened point he bares, she wields a blade just as dangerous in comparison to who she might have been. The version of her in those visions was something soft, something to hold, something that had only ever bared its teeth to smile. 

It doesn’t really matter that this Astarion wouldn’t wrap her in a blanket; this Aruna wouldn’t let him if he tried. 

She’s almost sure she’s been left to her smothering thoughts, mouth still agape as she takes deep breaths to stay upright, when his voice cuts through the night one final time.

“This is a gift, you know. Strange visions aside.”

One final bout of deja vu swallows them whole as she turns slowly, just in time to see the way he turns his head. He’s not fully looking at her, but the gesture lets her know he’s speaking to her and not the moon, at the very least.

“I won’t forget it.” 

It’s in his cadence, in the bit of his brow she can just barely see as it furrows. He means it, sincerely. 

The hand that was still cradling the side of her neck drops so slowly that it hasn’t returned back to her side until he’s long gone, returning to his tent just as he had said he would. 

—

In an interesting turn of events, Astarion is the one avoiding Aruna in the following days. 

Every morning, she looks to his tent. And every morning, she finds it empty. 

They don’t find another one of his meals during their adventures, thankfully. Aruna finds herself filling the empty space left behind from the absence of her shadow with Gale instead, to the point in which she doesn’t even have to ask the wizard to join her most days. He’s already ready for her, waiting as she finishes fastening her own armor and gear. No one knows outright about that night, about what Astarion is and about what Aruna gave, but Gale must have noticed something having changed. He must have sensed the gap for him to fill was there to have stepped up so easily. 

Aruna doesn’t particularly care if they find out at this point, in all fairness.

Astarion’s vampirism is the least of her worries from that night. She could wake up to him trying to take another taste of her blood, and she wouldn’t even attempt to stop him. No, her companion’s strange affliction wasn’t the problem. The problem was what she truly gave. 

It wasn’t just blood. 

She spends most of her time lost in thought as she rolls those flashes of herself and Astarion around in her mind. The tadpole connection had yet to return to them, or perhaps neither of them had really tried to mend it yet, and she’s grateful for it. She can’t decipher if her gut feeling, if her assumption that what they saw were some strange and twisted version of memories was actually correct, or if it were something else at hand.

Had it been her magic? Had it been a side effect of a vampire drinking a thinking creature’s blood? 

Maybe it was a projection of what she truly wanted deep down. A manifestation of her deepest wants and desires, entirely exposed to the two of them. 

That must be it, because the more Aruna considers it, the more she realizes she wouldn’t mind being in the situations she’d witnessed. It would be nice to lay with a lover at the end of the day and feel the way they sunk into her touch. It would be reassuring to have someone there, ready to share body heat beneath whatever sorry excuse for a blanket they could get their hands on. It would simply be nice to feel like someone was on her side, given their current situation. 

Although she could argue Gale was at her side, both metaphorically and physically. 

When she stops at the entrance to a short bridge, not far from where they’d found the boar that had disappeared after Aruna’s night with Astarion, he’s right beside her. Not right behind her as Shadowheart and Wyll were, but beside her. 

“Is that… a town?” she questions, squinting into the distance. 

Across the bridge, she could see a crumbling wall with the roofs of buildings peaking just over it. And even further, an arched entrance that had a clear view of a few of those said buildings. 

“It’s a bad idea, is what it is,” Gale murmurs, and she follows his trail of sight to see what had him consumed with hesitation – bodies.

Just between the cobblestone of the bridge and the entrance to this apparent village, several bodies lay across a blood-soaked ground. The bodies aren’t fresh by any means, but that doesn’t mean that whatever had killed those travelers wasn’t still nearby. 

Aruna’s suddenly very glad she had half the mind to be mentally present for today of all days rather than still lost in her thoughts regarding Astarion. 

“Well,” Aruna sighs, counting the bodies. Four, that she could see, “That’s not ominous at all.” 

If Astarion had been with her, he probably would have laughed. Whether it was because he genuinely found her funny or not, he still would have been entertained by her sarcastic comment. A predictable pang rings out in her chest.

Gale could try to fill that space at her side all he wanted; he still could never fit the shoes of the vampire who was probably lounging back at camp at this very moment. 

“Whatever killed them may very well still be nearby,” Wyll comments as he takes a few steps forward, peering at the scene, “Do you think it could have been the goblins that attacked the Grove?” 

“Maybe,” Aruna shrugs. 

Probably. Unlike with the boar, she doesn’t think Astarion would leave behind such a scene. Especially since she now knows. 

“Gale and I could always go ahead, try to see if the culprit is still around,” Wyll offers, turning to look at the two mages, “Shadowheart and yourself could fall back and stay hidden. If it’s a trap, at least it gives us an upperhand.”

Shadowheart huffs from behind Aruna, “If it’s a trap, then they already have us right where they want us.” 

It was moments like these where Aruna hated the burden of leadership. She didn’t want to make these choices. She squirms uncomfortably beneath the expectant stares of everyone, mind reeling as they force her hand. It was hard enough dealing with whatever her memory loss truly was, coping with the situation she’d gotten herself into with Astarion, nevermind trying to make tactical decisions like the one before her now. 

“There’s nowhere for Shadowheart and I to even hide-” she starts, before Gale cuts her off.

“There,” he points to a broken food cart not far off, not quite halfway across the bridge, “You two could always hide there.” 

Fair point. The decision, it seems, has been made for her. 

“Fine,” Aruna surrenders, a hand flying to one of her daggers as she ignores the wary stare of Shadowheart, “Fine, you two go ahead. Just… just don’t enter the village. If we want to enter the village, we do it as a group. Got it?” 

“Got it,” Wyll nods, grinning ever so slightly. 

He takes a couple of steps forward, Gale joining his side instead, but they don’t take off to fully cross the bridge. Not yet. 

They’re waiting. Waiting for Aruna’s command, her signal to go forth. 

She hates it. 

Regardless, she motions subtlety for Shadowheart to follow behind her as she quickly moves to stand behind that cart Gale had pointed out. And just as she slips past Gale, narrowly missing his shoulder, she nods at the two men to continue on. 

The cart is an excellent hiding spot. She has a clear view of the braver half of their party as they approach the bodies, and she’s certain that if anyone lays in wait on the other side of the bridge, they wouldn’t be able to spot herself and Shadowheart. 

“You know, now would be an excellent time to have a rogue with us,” Shadowheart whispers as she crouches beside Aruna.

Aruna knows exactly who the cleric is referring to. And it makes her already sour face twist up even further.

“It’s not my fault that Astarion was nowhere to be found this morning,” Aruna hushes back, careful to keep her voice low enough as to not travel with the wind. 

One of her palms is wrapped around the hilt of her dagger, almost mimicking the common position of the man they were currently discussing. 

Shadowheart hums softly, “Yes, how odd. First, it was you blatantly ignoring the pale one, and now it’s him avoiding you.” 

“I wasn’t avoiding him-”

“When our journey first began, it wasn’t even a question. Every day, Astarion was at your side. You can’t tell me that this isn’t an avoidant situation after the two of you being so attached to one another.” 

Aruna scowls as she bites her tongue. They hadn’t even been traveling together that long; all of Shadowheart’s accusations felt ridiculous. Even if she was on the nose regarding their current predicament, it’s not as though she had spent months with Astarion as her shadow. It had been a week, at most. 

But had she been that obvious with her need to keep him close? She tries to recall if she ever even asked Astarion to join her previously, or if it had simply been a known choice. Each day they would be heading out on their search, and each day, Astarion was by her side before anyone else. 

Just as Wyll and Gale approach the first body, Shadowheart speaks again, “I don’t mean to offend you or pry. It’s just… a curious observation.” 

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Aruna bluntly replies, eyes locked on the two men as they investigate. 

“True,” Shadowheart moves a bit closer, trying to get a clearer view at Aruna’s side, “But our group seems to have enough brushes with danger for that point to be moot.” 

Aruna nearly rolls her eyes, finally tearing her gaze from Wyll as he crouches beside the second body to glance at Shadowheart, “We do not get into that much trouble. Besides, we’re all alive, are we not?” 

“We are. Alive enough for two members of our party to be in a lover’s quarrel, it seems.” 

Aruna’s entire body freezes, “Astarion and I are not-” 

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” Shadowheart fights a smile, eyes deliberately locked ahead rather than looking at Aruna, “Your questionable taste in who warms your tent is none of my business.” 

“I don’t even have a tent,” Aruna isn’t sure why she’s so hellbent on denying anything going on between herself and Astarion, but she is. Terribly so. 

Shadowheart finally looks at her, “Perhaps you should fix that, then.” 

“Of course,” Aruna says, brows creasing, “Let me just add it to my already massive to-do list,” she glances back up to the boys. So far, so good. No sign of an impending ambush, “You know, I never took you to be so keen on camp gossip.” 

“And I never took you to be so sensitive regarding our camp rogue-” Shadowheart surely has more to say, but she’s cut off when Wyll stands abruptly and looks in their direction. 

He waves, a bit too obviously for Aruna’s liking if an ambush is still a threat, and Aruna sighs as she pushes herself out of her crouch. “Stop worrying about where my fondness lies, Shadowheart. If you ever want to gossip about Lae’zel’s curiously large weapon collection, however, I’m all ears.” 

When Aruna glances to the half-elf, she’s taken back to see the slightest of smiles on her lips. The woman had been head-strong and focused their entire journey, so lost by her need to solve the issue of their uninvited visitor in their heads, Aruna had hardly gotten any friendly vibes from her. Up until now, she’d only felt like a means to an end for her. But somewhere in that not-quite-a-smile, a warmth buries deep. Kindlings of a fire that could become friendship, if provoked enough. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Shadowheart hums as she stands to her full height beside Aruna. 

Aruna sort of hopes the cleric does find a new reason to join her in camp and ‘gossip’ with her. There’s much worse company to share a bottle of wine with, Aruna imagines. 

Their party reunites carefully as the two women cross the bridge to join the men. Gale is still crouched beside one of the bodies, having dug a flyer of some sort out of the pockets of the departed soul’s pockets. 

“Find anything good?” Aruna asks as she approaches, squinting, trying to decipher what was on the page that Gale held so closely to his face.  

Gale’s entire face creases as he glances up to her, “Nothing particularly invigorating, unless you consider a wild goose chase for some sort of Nightsong worthwhile.” 

Shadowheart stiffens, earning her a curious glance from Aruna. 

“Sounds interesting,” Aruna says slowly, eyes taking their time to look back to Gale, “But not very useful. Just grab any supplies left behind. I know we haven’t been ambushed yet, but I’m not overly eager to use that easy entrance to the village. We should probably find another way in.” 

Gale ends up pocketing the flyer regardless. Aruna doesn’t press it, leaning down to grab a discarded weapon instead. She’s actually glad he had kept the page – it had elicited a reaction out of Shadowheart, whatever the Nightsong might be, and that was enough to spark Aruna’s endless curiosity. 

They collect what they can from the bloody scene – a few extra packs, some even filled with food that hadn’t gone bad quite yet, and used weapons that could surely be put to use at some point – and it’s back to a despicable game of follow-the-leader. Aruna, guiding the group down a path along the side of the village, and everyone following blindly. 

If she leads them to their death, they can’t even be mad. 

Shadowheart follows a bit closer this time. Gale is forced to fall into step at Wyll’s side as the cleric claims residency over the clueless sorcerer’s side. It’s not until Wyll notices even more supplies discarded beneath a net in some of the foliage along the path that Aruna realizes why Shadowheart is sticking so closely to her side. 

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” she says just as Aruna has taken to inspecting a bush to occupy herself. She was perfectly content for Gale and Wyll to be the ones to gather up the supplies they were finding – Aruna would much rather be left with her comfortably light pack for now, “Earlier. When I pointed out whatever… bond you’ve formed with Astarion.” 

Aruna pauses with a lead pinched between her fingers, keeping her breathing even as she remembers the heavy letter that takes up residency in that light pack of hers, “Hard to offend someone without memories. Besides, you weren’t entirely wrong. Astarion has just proven himself… useful.” 

Useful is an understatement. They may have only been traveling together for a brief time, but he’s already saved Aruna’s ass more times than she can count. The scales are horribly unbalanced, even including the gift of her blood that she had offered. 

“You’re referring to Nettie, aren’t you?” 

Aruna finally gives up pretending to be endlessly interested in the branch of the bush as she looks up to Shadowheart, “Amongst other things, yes. I still don’t know how he got the two of us out of there.” 

If it hadn’t been for the sudden appearance of memories, Aruna probably would have given that more thought. She can’t imagine what sort of scene might have been caused or left behind after it was all said and done. They’d returned to the Grove since, and no one had made a fuss, which should be a good sign. But it only makes Aruna more curious as she gives it more thought now. 

How had he got her out of there undetected? And had he hid Nettie’s body? Did the Grove even know what she had done?

“He didn’t exactly give the details,” Shadowheart looks just as curious, almost a little concerned, “It was quite an event, in all fairness. Nobody asked too many important questions about the how when he showed up with you, poisoned and covered in blood, in his arms.” 

In his arms? 

“He carried me back to camp?” Aruna chokes out, “Gods. I- I guess that makes sense, I just hadn’t considered the… logistics.” 

“He more than just carried you, Aruna. I thought I might end up the next victim of his dagger if I didn’t comply with his demands to save you.” 

Save Astarion. No matter the cost. 

“I know he’s not always the kindest but, surely, he didn’t threaten y-”

“He did,” Shadowheart interrupts, raising a brow as she crosses her arms, “It’s the only time I haven’t seen the elf be an absolute sarcastic ass. He was deathly serious. With the way he panicked, I could only assume… I thought…” Shadowheart drifts off for just a second, leaving a beat of silence that speaks volumes, “Well, you don’t necessarily react that way towards a stranger.”

“You assumed I was his lover, based solely on his reaction to my near-death?” Aruna murmurs, eyes darting towards Wyll and Gale to ensure they weren’t eavesdropping. 

“How would you react, right now, if I were to prick my finger on a poisonous bush?” 

Aruna opens her mouth, the answer seeming obvious, before she stops herself. 

How would she react? 

She’d be worried, of course. She’d try to help, without a doubt. But how far would she go with all her worry and helpfulness? Would she go as far as to carry Shadowheart all the way back to their camp? Would she threaten her fellow companions if they didn’t do something to help? 

“He wouldn’t leave your side,” Shadowheart’s voice drops to a whisper, looking right into Aruna’s eyes, as though she needed to make sure the girl was processing every single word spoken, “He wouldn’t let any near you without first knowing their business. And even then, he hovered. I don’t think he tranced once during the days you were down, showed no interest in eating either. I believe the only reason he allowed us to take you into my tent was due to the lack of his own,” she pauses and lets the words sink in as Aruna’s mind reels to keep up, “I would expect that behavior from Gale. Or even Wyll. But from the man who has seemed Hell-bent on maintaining an arm’s length distance from us all? The man who has pretended to be entirely unaffected by our entire situation and all the violence we’ve encountered? Truthfully, the fact that you two aren’t involved makes it all the more confusing.” 

It was odd. It was entirely peculiar, extremely out of character for the man they had all gotten to know. 

Or at least, the man that everyone else had gotten to know. 

They weren’t exchanging light-hearted jokes with Astarion. There were no late night conversations under the stars with him for them to ponder on, no glimpse beneath the mask to ruminate on. No memories of a version of him that was softer than what he offered now. They saw him to be as sharp as his daggers, his words capable of digging beneath their skin far easier than his fangs even could. 

Aruna had an unfair advantage, but so much of that had come after Astarion had been her knight in shining armor. She hadn’t given him a reason to care so deeply; even now, she hadn’t, in her honest opinion. 

“I’d do the same for any of you,” Aruna finally says, but it’s a blatant lie. Her tongue isn’t quite as heavy as she speaks false words to Shadowheart, though. The vowels didn’t stick in her throat the same way they had when she’d denied Astarion of her full truths, “And I’m sure Astarion would, too, if it came down to it. We need each other to survive. That’s all.” 

 She would do the same, to some extent. She doesn’t think she’d be pointing daggers, but she would be worried. It’s not a full lie. 

“All I heard is that we need each other to survive,” Wyll inserts himself with impeccable timing, the pack on his back now looking a bit bulkier. Aruna nearly snorts as she realizes Gale is seemingly taking the same approach as her with traveling lightly, “And I couldn’t agree more. Speaking of which…” 

Three sets of eyes land on Aruna, and this time, she ignores the discomfort bubbling up. 

They need each other to survive. This is far beyond just her and some silly mission to save Astarion now – these people, these friends, look to her for guidance. Reluctantly or not, eagerly or not, she should be mindful of the weight that carries.

She should be mindful of the trust involved. 

—

“I’m an animal-lover just as much as the next-”

“It’s not up for discussion, Gale.”

“-And I also hated the idea of leaving the poor thing behind-”

“What’s done is done.” 

“-I just think we should have considered how exactly we might be feeding this extra companion at camp! That’s all!” Gale finally finishes spitting out his argument to Aruna as they trek down a dusty road, a river rushing along their side, “We’re in no position to be collecting pets, Aruna.” 

Aruna can certainly hand it to Gale – she wasn’t thinking about these particular repercussions when she’d encountered the poor dog who’s collar-tag read Scratch when she’d offered her scent for him to follow.  But she’d made her decision, not even glancing back at her companions to include them in her choice, and there was no taking it back now. She almost wanted the dog to show up at their camp now, purely out of spite for the lecturing Gale had taken to giving her as they’d continued to follow the path. 

The path which Aruna had a sinking suspicion would not be leading to a new entrance to that village. But her gut had been tugged in this direction, something whispered for her to follow the river, and she’s done enough critical thinking for the day. The worst that could come of it is that her internal compass leads them to absolutely nothing, and they have to make the far trek back to camp entirely empty-handed. 

Or they could finally stumble into that ambush they’d all worried about at the main entrance to the village. That’s also a possibility, Aruna supposes. 

“He wouldn’t be a pet, Gale,” she grumbles, slowing her steps as she looks around. There hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary so far. 

“What would you call him, then?” Gale argues, fiddling with the straps of his own pack. 

How ironic it was that he had taken to complaining so ardently about the possible furry companion when he’d happily looted the corpse of the previous owner, slipping numerous envelopes into his bag to read later. He certainly hadn’t protested then, when it served some sort of odd purpose for him. 

“A…” Aruna trails off, facing Gale, back to the river. She racks her brain for a term that might justify her choice, even if only slightly, “A familiar. Yes - a familiar! You know, those trustworthy companions that those wonderful books of yours have detailed extensively? Are you truly so against me having one?” 

Gale’s eyes narrow at her, “He is not your familiar.” 

“He could be,” she chimes, standing strong in her decision, “He certainly won’t be yours with all your griping.” 

“You two are…” Wyll glances between the two of them, sighing heavily, “Something.”

“Better she bickers with Gale than Astarion,” Shadowheart pipes up, quickly looking remorseful when Aruna shoots her a look, “Sorry, just- Gale doesn’t argue just for the sake of arguing with you. He’s actually making a point.” 

Aruna opens her mouth, instinctively ready to defend Astarion despite the fact that that is exactly what he did when he’d join them in adventuring, but Gale beats her to a response, “Precisely! I only aim to ruffle the peace if it’s necessary. And a dog at camp? Well… not particularly necessary, if you ask me.” 

“The dog will keep me warm at night when I’m left defenseless without a tent,” Aruna snaps, focusing back on the wizard, “There. Is that convincing enough for you?” 

She certainly notices the chuckle that Wyll tries to cover up, and the slyest of quirks on Shadowheart’s lips. 

“I’m…” Gale is speechless. It’s a blatantly obvious way in which he can’t fill her shadow’s shoes – Astarion would have been absolutely bursting at the seams with a snarky comeback for such a childish response from her. “I apologize. As you said, the decision’s already been made. I’m… I’m sorry for refusing to consider your side of it all.” 

A nice way of saying I’m sorry I forgot you have far less than the rest of us. 

They continue to walk with the current after that in silence, leaving Aruna to her own mindless thoughts. Worries for Scratch certainly linger, but she finds herself pondering her tent situation and her Astarion situation far more. 

She really, truly needs to obtain supplies for her own tent. The weather may be gentle now, but if this situation drags out any longer (which she senses it will), she’ll need something to protect her from the chill of winter. Or even any rain, should it come to that. She could always bother one of her companions to allow her to bunk in that scenario, but she isn’t exactly eager with the idea. 

Gale would keep her up with endless chatter. Shadowheart is still just a little too guarded to offer up her space, unless Aruna is on the edge of death, of course. Aruna has no good excuse when it comes to Wyll, but she certainly would have to sleep with one eye open should she try to bunk with Lae’zel. 

There was always Astarion. If he ever decided to stop avoiding her, that is.  

Aruna nearly cackles out loud as she glances up to the sky to see a few clouds gathering. Not quite threatening of a storm, but it certainly felt like a slap on her wrist from the Universe. A quiet reminder that all her theoreticals she was pondering over were very possible options. 

