#albeit terribly drawn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shantechni · 7 months

Text

I think an awful lot about Splinter believing in the start of the series that he'd lost his humanity.

For the sake of someone named Pete, I will go through the events in chronological order for once-

In Lone Rat and Cubs, Splinter tells the turtles about their time spent running from the Kraang before they found their forever home, and we learn that Splinter didn't easily slip into his new role. Sure, he cared for the turtles, kept them fed and sheltered them from the elements, but he still called them "creatures" and "turtles" before naming them. He didn't see this as an opportunistic situation where he miraculously became a father to a second batch of kids, but rather that he'd fallen into a pool of misfortune and would need to live with this new form while protecting himself and the turtles.

"What terrible deed did I do in a past life that such a curse has befallen me?"

As he considers the turtles' growth and the possibility of a future with them, he then begins to view himself as a potential father. He explains that he wondered if he had the discipline to be a proper father, especially after the loss of his first family, and he realizes it was something he wanted to be regardless of discipline or odd circumstances.

And so, he claims the turtles as his own, and accepts his role as their father.

Though he'd grown accustomed to being a mutant rat over the years, he still draws a line between "Hamato Yoshi" and "Splinter" without knowing it, albeit a blurry and ephemeral one drawn in ever changing sand.

We hear Splinter in the second episode of the series talking about the loss of his family, his home, and his own name. He more or less tells Leo that being mutated erased whatever connection he formally had to the name "Hamato," and the idea is further supported by a similar and more somber scene in I, Monster. Splinter fights off the Rat King's control as he again laments that his entire clan and family, even his humanity, is gone, and he has nothing but the turtles left for him in this new life. Fortunately, he retains his sense of self post mutation, and he's presented from the beginning of the series as one who's in control of himself, both to his sons and friends of theirs, as well as any enemy that comes their way.

However, that presentation of control gives us a bit of a look into his psyche and allows us to consider the idea of him still struggling to come to terms with not being human anymore.

With the introduction of the Rat King, he's taunted by a potential loss of that control for the first time and it shakes him to his core. It makes sense for him to be shaken up since all that'd be left without him is a mindless, humanoid rat who'd lost touch with the human it used to be. Which is why it's so compelling that his sons, particularly Leo, are so adamant about reinforcing the fact that his mutation doesn't erase who he is. It's incredibly noteworthy what Leo says to him when trying to break the Rat King's control over him, "Remember who you are!"

Not who he once was, or the human he used to be, but who he is.

They never viewed Splinter as a separate being from Hamato Yoshi.

The boys aren't strangers to Splinter's old life before them, and they're very much aware of everything he'd lost; the guy talks about certain things frequently enough for them to know his tragedies and recite them without skipping a letter. It's his recollections of the tribulations he suffered through that helped them understand that his life with them is undeniably disconnected from his life with Tang Shen, but not unrelated.

He's still Hamato Yoshi, and his place will always be with his family.

Having been defeated by Splinter, the Rat King runs to find another way of tormenting him, and his perfect target is fear.

Though we got a brief look into this during their first encounter with Falco's twisted appearance, it's not until Of Rats and Men that we get further insight into another layer of Splinter's concern with his rat half: the repercussions that could result from the loss of control.

Throughout all of his years of raising his sons, not once did he ever treat them with the intention to frighten them and make them wary of his every move. The Rat King can easily use that fear to his advantage and weaken Splinter's mental stability enough to figure out how to make mutants similar to him. And he truly makes use of that fear by turning Splinter into his personal puppet.

There's still a considerable amount of concern on the turtles' end that pierces through that fear though. After Splinter teleports across the room to distance himself, Leo looked ready to leap to his side, and the others, despite being threatened literal seconds earlier, remain where they are and are equally concerned.

Eventually, the Rat King strikes again and everyone begins to piece together what's going on when Splinter loses it. Mikey is absolutely terrified and staggered by what happened, and Raph and Donnie tread with caution while Leo and April are the first ones to approach Splinter.

The TV gives them extra confirmation that Falco is back, and to everyone's surprise, Splinter refuses to help them fight Falco, even when Casey is dragged down a manhole by one of the mutated rats in their first attempt to clear the streets. It's not an easy choice for Splinter to make because we see how guilty he feels for his refusal, but the gang doesn't fault him for refusing either. No matter how much they want for Splinter to join them, he's right to worry about what the Rat King, now stronger than before, could force him to do.