“What’s that?” Shadowheart suddenly stops dead in her tracks, surprisingly, as Aruna continues to carry on, “Up there?” 

It takes her a second, but Aruna quickly spots what Shadowheart is pointing out. 

The next few events all happen too suddenly to properly react. 

 Aruna’s eyes widen at the ball of flames, huddled just across the river they had been following, a tree serving as a bridge between them and the fiery being. A terrible, nauseating deja vu disorients her nearly immediately as she begins to make out a figure at the center of those flames.  The same sharp pains that haunted every new interaction with her fellow companions, a dizziness she’d only felt with Astarion spinning her world on its axis. 

Her vision nearly goes black as that cleaved half of her soul becomes apparent, awakening at the sight. An overly eager whisper of, we’ve been here before. We know this. We know her. 

The stench of sulfur is the only thing Aruna can make out as all her other senses fall victim to the deja vu. 

As if below water, she can just barely make out Wyll: “Advocatus diaboli.” 

She knows what’s about to happen. She can hear the venom in his voice, and she knows she has to act fast. 

But Aruna’s actions are not her own. She doesn’t tell her feet to fly forward, attempting to catch up with Wyll as he barrels across the trunk-made-bridge. She doesn’t instruct her hand to shoot out, fingers narrowly missing the fabric of Wyll’s shirt and grasping at air as she gasps out, “Wyll, no!” 

And she certainly doesn’t mean to lose her footing on that trunk, soles of her boots slipping, arms flailing for balance now rather than to stop Wyll from approaching the mass of fire. 

Not even Gale and Shadowheart’s hands reaching for her biceps could save her from the rushing water waiting below.

taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @writinginthetwilight @moonmunson @generalstephkenobi @notthisagainpls @chaoticbardlady99 @animated-unicorn

if you'd like to join the taglist, simply let me know <3

#ghost's stories #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x oc #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion bg3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #the moon will sing #we start the chapter with her drowning metaphorically and end it with her drowning literally #how fitting

[monpalace]

ships .. (legend of zelda) link & (original character) s'avahili dragmire.

content .. in her mourning, s'avahili is visited by an old friend.

word count .. 2,455.

warnings .. i wrote this 3 years ago, then rewrote it in january (?) and haven't looked at it since then. beta'd by grammarly (not premium), so. i think i wrote this when i had gasli go by they/she pronouns and not he/him.

notes .. link and s'avahili's love language being food will never not be my favorite thing to write even if neither of them made it. i also wrote about this before thinking about the rest of venom's plot so ig this was my personal proof of concept + this was supposed to be in an act by itself with the first chapter called the beginning but nvm that ig😋✌🏽

S'avahili has long since been accustomed to wiping blood off her hands, both literally and metaphorically.

This time, unfortunately, is literal.

It was always literal when the chosen hero reached the end of his journey.

Her brother bled like a pig when Link plunged his sword into the jewel that adorned his forehead every lifetime; he did so even more when Zelda thought it best to pierce an arrow of light through his heart.

Ganondorf was still bleeding, his pig features making themselves present as Malice caused his skin to char and crack into a coal black, his blood instead seeping into the ground as though it were lava. It even had the viscosity.

When S'avahili drops to her knees beside Ganondorf's head and reaches for the hand he held out, she wonders when she became so accustomed to the feeling of blood on her hands and tragedy in her heart.

They'd never caught any semblance of a break in any of their incarnations either.

Ganondorf's hold tightens when she slides hers against his palm. She tries to return the gesture despite feeling weak and faint. When he turns his head against her knee (despite the discomfort) to better meet her eyes, S'avahili finally feels her eyes start to burn and water.

Though his expression was neutral and anger-drowned eyes were beginning to fill with other emotions, S'avahili still felt the need to speak.

"Remember when I died of heartbreak during the Era of Prosperity?" Incidentally, her voice cracks when she speaks, but she can't bring herself to mind when it does. Her other hand lowers to hold itself against his face. "I'm having a very similar feeling to then."

Ganondorf's grip tightens before immediately becoming lax. His strength was greatly diminishing, the master sword draining him of everything he was as the light arrow kept him weak.

She'd use the Triforce of Power to heal him if it weren't for the look Zelda was giving them from over the line of Gerudo warriors.

Rubbing her finger against the back of his hand, S'avahili sniffles again. "I don't think that'll happen again this time." She meant to add that she was still a child, thirteen, but words fail her. "I just.. feel it."

Ganondorf uses the last of his strength to make his other arm cusp the back of her head, letting it fall like deadweight so her face came in contact with the junction between his chin and neck.

A guttural noise makes its way to the ear that was pressed between her head and his throat. S'avahili was able to hear his low groan of comfort as his life finally left him, the noise and vibration slowly fading off into nothing.

She refuses to move until Gasli moves behind her and spreads his wings in front of his body, waiting for her to move. Itha had followed her husband, kneeling beside S'avahili to place a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Your mothers are home preparing the ceremony," they say in a gentle tone. She places a hand on S'avahili's side when she doesn't twitch at their touch. "If we leave now, we'll arrive in the valley before they finish. Caliban had his soldiers bring a carriage large enough to fit the both of you comfortably."

Finally forcing herself off Ganondorf's corpse, S'avahili takes a deep breath as she stands. "Have them bring it here." Her voice was no longer on the verge of sobbing, but instead filled with rocks and gravel.

She takes a moment to wrap her hands around the hilt of the Master Sword and ignores the pain that shoots its way throughout her body. She refuses to place her foot on his body for leverage, instead gathering strength with their Triforce to yank it out in a single, swift, and clean yank.

S'avahili wipes the blade of his blood before dropping it onto Gasli's wings. "Take that to Link, please."

He doesn't say anything, instead doing as requested as he tucks the sword into the leather band that wrapped around his waist. Gerudo warriors switch places with him, S'avahili maneuvering herself to stand at his head.

Gasli was never good during these moments. Itha had always taken the role of the leader for the coming months after the death of Ganondorf.

There was always consistency when it came to the end of the journey; S'avahili's glad she at least had that in her life.

It always went as followed;

First, the death of Malice and, subsequently, her brother. She'd gone through it hundreds of times before and she'd go through it thousands more times due to Ouroboros they were stuck in.

Second, the dispersal of all Hylians in the near vicinity. Everyone said it was for their own safety given there were only two with a Triforce and even they could barely handle the exertion of raw malice Ganondorf's body released upon his death.

Third, all Gerudo, Twili, Sheikah, Goron, Zora, and Rito returned home to mourn their losses and bury their dead before gathering together in the Sand Temple to perform the ceremony for Ganondorf's death; which was currently underway.

When one of the warriors calls her name to break her from her thoughts, she lets out a blank hum of acknowledgment. To be truthful, she almost jumped when one reached out to touch her shoulder when the blank look doesn't leave her eyes.

("Little sister," she had called. Not "Chieftess," "Chief," or "S'ava.")

(S'avahili feels a painful throb in her heart.)

"The carriage," another says between wary breaths, "it's here."

"Lift him," S'avahili directs, already squatting as she slid her hands beneath his head. She bites her tongue to keep herself from adding on "carefully," knowing they'd be so attentive with his body regardless of if she said it.

Mindful they are when they join S'avahili in lifting him. Precise, calculated movements as they place him in a coach, the interior of it surrounded entirely by plush, pillowy walls.

They were quiet as they removed their hands from him and left the carriage. Quiet enough that she could hear Yusef whispering with Sahir about his plans to join him in Kakariko village after Ganondorf's ceremony.

S'avahili presses the jewel on her forehead to his.

Though the weight of the carriage is heavily favoring its weight to the back, it tries to balance itself out when another body joins Yusef in the front.

"Link," Sahir hums with faux pleasance. S'avahili presses her jem against Ganondorf's with more pressure. "What brings you over here? Is your princess not going to chew your head off?"

Though she can't see him, S'avahili can imagine what he was doing as he spoke in a harsh rasp.

A shake of his head as he looks at his princess from over his shoulder. "She'll be fine," he says before biting his lip and adding an airy, "hopefully. Where are you all heading?"

"The Valley." Yusef had answered Link's question this time around, his voice making it sound curt. His eyes were likely on Zelda, locked in a heated, silent battle of their own. "Then home; for all of us."

"You're going back to Hyrule?"

"Going back?" Sahir had an amused expression on his face. "Are you not returning?"

There's a baited silence from all three parties that are cut by the bells of the horses' rein being pulled.

"Yeah."

"Will you travel to another continent?" Yusef asks as the horses begin pulling the carriage along. His voice was less tense. He'd stopped his staring at Zelda, instead focusing his attention on the extra passenger. "It's been a while since I've heard anything of the Chosen Hero leaving Hyrule."

"Maybe," Link responds in a simple tone. "I don't know."

S'avahili doesn't remember the last time she didn't suck up all her feelings as she left the battlefield.

Either way, she's ashamed to admit she still cries when she's alone, so many times after doing these cycles. It was the one thing she wished her subconscious hadn't tacked onto her internal schedule lifetime and lifetime again.

All she could taste was salt despite a month having passed since Gannondorf's burial. She had thrown up several times, both from refusal to eat and a frigid chill overwhelming all the systems of her body.

S'avahili's throat was sore and she hadn't been able to have a coherent thought in two weeks because of the migraines that had haunted her for the past two weeks.

It'd been a week since Ganondorf's burial and yet she still yearns to hold his hand, warm herself with the fires that burn beneath his skin, and help him cool down after an entire day's worth of training with their mothers— she couldn't care less. Just so long as she was able to feel his comfort before they were reincarnated again.

The world was uncharacteristically dark despite Ganondorf being gone. Din always refused to raise the sun until she was finished mourning her son. It happened every incarnation.

From what S'avahili had heard from Yusef, anyone who traveled relied on doing so in groups of seven or more. Torches weren't adequate enough to light more than a few wings-lengths ahead and monsters were acting as though every night was a blood moon.

(She was too tired to calm the monsters down. She had lost his mask long ago, but she doubted Agnar had anything to do with it.)

S'avahili covers her head with her blankets when she hears a pair of boots from outside the door of her room. There were very few options for who it could be.

No one who had access to the capital of the Gerudo wore boots.

Link's knocks to the wall were weak, full of hesitance. He was a little confident with the first and second, a few seconds cutting between the third and eventual fourth.

Was he trying to annoy her into answering? Knocking some secret code they had made in another lifetime that his subconscious never forgot? Regretting his visit?

Did S'avahili care?

She wishes she didn't.

"Sand Bunny?" Link's voice was soft and reserved, unfitting of the fourteen-year-old farmhand. She's sure his voice would've cracked if he were any louder. Puberty was starting to hit him and, like always, it was essentially a golden Lynel charging straight at him.

S'avahili forces her head to lift from her pile of pillows, face freed from the silk fabric. "What," she croaks painfully, unsure of if it came out as a question or statement.

He doesn't need anything else to enter her room, using his back to push the curtain aside and slide inside. His eyes momentarily catch on the unfinished mural of her ceiling before he turns to reveal the tray of food in his hands.

"Your moms sent me up here." His drawl messes with the way he pronounces each word, making S'avahili squirm to turn on her back so she can better hear and understand him. Link briefly lifts the tray higher to bring her attention to the food plated on it, placing it on the foot of her bed once he was in close enough range. "They said you'd listen to a friend when they tell you to eat."

His voice returns to normal upon making her in the candle-lit room.

Still quiet, but more Link.

"When's the last time you ate?"

"I don't have to eat as often as a Hylian."

At some point, Link had a gentle smile on his face. It was quickly wiped off upon registering her reply. "'n' how often is that?"

".. .. .. Often enough.."

He was well enough acquainted with her tastes to know what order she wanted to eat each plate.

Link starts small with the less filling food, wiping his hand off on his shirt, having long abandoned the matching green tunic and cap. He picks the fruit up with his fingers, cupping a hand beneath it before pressing it to her lips. "Open."

"I'm not hungry."

"Stop bein' stubborn."

S'avahili turns on her side to face away from him and uses her hands to cover her face. "I didn't realize not having an appetite made me stubborn."

"S'avahili." Link puts the plate down and forces her to move onto her back again. He hops onto her bed for extra measure, sitting on her thighs to ensure she wouldn't turn again. "Koume says you haven't eaten in weeks and Kotake won't stop talking about how she has to keep the entire city from freezing over."

("S'avahili.")

(That certainly didn't make her feel any better.)

S'avahili removes her fingers from in front of her eyes, peeking out to look at him. "My mothers talked to you? The Heavens must be running rampant with malice."

"They love me," Link responds, picking the plate up to try again.

S'avahili lets out a guttural noise of displeasure. She lowers her hands but refuses to open her mouth or lips. "I'm not stupid," she groans, instead using her hands to push his away, "it'd do you better to visit Dread. I heard he came up with—"

"I didn't call you stupid," Link interrupts with a furrow in his brow. "'n' I wasn't called all the way down here just to leave because you said no. I always finish something if someone asks."

"This isn't some pre-destined fate given to you. You're just doing a friend a favor."

He rolls his eyes and instead feeds himself the food, shifting off of her to instead lay beside her. "You talk about fate a lot," he says, gaze focusing on the mural once more. Tracing each era with his eyes, he points at no one in particular. "It's very.. characteristic of you at this point."

"As a child, when our mothers are training my brother, I always beg him to tell me a story when he returns home for the night. It's always the story of," S'avahili briefly stops rasping to take hold of his wrist, directing it to an era where his hair was white, "the First War. It's just the origins of each race and what led to the Triforce being created, but I've always been fascinated by it— fate, I mean."

She pauses for a moment to rub at her eyes tiredly. "I guess I get it from him," she adds upon noticing Link staring at her rather than the mural.

"Can you tell it to me?— Our past lives too."

"You want me to tell you a bedtime story?"

"The sun hasn't risen in a month, every story is a bedtime story."

Clearing her throat and folds her arms over her stomach, S'avahili dabs at her eyes a final time. "Then get comfortable," she directs. "It's a long one."

#majesty's personal utopias — venom

[thunderon]

I just finished Harrow the Ninth and Im confused what happened to Harrow at the end is she dead

aw jeez. first let me say: the entire ending of htn (including harrow’s end) is intentionally ambiguous and an ongoing point of speculation. there’s no real right or wrong answer right now.

currently my favored theory (if not necessarily the most probable theory) is that harrow made herself a revenant. ill eventually do a big fat analysis post but in the meantime enjoy these quotes that i think has implications of harrow becoming a revenant along with some very surface level analysis:

note: i typed this entire thing up in less than 15 minutes so apologies for typos and if it’s incoherent.

onto business, no foreplay, first quote i have is from a convo with harrow and god back in like chapter 4

“The difference between dying of illness and dying from murder. An enormous shock, the immediate expulsion of the soul. And just as when a soul is ripped untimely from a human being—“

“A revenant,” you said.

“Always a revenant,” he said. “Every single time, a goddamned revenant.

so. harrow was obviously murdered in the end of htn via mercymorn literally stabbing her in the back. okay, check. next quote i got: convo between augustine and ianthe:

“The card up the sleeve of the revenant... is that it can inhabit anything it’s got a connection to. Anything thanergetically connected with their death.”

Ianthe suggested, in what you saw as a low-value suck-up play: “Burial implements. Grave goods. Any possession that they kept over time, that was exposed to their thalergy and thanergy. If they were murdered, the murder weapon.”

harrow literally has all of those possibilities

“burial implements/grave goods” - enough said with harrow climbing inside the coffin.

“any possession kept overtime exposed to their thalergy and thanergy”- ... like you mean how harrow carried gideons two-hander for literally the entirety of htn? and we’ve already seen that it could be used to become a revenant via wake (who was chilling on top of the two hander in the coffin first)

“murder weapon” - harrow gets stabbed with a rapier that she was forced by god to carry around so it could arguably meet the earlier criteria.

next big hints: being a revenant and passion. we get hammered to death in Act V about the connection between revenants and passion. observe:

abigail, quote 1

“I find myself in the astonishing position of having created a revenant link through—well—sheer passion.”

in addition to magnus making his whole “you made yourself her mausoleum” speech, ianthe’s quote comes in here. now i know ianthe is being metaphorical... but we all know how tamsyn loves to play around with words

“Love is a revenant, Gideon Nav, and it accumulates love-stuff to itself, because it is homeless otherwise.”

tell me that it doesn’t match up so well with what abigail and magnus say in the bubble, and with what we see in harrows final resting place. speaking of! here’s a small little quote of harrows resting place:

Within that bed of ice and glass, on the stone-shaped pillow to prop the head, that final resting place of Harrowhark’s one true love, lay a sword.

okay, a sword. along with the broken chains from the body and the infamous Frontline Titties of the Fifth. this is important. okay now im getting ahead of myself. let’s back it up. how did harrow even get there and why is it important? first let’s look at why harrow ended up there (which i think helps us understand the how). okay, abigail, quote 2:

“Is there nothing I can do before entering the River that might mean I stay put?”

“No,” said Abigail. “It’s the River. It moves. You’d have to pick the revenant’s path and travel along a thanergetic link,”

“Is there nothing I can do before entering the River that might mean I stay put?”

now here’s where im starting to see it as the revenants path. so we see a few times harrow talking about standing in a long dark corridor, the second of those times was when harrow was visiting palamedes in his river bubble. the third and final long black corridor quote comes here:

The water sprayed through white holes, rushing in with a pounding roar: that brackish, bloodied water that only existed within the River. She was buoyed up by a spray of ice water and filth—but she wasn’t; she seemed to be walking down her long black corridor again— Then Harrow was back drowning in salt water. Gideon’s arms were around her... Harrow’s head broke the water... Above her head the rocky cathedral of the cave shone with a dismal heaven of luminescent worms, blinking softly on and off. They were all undead: revenant creatures and watchers, shifting restlessly forever on the rock of the Locked Tomb. Harrow was home.

sounds like she’s not in the river or creating a river bubble anymore imho. sounds to me like she’s traveled along a thanergetic link, which keep in mind she was able to travel through the river to find sextus (who made himself a revenant) so we know it’s possible. and she could honestly be tied to any number of items.

now here’s just one (offhand and unlikely) theory. theoretically, if gideon was rescued by BOE and is indeed the narrator in the epilogue, her sword could be with her. which could explain how harrowhark is both “home” in the Tomb and simultaneously “faraway in a land she never travelled” which is certainly a puzzling paradox. anyways this is just me completely talking out the ass of one possible theory. im not sold on my own theory so i doubt anyone else will be either, but it does offer some striking implications, doesnt it? if anybody has any thoughts or anything for me/anon feel free to share!

#asks #sweetie i am so unhinged and wrong and now it’s in the tag #harrow the ninth #the locked tomb

[midnight-in-town]

“Let’s change the things we can change”

Reading Witch Hat Atelier ch43...

..I can definitely hear Iguin chanting in the distance “thaaaat’s my girl, the Brim Hats’ hope”. 

So yeah anyway, can I say how thematically incredible it is that Coustas’ misery up until this far crossed the path of Coco (a girl who wasn’t born a Witch) and Tartar (a Witch but born with an eye affliction making him unable to be trained the usual way)? Because obviously, as sort of outcasts in their own community, they’re indeed the most likely to challenge the rigid views of such community. 

As we were discussing with @aspoonofsugar​​​, it is very appealing that Shirahama-sensei would finally take the time to address the series’ worldbuilding by, for once, showing that not everyone is born with privilege. Coco and Tartar were the most prominent examples so far, but amongst Witches, while Coustas and by proxy Dagda illustrate an even sadder reality: 

I don’t know for other readers of WHA, but personally, this chapter totally changed my feelings about the first time we met Coustas and Dagda, when they were about to drown in that raging river.

Back then, the focus was more on Agathe and Coco, who were about to help non-Witches for the first time and how difficult it was to protect the secret of their powers. So Coustas clearly endangering himself to retrieve some of his and Dagda’s belongings really struck me as obvious and foolish, only set up to introduce the concept that medicine was indeed Forbidden™ to be practiced along with magic.

Now though, I just can’t picture it in the same way at all. Knowing that Coustas and Dagda are travelers who lived with barely a thing and who lost literally everything because of this incident (leaving Coustas unable to walk and to earn his meals while Dagda started undertaking mercenary jobs to wage enough for both of them), I can only see it as tragic and saddening. T_T

That being said, it also depicts an even more striking (and grim) picture, considering all the examples we’ve seen so far of young witches who were dumped upon adults’ consideration that “they were not good enough” to honor the same craft. 

Thinking about Agathe here (dumped by her own family), or even Riché (dumped by her first master) and of course Eunie (considered not confident enough and who ended up cursed by the Brim Hats). Meanwhile, we have Dagda the father figure of Coustas, a non-Witch kid, who’d rather endanger himself doing risky work in order to pay for Coustas’ long rehabilitation rather than giving up on him. 

So... isn’t this bitter and unfair? On the one side, the Witches who are indeed privileged compared to people like Dagda and Coustas, but who face a crushing pressure by their peers in order to belong within the magic community, their world all the while being set in stone by rigid rules that no one shall defy. And on the other, people like Coustas who would benefit from breaking said rules, but at the stake of endangering the world’s peace like in previous times. 

As such it wouldn’t surprise me if most of the Brim Hats actually chose this path, specifically because they were victims (in many different and subjective ways) of this unfair world. 

Not that I think them promoting chaos makes them the right side to choose, but clearly if they seem to believe in Coco, it may be because she’s the one who’s eventually best fit to understand all of this, which means there is also a side of truth to learn from their beliefs. 

All that to say that Coco steadily grows and learns: she learns from Qifrey, she learns from the Brim Hats, she learns from Tartar and now she’s learning from Coustas’ circumstances.

So I can’t help but love her decision to (indirectly) support Tartar’s violation in order to help Coustas, when the Knights Moralis (and so the magic community overall) deemed it all Forbidden™.

WHA is really a very good and deep series. I thought, until I read this chapter, that what kept me to this story was Coco’s and, in parallel, Qifrey’s predicaments with the Brim Hats, but it is without a doubt all related to the worldbuilding and the sad reality that the wonderment of magic seemed to hide from us readers so far.  

I’ll conclude this post by saying that, while I love Coco and Tartar’s mutual decision this chapter, I think it was definitely foreshadowed as risky and will certainly not be an easy feat to achieve. After all...

..if this part of the chapter isn’t a metaphor for Coco and Tartar’s current situation, their young knowledge balanced between their magic community and what Coco experienced through the Brim Hats, I don’t know what is. x)

A m a z i n g chapter! Can’t wait for what’s next!

It’s an amazing manga, please give it a try!

#witch hat atelier #coco #tartar #coustas #qifrey #orugio #tongari boushi no atelier #wha theory #wha43 #shirahama kamome #my analysis

[midnightsnace]

A Thousand Worlds

Summary: Fix it fic of sorts after the trauma that was episode 6 of the Loki series. Loki is in pain after discovering Mobius doesn’t remember him. He’s been living in apocalypses to avoid capture by this new TVA until he formulates a plan to get his Mobius back.

Rating: T for later chapters

Emotional angst.

Chapter One.

Chapter Two.

“And so that’s where I grew up, the ends of a thousand worlds.”

The ends of a thousand worlds. The words of his accomplice echoed through the god’s mind as he fiddled with the straps of his worn and tattered holster. The fluorescent above him flickered with every gust of wind that battled against the sides of the building that Loki was crouched down in. He slid his long legs out against the tiled floor in front of him and sat with his head propped against the wall. He sighed. Loki tapped his foot on the door of the space he was hiding in to close it, drowning out the cries of fear from the people outside in their final hours of life. There he sat waiting for the tempad to charge. Alone. Living in another world where every person he met would be dead by the end of the day. Another world where Mobius didn’t exist. His Mobius.

Was this what it was like? For her? To never be able to stay in one place for more than a day? To always see the same faces riddled with fear as they awaited their painful fate? To only know destruction, screaming, fires, earthquakes, the literal gates of hel? To be utterly alone with your only desire to live in the hope that one day your glorious purpose would be fulfilled?

Glorious purpose.

Loki scoffed. The god didn’t know what his purpose was anymore. Taking down the TVA was a complete failure. The chances for fixing the mess they started seemed impossible now as branches grew and new timelines erupted, with endless TVAs to monitor every universe. At least, that’s what Loki assumed. He knew next to nothing about what they had unleashed. It wasn’t the same TVA. Different hunters, different analysts, different ruler. Many he recognized, but they were still different people. They weren’t the same. She wasn’t the real B. He wasn’t his Mobius. And Loki was at a complete loss on how to find them again.

The first tempad he stole only brought him back to the place he snatched it from. The same Time Variance Authority where Mobius didn’t remember him and not a single file existed for Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, God of Outcasts, God of Lies. Even when he dragged the analyst through the timedoor into the roxxcart parking lot to access his memories, nothing existed of him. No laughter over silly metaphors, mischief at pompeii, not even the memory of their first encounter in the elevator. It was like they never met. This led to Loki wasting away their days hopping from one disaster to the next until his brain racked up a solution. The TVA never once did follow him. Why would they? No one remembered his brilliant discovery about the apocalypses. He could run free. But as the days whittled by, the hope Loki had began to fade into nothingness.

For awhile he kept track of the places he went and the time that had passed.

Day 1 - I finally stole a tempad and left that dreadful place. I came here first. Hoping I’d see you. But I guess that’s not how time travel works in apocalypses. No trace we were ever here. The storm reminded me of my brother. I hope to see him again one day. Now that I know we could have been friends. Everything was eventually going to be okay.

Day 24 - I’ve been sitting in a coffee shop awaiting the earthquake of 2098. Met a lovely redhead with the most peculiar of tattoos. But alas! Little does she know this friendship could never blossom in the wake of death!

Day 37 - I miss him. My brother. The pain that solitude brings makes me think of home more often. How ironic that the very place that caused me the most pain I miss. But anything is better than this. So today I visited home right before its destruction. I saw my brother. I saw Thor from afar. Oh how I wish I could have talked to him somehow and tell him i’m sorry for being such an ass.

Being there brought back memories of the silly metaphor he made using Mobius’ lunch. The corners of Loki’s mouth crept into a smile at the thought. But that smile faded away in the next second and was replaced with tears.

Day 56 - I went to Pompeii again. I stood in the shadows. I tried to picture your expressions of skepticism at my insane ideas. I tried to picture how your face lit up with pride and joy when you realized I was right. I wish I could have stayed longer but I never can anywhere I go.

He whistled like a bird before he exited through the time door.

By day 125 he had lost his will to live again. It was their fourth visit to Lamentis-1. Perhaps it was a mistake on his part to journey here once more and feel both the pains of betrayal and heartache at the prospect of never seeing Mobius again. The second time they had visited Lamentis, the god decided to stay until the very last second with the false hope that maybe him facing death would create a nexus event. His mobius would come find him and save him at the last second. But the time door never came. Maybe it was because he knew there was a chance to escape and he could take it. Or maybe it was because there were so many time branches no one would care to fix a world that was about to end.

“You were always meant to be alone.”

And so this time Loki threw the tempad to the ground and waited. He watched as the lethal disaster unfolded before his eyes once more, ready to die. Alone. Alone with no one to assure him everything will be alright in the face of death. Not a single soul would know he was gone. No one would care.

But at the last second they saw something on the tempad that made them change their mind. A glimmer of hope.

Any hope Loki had, a glorious purpose he had left to fulfill, it was in finding Mobius. It was the only desire left that fueled him to keep existing. He was all that mattered. His only friend. The only person left among the universes who trusted him and saw beyond his flaws. The only person left who hadn’t betrayed the fragile levels of trust the god could give. He was his hope that one day, he wouldn’t have to be alone.

And so he found himself walking the streets of New York in the summer of 2197, on the brink of some disaster he knew nothing about. Not a single idea when it would happen, where it would occur, and what he was doomed to witness. He saw something that could potentially lead him to his destination. The tempad had given him an alert for an aura match - two of the same people in one place. An oddity. Something that wasn’t supposed to exist.

They weren’t just any entity either. They were registered hunters in the TVA database. Which meant one had to be from another universe.

And he knew the TVA would be coming for them.

He had to get there first.

Loki speed walked down the sidewalk frantically scanning his surroundings for any clue as to what was happening. He couldn’t read any signs of fear or confusion on the faces of those who passed him. He didn’t know how much time he had.

Upon hearing shouts of anger, Loki broke out into a run across the street towards the source, dodging every dystopian vehicle that nearly collided with him in the process. It was coming from the roof of the parking tower. With a snap of his magic, Loki teleported himself to the top, hiding behind a parked vehicle to assess what he was working with.

There were two agents standing about 10 feet away who looked nearly identical, one waving her arms frantically while the other looked on stoically, possibly from shock, with a pruning stick in hand. Loki locked eyes on the tempad fastened to the belt of the frantic one. Then he glanced at the one in the other hunter’s hand.

Well shit.

Now he had to figure out which agent had jumped from the other timeline. He quickly flashed himself closer to the two, but not before one caught on that someone was there.

“I was given orders by a man to…what was that?” one of the hunters asked.

Loki crouched down farther on the other side of the wall. He reached for a dagger, ready to pounce once their suspicions subsided. They listened intently to the words from the first hunter for the first clue on who to attack.

“He sent me here to grab this,” the hunter pulled up someone on her tempad, “entity and leave. Those were the orders given to me. So if you’ll excuse me.”

The other hunter planted herself in front of her clone. “I can’t let you do that. Not until you’ve told me everything I want to know. How are you me? How is this possible?”

The first hunter was from an alternate timeline. Loki took that as his cue. But before he could sneak behind the hunter, he was shot backwards by a blast of energy from a ring of light.

Out from the ring stepped a peculiar man with graying hair who was wearing blue robes and an assymetrical cloak that sparked the curiosity of the confused hunter. Within a split second, the portal closed behind him. Loki laid very still on the concrete and held his breath in the hopes that the man would believe him to be dead.

“You know I can tell when someone is playing dead.”

Loki grimaced and winced as he heaved himself off the ground. He came face to face with the strange man, his hand lingering in the air where he placed the pocket for his dagger.

“You.” was all the man said.

“Am I supposed to know you?” the god questioned.

“You always manage to show up in New York again at the most in-opportune times.” The man raised his hands and Loki mimicked his movements, summoning his daggers in place.

“I’m gonna assume we’ve met before sir, perhaps in the future? I don’t know! And i’m terribly sorry about New York! Look let me explain…” they lowered their hands in their attempt to make peace with the angry man in front of him.

“Dr. Strange.” He kept his fist in the air, golden sparks flying from whatever spell he had in mind to attack the prince with. “And until you prove otherwise Im going to assume you are here for hostile reasons.”

Loki blinked. Well he’s kind of not wrong, they thought.

“Well I’m afraid I can’t prove anything else.” and with that the god blasted the sorcerer into the nearest column with their magic and teleported across the space.

Loki noticed that one of the hunters had disappeared. He assumed she had returned to the TVA. The other was charging towards him fast. He whipped out his daggers to face his attacker, but suddenly his feet were dragged out from under him and he hit the concrete hard. He was being dragged backwards, body scrapping against the concrete. So fast, that the god could barely think about what was happening to him.

When he came to his senses he cut the magic ropes with his powers and rolled across the ground. So he was dealing with another magic user, this “Dr. Strange.” Loki teleported again before he was up on his feet to where he was standing directly behind the hunter.

“D-11…” Dr. Strange said with a hint of caution in his tone.

So this was the man Hunter D-11 was working for. Before the hunter could turn around to face them, Loki snatched the tempad off her belt and snapped himself to the furthest side of the building. Dr. Strange reacted quickly and stood his ground in front of Loki, prepared to attack again.

“Loki, perhaps we can work out some type of deal. What is it that you want? Maybe I can help you. Maybe we can reach a compromise.”

Offer him a deal? Nah.

“I’m done trusting people I’ve just met. All they ever do is stab me in the back.” he conjured the time door behind him.

Strange titled his head. “You do realize we can follow you right straight back to the TVA?”

Loki turned to face him and D-11. “You’ll never find me. You won’t know the first place to look.” The time door closed with Loki inside of it, before the two even had a chance to reach their hands out to follow the god.

…….

And that’s how Loki had ended up here. At Roxxcart again, waiting for the new tempad to charge up before hopping through timelines again.

He breathed in deeply as he felt the bubble of excitement, relief, and happiness build in his chest for the first time in months at the prospect of achieving his goal. Being reunited with the only one who mattered: Mobius. His Mobius.

But as he released his breath in a sigh, his chest tightened again and worry clouded his mind. What if this didn’t work? What if this was just another dead end? What if this was just another one of the countless TVAs that might exist in the vast multiverse?

At first, all Loki felt was sadness and regret in the days following Sylvie’s betrayal. But now all he felt was anger boiling deep inside him. That same unwelcome feeling he experienced after discovering his father lied to him. The feeling that harbored in the abyss of Thanos’ chambers. The feeling that never left his soul until Mobius looked him in the eyes and assured him that he didn’t have to be the villain in his story.

She had taken everything from him and he was afraid he couldn’t wash away the resentment this time. He wanted desperately to feel anything besides the pain he had known for the past year.

He needed to feel love again.

“He cares about you.”

Loki couldn’t wait any longer. He picked up the tempad and tapped the time door request for the TVA home base. He drew in a shaky breath as he paused in front of the portal.

This was it.

He was either about to be reunited with his greatest source of happiness, or find himself hiding in apocalypses again for months as he searched for another plan.

And he would do it. He would search through a thousand worlds to find him.

#lokius #mobius and loki #loki and mobius #lokius fic #fix it fic #loki fic #mobius fic #mobius m mobius #loki mobius #time husbands #time frost #loki series #loki series fic #ao3 writer #ao3fic #loki fandom #loki laufeyson #loki 2021 #wowki #mobius x loki

[inked-out-trees]

3, 4, 18 for the ask game? Thanks :)

(Might send more in the morning- I’m NOT trying to start another ask fight don’t worry haha)

3. What is one scene you've always wanted to write but couldn't be arsed to write all the set-up and context it required?

HERE'S THE THING. Last time I answered this question I mentioned something about "lesbians on a boat that I'm dead set on writing for a workshop next semester"? It's workshop time and I am no closer to ever thinking of anything for that bit so here we are.

I have no idea about the context. It's a summer fling, I think. The love interest teaches the narrator about the lake creatures, all the dangers in the water below them, the worlds unknown. The love interest might also have something a little off about her. I don't know. All I know is that it ends with the narrator in the water, wondering how she'd gotten to be nearly drowning, and in this last rumination, she says to her love interest, from somewhere in the depth, I see your hands reaching for me. Like an angel. Or a siren.

Point being, the love interest could be pulling her up to the surface (angel) or dragging her to drown (siren). But regardless, I've been sitting on this idea for a literal year and it's been petulantly giving me nothing, so I present it forth to the world. (Watch me finally get a clue now that I've told someone. Wouldn't that be something!)

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you're really proud of (and explain why, if you'd like.)

Here are a few!

Horn Signals (Symphony no. 31): "She thinks of the Nile who lingered in her seat at the end of her very first rehearsal, confident in her skills yet hesitant in the busy room, wondering what in the hell was going to come next. You're going to have so much fun, she tells that version of herself; I promise you, these months will be good." (chapter 5) -- I remember having so much trouble ending this story, but the last line wallops me emotionally and I'm glad for it.

homeward, bound: "This is a war of wills. He and his uncle are playing chess with pawns carved from the upper hand, and he is not winning." (chapter 4) -- I just really like this metaphor :')

make off like a band(it): "Don't move. I'm going to eat your moustache." (chapter 12) -- it made my sister laugh :)

The Keep Going Song: "'Oh, don't start,' Chris says. But he's smiling." (part t) -- my whole thing about writing big changes in little actions? that.

18. Do any of your stories have alternate versions? (plotlines you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations) tell us about them!

BOY DO THEY! Here's a small list:

- the Max Is Not Okay storyline I abandoned in homeward, bound because it didn't fit the trajectory (in which the portal was glass and the cast simply saw a wreck where he was meant to be and panicked)

- a handful of false starts from my problem section of ex-home syndrome (may or may not be released once ex-home itself is released)

- the ENTIRE plot of Lookout 1.5, an adjacent Lookout AU in which the team hits up Bethsbridge before Paul dies and we get some Nicks Brothers Action. literally I have it all summarised neatly in my notes app (and it's so good). will I ever write it? probably not. a girl can dream though

- half an abandoned plotline for one of my chapters of the universe is pitted against us that I was halfway through before deciding it wasn't something I wanted to talk about. it will not be released but it haunts me sometimes

- the proposal for a film adaptation of homeward, bound, which included more hints to Chris and Guz's childhood and also probably an extended fever dream sequence because I really like those.

#yes it did take me all day to get to these #sorry #meta writing tag #if you have more questions about lookout 1.5 i am delighted to answer #or really any of the abandoned works #minus the universe. won't be talking about that one #the others? fair game go wild

[muertawrites]

Two Halves - Chapter Five (Zuko x Reader)

Part Four

Word Count: 3,300

Author’s Note: I was up until 4am finishing this on Thursday night, and honestly, the way my single brain cell was barely functioning at that point, I’m surprised this even got done, let alone that it got done relatively well. We’re also getting super close to 1,000 followers, so if you like this series or any of my other works, PLEASE subscribe! I’ve got some fun stuff planned once we get there that I’m really excited to start planning! 

~ Muerta

Despite their rocky beginning, your first few weeks as Lady of the Fire Nation go surprisingly well. After your conflict with Advisor Lin, everyone begins to treat you with newfound respect - even Zuko. Your first breakfast together was the last time he advised any of your aids to be moderate or keep their distance from you, instead encouraging them to speak to you as directly as they would him, openly reproving them when they treat you as if you aren't capable of grasping everything they face you with; of course, you very much feel like you aren't, remaining stoic during morning briefings in the dining room while inwardly panicking, hearing everything but only able to decipher about half of it. You’re lucky you’re still shadowing the Firelord, learning your place and duties; once you’re sent out on your own, you have a feeling you’ll drown before you even get the chance to tread water. 

Protective as he is, Sokka arranges to stay in the palace until you’re completely settled, stating that it’s his duty as the chief ambassador for the Southern Water Tribe; you know that the real reason is because he’s worried to death about you, trying his hardest to keep up the tough, unflappable big brother act for nobody's sake but his own. Toph also decides to extend her trip, quite concerned herself but mostly using the political tension as an excuse to catch up with you, Zuko, and Iroh - you don't mind, since having her around is an endless comfort to you, and you often invite her to sleep in your room so you can pretend that you’re just two friends enjoying normal young adult lives. 

Each day spent in Firelady prep school is a new lesson in what exactly the role means, and you’re quickly finding that it’s much more than observing any of the first ladies of the Water Tribe could have ever prepared you for. They were considered accessories to their chiefs, appearing beside their husbands mostly for aesthetics and only truly serving the purpose of giving birth to sons to take his place; as the Firelord’s wife, you’re seen as an extension of him, and he an extension of you. Your people view you as the monarch and matriarch of a massive, powerful clan, and expect you to live and act in sync with one another for the betterment of your children, both literal and metaphorical. Nation comes before everything, any action that could suggest intentions otherwise criticized with the utmost scrutiny; disgrace is all too easy, while honor seems near impossible. 

You have tea with Zuko every night before bed; the more you learn about the culture of his upbringing, the more you empathize with his younger self. 

“I understand now why you were so angry,” you admit to him one night. “They make you feel as if just being human were a mistake. I'm already frustrated - I can't imagine what seventeen years of it was like.”

Zuko hums, his face taking on a wistful, somber expression. 

“That's what my father did to me,” he explains. “Everything was wrong, even if it was what felt natural.” 

He takes your hand in his, his thumb grazing over your knuckles as he gazes off in thought. 

“We can change that, though,” he tells you. “Things already feel better with you here.” 

For a country that just ended a century long war in which they were the main aggressor, you would think that your advisors would put more energy into matters of diplomatic affairs than your image. 

“I'm just uncertain what a choice like this could make the nation feel,” Advisor Yong says. “We’re already walking a very delicate line.”

You stand in one of the palace’s many meeting parlors with Zuko, Advisors Yong and Sung, Sokka, Iroh, and the royal seamstress, pouring over multiple yards of fabric she's brought for the robes that will immortalize you in your wedding portrait. For the past forty-five minutes, you've been debating whether you should be pictured wearing Fire Nation or Water Tribe clothes - the proceedings have been dismal at best. 

“The representation of our tribe is important to our people,” Sokka replies to Advisor Yong. “We’ve been small for decades, and mostly because of the Fire Nation - she should wear a traditional dress.” 

“But certain people in our nation are still very put off by the idea of a foreign queen,” Advisor Yong argues. “A man was already killed over the matter; embracing it so fully could spark anger and endanger her and the Firelord even more.” 

In the time you've spent with Advisor Yong, she's grown to be your favorite of anyone within the royal council. Her small stature and plump, motherly features make her seem gentle and subdued, but her kindness only runs so deep; when faced with confrontation, she's like an angry bull - fierce, but in a way that's so swift and graceful, you barely notice her goring into you until she's shredded you to pieces. She's been one of your most supportive council members as well, guiding you in matters of proper Fire Nation etiquette and culture and sticking her neck out farther than could possibly be expected to keep you safe. You can see Sokka getting irritable, but you know she speaks with a voice that only has your best interests in mind. 

“Perhaps we should consider the external perception,” Advisor Sung suggests. His soft spoken manner is a welcome reprieve from the increasing bitterness in Yong and Sokka’s tones. “Yes, it's quite important that the Southern Tribe is recognized, and doing so will present a compassionate image of our nation. On the other hand, however, having our lord and lady in different traditional dress could suggest division; picturing them as the same would imply a more unified pair.” 