April speaks for everyone though when she tells him they all believe in him. They make it known that they aren't afraid of what may happen, and they especially aren't afraid of him.

Unsurprisingly, Splinter changes his mind at the last minute, and, with the help of a recently mutated cat, he chases Falco down to deal with him once and for all. Protecting his family takes priority over his doubts, and by the end of the episode, he overcomes his fear of the Rat King controlling him.

He has his humanity, and that's what makes him different from the rat Falco constantly made him out to be.

And for the first time in the series, in The Lonely Mutation of Baxter Stockman, he says out loud that he has his humanity and is thankful he's fortunate enough to still have it when others lose it post mutation.

I previously went a bit more in depth about it in this post but the boys have witnessed Splinter grappling with being a rat, particularly with the Rat King's meddling, and Donnie sincerely believed giving him retromutagen would be something he'd want. This was clearly an idea that's been weighing on Donnie's mind for a while considering that he seemingly kept quiet about his plan until he completed the retromutagen, and he's the most upset when he has to use the remaining dosage for Kirby.

But Splinter tells him and the other turtles he's content as he is and wouldn't do anything to change himself this far in. And the boys all seem content with his answer.

With the invasion of the Kraang and his defeat at the hands of the Shredder, Splinter again comes face to face with his mutated genes, and there's no Rat King stringing him along this time. He'd been swallowed by delirium with the lack of familial support to pull him out of it, and he became spiritually disconnected from his body as a result. The gang is initially caught off guard by Splinter's state, but they quickly get over it and work to subdue him.

While the boys are pulled away into battle, April uses her powers to sift through Splinter's memories and, after showing him the time he asked her to train with him, we see a memory with the turtles, Karai, and his only family portrait from before his mutation:

Seeing his family is what manages to bring him back to his senses.

We the audience, as well as Splinter, figured that was the end of his troubles with being a mutant rat, but Shredder decided to bathe in some super juice and sent Splinter careening a thousand feet into a dark cavern, the same one Splinter sent Falco down two seasons ago. Being thrown into near total darkness with a fairly debilitating injury and fever was the perfect recipe for him to begin hallucinating, and he believes the Rat King is attacking him when he's most vulnerable. But just when he feels himself slipping further away, his mind goes straight to the day his sons celebrated their 15th mutation day, and just beyond them is Tang Shen.

He regains his clarity, grasps that Falco's been dead the whole time, and is immensely relieved to see Donnie and Mikey after what he'd been through.

"Perhaps a teacher, but never my master."

Falco inadvertently taught Splinter that he's always had his humanity, and his family serves as a reminder of that fact by remaining a constant and significant pillar for him.

His family is his humanity.

588 notes · View notes

bones4thecats · 8 months

Text

Housewardens x Younger Sibling! Reader

A/N: Sorry that this took so long to write, but I do hops this ended up very good!!

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

❤️ Riddle grew up with a over-controlling mother, so it's safe, or rather, unsafe to say you also grew up with your mother's rage being quite literally directed at you two.

❤️ His angry issues were quite an interesting match when it came to you being around. If you were to also have a few anger issues, when you two were bickering, as siblings normally do, every single Heartslabyul member would steer clear of you, knowing if Riddle's rage is scary, lord knows how two would be.

❤️ Now, he may be a pain in your ass when it comes to handling the rules, but Riddle does have a sweet side, and your one of the small amount of people who have got to seen this.

❤️ While yes, Riddle may seem like someone who would let you get away with anything, like breaking the rules for example, he's just as strict on you as he is with Ace and Deuce. But after his overblot incident, he was more lenient with you and the others.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

🦁 You two were the oddballs of the Kingscholar family growing up. Being overshadowed by Falena wasn't easy, and watching your other brother, Leona, just descent into this arrogant and prideful shell of what he used to be.

🦁 Leona may be lazy and seems like he would be a terrible older brother, this beastman does care for his family, and while many don't see it, as he never allows his true emotions to surface, instead hiding them behind a rough exterior, he does show you a soft side once and a while.

🦁 If you shared his sleepiness and therefore ability to sleep nearly anywhere, he'd have you skip classes (if you went to NRC) with him and rest in the botanical garden.

🦁 This guy's overblot did effect you in a few ways, and if he did harm you by accident during the magical issue, he immediately rushed to assist you, even if he was injured himself, you were his younger sibling, and he always put you first, at certain times.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

🐙 The head of Mostro Lounge is seen to care for his family, at some degrees. So it wouldn't be surprising of you guys were very close to one another.

🐙 Azul and you have been by each others sides ever since you came into the world. He valued you more than anything else in the world, because you understood him, far more than anyone ever could.

🐙 You had been there for him growing up, which means you would defend him from bullies, and you were there the first day he met the Tweels, who you were close friends with.

🐙 If you attended NRC alongside him, you guys were rarely ever seen without the other far away, or having one of the twins with you.

🐙 He may get busy with handling his dorm and on-campus cafe, but believe me when I say this, he cares about you and would do anything, and I mean anything to ensure you happiness and your comfort. You were his little sibling, and he wanted you to feel happy.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・��

☀️ As one of the many Al-Asim kids, you were held in high regard compared to other children. But nobody could compare to the height of Kalim's pedestal for you.

☀️ This little ball of sunshine adored you so much growing up, you two weren't far in age growing up, since you also shared having many younger siblings. He loved you so much that he was with you near constantly.

☀️ Because of your closeness, you met everyone that he met, including Jamil, whom you were fairly close with, almost as close as Kalim! But while it may all seemed like sunshine and rainbows, Kalim was very sought-out for money, so you were as well, albeit possibly more.

☀️ He may seem very happy-go-lucky, but Kalim does have a line drawn in the sand, and that line starts right before potential harm to those he cares for. So when anybody tries to hurt you, Kalim and Jamil normally appear and begin to scare the shit out of the person who tried harming you.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

👑 You're a slay. Period.

👑 Vil and you were raised in the spotlight because of your father's profession, and as Schoenheits, you were expected to be beautiful and very regal, which, of course, you were.

👑 If Vil learned it, you learned it. Whether it was poison making, magic styles, or really anything else, you were at the same level as him, because he didn't like leaving you behind.

👑 He may be quite vain at times, but with you, it all goes away. You've seen him at his worsts, and because of this, he wasn't afraid of you seeing him break down, getting mad, you get the gist.

👑 If you attended NRC, you both would be the most beautiful siblings to exist there, gaining the nickname 'The Fairest Siblings', obviously after Rook (once deciphered from French)

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

🎮 *Insert war flashbacks*

🎮 Idia has a hard time connecting with anyone outside of his family and fellow gamers. But it got even harder after the 'incident' with Ortho years back.

🎮 You and him were close when it came to certain things. Like you two shared your love for technology, and even worked on building Ortho's mechanical form, along with the physiological side of his new form.

🎮 After his overblot incident, you two did grow closer, now with your younger brother alongside your once again. And when you guys were on the Isle of Woe watching over S.T.Y.X., you proved to calm him down in the more anxiety-inducing parts.

🎮 He's quite emotionally delicate at times, which can prove difficult when you and Ortho want him to do something with you. Idia tries to be there for you in every situation, but you gotta remember, baby steps.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●

🐉 This one is by far the most interesting to write.

🐉 Malleus was isolated his whole life, so he didn't get to experience anything important throughout the world and Briar Valley. And because of this, you were also isolated alongside your older brother.

🐉 He is hailed as one of the most powerful mages throughout all of Twisted Wonderland, so it wouldn't be surprising if you were to make it into NRC with him.

🐉 This heir is quite protective of you, like any brother and dragon would be of family. But he doesn't nearly come close to isolating you or putting you into a tower along to keep you safe and with him as many may think.

🐉 Malleus does enjoy quite a lot of things, like studying gargoyles. Because of his interests, you joined him in the club, and learn about each piece of artwork throughout the building known as Night Raven College.

🐉 Lilia teases you guys a lot, saying you were the scariest yet sweetest siblings he's ever seen throughout hid lifetime. Your brother only chuckles and pardons your shared guardian, saying that you may seen sweet but looks can be decieving.