“Maybe we should put Zuko in a Water Tribe outfit,” you suggest flatly. “Make it look like we’re pushing you guys around for a change.” 

Zuko snickers beside you, raising a hand to his mouth to (ineffectively) stifle the sound under the guise of a cough. The rest of the room is deathly silent, its occupants either oblivious to your sarcasm or deeply unamused by it. 

“I believe what our lady is trying to convey,” Iroh chimes in, “is that we have hardly taken her own thoughts into consideration. After all, it is her marriage and her people she must represent.” 

“Okay, so what do you think?” Sokka prods, turning to you. “Do you want to wear Fire Nation clothes or Water Tribe ones?”

You sigh, dropping your eyes to the mixture of red and blue fabric sprawled out before you. 

“Honestly? I don't know,” you confess. “There are too many issues with either choice. I think we need more time to gauge how people react to me just being here before we decide.” 

“My lady, I understand,” Advisor Yong says, “but as cautious as we have to be, we can't be too hesitant; you can’t possibly hope to bear children in a few months’ time if we can't come to a decision on something like this in a timely manner.”  

You and Zuko both jolt, instinctively backing away from one another.

“Children will come much later,” Zuko sputters, his cheeks turning the same shade as his robes. “Right now we have to focus on getting the people of our nations to agree with each other.” 

“And children are an important part of doing so,” Advisor Yong explains. “They’ll serve to physically embody the union of the two nations; the sooner you become pregnant, my lady, the quicker we may resolve the issue.” 

“I’m not going to bring a baby into this world just to be a political pawn,” you snap, a bit more harshly than you intend to. “That wouldn’t be fair and I couldn’t do that to my kid.” 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Zuko glance at you with an expression you can’t quite place. You want to reach for him but restrain yourself, feeling strange about showing him any sort of intimacy with an audience. 

“We need to decide what will be done about this portrait before we decide what will be done about heirs,” Iroh agrees. “We should give our lady more time to think on the matter. Could we spare another day?” 

Advisors Yong and Sung look to one another, Advisor Sung nodding his compliance. Advisor Yong also concedes, her tone almost apologetic when she speaks. 

“Another day will be just fine,” she says. “We’ll leave the final decision to you and your husband, my lady. Have Rina bring your instructions to the seamstress when you’re ready.” 

Your stomach flutters manically when you hear the words “your husband”. Advisor Yong has never referred to him as such, only ever calling him “the Firelord”; somehow, coming from her, the title feels much more significant than just the result of an arranged marriage. 

You flop down in the grass beside Zuko, burying your face in the sleeves of your robe. He chuckles, tossing another apple peel to the turtle ducks in the courtyard pond. 

“At least they’re being nice,” he consoles you. “Advisor Yong called me a coward in front of the whole council when I told her I wasn’t sure about getting married. She was right, but it’s hard getting your ass handed to you by someone who looks like a sweet little grandmother.” 

You sigh, rolling over onto your back and tilting your head to look up at him. He gives you a faint, assuring smile, which you can’t help but return. 

“I totally understand why you snapped when we were kids,” you tell him. “I’ve been here less than a month and I already want to go apeshit. Did you know that one of our advisors told me to take my betrothal necklace off the other day? The slimy little bastard waited until you left the room to do it, too! He told me it made me look less like a ‘naturalized Fire Nation woman’, and I told him that anyone who expected me to look like one was either stupid or delusional. And what, we need to have kids right way for the sake of political leverage? That’s horrible! What kind of monster brings a child into the world just to use them their whole life??” 

You draw back when you notice Zuko’s fallen expression. You’ve sat up by this point, and your near-screaming has scared the turtle ducks to the other side of the pond. You feel your heart drop into your gut, wishing you could take the words back. 

“Oh, Zuko,” you breathe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…” 

Zuko shakes his head, closing his eyes and taking a deep, measured breath. You watch his chest rise and fall, his shoulders loosening as he exhales. When he opens his eyes again, he meets yours, the knot between his brows unraveling. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “I know. My father was a monster. And my mother… she just did what she was told. I never realized how much she sacrificed for me until she was gone.” 

You inch closer to him, warily reaching for his hand. He takes it, lacing his fingers with yours and gently tugging you to sit beside him, reclining against the trunk of an ancient maple tree. He leans into you, clutching your hand tightly. 

“Sometimes I wish the worst thing he did to me was use me,” he laments. “Then maybe I wouldn’t have done such awful things to the people who loved me.” 

“Zuko,” you whisper, tightly squeezing his hand, “you’re not your father. Just the fact that you asked me to marry you proves that. You didn’t choose your family based on who would make you powerful. You chose me because you love my siblings, and they love you, and that’s exactly why I agreed to be with you. I never met your father, but I know for a fact that he never knew love like you do; he wouldn’t allow himself to because he thought it was weakness. But you’re so much stronger than he is, and could ever be, because Katara and Sokka, Aang and Toph, and Iroh - all of us are here with you. You allow yourself to show weakness in loving us, which is the bravest thing you could ever do. You are nothing like Ozai.” 

To your surprise, Zuko smirks at you; the corners of his eyes glimmer with the buds of tears, however, and the rest of his features don’t rise to match the expression on his lips. 

“No wonder Uncle likes you so much,” he says. “You sound just like him.” 

You scoff, punching him in the shoulder. He laughs, playfully tossing you over his lap and pinching the soft sides of your stomach, an area he discovered was sensitive by accident one day whilst he was walking you through the palace; you giggle hysterically, trying in vain to fend off the attack. He retreats after a little while, sighing as he cradles you in his arms - your head presses to his chest while his chin rests atop your head, hugging you tightly in a way he hasn’t done before. You wrap yourself around him, arms latching about his waist to hold him just as closely. 

“I won’t let them pressure us,” he assures you. “We’re family, and we have to take care of each other. That’s all I ever want to do for you.” 

You nestle into him, curling your body closer to his while your arms squeeze at his sides. He kisses the crest of your head, a rare display of affection he’s only done a handful of times - it makes you realize that even when you were teenagers, and Sokka started to make serious suggestions about keeping his promise of marrying you after Hakoda left you in his care, he never once made you feel as safe as Zuko does. 

“I hope I wasn't interrupting anything with my invitation,” Iroh greets you when you arrive at his chambers. 

Before your nightly pot of tea with Zuko, a messenger came to your quarters telling you that Iroh wished to see you; when you asked why, the messenger told you that the general wanted to teach you to play Pai Sho. You looked to Zuko quizzically, wondering what was so important about knowing how to play a board game that you needed to be summoned so late in the evening, and he sent you off, assuring you that, knowing Iroh, it was worth taking up the offer. 

“Just Zuko’s tea,” you tell him, “which, if it weren't for his company, I think I'd bail on every night.” 

Iroh chuckles, leading you inside and lowering you onto a cushion on one end of a large Pai Sho table; he takes the other seat, smiling good-naturedly at you. 

“Unfortunately, my nephew has never quite taken to the art of tea brewing,” he says, “no matter how many times I've tried to teach him; I take comfort in the fact that he's much better with a sword than I am, instead.” 

You grin, watching as the old man spreads a set of tiles across the game board. 

“Do you know of the significance of Pai Sho within the royal families of the Fire Nation?” he asks; you shake your head in response. 

“It is traditionally learned as a way of teaching our young leaders to rule with strategy,” he explains. “It is meant to teach a balance between inner passions and outward logic, as well as how to observe one’s peers; those who practice Pai Sho diligently know how to pinpoint an opponent’s weaknesses while understanding and controlling their own, keeping others from using their shortcomings against them.

“Each tile has a meaning,” he continues, “and represents a different positive or negative attribute. They may only move in certain ways, but can change their effect on the game based on how the player chooses to use them within each environment. For example…” 

Iroh goes on to explain each tile and its movements to you, walking you through each element of the game and practicing different tiles with you until you can actually place them in a somewhat skilled way. When you're comfortable, he plays a simple game with you, aiding you in which possibilities cause which consequences and pointing out ways you can better defend your side of the board. You play five games with him in total, never winning but trying as if you stood a chance against such a skilled player as him. 

When you lose the last game, Iroh removes the last tile you played and replaces it with the white lotus - you quirk your brow, wondering why that would be the better move. 

“I thought the white lotus was a weak tile,” you question him. “Why put it up against something as strong as the flame tile?” 

“There are no weak tiles in Pai Sho,” Iroh instructs you, “only ones that are often overlooked. Sometimes we must look at things from a different perspective, you see; manipulate the odds by doing something unorthodox and unexpected. If your opponent cannot anticipate your actions, they cannot overcome you.” 

Iroh removes the white lotus from the board, taking your hand within his and placing it in your open palm. He folds your fingers over it, closing your hand between both of his. 

“Keep this with you,” he says. “It may help you someday.” 

“But won't your board be incomplete?” you ask. 

Iroh chuckles, giving you a mischievous wink that makes you feel almost as if the man is in some way omniscient. 

“I have plenty of others,” he assures you. “It will do much more good in your hands.” 

The next day, you accompany Rina to the seamstress’s workshop, wanting to give her the instructions for your portrait dress yourself. When you tell her this, Rina is clearly confused - she gently attempts to explain to you that it isn’t necessary, that she’s supposed to handle these sorts of things for you, but once you reveal what you have in mind, she shifts completely. 

“The council is going to hate that,” she says. “I think it’s a great idea. I can take you to the seamstress, come with me.” 

When you relay your plans to the seamstress, she’s also shocked - her eyes widen, and she physically backs away from you as if even considering following your orders will get her executed for treason. 

“Are you sure?” she asks. “It isn’t what the Firelady would typically do…” 

“And I’m not a typical Firelady,” you reply, your tone bright and straightforward. “I’ve been asked to do what will create compromise, and this is the best compromise I can think of; I’m simply doing what I’m meant to.” 

The seamstress agrees, but only after you give her your vow that she won’t take any of the blame should the idea backfire (you're in charge, after all, so what can anyone do? She’s just following orders.)

In white fabric, she makes a set of robes for Zuko and a dress for you, each including elements crafted in Fire Nation and Water Tribe tradition. She then takes each set to its own vat of hot water, adding blue dye to one and red dye to the other - she places the pieces in, looking nervously up at you as you approach the twin cauldrons.

“I just want to make one last adjustment,” you tell her. 

Before she can respond, you take a bucket of blue dye and a bucket of red and tip each one into the opposite vat. The garments swirl as if caught in the midst of a tempestuous storm, the dye bleeding into the pristine fabric until it stains a shade of vivid, furious purple. 

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[maskedlady]

things people who haven’t read/studied the homeric poems should know

the iliad isn’t about ten years of war. it’s about fifty-one days from the last year of war. more than nine years have passed since the beginning. neither the recruit of achilles or odysseus nor aulis nor the sacrifice of iphigenia nor the trojan horse and not even achilles’ death feature in it. it actually ends with hector’s burial.

similarly, the odyssey starts during the tenth year of odysseus’ travels, when he leaves the island of the nymph calypso who had kept him there for eight years. while the story of his travels is actually there, it’s a massive flashback that odysseus himself narrates.

odysseus actually only travels circa one year, if you subtract the seven years spent on ogigia, the one year with circe, the various months and bits they camped in other places.

part of the odyssey is actually about odysseus’ son, telemachos, and his quest to find his father. also another part is about odysseus returning to ithaca and killing a bunch of princes who were trying to usurp his throne.

the aeneid is not a homeric poem. it’s styled on the homeric model, but it was written in latin by a roman poet, and the protagonist is technically one of the antagonists from the iliad.

homer never existed.

he isn’t a historical figure, he is a name with a legend attached, to whom these poems are attributed. the poems were written—no, not even written, composed orally by a series of unnamed aoidoi (hm... ministrels?) through the ages.

in fact this is quite obvious when you read the iliad. there are a lot of inconsistencies, like frequent style changes, chapters that have nothing to do with anything else and no influence on the story whatsoever, strange time lapses—at some point it’s midday twice the same day

it is thought that all of these separate fragments were then collected and organized by one person, and this version was then handed down, orally, until the first written edition around 520 b.c.

the mycenean civilization that these poems originate from ended in 1200 b.c. circa

the odyssey was initially part of a whole group of nestoi, aka “return poems”, that were basically the tales of the return of each hero from troy. the odyssey is the only one that remains, though we do know something about the others too from other pieces of greek literature

a warning for the interested. these poems are a pain to read. they are delightful but they are a pain. they were composed orally so they are full of epithets, descriptions, metaphors and similitudes. these acted as fillers to help the aedo of turn reach the length of the verse, make the various characters more recognizable, and also make the poems more comprehensible to the general public, composed mostly of common people who had never actually been in a battle—so battles and duels are often compared to more familiar scenes, like fights between animals.

no i’m not joking

there is one in particular where the screeching army of trojans coming down the hill is compared to cranes migrating over the oceans.

also, the duel between hector and patroclus is one of the “compared to animal fights” scene

when odysseus is about to drown, he talks to his own heart. possibly because it sounds slightly less crazy and more Romantic than just directly talking to oneself.

helen insults paris real often. hector berates him both internally and publicly. in fact everyone insults paris. paris is the local coward and scapegoat. deservedly. i rejoice

everybody loves patroclus. all the kings hate each other but everyone loves him—so much so that they risk their lives over his corpse 

which, mind me, wasn’t something that special in and of itself. it was important to retrieve comrades’ corpses because if the enemy got ahold of your body he’d leave it to rot and be devoured by dogs and crows, which was a huge dishonour (and also possibly barred you from entrance to the afterlife)

so much so that the ancient greek version of “go to hell” is eis korakas, “to the crows” (“may you die, lie unburied, and your body be eaten by crows”)

at some point they hold a truce (possibly several times) so they’ll have the time to collect, burn and bury all the fallen soldiers. 

back to patroclus because i got sidetracked: still. this time it is kind of a big deal because the literal centre of the fighting after patroclus dies is all the major greek heroes playing tug-o-war against hector and his brothers with patroclus’ corpse. the centre of the fighting, people, this is no joke

at some point someone is sent to tell achilles that his lover’s body is in danger so he better get out of your sulk, hurry up and come help the rest of us

achilles going armour-less to the battlefield and screaming for patroclus is enough to send the trojans running.

i am sure that all of you know this but the reason achilles doesn’t have armour is that when hector kills patroclus he takes achilles’ armour, that patroclus was wearing, as spoils of war

so an entire book after that is devoted to hephaestus forging achilles new, better armour so he can actually fight again

look, it is not actually stated that they were lovers, but it’s obvious. in greek culture especially. that was the norm and italian school teachers can get over it and stop omitting it from lessons and school books any time now

odysseus isn’t actually an asshole. sure, a lot of his misadventures were caused by him being too curious and disregarding his comrades’ advice *cough*cyclops*cough* but most of the most destructive events were caused by them disregarding his orders.

“do not kill and eat the sacred cows of apollo! he’d kill us.” guess what they did. guess how it ended 

or when they stopped by eolos’ island. eolos, god of the winds, gave odysseus a flask with all the adverse winds imprisoned inside, leaving free only the one that he needed to take him to ithaca. they got so, so very near, and then odysseus fell asleep and the others opened the thing because they thought there was more treasure inside it, and all the winds came out and blew them halfway across the mediterranean

athena often glamours odysseus to look younger and prettier or older and then again younger. it’s amazing because he always looks either like an old beggar (for camouflage) or like a young and handsome man.

do some maths. at the beginning of the war he must’ve been at least twenty. + ten years of war. + ten years of travel. at the end of the odyssey he is at least forty. by ancient standards that was not young.

odysseus’ whole voyage is basically a pissing contest between poseidon and athena. actually between poseidon and the rest of the gods. poseidon hates him and all the other gods take turns helping him.

odysseus is not an asshole, but the greeks probably considered him a shitty character, because he was clever, shrewd, and the only survivor of his community. the greeks really insisted on the concept of community, the individual doesn’t have worth in and of themself but as a part of society. this is particularly evident when he gets to the cyclops, who are the very antithesis of the greek man, described as uncivilized and living in isolation without assemblies or laws. a lot of emphasis is put on the fact that they live outside of a community.

alternatively, the difference between the iliad and the odyssey (and their respective heroes) signifies the change in greek culture, from the warrior myceneans to commerce and voyage: odysseus represents the victory of intelligence over force, and his qualities are the characteristics, for example, of a merchant

i should perhaps point out that the odyssey was composed much later than the iliad, which is also the reason it has a more complex structure (begins with the gods + telemachos’ quest, we first see odysseus on ogigia, then he recounts his whole voyage in a long flashback triggered by a bard at a feast singing about the trojan war)

oh look i got sidetracked again

back to the trivia!

do not be fooled by madeline miller. patroclus was indeed a warrior, and a very good one at that. and briseis was indeed achilles’ lover, and loved him (that is explicitly stated).

odysseus might have loved penelope but that does not mean he did not sleep around with every woman he met

circe. calypso (by whom he is imprisoned for seven years). and nausicaa princess of the phaeacians falls in love with him. this is engineered by athena 

i don’t think he actually sleeps with her but athena does make him look younger and prettier so she’ll be smitten and welcome him at the palace and give him a bunch of gifts and eventually a ship to take him back to ithaca

in the poem named after him, his own poem, odysseus is always the stranger, the guest, or the beggar.

or all three.

or all three, but it’s a lie and he’s actually at home, the king returned.

despite the iliad being about one and a half months and the odyssey being more than a year + more time taken up by other characters, the iliad is about one and a half times the odyssey.

more to come (maybe)

#if i can think of anything else #eden rambles #iliad #odyssey #homer #this is half actual stuff i learned in class half things i find funny

[hklunethewriter]

But seriously, why do I never hear about Irene Iddesleigh around the Internet? It’s practically The Room of late Victorian literature! I have to tell y'all about this book. See here:

Got published because Amanda McKittrick Ros’s (the author’s) doting husband paid for it, but not for the “I want to have more control over publication/don’t need the traditional system” reasons—no, she simply thought her writing was too amazing for that

Mark Twain called it “one of the greatest unintentionally humorous novels of our time”

C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien would deadass have reading parties where whoever could go the longest without laughing won

“Hope is like a shimmering oaken ship on the turbulent seas of discord, fear, and impertinence, cast by the hollow winds of despair. The sun’s rays of goodness and victory tumble down from the heavens, but lo! The clouds of uncertainty beat them back as though"—ALMOST EVERY PARAGRAPH IS LIKE THIS. Metaphors and similes and alliterations and melodrama is the entire book.

a humorist from that era named Barry Pain (lmao) called it the book of the century. At first he found it funny, but then apparently he “shrank before it in tears and terror”

When Ros read what Pain said, she called him a “clay crab of corruption” and then claimed he did it because he was secretly in love with her (my gosh. her mind)

And for all that, it’s not even just the outrageously

🌌 purple prose 🌌

that’s the whole issue here. The plot is basically just

Act I: I’m going to willingly marry a man I hate, and I hate him because he isn’t my secret lover >:(

Act II: I hate him even more each day but we have a kid, oh and I’m having an emotional affair with my secret lover

Act III: husband discovers affair and locked me in a “cursed” room for a year (Charlotte Brontë is literally shaking) but I escape to America with my lover. Huh? I have a child? Never heard of him

Act IV: I somehow legally marry my lover in America and will live there the next fifteen years, but whoops! Suddenly he’s super bad with money and also a drunk and abuser and hits me and then dies by suicide

Act V: I go back to England. Nobody recognizes me even though I’m, like, 35, but they all hate my guts and love my dead husband. My son got the whole story from his dad and hates me the most. I’m sad. I walk to a cottage my lover used to use and literally drop dead. The end

So if you’re looking for something ridiculous to read and be entertained by, I can heartily recommend Irene Iddesleigh. It’s about 100 pages, so it isn’t a slog (somehow)—I read it in an afternoon. You can read it storybook style here or find it over at Project Gutenberg. It’s what Tolkien and Lewis would want.

In case you aren’t convinced yet, though, allow me to show you.

Until now he was inclined to be prejudiced against the snares and allurements of women, but he strongly resolved to try gradually and abandon every unkind thought harboured in his mind against them, fearing lest all his conjured imaginations were both unjust and selfish; and determined to drown them for ever in the clashing gulf of fate, felt a prouder and happier mortal than before.

But time would solve the problem and heal the wound which penetrated so deeply his bosom. Yea, a short time he hoped would bring his creeping fever of endearment under the binding stay of appointed authority, and heal its weakening effects with the sacred salve of truth.

Aka “my long-worn misogyny has just been reversed by a pretty woman”

Great

Chapter IV: When on the eve of glory, whilst brooding over the prospects of a bright and happy future, whilst meditating upon the risky right of justice, there we remain, wanderers on the cloudy surface of mental woe, disappointment and danger, inhabitants of the grim sphere of anticipated imagery, partakers of the poisonous dregs of concocted injustice. Yet such is life.