🐉 Btw, Malleus is extremely protective, and with your shared surname, whoever tries harming you, gets immediate treatment of a war criminal

511 notes · View notes

seelie-buddy · 7 months

Text

You worry me sick!

summary : diluc finds himself being scolded by you once more regarding his recklessness in fulfilling his Darknight Hero duties. Its not at bad as you make it sound, surely?

contains : mention of slight physical injuries (bruises) ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person

word count : 250

"You were aware of how dangerous that was?" Your lips tugged downwards in a frown, eyes gazing into his crimson ones. In all honesty, Diluc felt like he was being scolded like a child.

"I know," he answered, albeit unwillingly. No matter how many times this conversation repeated, you would always end up finding him every other night after he fulfilled his nocturnal vigilante business.

"And so you should have been careful, no?" The cloth in your hands now wet with the ice melting inside. A few bruises were nothing he couldn't take care of, but you insisted and he complied.

"I should have," his words were drawn out in a grudging manner. He didn't need to be treated like a child, especially not by you. He had some very strange stories to tell of you doing the most odd things... if only you wouldn't pretend you never got stuck up an apple tree in attempts to surprise him that other day.

Though he agrees it would have been smoother had he thought things through. Fatui skirmishers roaming around the back gates of the city should have made him stop and devise a plan, but then again, Diluc Ragnvindr was one to charge in straight and headstrong.

"If something happens to you, think of the people you'll worry," you huffed as you added more ice cubes to the cloth. Bringing the cool cloth to the discoloured skin, you notice his eyes on you, and the tip of his ears reddened as his hair.

"And by people—" your voice comes out louder, more high-pitched than you intended. "—I mean the people back at the Winery, and uh— the customers at the tavern!"

You were a terrible liar. But he found that endearing.

"Right," Diluc whispered, a short, silent laugh escaping his lips.

a/n : I lost my 50/50 on Zhongli's banner to Diluc and he's now in my friendship team (along with Zhongli who came home 78 pulls later. I'm not even complaining, I've waited for Diluc to come on my main account for a while). I'm just trying understand his personality, and this was my first attempt at writing him, so yeah...

Ps : I did have this idea about the reader tending to the wounds/injuries of a character (I was initially thinking maybe Kaeya, but that idea got shaped into something totally different), so I wrote this for the prompt!

#leaf : writes #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #diluc ragnvindr #genshin diluc #diluc x reader #diluc fluff #diluc imagines #diluc scenarios

245 notes · View notes

ladykinrannoch · 2 months

Note

A woman who predicted a lot of things in the RF and rarely posts videos posted one yesterday and she didn't pull any cards, she just talked for a long time and said that Kate's absence is worrying and that something something is wrong. There is a spiritual attack against her. This woman had already declared during the coronation that she saw how very thin Kate was and that she saw her health deteriorating. I'm not questioning those who read the cards, but this woman has been right about a lot of things since 2017. There is something wrong, she even feels like she is being stopped from leaving. She was very clear. Kate has a lot of enemies behind the scenes and not just Meghan. She is under a lot of pressure and her soul is in danger. She has long said that Kate lost her personality, became mentally lost under media pressure and was not supported as she should have been by the palace. This woman is rarely wrong and if she made such a long video it is because she has a terrible feeling towards Kate who needs prayer and spiritual protection because otherwise events will end up getting worse...I'm sorry but for now I believe this woman... at least I'm very skeptical about this absence that hasn't even been broken by her own voice. A letter, a video to reassure the public...something could have been done to break these terrible rumors and the palace press releases are not reliable for me.

Its abdominal surgery and bed rest. Nothing strange about it. We don't need to know the detail. Please read my blog about employing discernment in our spiritual life. There is nothing ominous or bad going on as far as I can tell. The cards drawn were High Priestess, Emperor and The Star. In the Wales's interpretation I looked to the middle of deck and got Queen of Wands RX. If anyone is perpetrating psychic attacks on HRH Catherine, Princess of Wales its the IGLBW. What we can do is stop feeding the narrative of negativity and bring down white light and protection around the Wales's.

You don't name your source. Which is telling me you actually don't believe in that source as much as you profess to.