Chapter VIII: A word of warning tends to great advantage when issued reverently from the lips of the estimable. It serves to allay the danger pending on reticence, and substantiates in a measure the confidence which has hitherto existed between the parties concerned. Again, a judicious advice, extended to the stubborn and self-willed, proves futile, and incurs the further malice and fiery indignation of the regardless, the reckless, and the uncharitable.

Chapter XIII: It is astounding to view the smallest article through a magnifying glass; how large and lustrous an atom of silver appears; how fat and fair the withered finger seems; how monstrously mighty an orange; how immeasurably great the football of youth; but these are as nought when the naked eye beholds the boulder of barred strength—a mountain of mystery.

Every chapter has a paragraph like this. I won’t spoil them for you.

Such is life.

“My dearest and much beloved, I assure you your remarks have astounded me not a little! Your words sting like a wasp, though, I am quite convinced, unintentionally. You are well aware that within a short period I will be marked  out publicly as mistress of Dunfern mansion—an honour revered in every respect by me; an honour to which I at one time dare never aspire; an honour coveted by many much more worthy than I, whose parentage is as yet bathed in the ocean of oblivious ostentation, until some future day, when I trust it shall stand out boldly upon the brink of disclosure to dry its saturated form and watery wear with the heat of equality. You are about to place me in a position which cannot fail to wring from jealousy and covetousness their flaming torch of abuse. Yes, Sir John, on me you have not ceased to lavish every available treasure and token of your unbounded love. You have been  to me not only a loyal admirer, but a thoroughly upright and estimable example of life’s purest treasures. You have resolved to place me by your side as your equal, whilst wealth in boundless store is thirsting for your touch. You have elevated my unknown position to such a pitch as to defy taunt or jeer, and at any time if I may have, seemingly, ignored your advances, it was purely want of thought, and not through any underhand motive or scheme whatever.

“I assure you your allusion to my verbal answer last night is very pronounced, and may be overlooked on the ground of pure disappointment. Our time of singleness  is now short, and begging your forgiveness for my seeming neglect or indifference, I hope the tide, which until now has flown so gently, may not be stayed on the eve of entering the harbour of harmony, peace, and love.”

At the commencement of Irene’s answer of lavishing praises and flimsy apologies, her affianced moved to the opposite corner of the rustic building to scan the features of her he wholly worshipped and reluctantly doubted. Every sentence the able and beautiful girl uttered caused Sir John to shift his apparently uncomfortable person nearer and nearer, watching at the same time minutely the divine picture  of innocence, until at last, when her reply was ended, he found himself, altogether unconsciously, clasping her to his bosom, whilst the ruby rims which so recently proclaimed accusations and innocence met with unearthly sweetness, chasing every fault over the hills of doubt, until hidden in the hollow of immediate hate.

Ros is so close to being self-aware at the start of the last paragraph here, but then it’s lost in the same circular language found throughout. Ah, well.

#reading #books #Irene Iddesleigh #booklr #bookblr

[fremedon]

Brickclub 1.5.3-1.5.5 (but mostly “Vague Glimmerings on the Horizon”

I didn’t have anything to say that hadn’t been said about either of the last two chapters. I know originality is not the point of this readalong and I’m trying to get better at posting even when I have nothing new to add. So let’s talk about Javert!

First, though, let’s detour and talk about Valjean, who embodies the bishop’s ideal mayor from all the way back in 1.1.3: “He ended disagreements, prevented lawsuits, reconciled enemies. Everyone recognized his authority as judge.” Earlier in the same paragraph, we are told “there came a time around 1821 when the words ‘monsieur le maire’ were uttered at Montreuil-sur-mer with almost the same expression as the words ‘Monseigneur l’évêque’ had been uttered at Digne in 1815.” And yet he seems to have had as little moral influence as the bishop—despite all his homespun wisdom about nettles, and all the people flocking to M-s-m to consult him, there are very few people following his example, and those few, like the sanctimonious deputy, are doing so out of ambition and competition.

And then we meet the one man who has still resisted this “contagion of respect” that had infected the whole area: Enter Javert.

We get a great physical description, and also a kind of puzzling one, about having the air of authority without baseness—given what else we know about Javert, how does he escape the baseness? He is a CRIME BABY, A BABY MADE OF CRIME (thank you Mellow, that will never stop being funny). Baseness is what he’s got to work with.

Aaaand we get a ton of furry imagery, more than with any other character. He’s called a tiger, once—possibly the only negative cat reference in the book—but for the most part, he’s associated with canids: mastiff, fox-man, dog-man, and, most notably and chillingly, the dog son of a wolf, who if not killed by its mother will grow up to eat the rest of her young.

I’m really fascinated this time through by just how much of the language used about Javert in his introduction is going to be echoed in other characters. Even this image of the dog-child-of-a-wolf will be used again—by Éponine, of herself, in the standoff outside the Rue Plumet house. There was a good conversation about Javert and Éponine’s parallels on the Discord recently—including the fact that they switch deaths; Javert gets the self-drowning foreshadowed for Éponine and she gets shot at the barricade as he was supposed to.

I’m going to keep coming back to that, and to the idea that Javert’s story, or his fate, has gone wrong—has been derailed* long before he is, or allows himself to become, aware of it. And almost from Javert’s first page, he and Éponine are yoked by this image of a story that went wrong even before birth: the dog son of a wolf, permanently shut out from its own society, at odds with its parent, locked in a death struggle with its siblings.

That metaphor makes a fascinating frame for Éponine’s zero-sum game with Cosette—and for the idea we were talking about, about how a loving foster family would certainly have shared her fortune. Javert, we are told, “Would have arrested his father for escaping from prison and denounced his mother for contravening the terms of her release from jail”—but he only does this metaphorically, by proxy. Éponine will very literally turn on her own parents to guard society in the form of Cosette and her happiness.  

(*Oh, and look, the derailment imagery is here too: “He had introduced a straight line into what is most tortuous in the world.”)

The other character the language of his introduction evokes is Enjolras, for whom he will be set up as an actual opponent. Javert “is a spy as other men are priests.” Enjolras, of course, is the other character who gets the priest imagery, starting in 3.4.1 with his “priest of the ideal” and his variously translated “pontifical et guerier” nature.

In the same paragraph, we are told that Javert had “an understanding of the police like the Spartans’ understanding of Sparta”; in “How Jean Can Become Champ,” we get Spartan and priest juxtaposed and the juxtaposition called out: “this bizarre composite of Roman, Spartan, monk, and corporal, this spy who could not lie, this virgin snitch. ”

Enjolras is also the other character (with a couple exceptions, which I’ll come back to) who gets the Spartan references. Moving from Donougher to Rose, which I have in a searchable ebook: “Enjolras, we know, had something of the Spartan and the Puritan” in 4.12.3; and in 5.1.17, “Enjolras gravely ruled over [the barricade] in the attitude of a young Spartan dedicating his naked blade to the dark genius Epidotas.”

Given (a) the Corinthe and (b) everything, classical references are another thing that are almost always significant in this book. And aside from a few uses of lowercase ‘spartan’ to mean ‘spare’ or ‘frugal,’ there are a few other references to Sparta, all quite late in the book:

5.1.2, talking of real and fictional insurgents: “They were in the early hours of that spartan day of June 6 when, in the Saint-Merry barricade, Jeanne, surrounded by insurgents wanting bread, answered all the combatants clamouring for “Something to eat!” with, “What for? It’s three o’clock. At four, we’ll be dead.”

5.1.12, talking of the National Guard: “ Blood was lyrically shed for the good of the cash register; and the shop, that vast diminutive of the homeland, was defended with Spartan gusto.”

5.1.20, insurgents again, doomed ones this time: “They are but few; they have a whole army arrayed against them; but they are defending right, the law of nature, justice, truth, the sovereignty of each man over himself, from which no abdication is possible; and, if need be, they will die like the three hundred Spartans. It is not Don Quixote they have in mind, but Leonidas. And they forge ahead and, once they are committed, there is no going back, so they rush headlong, hoping for an unheard-of victory—complete revolution, unbridled progress, the betterment of the human race, universal deliverance; and, if the worst comes to the worst, Thermopylae.”

And then, 5.2.1, “The Intestine of Leviathan,” on our first introduction to the book’s real main character or at least its most important metaphor: "For we must flatter no one and nothing, not even a great people; wherever nothing is lacking, ignominy sits next to sublimeness; and if Paris contains Athens, the city of light, Tyre, the city of power, Sparta, the city of virtue, Nineveh, the city of wonder, it also contains Lutetia, the city of slime.”

To be Spartan, then, is not only to be virtuous, but to defend virtue—however constructed, even the bourgeois virtue of the National Guard—with one’s own life.

Other Observations: “A good social education can always elicit from any soul whatsoever the usefulness it contains.” Well that’s a damning comment on the dirtbag students.

#brickclub #lm 1.5.3 #lm 1.5.4 #lm 1.5.5 #and I'm #JAVERT

[dokidokivisual]

Gochiusa BLOOM episode 8 impressions

Previously: 7 - 6 - 5 - 4 - 3 - 2 - 1

Here we go, the long awaited Rize episode is upon us. She’s been rather sidelined this season, aside from maybe the marathon episode with Chiya. But now it’s finally her time to shine!

I didn’t have much time to write this review, due to various circumstances, but I hope it’s still worth reading.

The episode opens with Rize waking up Cocoa while imitating Chino’s voice and manners, such as calling her Cocoa-san. This scene is reminiscent of the post-credits scene from season 1 episode 12, although it has been implied Chino wakes up Cocoa all the time. The rabbit Cocoa sleeps with has been given to her by Chino at the end of Dear My Sister OVA, but it was Rize who helped Chino make it.

Rize had a fight with her father about her wanting to become an elementary school teacher, and stayed over at Rabbit House. She seems to think neither her father nor even Cocoa and Chino take her seriously. To be fair, it kind of comes out of a left field. The justification for it (which is revealed later) is also rather silly, as Chimame aren’t even elementary schoolers. It’s interesting to see if the manga will ever get to the point where Rize is teaching a class because I don’t think there have been any elementary schools introduced yet or any character who attends or teaches in one.

Rize herself also has some doubts about it, since she worries she will come out as too strict (and called a ”demon sergeant”, which is a callback to Dear My Sister where she took command over Chimame-tai), although Rize has become considerably more gentle since the events of DMS. Cocoa volunteers to become Rize’s teacher to show her how it’s done, but ends up making Rize do all the work while she just lazes about.

By the way, the book Cocoa is reading in this scene is called “Caffeine Fighter” which was mentioned before as one of Aoyama’s works based on Sharo, and this is the first time we see (although in very low resolution) what the lead character is supposed to look like.

Chino takes over the job, although it seems she just wants help with her homework (the book is labeled as “Mathematics, 3rd grade of middle school” and this particular lesson concerns the quadratic function and its graph). Rize uses her rabbit stamp on Cocoa and then on Chino for solving their tasks, and finds out that it’s a very good motivation.

One thing that western viewers might overlook is the prevalence of stamps in the Japanese daily life. Instead of signing legally binding documents, you’re supposed to stamp it with an officially registered personal seal called hanko. Things like stamp rallies are popular and you can often get a visitor stamp in various temples and train stations. So the fact that Rize carries a stamp with herself at all times is not at all unusual.

Next, Rize’s signature dish, napolitan pasta, makes an appearance. In the episode 6 review I lamented that Rize’s pasta never showed up, but now we can finally see what it’s all about. By the way, despite its name, this dish is actually Japanese in origin, and was inspired by American military rations, which makes it quite fitting for Rize. Cocoa uses the Italian word buono to describe the pasta, which means “good”.

During the bathtime, the stamps easily wash off, so Rize gives Cocoa and Chino stamp cards, just like to Chiya in episode 5. Not aware of this, Cocoa and Chino think this signifies their special bond. However shortly after, Cocoa boasts about it to Chiya at school, and realizes that not only Chiya has it, but also Maya and Megu. In the manga Cocoa and Chino confront Rize about it directly after, but the anime sandwiches another chapter in between.

Like I mentioned in the episode preview, chapters 2 and 7 from the volume 6 of the manga share a similar theme of studying, so it’s not surprising they were unified into one episode. Interestingly the chapter 7 is titled “Sweet Skip Step” which shares with the title of the episode “Stamp, Sleep, Study, Smile” the pattern of words starting with the Japanese syllable ‘su’. Another episode sharing this property is season 2 episode 8 titled “Sneaking Stalking Stalker Story”.

This second part of the episode is more Chimame-focused, and brings up the concept of juku, or “cram school”, which are very widespread in Japan. This is a small private school that students visit after their public school classes in preparation for the exams. Of course the way it’s portrayed in the episode is just regular tutoring, so you wouldn’t know the difference.

Anyway, Cocoa has opened a juku in Rabbit House and is now sporting lab coat and glasses look. Megu attends the “school” and we learn that the reason why she wants to go to Rize’s school is because her mother went there too. Cocoa asks if that’s really her own decision, and we later learn Megu isn’t really sure about that. Immediately after, Megu’s phone rings notifying her that she needs to “transfer to another classroom”, and Rize’s comment implies that Cocoa hasn’t really even started teaching yet. In the manga there’s a 1 hour gap between the Cocoa/Megu conversation and her going to another class, and Megu thanks Cocoa for her lesson.

The next class is Japanese literature taught by Chiya (she calls it 国語 “national language” which implies that the show is really set in Japan, or at least a Japanese-speaking country). Megu is impressed by how seriously Chino takes her studies, and how she strives to excel both in school and at her job just like Chiya and other high school characters (it was previously mentioned that Chino’s grades aren’t very good). However Chiya gets distracted and decides to spy on Sharo, who is teaching Maya at the time. It seems Sharo’s house isn’t very soundproof at all and they easily get discovered.

Maya isn’t sure about being able to pass the scholarship student exam and asked Sharo to help her, as Sharo has also passed this exam in the past. Sharo is eating some strange foodstuff that I thought was onigiri, but looks more like a cookie wrapped in nori for some reason.

Anyway, Chimame get invited by Rize to “onsen pool” but they think Rize is going to scold them for not taking their studies seriously. Meanwhile Rize’s dad is calling Takahiro to make him convince Rize to come back. Apparently during the war, Takahiro’s skill was persuasion, while Rize’s dad’s special technique was rushing into action like Leeroy Jenkins.

The “onsen pool” which previously appeared twice in season 1 is largely based on hot spring baths of Budapest, which I had visited last year. This scene is used to develop Megu’s character, specifically her insecurities and sense of inferiority towards Chino and Maya. It doesn’t help that Maya and Chino are jealous of her body and call her fat. Then, Maya and Chino decide to compete in swimming, suggested by Chino, who in the manga almost drowned during a hiking trip and that was her motivation to get better at swimming. In the anime (season 2 episode 11) she didn’t really drown so she just says she likes swimming now for some reason.

Anyway, Megu can’t keep up with them (both metaphorically and literally) and this time drowns even in the anime adaptation. However this scene was also altered from the manga, in the manga it’s implied that Maya and Chino drag her out while Rize comes too late and Maya calls her slow. But in anime, Rize is the one who saves Megu and is roundly praised by Chimame-tai.

The next scene parallels the one from season 1 episode 10 where Chimame-tai name was officially established, after Rize outruns them to Rabbit House. This time Chimame already got used to the name (which means something like “blood blister” in Japanese), so they’re ok with being called this forever if they win.

When Rize comes back, Cocoa (who held a grudge for so long that you might’ve forgotten about it with how fast-paced this episode is) kabedons Rize and asks for explanation for the whole stamp card business. However it turns out to be just a prank and an excuse for Rize to have a home cooked dinner with everyone. Rize’s accomplishments in previous episodes are also brought up, and she gets another round of praise. And then everyone gets lots of stamps.

Rize gets a stamp too when she’s asleep. This scene was in general modified quite heavily compared to the manga, to better fit with the rest of the episode I guess. One scene that was cut was Cocoa and Chino discovering Rize’s notes about their food preferences and regular guests of Rabbit House. Also, the phone conversation between Rize’s dad and Takahiro was the last panel in this chapter so Rize’s situation with her dad was never resolved.

The anime adaptation does provide a resolution in the form of a cinematic car scene with a tense dialogue between Rize and her father. Cars are very rare in Gochiusa universe and the last time we saw one (season 2 episode 10) it also belonged to Rize’s family. Rize’s father is driving an Audi R8 with plate number TO-526, which might refer to his voice actor Touchi Hiroki who was born on May 26.

The car eventually stops on the bridge, which is basically a metaphor for reconciliation (i.e. “building bridges”) and the color scheme changes from red to blue, as Rize’s father eventually apologises to her and Rize gives him a stamp of approval. And so concludes the 8th episode of Gochiusa BLOOM, which finally gave Rize the recognition she deserves. I guess we’ll see if she can reach her goal of becoming a teacher in the future manga chapters. And there’s still four more BLOOM episodes to watch!

#gochiusa #gochuumon wa usagi desu ka? #is the order a rabbit? #review

[kitkat404]

Hey, I really liked your newest watt fic! For the writer wip asks, how about 💙💛 and uhh, 💘 if you're cool with it! Hope you have a good day! :D

Omg thank you❣️ Ok, let’s do this.

💙 how has the idea changed between starting it and where it is now?

Honestly when I started writing the first chapter, I had no idea where I wanted to take the story. It was a vague idea in my head with a few key plot points and a basic shape for the ending. It has developed so much since then, with so many little details that help push the characters and the plot forward.

💛 what is the title based on?

The title is actually completely original. I came up with it shortly after I first started drafting. The basic frame is that the buzzed brain is Farrah, whose drunk, and someone, probably Annleigh or Clark, is calling out to her to pull her back from all the alcohol before she can drown herself ( in the metaphorical sense, she’s not literally drowning in alcohol). I wrote a small poem off of the title because I liked the flow of it so much.

💘 give us a huge spoiler?

It gets gay ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

No but in actuality we get some good old fashioned Cheer Wives thrown in the mix 🧡🖤 I love my angst girls.

Thanks for the asks Ari, have a great day!💜

[here4theheartbreak]

AO3 Link Here

Relationships: Lee Taemin x Park Jimin, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung, Choi Minho x Kim Taehyung x Lee Taemin x Park Jimin (V3Min) Rating: Explicit

Genres: angst, smut Tags: smut, angst, fake dating, jealousy, pining, friends with benefits, getting together, bottom Taemin, switch Jimin, top Taehyung, top Minho

Summary: Minho has been in love with his best friend since forever. But Taemin was determined to be unattached... Until suddenly he wasn't. Taehyung spent his entire life pining after happiness with his best friend, only to have it ripped away when Jimin finds someone else. The rational response? Hatch a plan to make their respective crushes jealous. The part where they fell in love with each other, however, wasn't part of the plan. 

Chapter Word Count: ~5.1k

“My father is literally trying to murder me.”

Minho didn’t bother to bite back his grin as soon as he entered the salon. He crossed the room as the handsome hairstylist whined and stomped one foot.

“You know, they say that a haircut is similar to going to a bar,” Minho commented as he took a seat.

“What?”

He lifted his chin to allow the cape to nestle against his throat. “The patrons dump their worries onto the stylist the same as they would a bartender. It’s cheap therapy. The bartender – and stylist – aren’t supposed to do things the other way around.”

Minho met Taemin’s gaze in the mirror, smirking at his pout.

“I’m having a crisis, hyung,” Taemin whined. Minho sighed patiently.

“Fine. Your father is metaphorically trying to murder you – I strongly doubt he’s intending to physically kill his youngest. Why do you think he’s out to get you?”

Taemin’s pout increased, making him look years younger than he actually was.

“He wants to arrange a marriage. Who even does that anymore?”

“Well, I mean quite a few families? It’s not like you have to marry the person he introduces you to.”

Taemin snorted, picking up his comb and spraying Minho’s hair lightly. “He all but threatened to cut me off and kick me out if I didn’t. Which is why I say, he’s out to get me.”

“Who’s the person, do you know?”

“Her name is Park Jisoo.”

“Oh, I know of that family. They’re pretty wealthy.”

“So my father said. I don’t care though. I don’t want to marry anyone, I’m happy how I am and I don’t wanna be tied down. If he’s so keen on me getting hitched, I might as well marry you.”

Minho snorted. “That’s never gonna happen.”

Taemin pouted again. “Why are you laughing?”

“Look, you and I might have fun in bed, but you said it yourself. You don’t want to be tied down. If you married me I’d drive you nuts. And either way, your dad is trying to set you up with a girl because he hates that you’re interested in men at all. Marrying me would set both of our fathers off.”

“It’d be fun to watch their heads explode though, wouldn’t it? Remember the first time your dad caught us kissing in the pool?”

“I thought mine was going to drown us both. I’ve never seen his face get so red. But to be fair… We were kids.”

“We were teenagers. All of our straight friends were already making out with their girlfriends in the broom closets.”