I call on Brid, Keeper of the eternal flame, healer and protector of women and children guardian of home and hearth to protect the Wales's and in particular Catherine. May she pour her healing waters on them in abundance. Triple Goddess we beseech your intervention on the Wales's protect them from psychic attack. Oh beautiful Goddess of Divinity and divine connection please answer our request. We offer our love and affection up to you for your divine intervention. Bring sword and fire upon those who wish to harm this family, smite them with your blacksmith hammer upon your anvil of judgement. Block entry to their home, keep their home fires burning and give them strength to withstand constant attack. With this invocation may all harm return to sender, for in the Way we harm none albeit we do as we will. With these words we invoke your spirit our Goddess of Healing Waters, daughter of The Dagda and Healer Goddess of the Tu atha de Danaan. Daughter of the great all mother of Divine Waters the Danu. Hear our plea. As above, so below. So mote it be. )0(

54 notes · View notes

lamemaster · 24 days

Text

Yours Truly, Passenger Princess

Pairing: Caranthir x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: On a normal day Caranthir did not care of snobbish, bratty human princesses. He on most days, did not care much for the second born. Some wonder caring had done in the past.

AN: I really love it when one day you're doing your homework and this just randomly floods your mind. Gosh I loved writing this. Peace✌️(Also the annon that sent me so many Curse of Bloodline requests...I gotchu)

"Ew, I'm not stepping on dirt," the princess declared, her voice dripping with disdain.

Caranthir felt a vein throbbing in his temple. Hours they had been waiting, his normally swift strides reduced to a slow, frustrated escort for this… this… human embodiment of a gilded cage.

"It's land," Caranthir gritted out, staring at the princess who remained stubbornly ensconced in her palanquin. "Do you need clouds to step on?"

The princess tilted her head, her perfectly coiffed hair glinting in the sunlight. "Cloud?" she echoed, a look of genuine surprise crossing her features. "Can you do that? I've never stepped on a cloud before. The closest I've come to is, the fur rug that looks like a well...rug." She finished with a self-satisfied pout, seemingly oblivious to the growing tension.

On a normal day Caranthir did not care of snobbish, bratty human princesses. He on most days, did not care much for the second born. Some wonder caring had done in the past.

Most humans were either too strung up about their ideals or busy bending backwards to be a part of his people. And the later were worse.

But your brand of human was rare. Utterly depraved, exponentially ignorant, blind to misery you caused. You sat in your palanquin, fiddling with your bejeweled rings, while the peasants beneath you wilted under the unrelenting sun.

And today, you were Caranthir's problem. One assigned by Maedhros.

You were supposed to be the lucky charm that secured an alliance with your warlord father, who, conveniently, refused to sign anything until his precious daughter graced the council with her presence.

You hummed a nonsensical tune, completely oblivious to the growing tension. Caranthir glanced towards the servants struggling with the palanquin. A bead of sweat trickled down the forehead of one, and he let out a barely audible cough.

Caranthir, at his wit's end, resorted to the last thing on his mind. He ushered Melena, the gentlest mare in all of Arda, closer to your palanquin. Her soft brown eyes seemed to plead with him for this not to be a terrible idea.

"Ride with me," he offered, extending his hand towards you. Melena, ever drawn to shiny objects, leaned in further, her nose twitching at the glint of your bejeweled rings. Caranthir mentally apologized to the mare, knowing this wouldn't be a peaceful journey.

"Absolutely not!" you declared, your voice leaving no room for argument. "A lady does not ride horses. My father forbids it!" You glanced towards Melena with wide eyes, your hand hovering cautiously near the magnificent creature's mane. "Does it… bite?"

The question tumbled out of your mouth with such innocent curiosity that Caranthir couldn't help but chuckle, albeit a humorless one. You, of course, misinterpreted the sound, snapping your hand back as if burned. This only served to further pique Melena's interest. She nudged your hand playfully with her soft muzzle, the glint of your rings mesmerizing her.

Caranthir sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a longer day than he anticipated.

"Alright, princess," he said, his voice strained. "How about we try something else? Perhaps…" He cast a desperate glance at Melena, then back at you. An idea, slightly less ridiculous than the last, began to form in his mind.

The palanquin swayed alarmingly as Caranthir lunged for you, arms outstretched. A breathless yelp escaped your lips before you were engulfed in a whirlwind of silks and jewels. Caranthir found himself face-to-face with a mountain of fabric, the delicate scents of your perfumes assaulting his senses.

"Ah – eep!" you sputtered, your voice muffled by a particularly feathery cushion that was conveniently his chest. Realization dawned on your face, and horror began to morph your features. Caranthir watched with a hint of amusement as your initial indignation gave way to sheer panic. He couldn't help but feel a sliver of satisfaction.