Minho chuckled. “Point made. Maybe she won’t be so bad. Everyone knows you’re a natural charmer, you’ll win her over in no time. You just have to make it clear you have boundaries and the marriage is a professional thing only.”

“That’s not fair to her.”

Minho smiled patiently. He watched Taemin through the mirror as he shaped the cut he knew Minho preferred, his brows furrowed in concentration. He’d known the man since Taemin was born, nearly – they’d grown up side by side in their apartment complex otherwise filled with teens and adults. Though there was an age gap, Minho adored Taemin, more than his same age friends most of the time. When Taemin realized at puberty that he might not be entirely into girls, it was natural for him to come to Minho… And to subsequently experiment with him.

Minho knew he was Taemin’s safety and friend… But not more.

Taemin had a reputation around their city as a bit of a player. People always came and went from his bed, and they had since he was barely legal. Minho was a constant, but the idea of being something more… It was a fantasy. Minho knew that, and resigned himself to what he was given. He loved Taemin in every way possible, and his happiness was what mattered. Minho honestly didn’t believe Taemin would ever find someone to settle down with – he was just too… Lee Taemin. Bouncing from person to person, content with a few nights of fun before moving on. It worked for them. Taemin never tired of Minho.

“So, when do you start shooting for your new role?” Taemin asked, breaking Minho’s inner dialogue.

“Hm? Oh, next week.”

“Do you need to leave Seoul for it?”

Minho grunted an affirmative. “Yeah, a month in Andong.”

“Ooh, it’s pretty there,” Taemin commented. He leaned down, resting his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “Pack me in your suitcase and take me with you.”

Minho beamed, pushing Taemin’s head playfully. “I wish. I don’t know any of the actors. There’s some rookie too, heard he thinks he’s hot shit.”

Taemin wrinkled his nose. “Gross.”

“I mean, he might be. I got that reputation too when I was new because I was good. I’ll give him a shot, but…” He shrugged the shoulder Taemin wasn’t perched on. “I’ll miss you.”

“Wanna hang out tonight?” Taemin smirked, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “Have a little fun?”

Minho chuckled. “Where’s Sehyoon?”

“Ah,” Taemin straightened up, angling his comb back to Minho’s hair. “You know how it is, easy come, easy go.”

“Dumped him, didn’t you?”

“Mutual separation. He wanted more, you know me.”

“He was cute.”

“He’s single.”

Minho snorted. “Not a chance. I’m not even dating you and I’ve got my hands full.”

Taemin smacked the back of Minho’s head with the comb. “I have scissors.”

Minho winced, rubbing the spot. “Such a brat.”

Taemin beamed at that, his entire face lighting up as he did. Minho couldn’t help but smile, his heart doing an all too familiar two step beat against his ribs. He knew he’d never end up with Taemin… But it didn’t stop him from secretly wanting to.

***

Minho bowed politely to Taemin’s father when he opened the door, not bothering to hide his smirk. “Good evening, Sir. Is Taemin in?”

“Not for the likes of you.”

Though Taemin’s father tolerated Minho to some degree, he was no fool about what went on between the two.

“I heard you intend to arrange a meeting for Taemin with the Park girl. She is quite beautiful.”

Taemin’s father straightened a little, scowling. “Her family is powerful. And she has the firm hand the boy needs.”

“Well, he does like a firm hand,” Minho bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the subtle widening of Taemin’s father’s eyes. “I mean… He certainly needs it to keep in line, correct?”

“Hm.”

“He discussed it with me today. He’s quite nervous. Wondered if I could come over before my trip and relax him, get him energized to meet his potential bride to be. That’s why I’m here.’ Minho planted his most sweet smile, letting his head tilt just a bit. “Nothing scandalous.”

Taemin’s father’s eyes narrowed. “Hm… He’s in his room, playing that damned music too loud.” He stepped aside, allowing Minho in. “For a boy his age, he certainly acts like a child. You’re older than him, shouldn’t you be a better influence?”

Minho smiled and bowed as he stepped out of his sneakers. “Ah, you know your son better than anyone, Mr. Lee. He’s as stubborn as a mule. It’s an admirable trait, even if it drives us all a bit insane. It’ll come in handy in business.”

“I suppose you’re right. Go. Go, leave the door open a crack. I know how your kind is.”

Minho nodded and jogged up the stairs, rapping on Taemin’s door before opening it and slipping through. He shut it firmly, kicking Taemin’s makeshift doorstop under it to effectively lock it.

Taemin was stretched out on his bed in a pair of shredded jeans, showing more skin than they were covering. He was flipping through a magazine, and glanced up when Minho entered.

“You came.”

“Not yet, but I intend to.”

Taemin smirked, sitting up and tossing the magazine aside. “Well come on then.” He leaned back on his hands, shifting to show off the curve of his body. Minho sighed deeply, letting his gaze roam over Taemin. He stripped off his hoodie and t-shirt, crawling up Taemin’s legs.

“You’re a tease,” he scolded without venom when their noses brushed. Taemin smirked.

“It’s only teasing if I don’t come through with it.” He slid his palm down Minho’s chest, cupping his crotch and giving a playful squeeze that had Minho’s eyelids fluttering. “And you know I always come through.”

“Oh, I do.” Minho brushed his lips over Taemin’s neck. “How are you feeling it today?”

Taemin laid back, looking up at Minho. “Hm. Not too rough… But don’t go easy on me either.”

“Deal… Do you still have my bag?”

Taemin nodded, then jutted his chin toward his closet. “Floor, left side… What do you need from it?” His lips curved up into a smirk.

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” Minho winked and wiggled off the bed, heading over to the closet. He dug around a bit before rising, turning back to the bed.

Taemin’s grin was irrationally bright given the handful of items Minho had. He held a heavy black rope and a bottle of lube, as well as a thin strip of flat wood like an unmarked ruler, and a sturdy rubber ring. He crawled back onto the bed, placing all the items but the rope onto the stand.

“Arms up.”

Taemin obeyed, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. He wet his lips, glancing up as Minho tied his arms together with the rope, then wound it through the rungs of the bedframe.

“I love when you’re like this,” Taemin whispered, nudging Minho’s arm with his cheek.

“Like what?”

“Bossy. Firm.”

“You need it,” Minho said, tugging the rope firmly. He grabbed Taemin’s jaw in a firm grip, squeezing just enough to pinch. “You’re a little shit. Always talking back and mouthing off to your elders. You’re lucky I do this instead of beating your ass.”

Taemin smirked. “I suck your cock too good for you to really be mad at any of that.”

Minho leaned forward, brushing his mouth against Taemin’s. “Says you.” He shoved his head back hard enough that Taemin bumped it against the wood frame, grimacing. He grinned broadly when Minho scooted down, tugging his belt off. He twisted his hips, helping Minho as much as he could to pull of his jeans. Minho swore.

“You know, if these weren’t so skintight…”

“Everyone would be disappointed,” Taemin snarked.

“I’d probably already be playing with your dick,” Minho said, finally yanking the denim down his slender legs. He tossed it off the bed and grabbed the base of Taemin’s foot firmly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t—” Taemin warned, his own eyes widening. Minho scraped his nail along the arch of Taemin’s foot, chuckling when he squeaked and began to writhe.

“Don’t,” he whined.

“You gonna be good? Or keep being a little brat?” Minho tickled him again.

“I’ll be good!” Taemin promised. Minho freed his foot, grabbed his boxers instead and yanking them off.

He pushed his legs open, sliding his hands over the smooth skin of his thighs. “You’re so ridiculously beautiful.”

“You don’t need to flirt,” Taemin said with a bright laugh, “I’ve been giving you my ass since we were teenagers.”

Minho smiled, but the words cut more deeply than Taemin would ever realize. It may have been true; they’d taken one another’s virginities, but Minho wished beyond all else that one day his praises and compliments and teasing suggestions would be seen as more… As a viable option for Taemin. But it just wasn’t in the cards. So he hid the hurt behind grins and playful flirtations, opting instead to be everything Taemin wanted.

He pushed his legs open a little further, the glint of something metallic catching his eye.

“Oh—”

“Found my surprise.” Taemin twisted his hips, spreading his legs wide to reveal a sturdy silver anal plug nestled in his ass. “I got myself ready for you.  I know how worked up we get… Thought this could make it… Kinda fun.”

“You… You are perfect,” Minho whispered. He moved up, grabbing the thin wooden paddle. He smacked it on his own hand, ignoring the tickling sting in favor of watching the way Taemin’s eyes dilated, his lips parting. Almost tickle soft, he brushed the edge of the paddle along the curve of Taemin’s muscle, watching it tense and relax. The first time he’d discovered Taemin had this kink it had been an accident. They’d been making out and Taemin, per his usual teasing attitude, had risen to walk off, earning a sharp swat on his bare ass. Their relationship escalated naturally afterward, each learning the other’s secret kinks and preferences. Despite the number of people Taemin slept with, Minho was the only one he relaxed like this with.

The first crack of the wood on his thigh landed on a quiet beat of the music. Taemin’s moan broke into a giggle. “Shh… My Dad’s gonna hear.”

“He can’t get in,” Minho said simply, smacking the other side just as hard. Taemin gasped, moaning softly. Minho alternated his smacks between the inner thighs and outer thighs, pausing every few strikes to massage the welted skin. He let a blow land lightly on Taemin’s stomach, just a few centimeter’s away from his cock, just enough to startle.

Taemin whined, his hips twitching up.

“Ohh… You liked that,” Minho said simply, a teasing lit in his tone. Taemin nodded, his eyes fluttering open.

“Again.”

“You don’t to be the boss,” Minho warned. He swatted Taemin’s exposed forearm with some force, watching the smooth skin redden and welt. “Try that again. Politely.”

Taemin bared his teeth, eyes narrowing. “Hit me again.”

Minho swatted his other forearm, giving it a matching welt.

“Somewhere else,” Taemin growled. Minho dropped the paddle and slapped Taemin across the cheek. He gasped, blinking tears from his eyes. Minho smirked, grabbing his chin again and yanking him forward as much as his bound arms would allow. He crawled up, going almost nose to nose with him.

“Don’t. Be. A. Brat.”

“Why not?” Taemin breathed. “You fucking love it. I can see how hard your cock is already.” He jerked his hips up, emphasizing his point. Minho squeezed harder.

“I’ll only fuck you if you be a good boy for me, Taemin. Can you do that?”

“That’s no fun. Plus… You wanna come too.”

“There are other ways to come.” He slid his thumb over Taemin’s plush bottom lip, pushing it into his mouth and pressing down on his tongue. “I do have the gag.”

Taemin’s eyes fluttered for a moment, and Minho knew he was affecting him.

“Would you like me to get that, baby?” He threatened, his tone measured and even. “Fuck your pretty mouth and not let you come for me?”

Taemin shook his head as well as he could with Minho’s firm grip. “I’ll try to be good.”

“Good boy.” Minho let go of his face and kissed him hard.

He pulled back and grabbed the rubber ring, reaching down to stroke Taemin’s cock a few times. “Remember… You don’t come until I say you can, brat.”

Taemin hissed as Minho slid the ring on, settling it against the base of his cock. He reached lower and grabbed the plug, tugging it. It caught for a moment then slid out, a dribble of lube following.

Minho swore under his breath, sliding two fingers into Taemin. He wiggled.

“Don’t, please, hyung.” He blinked down at him, smiling as politely as he could likely manage. “I’m stretched. I want you just to put it in.”

“You sure? You still seem so tight…”

Taemin snorted. “You know I can take it. Just fuck my ass. Fill me up. I know you want to.” He purred, spreading his legs further. He lifted them with a practiced ease, the muscles in his thighs twitching as he pressed his knees against his chest, his breathing coming in strained pants. The motion gave Minho a perfect view of his ass, wet with lube, the smallest gape when he flexed.

Minho slid his hands up the backs of Taemin’s thighs, feeling the musculature under his palms. Despite his relatively stagnant job as stylist, Taemin had the body of a dancer. He was slender and flexible, head to toe lean muscle and stamina to boot.

“Get my dick wet first,” Minho finally said. He pushed Taemin’s legs back down and rose, stripping out of his jeans and boxers. He stroked his own cock lazily, gaze roaming over Taemin’s bound form.

Taemin peeked through his shaggy bangs, lips parted and wet. He squeezed his thighs together repeatedly, obviously seeking any stimulation he could manage.

“Beg,” Minho growled.

“Please,” Taemin whispered, clearly more eager to please and get his reward than play stubborn. “Come fuck my ass, hyung. You have to go without it for a whole month. Come take what you need, fill me up and make me ache when I sit down. Please, I need it… No one screws me like you do,” he whined, spreading his legs open.

Minho crawled back onto the bed, straddling his chest and fisting his hair.

“Look at me.”

Taemin rolled his eyes up, wetting his lips. “Gonna make me choke on it, sir?”

There was the attitude. Minho smirked. “You know it.” He slid his tip over Taemin’s bottom lip.

“Get it nice and wet for your ass.” He pushed his cock in and slid his hips forward until the tip bumped against the back of Taemin’s throat. His shoulders jerked and Minho groaned, tightening his grip on his hair. Starting off slow but persistent, Minho pumped his hips, driving his cock as deep as it would go. He pulled Taemin forward, grunting softly when his throat began to relax, giving into the intrusion. Taemin gagged around him, coughing up spit and precome as Minho worked his cock into his throat.

“There you go, Tae… Swallow it down, baby. Work on that gag reflex,” Minho praised, holding Taemin’s chin with his free hand. Taemin looked up, tears filling his dark eyes. One slid down his cheek, accompanied with a hard gag, that had Minho’s eyes rolling back as his throat squeezed around his tip.

“Fuck… The way I wanna fill your mouth,” he panted. Taemin began to struggle, his hands in fists. Minho pulled back immediately and loosened his grip, searching his face for distress. Taemin coughed, dragging in much needed air.

“Please, not today,” he rasped. “My ass.”

Minho smirked, wiping spit from his chin. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll come up your ass. That mouth is just a damn big temptation.”

Taemin grinned broadly. “When you come back from filming you can come down my throat, okay?”

“Deal.” He kissed him gently, brushing his hair down from where he’d mussed it pulling. He settled between Taemin’s thighs, pushing his knees up to his chest again. “Relax.”

Taemin nodded, letting his eyes slip shut. Minho added lube to his spit slicked cock and lined up, taking only a moment before pushing past Taemin’s tight rim. They both moaned. Taemin’s head fell back onto the pillow, a small, contented smile crossing his face.

Minho braced himself on either side of Taemin’s chest and began to thrust, slow and steady to begin. Taemin was unbearably tight, his hole clenching and releasing in a pulse-like rhythm as his body adjusted to the intrusion.

Minho grabbed the paddle again, sliding the edge over Taemin’s cock.

Taemin whined, biting his bottom lip. Minho swatted his tip as gently as he could. Taemin bucked upward, nearly forcing Minho’s cock out. He let his legs fall over Minho’s shoulders, a high whimper slipping from his lips. Minho swatted his cock lightly again, this time driving as deeply as he could.

Taemin cried out, his body tensing. “Stop teasing me,” he snarled, his teeth bared.

“What was that?” Minho asked. He pulled his cock free, ignoring Taemin’s strained plea. Instead, he smacked the thin paddle lightly over Taemin’s gaped hole three times before driving two fingers in, thrusting them aggressively.

“I asked you a question, brat.”

Taemin moaned brokenly, his cock twitching against his heaving stomach. “Fuck me, please— Put it back in!”

“Not until you behave. I warned you.” Minho brought the paddle down on the exposed meat of his ass, grunting when Taemin’s ass clamped down on his fingers. “You don’t control this situation, Taemin. Do you?”

Taemin bit his lap, a smirk curving the corners of his mouth up. “Since you’re using my ass... Don’t I?” He asked. Minho cocked a brow.

“If you wanna be that way.” Minho pushed Taemin’s legs off his shoulders, kneeling between them to keep them spread open. He swatted Taemin’s hole and ass four times in quick succession before placing the paddle aside. He poured lube into his hand and made a fist around his cock before beginning to thrust his hips forward, squeezing and relaxing his fist rhythmically as he did. The wet squelch of the lube and Minho’s grunts punctuated the soft points of the music.

“You sure I need your body?” Minho grunted out. Taemin was squirming on the bed, his hole flexing as he tended and relaxed, clearly needing more. He wet his lips, eyes not leaving Minho’s cock.

“Or do you maybe need my cock up your tight ass to come, hm?”

Taemin chewed his bottom lip. His cock twitched at Minho’s words. “It won’t be as good... Your hand is nothing compared to my hole and you know it.”

“Maybe,” Minho grunted, shivering as he squeezed his tip. “But I’ll still be able to come and be satisfied. Will you?”

Taemin squirmed again. He remained silent, watching Minho masturbate in front of him for a few moments.

“I need it,” Taemin finally whispered.

“Oh? What was that?”

Taemin swallowed thickly. “I need your cock to feel good... Please, Hyung.”

“Ah, I thought so.” Minho stopped jerking off, grabbing the paddle and swatting Taemin’s thigh. “I’m waiting for those special words though.”

“Please!” Taemin hissed.

“No, the other ones.”

Taemin rolled his eyes. Minho swatted his thigh hard with his bare hand, smirking when he whimpered. “Aw, and here I thought you wanted my cock.” He leaned back, fisting his cock again.

“I’m sorry!” Taemin cried. “I— I’m sorry, sir. Please— Use my ass.”

Minho nodded. “There we go.” He knew Taemin was far from sorry; this was just the game they played. He had nothing to be sorry for, but it was damn sexy to watch him plead.

Minho rammed his cock back in, moaning when Taemin clenched around him and bucked off the bed. He grabbed a handful of his ass and squeezed before smacking hard three times. Taemin’s ass clenched almost painfully tight, ripping a cry from Minho’s mouth.

He began to fuck into him hard and fast, smacking his ass every few thrusts for that perfect squeeze around his cock.

Taemin writhed under him, his hips twisting to help with the thrusts, head thrown back as soft cries of pleasure-pain fell from his bite swollen lips. He was the most beautiful person Minho had ever seen. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Taemin’s parted lips.

“Tell me how it feels, baby,” he panted.

“Thick—“ Taemin whined, the muscles in his arms bulging as he struggled against the ropes. “So big, it almost hurts... Fuck me harder, please—“ he broke off in a moan when Minho shifted angles, driving just a bit deeper.

Minho leaned back, slowly pushing Taemin’s hips up as he fucked into him.

Taemin smirked, open mouthed. “Wanna see?” He panted. Minho nodded. He reached forward and fisted Taemin’s hair, dragging his head forward. As he did, he folded Taemin’s flexible body more inward, still thrusting into his ass. He grabbed Taemin’s cock and pulled the ring off, angling it outward and pushing his body until Taemin was able to place the tip of his own cock into his mouth.

His eyes rolled back as he sucked, moan muffled.

Minho swore, his cock throbbing hard at the sight. He continued to fuck Taemin’s ass, each thrust shifting the cock between his lips.

“You wanna come like this?” Minho panted.

Taemin nodded as well as he could.

“Don’t swallow.”

He began to thrust as hard as he could manage, chasing his own orgasm. Taemin’s eyes rolled back, his moans muffled by the twitching cock between his lips. He clenched around Minho, toes curling as his balls began to throb, cock twitching.

Minho groaned, sliding his thumb over the underside of Taemin’s cock as he spilled into his own mouth. When the throbs slowed and stopped, Minho shifted, letting Taemin’s head go. His cock slipped free and he opened his mouth, showing Minho the thick, milky fluid within. Minho groaned. He let Taemin’s legs fall and leaned forward, kissing him hard.

Taemin wrapped his legs around Minho’s hips, moaning as their tongues slid together, sharing his come.

Minho’s stomach clenched, his balls drawing up almost painfully tight. He grunted into Taemin’s mouth, hips losing rhythm as his nerves heightened in sensitivity. Taemin pulled back, his lips glossy with come and spit.

“Fill my ass, hyung... Please,” he whispered, looking up at Minho from half closed eyes.

Minho grunted his name, grabbing Taemin’s hip almost painfully tight as the pressure in his body peaked, a wall of tension that built in his cock and sent shudders through his form. He came, cock throbbing against Taemin’s tight inner walls, his body clenching and releasing each spurt of fluid. He could hear himself grunting and whining, and Taemin speaking softly, though making out the words was an impossible feat.

One final throb and the tension of his body released all at once, the flood of feel good hormones turning every muscle into pudding. He collapsed over Taemin, grinning dumbly.

Taemin shifted, tugging at the ropes binding him. Minho reached up and pulled the release he’d tied into the rope, freeing Taemin before relaxing once more, nuzzling against his soft shoulder.

“Talk to me,” Minho mumbled, pressing kisses to his skin.

“I’m good.”

Minho pulled back, meeting Taemin’s sleepy gaze. “Yeah?”

Taemin nodded. “I promise. No floating.”