"Not clouds, but I hope this will do, princess?" Caranthir asked before you could launch into a tirade. He was already striding towards the council room, his steps purposeful. Behind them, your servants stood frozen, aghast at their princess being carried off like a prize-winning pumpkin.

A stunned silence followed him, broken only by the rustle of fabric against fabric. Caranthir, for all his outward stoicism, couldn't help but imagine the amused stares of the approaching elves. Carrying a human princess in his arms felt about as graceful as an elephant attempting ballet.

But then, a small sound reached his ears. A hesitant cough, then a whisper so soft he almost missed it. "I guess this will do."

"What did you say, princess?" Caranthir asked, a hint of amusement lingering in his voice. He loosened his grip slightly, the weight of you shifting ever so slightly in his arms.

Your hand, surprisingly strong, reached out and clutched at the loose fabric of his robe. "Thanks," you mumbled, the defiance finally melting away from your voice. Perhaps the thought of a bumpy landing was more motivation than gratitude.

Up close, Caranthir could see the details he'd missed before. The way your eyelashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, unfairly long as some might say. The scent of your perfume, a strange mix of floral and something faintly spicy, filled his senses. He felt a shiver run down his spine, a sensation entirely unrelated to the cool air.

Suddenly, the walk became filled with a different kind of tension. The merry jingle of your earrings seemed to echo in the otherwise silent path.

Then, a surprise. Your hand reached up, a single strand of his long, braid captured between your fingers. He stopped short, surprised by the sudden touch.

"I like your hair," you declared, tilting your head to examine the braid you held captive. "An elven trait or some crazy good shampoo?" You compared a lock of your own hair to his, pouting slightly at the difference in texture.

Caranthir felt a warmth creep up his neck, entirely separate from the exertion of carrying you. He cleared his throat, surprised by his sudden fluster. "Elven trait, princess," he managed, his voice a touch deeper than usual. "Though good shampoo wouldn't hurt."

A smile bloomed on your face, brighter than any jewel you adorned. "Maybe we can make a trade then," you bargained, a playful glint in your eyes. Now that was something Caranthir understood. A trade.

He couldn't help but chuckle, a low rumble in his chest. Negotiation was second nature to him, and the prospect of bargaining with a human princess who valued hair care products over gold or land was an unexpected amusement.

"A trade, you say?" he raised an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in his voice. "And what treasures do you possess that could possibly be worth the secrets of elven hair care?"

You tilted your head, considering. "Peacock feather fans for a lifetime of lustrous locks?" you offered, your voice laced with mock seriousness. "Perhaps pearly earrings that shimmer like moonlight?"

Caranthir fought back another smile. "Those trinkets are no match for the secrets you seek, princess." He countered, enjoying the banter.

"Then surprise me, elf-lord," you declared, feigning offense. "Show me what wonders your elven shampoos hold that are worth more than all the jewels in my father's vault!"

The council room doors loomed ahead, and Caranthir knew they couldn't postpone the real negotiations any longer. However, a mischievous glint entered his eyes. Perhaps, just perhaps, this alliance wouldn't be so dreadful after all. In fact, it might even provide some… entertainment.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #tolkien elves #caranthir x reader #fluff #loved writing this

20 notes · View notes

polutrope · 7 months

Text

Snakes and Ladders

for @silmsmutweek Day 1, Prompts: Solo, Rarepairs, Voyeurism.

It is the night of Tirion's masked ball. Fëanáro is after Artanis' hair, Artanis is after a distraction, Macalaurë is deploying all his wiles, and Findaráto is just trying to have a nice time.

Rating: E | No warnings Words: 4.6k Relationships: Galadriel/Maglor, Finrod/Maglor, Undisclosed Characters: Galadriel, Maglor, Finrod, Feanor, Aredhel, Aegnor, Angrod, Caranthir Genre: Humour and Smut.

On AO3

“No, Írissë, it isn’t about the hair,” Artanis said, her voice strained with frustration. “Not entirely, anyway. It is the principle of his request.”

“What do you mean?” asked Írissë.

Artanis sighed. Her cousin was terribly dense sometimes. “Has he asked my father? No, of course not! My brothers? No. He only asks me because I am a woman, and because I am young and insignificant to him.”

“Hm.” Írisse puckered her lips and shifted her mouth to one side. “But none of them has hair as beautiful as yours.”

Artanis fixed her mouth into a frown, resisting the urge to preen. Írissë noticed, though, and giggled into her cup of wine.

“I am sorry, cousin,” she said, “but I fear this is not the last you will hear from our dear half-uncle. Fëanáro is quite obsessive. You will either have to steel yourself against him or relent. But come!” Írissë set her cup down and leapt up, offering Artanis a hand. “We will not be drawn into the fixations and feuds of all these foolish men. A dance, sweet Nerwendë?”

“Very well,” Artanis accepted her hand and stood, “but I’m not returning to that hall without first replacing my mask.”

The disguise that Artanis had chosen for this year’s appearance at Tirion’s masked ball included a tall and unwieldy headdress, its menacing face with beady eyes and forked tongue sitting heavily on her brow. The wide scaly hood, however, had the benefit of concealing her hair.

In the time Írissë and Artanis had been gone, the number of bodies in the hall had doubled. The musicians were whipping the crowd into a frenzy. Artanis scanned the room. Good: Nerdanel had arrived. That should keep Fëanáro in check. She tucked the hem of her skirt into her belt and joined Írissë in the whirling circle. Artanis gave herself over to the dance. She was swept into the swirl of bodies, her heart pounding and her blood coursing hotly. This was when she was most alive, her spirit ignited by the exertion of her body.

The first chords of the next song signalled a partners dance. Artanis spun, grasping for Írissë — but her cousin had already darted off and slipped into the arms of an elf wearing the face and comically large antlers of a great stag, loose silver hair tumbling over his broad shoulders. How obvious. Typical Fëanárion.

Artanis scoffed and jerked her chin away from her only female cousin. A traitor not only to the line of Indis but to women everywhere!

Then a hand brushed her forearm. She tore herself from its groping fingers, prepared to confront the impertinent, presumptuous—

“Seahorse?” Artanis blurted. Now that was original, at least.

The elf laughed, and the lilting sound slithered straight down Artanis’ spine, a pleasant frisson. The slice of skin exposed by the plunging neckline of his robe intensified the sensation.

A smile broadening beneath the long elegant snout of his mask drew her eyes back up. “Cobra?” he said.

“Mm,” Artanis hummed in agreement.

“Excellent. I have somewhat of a natural ability as a snake charmer.”

Ridiculous, Artanis thought, but deepened her voice seductively and said, “We shall see about that,” and found herself in the arms of the handsome — albeit rather short — seahorse, his frilly orange train sweeping behind as he led her to an empty space on the dance floor.

Looking back on the events of that night, Artanis felt that she would have been able to resist the allure of both his voice and attire, but the beguiling smell of him had robbed her of her wits. The longer they danced, the more it filled the air around them: bright but heady, like honeysuckle and cinnamon. No doubt, she later realised, he had perfumed himself thus with the precise aim of seduction but, by the dew of Laurelin, it worked. Artanis was intoxicated.

So it was that when he abruptly flitted off, pressing his lips to her knuckles and murmuring an excuse about a promised rendezvous (“But I will return, my lissome snake!”), she discreetly followed after him.

Despite his vibrant orange costume and her longer stride, this was surprisingly difficult to do. Whatever rendezvous he had planned, it was taking place in some far recess of the Palace. That ought to have put Artanis off her pursuit. But with her heart aflutter and her flesh alight (for the brush of his lips against her hand had spread like wildfire over her skin), the possibility of observing a secret tryst only hardened her resolve.

She followed him through narrow corridors and up winding staircases she did not even know existed in the Palace — indeed, why did they exist? Last, she clambered up a ladder through a hatch in the ceiling. It opened onto a small round balcony set atop a turret.

She peered over the lip of the opening, took note of the two sets of feet facing each other near the railing, and quickly ducked out of sight. She perched near the top of the ladder.

“Where have you been?” someone whispered shortly. (Artanis would surely have recognised the voice, she assured herself later, had her normally keen perception not been blunted by wine and lust.)

“Never mind,” replied the deeper voice of her dance partner. “I am here now, am I not? Come here: I have something I think you will find hard to resist.”