Minho nodded. He sat up and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck. This was always the time he hated. For the time they were having sex, the ‘no strings attached’ part of their relationship didn’t matter. He could kiss and cuddle and hold Taemin to his heart’s content. When they went far enough, and Taemin hit that floaty, feel good feeling as he described it, it gave Minho an out. Free reign to take care of Taemin like he wanted to all the time, bring him back to earth slowly. When he didn’t reach that point… Minho was just another quick fuck. The only difference was that Taemin didn’t kick him out of his house when he was done. Minho wasn’t sure that would be worse.

He pulled on his jeans, passing Taemin his jeans and boxers before rising to put away their toys.

“Why is this door shut?!” The door shook in its frame as Taemin’s father rapped on it.

Minho pulled a face, showing his teeth before chuckling. He slid the closet shut and ran fingers through his hair before nudging the stopper out of the way and opening it, smiling sheepishly and bowing.

“Sorry, Sir.”

“I told you to keep that door open,” He snapped. “Why is your shirt off? I swear—"

“It’s just so hot,” Minho whined as well as he could, fanning his hand in front of his face. “We shut the door to try and keep the cool air from the window in the room.” He shifted to show Taemin on the bed, his jeans perfectly in place, shirt missing still. “Could we have permission to turn the AC up a little?”

Taemin’s father’s eyes narrowed. Minho knew he could likely smell the sex from the room. He kept the innocent smile planted on his face nonetheless even as Taemin’s father’s eyes searched the room for any physical sign of their coitus.

“I will turn up the air conditioning. Keep the door open, it allows for better airflow… And put on a damn shirt.”

Minho bowed his head politely, stepping further into the room and grabbing his shirt from the floor. Taemin’s father scanned the room once more, his lips disappearing into an annoyed line before he stalked off.

Minho sat on the bed, pulling his shirt on. “You have got to get a place of your own, Tae.”

“I like living rent free,” Taemin whined. “I can save my money for stuff I want.”

“I know, and I get it – I hated moving out of my parents… But your dad is so pushy.”

Taemin shrugged. He sat up and moved to where Minho was sitting, putting his head on his shoulder.

“I won’t have to worry about it in a few weeks. I’ll be getting hitched.” The sarcasm was obvious in his tone.

“You don’t have to say yes, Tae. You should follow your heart.”

Taemin snorted. “It’s easier. I’ll just do what you said, let her know I’m not gonna be some good husband. I’ll go through the motions, be married, but she has to accept that she won’t be my only person. I don’t do love.”

Minho sighed. “Maybe you will. What if she ends up being perfect for you?”

“I doubt it. You know I’m up for anything but I’ve always leaned toward guys. If I end up with anyone long term I think it’ll be someone male identifying.”

“Never know.” Minho nudged him playfully. “Just go to the date with an open mind, okay?”

“Okay.” Taemin sighed, flopping back onto the bed. “He’s sending me to her next Friday.”

“End of the same week I leave. You’ll have to text me with how it went. Or Facetime me in the evening.”

“I will. I’m sure I’ll need your support,” Taemin said through a laugh. “Wanna play a game? We can order something for food.”

Minho nodded. “Always. You order, I’ll set it up.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence as they played rounds of the game, spending the next few hours with one another. It was always this way, as long as Minho could remember. He loved it, and wouldn’t dare ruin it by asking for more. Even if, sometimes, in his dreams, he wished.

#thebtswritersclub #btsbookclub #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #bangtanidx #boymeetsmxm #networkbangtan #shinee x bts #bts x shinee #bts smut #shinee smut #minho x taemin #taemin x minho #jimin x taemin #taemin x jimin #taehyung x minho #minho x taehyung #taehyung x jimin #jimin x taehyung #vmin #2min #v3min #jimin x minho x taehyung x taemin #mywriting

[murasaki-murasame]

Thoughts on Fruits Basket 2019 2nd Season Ep25 [”I’m Different Now”]:

For the season finale [but not series finale, because they’ve already announced a third and final season for next year], we get a huge plot twist that completely changes our perspective on one of the characters, and their various relationships, in a way that has major implications about the future of the story and how things will progress.

Aside from all that, we also get the world’s worst gender reveal party.

Thoughts under the cut.

Just to start off, this episode adapted chapters 96 and 97 like I figured it would, to wrap up this season with a big cliffhanger to hype people up for the final season. And for better or worse, this was a pretty much 1:1 adaptation of these chapters, so there’s not really any differences to talk about that I noticed.

Anyway, I may as well just cut right to the chase and talk about the whole Shocking Gender Reveal Plot Twist[tm], now that that’s out in the open and everyone can stop tiptoeing around it.

It’s not like I’ve really tried to hide it or how I feel about it as a plot point before this, but I really do dislike it on basically every level. There’s a whole lot to unpack about it, but really at the end of the day it’s just one of those old-fashioned plot devices where we’re meant to think that someone being a different gender to what you thought they were is inherently something scandalous and shocking. They could have at least immediately started talking about the idea of her being raised as a man against her will, since that’d at least give it some actual meaning and value, but they don’t, which really says a lot about how that’s actually kinda just a foot-note that the story doesn’t dwell on much, and in practice we’re just meant to be surprised that she’s a girl.

It doesn’t really help that the season just ends right there, when in the manga this whole sequence keeps going in the next chapter, and I think they start touching upon that part of Akito’s backstory then, but the anime won’t get into that until next year at this point, so I think it’s fair to take it as it’s presented right now.

The idea of Akito being a girl is surprising in basically the exact same way that it’d be surprising if we found out that Haru was a Sanrio fan, or something. That is to say, it’d be vaguely surprising, but then we’d all just go on with our lives.

Even at this point you can definitely guess that there’s probably something going on with her being forced to present as a man, but it hasn’t really been explained or touched upon yet, so it’s all pretty nebulous, at least from the perspective of someone like Tohru who barely knows Akitto at all and doesn’t know all the stuff about her past that Kureno does.

In general I’ve never been a fan of this entire trope to begin with, but I think it’s made a lot worse by the fact that, as you get further into the rest of the story, it becomes clear that it’s not even that important, and the majority of what’s going on with Akito’s character has much more to do with the curse situation and how it impacts her relationship with the zodiac members. The whole deal with her character is how being the god of the zodiac from birth forced her to be pretty much raised in seclusion, with her only frame of reference for human relationships being abusive cult behavior. She’s miserable and twisted because she isn’t allowed to live a normal life due to her status, and her possessiveness gets enabled by the people that she clings onto, putting her into a loop of arrested development and mental instability.

And literally none of that has anything to do with her gender, lol. None of it would be different if she was a cis man, or if she had been raised as a woman. Because that whole deal isn’t actually all that relevant to why she is the way she is, why she has the attitude and world-view that she does, and why her relationships are so fucked up. Even if you decided to write out her romantic/sexual relationships with people like Kureno and Shigure by having her be a man, that’d barely change anything about the story as a whole, because even if it was entirely for platonic reasons Kureno would have still decided to stay with Akito and ultimately enable her actions, and Shigure would most likely still more or less do all the same things he’s already done. And obviously to begin with, if Akito was actually a dude that wouldn’t even necessarily mean you couldn’t still have some of these relationships play out this way, so you can’t even really act like the story required her to be a girl for that reason, lol.

And for better or worse, if Akito was written as a gay dude, it could still totally have lead to all the same stuff with her possessiveness over the male zodiac members, and her irrational hatred of the female zodiac members. It’d just be a different, more homophobic sort of trope than what actually happens, in a way that plays out in basically the exact same way. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve gotten a villain who’s a gay dude that irrationally hates women for Reasons [tm], and who has ominous and sinful relationships with men.

Which is also the reason why I don’t exactly think the story would be ‘better’ if she had been written as a gay dude, or as a trans woman, or anything like that. With her whole role in the story to begin with, it’d play out in an obnoxious way no matter what. Mostly I just kinda wish they had completely avoided this sort of outdated, schlocky storytelling to begin with, and just focused entirely on the more interesting stuff about her character.

And in terms of outdated tropes, we haven’t even gotten properly introduced to Ren yet, lol.

I’m also assuming that they’re not exactly planning to change anything about this in the anime, so I’m just going with my existing thoughts about how the manga handled it, since that should still carry over to the anime.

I know that this is all just beating a dead horse with a stick because of how long the series has been out for, but I still just can’t help but be irritated by this whole mess.

I don’t want to spoil it too much, but I think a good comparison to make is the recent Banana Fish adaptation, and how from what I gathered, most people’s reactions to that series’ ending was ‘I know it’s just a product of it’s time, but this is just kinda unironically shitty’.

Ultimately, I think a big part of why this annoys me so much is because I actually really like Akito’s whole character and what the story does with her after this point. I just dislike how it’s shackled to this unnecessary plot twist that ends up dominating the conversation surrounding her even though it’s barely relevant to anything after this in the story.

The stuff with her being the god of the zodiac and how much it fucks up her entire life and all of her relationships is genuinely really compelling, and represents an integral part of the story’s overall message about the nature of abusive families and cults, and the various ways they end up hurting everyone inside them. Her whole arc is about learning how to embrace a life that’s not based around being a god surrounded by their followers, and I think that aspect of it works really well, especially with how it ties into all the stuff with Tohru later on.

I also think that all the stuff with Kureno that gets revealed in this episode is genuinely really interesting, and is ACTUALLY a plot twist that meaningfully shakes things up, and people actually have a reason to be surprised by it. Especially Tohru, since her whole goal at this point is to break the curse, and now she’s literally found someone who’s already had their curse get broken. It’s basically the first major lead she’s found in her whole search for answers, but in the end it kinda just, y’know, gets overshadowed by the gender reveal and her being shocked about that instead.

It’s also still really interesting to me how the Kureno situation is basically the only time where the story seriously talks about the implications of the animal transformation part of the curse, and how someone in the zodiac might internalize that part of themselves. Most of the time, the animal transformation part of the curse is kinda irrelevant, and the series could work in 99% the same way without it. I think Takaya’s literally said before that she didn’t even plan to include that whole aspect of the story until her editor suggested it fairly late into the process, and I think that shows with how it’s kinda just there for some wacky hijinks early on, and then it just gets benched in favor of the actual stuff Takaya wanted to write about.

But with Kureno we actually get a look into what it meant for him to be able to literally turn into a bird, and how losing that ability affected his sense of identity and how he engaged with the world. It’s still ultimately just metaphorical in it’s own way, but it still feels like more of an acknowledgement of the fact that they literally turn into animals than basically any other part of the story, lol. And in general I just think it’s at least compelling on paper that he ends up shackling himself of his own free will, because that sense of freedom and disconnect made him feel obligated to stay with Akito to ‘make up for it’.

I just wish that Kureno as a whole was interesting enough for me to actually care that much about all of this, lol. In the end he’s just kinda intentionally boring, and it’s more interesting to write about his role in the story than it is to actually, like, watch him do stuff as a character. Which I guess is all just part of how much it bugs me that all of the interesting stuff in this episode, and this whole part of the story, feels like it gets overshadowed and drowned out by a dumb shock value plot twist.

There’s also all the thematic stuff with how he’s basically Tohru if she was taken advantage of and had all of her own bad habits enabled until she ended up barely being a functioning adult. He even has his whole personal conflict about feeling like moving on with his life and developing new relationships is an act of betrayal towards someone that he really needs to let go of at this point. But then you just get into the whole Uo thing and how their whole relationship is about as compelling as the whole Cinderella plot that it’s clearly a reference to, and aaaaaaah why is this series so frustrating, lol.

Really, the fact that I can gripe so much about stuff like this just goes to show how much I like the series in general, since I can’t muster up any strong feelings about stuff like this if I just straight up dislike it as a whole. At least for me, stuff like this is much more frustrating when it’s one part of a larger story that I really love. Thankfully there’s more good than bad when it comes to this series, so I can still hold onto it as a personal fave that I just happen to have complaints about.

I’m genuinely really excited for the final season, in spite of all this, since there’s a whole lot I love about the final third of the manga, and in a funny way, the fact that Akito being a girl isn’t actually that big of a deal in the long run, and what actually happens with her as a character after this is more about her status as the god of the zodiac, actually means that I’ll [mostly] enjoy a lot of it. It’s mostly just this specific part where we get the Big Reveal [tm] itself, and the immediate lead-up to it, that bugs me.

Anyway, as a whole, I still think this is a good episode that serves as a fitting cliffhanger for the season. The actual plot twist that most of the episode focuses on is really good, and serves a really meaningful role in progressing the story, and it gives a pretty clear picture of how we’re entering the final act of the story.

Hopefully the final season will start in April next year like the first two seasons did, but it’s entirely possible it might get delayed because of the whole pandemic situation. But I could live with them holding off on starting the final season until it’s ready to come out.

Also, before I forget, they haven’t said anything about it, I’m pretty sure the final season will also be around 25 episodes long. With how many chapters they have left, if they stick to the same two chapters per episode pace that the anime’s had on average thus far, they could easily cover the rest of the story in 22 episodes, which would be a lot easier to expand by an extra two or three episodes, than it’d be to condense it all the way down to 13 or so episodes.

#murasaki rambles #Fruits Basket #can you tell that I have Feelings [tm] about this whole part of the story? lol

[thenovelartist]

A Bride for the Prince, chapter 21

A03 ~ < Previous  ~  Next >

The wedding ceremony was held a week after Marinette accepted Adrien’s proposal. This time allowed announcements to be distributed throughout the kingdom as to who the prince’s bride would be as well as allow anyone who wished to watch the event time to travel to be able to witness it. During that time, Adrien had brought Marinette’s parents up to the castle to ensure they were there to witness their daughter’s marriage. Explaining to them everything that had happened took half a day to do, and Marinette still could tell they thought they were dreaming.

Frankly, Marinette felt like she was dreaming, too. Did she really just marry Adrien? Had she really walked down the aisle to meet her childhood sweetheart at the altar? Furthermore, did she just say “I do” to the prince of the kingdom?

It was almost too much to comprehend.

She stared at the mirror before her. There was no way that lady in the mirror was her. There was no way she could be looking at her reflection. She looked like a painting. The wedding gown itself was nothing short of an unworldly work of art. The day after she’d been accepted as Adrien’s future bride, she’d been swarmed by a gaggle of ladies who had taken measurements and thrown so much fabric over her she could have drowned in it. It took a day to design, and then the rest of the week to bring it to life. And in the end, it looked like it should be worn by a marble statue.

Felt as heavy as one, too.

Marinette couldn’t resist running her hands over the dress for the umpteenth time that day. Never had she felt such fine fabric before. And the lace—oh the lace—there was so much of it, and it had to have taken so much time to create. It decorated the sleeves and the bodice, draping from her hips down to the floor.

Then, there was the jewelry. Firstly, the blood red diamond of the Noir family sat on her right hand. Unlike the rest of the jewelry that adorned her, she’d had time to adjust to the ring’s weight, both metaphorical and physical. Lady Noir. She was granted the title of Lady of the Noir estate. How had she, a servant who’d done nothing other than fall in love, get bestowed with a title?

It still hadn’t fully sunk in yet. It felt like a dream. One she frankly didn’t want to wake up from.

On her neck, she wore a heavy silver and diamond necklace that King Gabriel himself had given to her. A necklace that he said had been worn by the previous queen on her own wedding day.

Honestly, it was probably the heaviest item she currently wore. King Gabriel had only just barely approved of her. On the day Adrien had rushed her back to the castle, practically running to the presentation hall to present her as his bride, Marinette had never felt so small. After all, the king and all his elites had sat in a row to size her up.

She had felt like a sheep sent to slaughter, her demise inevitable.

The king had tried so hard to intimidate her, threatening that the road of being a princess would be a hard one. That there would be a lot of training she would have to endure. Years of it. But she hadn’t backed down. Not when Adrien stood by her side, holding her hand tightly and pouring his confidence and courage into her. It gave her the strength to stare the king in the eye and insist that she could accomplish whatever was demanded of her.

Though she’d been scared out of her wits doing so, that had been her saving grace. King Gabriel said that had she wavered, he wouldn’t have accepted her as his son’s bride.

With a sigh, Marinette took off the circlet on her head. The veil attached to it made it harder to move considering it trailed so far back behind her, even more than the train of her dress. She set it down on her vanity as she waited for Alya, her now permanent lady’s maid to arrive.

Marinette’s heart sped up. Alya would be helping Marinette from her wedding gown, only to give her a nightgown to wear before Marinette would walk to her husband’s room. Her face turned bright red at the thought of the wedding night. Her mother had already talked her through it, which only brought a whole new wave of embarrassment to her. She knew that it wasn’t something she should be embarrassed about. Her mother assured that it was a beautiful thing to be married, but that didn’t make Marinette any less nervous about it.

A knock came at the door, causing Marinette to spin around on her vanity chair. “Come in.”

But instead of her main door opening, it was the door that connected Marinette’s room to Adrien’s that opened, revealing her husband standing there with a lovestruck grin on his face.

Her husband.

“Adrien,” she said, voice breathy. “I thought you were Alya.”

“Sorry,” he said, grin turning sheepish as he closed the door behind him. “But I asked Alya to allow me to be the one to help my wife from her dress tonight. Is that acceptable for you, or would you prefer to ring for Alya?”

A whole new blush started up on Marinette’s cheeks. How was she to answer that? As of today, this man was her husband, and he would either help her from either this dress or her nightgown tonight.

Furthermore, this was Adrien: the man she trusted more than anything. Though certainly bashful, she didn’t have a problem with him calling off Alya.

Blush on her cheeks, she turned back to her vanity, though she couldn’t hide her face from him while she sat in front of her vanity mirror. “It’s okay,” she said, unable to look at him. “You… you can stay.”

She heard him approach, then his hands rested gently on her shoulders. Only then did she look back up in the mirror to see he wore a blush on his cheeks, too. “I’m nervous, too, you know.”

Somehow, those words settled her. She wasn’t the only one bashful and nervous about the events of their wedding night. He was, too. Knowing that was something of a comfort, giving her more courage to go forward.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” he continued. “I understand. I promise to be as gentle with you as I can be, and we’ll just figure this night out together, okay?”

Her cheeks still felt like they were on fire, but she could manage a smile. She knew Adrien well enough to feel comfortable facing this night with him. And to have his word that he’d take it slow for her…

Her stomach was in knots. Whether from anticipation or fear, she wasn’t quite sure.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “But it’s… it’s a little more than that.”

“Oh? Then what is it, love?”

His words were gentle, full of affection. Just as they had been for days now. She doubted she’d ever get tired of that tone of his. It always filled her with a comforting warmth. “I just… it’s so much to process. It feels like this is all a dream. I married the prince of the kingdom. I’m a princess, now. How… how is that possible? I feel like I’m going to wake up and be Mylene’s lady’s maid again.”

He hummed in understanding. “I feel like I’m in a daze, too,” he admitted, leaning over to take hold of Marinette’s hand in his. “Two months ago, I was in a complete panic over this event. I was having to face the inevitability of having to choose a woman to be my bride, even though I knew I likely would not love her. I was preparing myself for that.”

His eyes then locked with hers as he squeezed Marinette’s hand tight. “And then… then I ran into you. Or rather, you literally ran into me,” he said with a teasing smile. “And you brought joy into my life again over a time that I was thinking would be stressful. I was so thankful to run into you again. But even then, I didn’t think…” he leaned down, resting his chin on her shoulder while his other hand rested on her hip. “That I would have fallen in love with you. And that I’d be able to marry you, well…” He let go of her hand, only so that he could wrap his arms fully around her waist and squeeze her tightly to him. “What a blessing I’ve been given.”

Marinette’s heart ached with his earnest confession, love for him flooding through her. “Oh, Adrien.” She placed one hand over his arms at her waist, then reached up to cradle his jaw with her other, turning her own face towards his and letting her eyes drift shut as her nose pressed against his cheek.

“I love you,” he said. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she returned.

Neither moved, both instead relishing this moment of simply being together, each thankful for the other and for being given the opportunity to be with each other.

Adrien was the first to move, lifting his head up so that he could press a lingering kiss to Marinette’s cheek before resting their foreheads together. “I’m so happy,” he whispered.

“So am I,” she returned. “Any struggle we faced was worth it to be with you.”

He hummed. “Even though you’re being tortured?”

Marinette couldn’t help but let out a giggle. “It’s not too bad,” she said, unsure of how much of a lie that was. It was a struggle to learn how to be a proper princess. There was so much to learn and absorb that she felt overwhelmed by it at times. But, in her mind, it was a small price to pay for becoming Adrien’s wife.

“Oh, you liar,” he called out. “You were on the brink of tears two nights ago.”

As much as she wanted to, Marinette couldn’t argue with that.

He sighed, giving her yet another squeeze. “I wish I could help you more.”

“You’re helping me so much already,” she countered. “You’ve already spent every night this week helping me.” It was just like it had been when he was teaching her to dance. He’d always collect her after dinner, and together, they would slip off somewhere into the castle to further practice whatever Marinette had learned that day. Adrien was always patient with every lesson, constantly encouraging her along the way.

“You’re working so hard to become a proper princess, just so you can be at my side,” he said. “It’s my fault you’re being forced to go through this training. If I can help you even in the slightest, I will gladly take the time for you.”

“Even though you’re busy with other things?”

“I’ll always find the time for you.” His words were deeply genuine and serious. He placed his hand on her jaw, turning her face towards his. His gaze was one full of a fierce sincerity and burning love for her. She felt like she could melt under that gaze. “I promise you,” he continued. “I will always find the time for you. You are worth it, my lovely wife.”

She sighed, his words touching her. “But I care for your well-being, too. Please, don’t worry over me.”

He scoffed. “I will never not worry over you. Because I love you.”

Marinette couldn’t help but smile at him. There was no point in fighting him. He was obstinate when it came to her. And as much as she wanted to learn to stand on her own two feet so Adrien wouldn’t have to constantly worry about supporting her in every little thing, she was touched that he was so stubbornly willing to do so. It made her want to fight for him all the more. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Anything for you,” he whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “Anything at all.” He kissed her cheek. “I’m yours.” He kissed her other cheek. “So I will gladly, gladly give you all I can give.” He kissed her nose. “Because I love you so, so much.”

He reached up to cradle her cheeks in both hands, pressing his forehead against hers. Already, Marinette’s head was spinning and her breathing was already quickening. “I’m the luckiest man alive,” Adrien whispered, clinging to her tight. “I’m so lucky. You’re worth fighting for. You’re worth anything and everything I have to give. How I got so fortunate to have married you…” He huffed. “That had to have been your luck rubbing off on me. I see why Lady Stoneheart calls you a ‘Lucky Ladybug’.”

“I would try to counter that,” Marinette said, her head growing fuzzier by the second due to his ardent affection. “But I really am lucky to have gotten the chance to marry you.”

He hummed happily before his lips landed over hers. With a little whimper, she returned his affections. She looped her arms over his neck, holding him there for as long as she could.

“I’m glad,” Adrien said between peppering kisses across her cheeks, lips, and jaw. “Because I don’t know if I could have survived knowing I couldn’t marry the woman I loved. She gave me quite a test in having to chase after her, all while hoping that I could bring her back in time.”

“I had to,” she objected, her heart pounding at the way his lips were traveling down her neck now. “I couldn’t stand… stand the thought of watching you propose to another woman.”

“Oh, so we’re even,” he said, shivers skittering through her at the feeling of Adrien whispering those words against her pulse point. “Because I would have been destroyed if I would have had to see you with another man. I alone want to be the one who cares for you.”

Pleasure shot through her, her gut twisting in knots over the possessive tone in Adrien’s voice. “Well,” she managed, her voice nearly gone at this point. “I’m your wife, now. So you don’t have to worry about that.”

He made a noise that sounded like a cat’s purr, and Marinette felt like she was slowly losing all her senses. “I’ll prove to you that I’m worthy of all the trouble you’re going through,” he said. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power to be the man you deserve.”

She smiled. “I think I should be questioning if I deserve you at all.”

“Trust me, my princess,” he purred, leaning closer and closer. “I’m the one undeserving of you.”

And with that, he claimed her lips again.

She inhaled sharply through her nose, but it still felt hard to breathe. Her grip on him tightened as she grabbed handfuls of his jacket, using it to tug him closer and closer still. Her heart skipped off into a full out gallop at this point, her face flushing red as memories of that night he first proposed to her came flooding back. Him pressed against her, lips traveling everywhere…

Tonight promised to be even more of that and beyond. And somehow, despite her nerves, she found herself ready. Ready to give her all to this man: her husband.

Her husband.

She smiled just as Adrien broke off the kiss. Her eyes languidly opened, allowing her to spot the smile on his own face.

“May I help you out of your outfit… my lovely wife?” he asked, his smirk on the line between mischievous and sinful.

Her breathing was still heavy as she replied, “You may.”

Grin widening, Adrien pulled away, much to her dismay. However, he didn’t linger far, moving to stand behind her. The first thing he did was unlatch the necklace from her neck. Every brush of his fingers on her neck sent skitters of pleasure through her. With shaky hands, she took out her earrings as he removed the necklace, returning it back to the velvet-lined box sitting on her vanity.

Next, her hair. She showed him how the swirled design was pinned together, and the two of them slowly began taking the pins out one by one. And when Adrien took the last pin out of place, he carefully combed his fingers through her hair.

She sighed at the soothing feeling, letting her eyes fall closed as he continued his ministrations.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

Her eyes opened again, meeting his in the mirror. She couldn’t help but smile at his adoring expression. “You’re handsome, too.”

His eyes sparkled with delight. He combed his fingers through her hair one last time, his hold lingering long enough to kiss the ends before letting it fall from his fingers.

Which left only one thing remaining on her.

Before Marinette had a second to think about Adrien having to take the dress off her, he swooped her up off the vanity stool and straight into his arms. She squeaked in surprise, quickly grabbing hold of his shoulders.

He chuckled. “I didn’t mean to startle you. But you look very cute right now.”

Her heart did a funny flutter in her chest as her cheeks warmed in embarrassment.

His teasing faded away, that adoring look back on his face. Except this time, there was a fire in his eyes, one that she could almost feel the heat of. “May I take you to my room, my wife?” he quietly asked.

That warmth in her cheeks blossomed down her neck to her chest. Her mouth was dry, words not forthcoming, so she simply nodded.

He squeezed her tightly to him, making her feel both safe and loved. He walked for his room, carefully avoiding the train of her dress that still dragged on the ground despite him holding her.

He managed to avoid stepping on it, even after he kicked the connecting door shut behind him. He then set her down on the bed, gently turning her away from him so her back, and therefore the laces holding her dress together, faced him.

Marinette’s breathing was already rapid as she felt him undo the laces of her dress. But in doing so, he was slightly bent over, his lips now placed right above the junction where her neck met her shoulder, and the moment his lips landed on that spot, leaving a long, lingering kiss there, she whimpered.

Behind her, Adrien chuckled, but she more felt the breath on her shoulder than heard the sound.

Eventually, she felt the laces loosen, and instinctually, she placed her hands across her chest to hold the dress up.

“Ahh, why hide from me, love?” An arm snaked around her waist, only to gently shift her, taking her from a sitting position to one where she was laying down on the bed, head carefully placed on the comfortable pillow.

She was panting heavily at this point, the air hot and stifling. Looking up, she could see Adrien’s gentle smile, one highlighted by the one lingering candle in the room. He carefully pried her hands from her chest, pulling them up to his lips to kiss.

“I love you,” he said, using one hand to hold both of hers to his heart while he used the other to stroke her hair back from her forehead behind her ear. “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” she returned just as quietly.

His smile, one full of love and affection, brightened. Then he leaned down to press a kiss to her lips, one long, lingering, and reminding her fully of his intent.

Marinette was certain her heart was racing as fast as it could at that point.

And when Adrien pulled away, allowing her to catch her breath, he snuffed out the lantern, leaving only the blue-hued moonlight to illuminate the room.

“Is this all right, my love?” Adrien asked. “Or would you like me to close the curtains tonight?”

She didn’t know what she wanted. “I…” She swallowed, her mouth going dry. “I just want to kiss you again.”

She watched his expression turn momentarily surprised before he leaned over, soon propping himself up over her on the bed, arms on either side of her shoulder. “That can be arranged.”

…

When Marinette awoke, the one thing she noticed was the warmth surrounding her. Despite it being the warm summer months, she wanted nothing more than to snuggle into that warmth and never leave.

But as she grew more lucid, she started noticing other things, like the hand that was holding onto hers or the arm draped over her waist or, most notably, the feeling of her bare back pressed against something that wasn’t the sheets.

And suddenly, last night came flooding back to her.

Adrien… she was with Adrien. She had married him yesterday and then…

Then he had spent the night claiming her intimately as his.

Her heart started racing again, body slowly remembering just what had transpired between them in this very bed last night. Her heart was racing once again, and her skin felt like it was on fire at his touch. She buried her face deeper into the pillow, squeezing his hand that she held even tighter.

“Marinette?”

His voice, one rough and deep with sleep, floated over her shoulder. His grip on her hand tightened to match her grip, and his chest shifted against her back as he propped himself up over her. “Love? Are you awake?” he whispered.

She hummed, turning her head and blearily opening her eyes to a blurry vision of him. As he came into focus, she could see the sun that streamed through his window glimmering off his golden hair, creating a halo around his handsome face that sported a brightly beaming smile.

“Good morning, my love bug,” he whispered softly. The affection in his eyes matched the adoration in his tone. “Did you sleep well?”

She couldn’t take her eyes off him, looking like he should be a statue of a Greek god with his well-muscled arms that had held her last night or chiseled chest that she’d been pressed against. “Yes,” she answered, not fully aware of the words tumbling from her lips.

“I’m glad,” he said, leaning down to press his forehead to hers.

She hummed happily. “You?”

“Best night’s sleep ever,” he quickly answered.

She giggled, a bit bashful.

“I think I could get very used to you being beside me like this,” he whispered.

Her mouth was dry, her cheeks heating up again at his words. Frankly, she could get used to this, too, being held by him throughout the night. His hold was safe and secure, and his touch was soothing.

As well as incredible passionate. She was hoping the warm hues of the morning sun hid the color on her cheeks as memories of last night came back up again.

“I like that idea,” she quietly answered. “I like that idea a lot.”

His smile returned full force, and she couldn’t help a grin of her own from appearing on her face. “I like the sound of that, princess.”

Princess. Yes, she was now a princess. The wife of the crown prince. The woman he loved more than anything. And he certainly had told her over and over and over again many times.

How many women had fought to grab the attention of the prince, hoping and begging their efforts would be successful and he would claim them as his princess? Funny how the only woman who truly hadn’t cared for that title at all was the one who had been bestowed with it. Even now, Marinette didn’t care about the title. The only thing she cared for was how that title tied her to her husband.

“I love you,” she said, reaching up to cradle his jaw. “My prince.”

His expression brightened as he reached up to grab her wrist, holding it there so he could press a kiss to her palm. “I don’t think I’ve ever liked my title as much as when you’ve said it.”

“Would you like me to say it again?” she teased.

He thought about it for a while. “No,” he eventually answered. “As much as I like it when you say it, I think that right now, I don’t want to be the crown prince. I only want to be your husband. Is that okay?”

Her husband. Only her husband. She couldn’t help but grin, giddy from her head to her toes with happiness. “I think I can manage that, but only if I get to spend the morning not as a princess but only your wife.”

He hummed, smile bright and full of love all for her. Just for her. “I like that idea a lot… my dear wife.”

When he leaned down to kiss her, Marinette sighed in happiness, already feeling like she was melting into the mattress again. She wasn’t sure just how her luck had gotten her here, but she would never question it. Not when she’d gotten so lucky to marry her best friend.

Not when it meant she got to be the bride of the prince.

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #A Bride for the Prince #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #FLUFF #its so fluffy #thats all it really is

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Homecoming

Pairing: Eventual College!Bucky x Reader (issa slow burn)

Word Count: 2107

Warnings: Fluff, insinuation of reader having anxiety and insecurities, sLoW bUrN

A/N: ooooof this is almost 2 weeks late so y’all might get a second chapter this weekend, if not it’ll be next week. But I dropped a class so I have more time to focus on writing and other projects of mine.

Tagged:  @frenchzodiacgirl @johnnynunzio @all-art-is-quite-useless @necromaniackat @sunflwerstark

-

A haze of excitement casted over the students. Roaring cheers of the crowd as another touchdown was received. A soft breeze blowing, cooling down the heated atmosphere. Moon and stars bright in the sky but drowned out by the white lights blaring down in the field.

Surrounded by friends, laughter, and crappy game food as everyone watched the homecoming game of the Stark University Avengers. A team of massive men with surprisingly just as big of hearts, nothing like one would have expected, nothing like the stereotypical assholes on television. For the most part. 

Their was Steve, easily the most kind person you ever met. Whenever the group hung out he was always sure to ask you how your day was, compliment you on new clothing and hair styles, make you were included. 

Then there was Thor, a foreign exchange student who just wanted to have a good time. He had hung out with the group once, always joking and constantly talking about his girl Jane who was a nurse.

Clint was a quiet, almost always brooding, but quick witted and ultimately a huge softy. He seemed to always look like something was wrong but would throw out a "leave my resting bitch face alone" and other snide remarks always causing the group to snicker. 

Peter was the one that didn't seem to have all of his innocence taken. Sure, all the guys were sweet, but they all had something about them, some secret or fuck boy tendency that could sometimes make you question if their smile was friendly or flirtatious. He was awkward but easily excited and happy to just be apart.

And Bucky. Bucky was the one who could knock the wind out of someone, both literally and metaphorically. He was so… Bucky. A smile that never failed to reach his bright blue eyes, that crinkled ever so slightly when he did. A laugh that was absolutely contagious. A voice that could soothe and rile all in one sentence. A heart of pure gold and steel melted together. Quick to come to someone's defense, quicker to steal their heart. But he had a reputation that preceded him. One that involved dating a girl until he got what he wanted and leaving her for the next. Ladies man, player, fuck boy. 

Lost in thoughts as the game came to an end, the crowd screaming the winning touchdown was, Wanda elbowed you and everyone stood, cheering the team on. Joining them in the celebration of roars you grounded yourself to the moment, happy and proud for your friends.

Seats cleared out soon after, bodies still buzzing with excitement. Girlfriends going over to congratulate their boyfriends, friends whooping as they approached each other. “The guys are going to shower then meet at your dorm,” Nat announced, looking down at her phone as you and Wanda followed.

A squeal fell from Wanda’s lips, her need for social interactions fluttering out like a butterfly finally leaving the cocoon. “I’ll text Sam to see if he can grab some more beers.” 

You kept quiet, a forced smile on your face as you tried to fake being as excited as she was for yet another night of excessive stimulation. You loved your friends, truly were thankful for each and everyone of them. But you were more introverted than they were. A need for a quiet moment, a breath of fresh air, a still scene to recharge. Another night of intensity would drain every last will out of you.

Once back at the dorm, Nat narrowed her eyes at you as you jumped on your bed. “What’s up with you? You’ve been quiet.”

“Nothing,” you shrugged, “Our team just won and our friends are coming over, what would be wrong?”

Wanda pouted, “You’re lying, you won’t look at us when you talk.”

A sigh fell from your lips, “I’m just a little overstimulated. I promise nothing is wrong. I’ll probably just go for a walk then come back.” You sent them both a reassuring smile, “Here, I’ll head out now so I’ll be back around the time the boys get here, okay?”

The two glanced at each other before looking back at you and nodding. “Keep your phone on you. If we don’t hear anything in an hour we’re sending a search party.” Nat’s threat was rooted with worry but you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Alright, mom. I’ll be safe, I promise.” You teased. Changing an oversized sweatshirt of one of the guys and a pair of jeans, you slipped your converse on and headed out, sighing contentedly the second the door was shut. 

With no destination, you set out, wondering the parts of the campus that seemed the darkest, hoping to get the best view of the stars and crickets and owls sang a melody in the distance. A sense of peace washed over you, happy to see the bright lights of the field being flicked off one by one. 

Turning the corner around a building you ran straight into some, more like somebody. A soft “oof” as an arm wrapped around you, keeping you steady. “You okay, doll?”

An all too familiar voice has your head jerking up. “Oh Bucky! Sorry,” you squeaked out, pulling back from his arms. “Wasn’t expecting you to be out here, wasn’t expecting anyone to be out here really.” You mumbled, crossing an arm over the front of yourself.

“I like going for walks after games, helps me clear my head. Was actually about to start heading to your dor- wait, is that my sweatshirt?”

Looking down you could feel your skin heat up in embarrassment, remembering now that he had left it on your bed last week when the guys came over for game night. “Y-yeah, it was on my bed and I just grabbed the first thing I saw and threw it -” “Looks good on you, keep it.” The smoothness of his voice caused you to finally look at him straight on, seeing a soft smirk on his lips. “So whats a little girl like you doing out here all alone?” There was a tease dripping off of his tone.

“Well…” you shrugged sofly, “I just kinda get overwhelmed and overstimulated if I’m doing a lot all the time. And since we’ve had a mini party every week since the start of school and then the game and just constantly out doing things I just wanted a chance to enjoy the quiet.”

There was a softness in Bucky’s features at your admittance, a gentle, warming smile and a welcoming sparkle in his ocean eyes. “Mind if I join you?” Even his voice was softer than a moment prior. “You can tell me no, but I get what you mean. I get the same way.” “No, I mean, yeah, you can join. Would definitely put the girls as ease knowing you were with me.” You almost missed the content smile as he stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his jeans when you pulled your phone out, texting Nat and Wanda to not worry cause Bucky had joined you on your walk.

Shoving the phone into your back pocket you looked up at him, smiling sweetly, “Well, come on then Mr.Barnes. The stars won’t hold still for us all night.”

It was odd how content you felt walking in silence with Bucky, head tilted up to look at the sprinkles of light against the deep black background. His gaze would flicker between the path in front of you two, the sky, and you when he was sure you weren’t looking.

After about ten minutes of walking, Bucky’s voice finally broke through the comfortable silence. “Why do you like the stars so much?”

A soft giggle left your lips as you pulled your gaze from the sky to look at him. “There’s a lot of reasons.”

“Well, Ms. (Y/L/N),” his tone a playful tease of yours earlier, “We have all night for you to explain.”

“Well, then okay,” you feigned annoyed, earning a light chuckle from him, “I guess I can tell you. To start, there’s the childish reason. They’re sparkly and pretty. Especially pictures or through a telescope. Then there’s the morbid reason, that even though most of these stars could be dead at this point, we still see them shining so brightly. Then… there’s the nerdy reason. Space in general really, it’s just captivating. It’s serene, innocent almost. Undisturbed and just unapologetically there. Plus, there’s that saying we all hear growing up, “I love you to the moon and back”. And aliens. The concept of aliens is cool.”

The last addition caused a spurt of laughter to part from his lips. “Yeah, aliens are cool. I actually went through an alien phase.” His smile was more genuine than you had ever seen him with before. “My mom actually really likes space and everything as well. She used to sit me on her lap in the backyard and tell me all the myths and legends that went with it. She went on a vacation one year to the middle of a desert in Chile I think just to see the whole Milky way. Anyway, when I was like 11 maybe my mind started running and I was briefly obsessed with aliens.” It was your turn to laugh now. “All I can imagine is you, scrawny and barely 4 foot 5, with a bowl cut, and running around screaming about aliens.”

“... you are oddly spot on and that’s not okay.” He joined you in laughing, shaking his head at the ridiculous image in his head.

Your laughter diminished softly, “I don’t get to see the stars like this at home, too close to the city for that luxury.”

“Oh,” there was an unease in him, causing you to look over at him in confusion, “I uh, I don’t like to talk about it but my family is pretty well off, so this stuff is just kind of the norm for me,” he said gesturing to the sky, “My mom didn’t come from money though so she had a special appreciation for the smaller things that money could bring.” He huffed out a small chuckle, “You actually kinda remind me of her. You’re just… calming.”

“That’s a first,” you teased, trying your best to keep the mood light, not sure if you were unknowingly running into uncharted territories.

“Oh come on, quit with that. Don’t act like you don’t know that all the guys in the group have tried coming onto you at least once.”

That caused you to freeze in your steps, jaw slacking some, “Nuh uh.”

“Yuh huh. Everyone except Thor. I’m just not as subtle about it.” The shit eating smirk was back on his face.

“Cause you’re a player,” a quip that fell from your lips faster than you could comprehend.

Thankfully he just kept the back and forth going, “I never played anyone though. I just like girls and sex.”

You shook your head at that, not being able to help the smile on your lips. “Why don’t you date though?”

He shrugged, “Well, I don’t really know where I’m going after here, so why have a commitment to tie me down?” It made sense, it really did, but you couldn’t ignore the small tinge of pain in your chest at the insinuation that a relationship was burden. “Okay, well, what do you want to do after here?”

“You know just about as much as I do.” He mumbled. “My dad mentioned me taking over his law firm but… I didn’t even really want to do law. Just knew it’d be easy cause I’ve been around it my whole life. When I was younger, all I wanted to do was just have a happy family, I never thought about the logistics behind it. Steve and I talked about the army briefly but our mamas would’ve quickly kicked out asses into next century.” He suddenly stopped and looked over at you, your gaze back on the stars again. Noticing he’d gone quiet you looked over at him, face heating up when you realized he had been staring at you. “What?” An uncontrollable smile spread across your lips. “Nothing I just - we should probably head back soon. But… We should do this again, hang out just the two of his.”

It was hard to not fully make a fool of yourself, hurry out a quick tease, “What? Am I giving Steve a run for his money as your best friend?” There was that laugh again that made you stomach shoot up into butterflies, “Keep it up and you just might.”

#boys like you #bucky #bucky barnes #james barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james barnes x reader #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #james barnes fluff #college au bucky #college!bucky #college!bucky x reader #college!bucky fluff #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky barnes fic