A whine of protest turned to a groan of pleasure. “Mmm,” said the first voice. “So you have made up for lost time. I am afraid I will need some assistance rising to the occasion.”

Artanis’ chest heaved along to the smack of lips joining, a low moan. Jealousy had no place in her thoughts, which were filled with vivid imagery of what might be happening just out of sight.

“Worry not, my golden flower bud. You know I will tend you as diligently as I must, until your petals are all unfurled and glistening with dew.” These words were punctuated by more wet sounds and rustling silk.

Artanis’ hand slid down the neckline of her gown, fingertip teasing at her hardened nipple. Though the gown draped loosely over her chest, her swollen breasts now felt constrained; she hurriedly unclasped the gown down to her sternum, sinking her fingers into her firm but forgiving flesh.

A groan, both irritation and pleasure. “Longer, no doubt,” said the mysterious lover. “You will wait until I am a fruit nearly rotting on the vine.”

The flick of a fingertip over her nipple caused Artanis to gasp audibly. She pinched her lips shut and froze in alarm, but a timely clatter of metal on the tiles saved her from being discovered. Artanis peeked: a belt of linked gold discs set with emeralds had fallen to the ground.

“Not rotting, no. Only until you are swollen with nectar, so that I might lave sweet juices from you with the barest stroke of my tongue.”

This was followed by the unmistakable exhale of one who had just found relief for some pent up ache.

Artanis hooked her feet around the ladder to steady herself. With one hand she resumed kneading her breasts, and the other she placed over the throbbing mound between her thighs.

The hitched breathing of the elf above took on greater urgency and volume, until he was keening with pleasure. Artanis’ fingers pulsed in time with his cries.

“Oh, oh yes, please, like that,” he babbled.

Artanis inhaled the scent of her own desire, her tongue thickened, and her mouth fell open. Her head lolled back against the top rung of the ladder, her hips lifted and she rutted against her palm. A thin wail escaped her throat, and then another, and she could not keep herself from whimpering as the hardness and heat of her arousal uncoiled deep inside her. The ladder dug into the tops of her feet, her toes curled tight. She squeezed her trembling thighs together, crushing her fingers between them.

“Oh, oh. Oh, fuck,” cried the elf above, “I’m going to spill. Oh stars, take your mouth off or I’ll fill your throat. Oooh, eergghhh!”

With the slightest pulsing of her fingers and the lightest circling of her nipple Artanis too was coming, heart thundering, holding her breath to keep from crying out. As she shuddered through the aftershocks of her climax, Artanis heard laboured breathing, a wet pop, and soft laughter.

Then she fell.

Despite the loud thud of her body hitting the floor, and, in the next second, the clattering of the ladder coming down on top of her, Artanis managed to scramble out of sight before the two lovers saw her. Holding her headdress up with one hand and her gown closed with another, she hurried back down the way she came — but took a sharp turn before coming too near the hall, eyes seeking some room or nook where she could put herself in order.

A voice from behind halted her.

“Nerwen! There you are!”

Artanis turned to face the tall, lean figure of an elf wearing a mask with a black beak and golden hawk’s eyes. Long, mottled plumes fanned out to either side of his face.

“Aikanáro!” she greeted her brother. “When did you arrive?”

“Not long ago. Have you seen Ingo? Grandmother is looking for him. Apparently he promised to perform some poetry with her.”

“Oh,” said Artanis. She could not recall seeing Findaráto at all that evening. “Are you sure he’s come already?”

Aikanáro snickered.

Artanis narrowed her eyes. “Do grow up. No, I haven’t seen him.”

“Fine. Well, I’m going back to the party. He can make his own apologies to Indis. Why are you here, by the way?” He strode closer to her and reached for the top of her headdress. “And what happened to your hat? Oh — oops. One of your eyeballs fell out.” He held the large black bead out for her to see.

“I tripped,” Artanis said in a hurry, and grabbed the eyeball from her brother. “On my gown. Too much of it.”

Aikanáro laughed. “Ah little Nerwen, you never could manage in a dress. You ought to have worn trousers. Come on, let’s get you straightened out.”

Findaráto still had not appeared when Artanis returned to the dance hall, and Indis had started the performance without him. But at the climactic moment of the first canto, describing the raising of the Lamps Illuin and Ormal, suddenly he stood in one of the high arched openings behind the stage. His golden raiment shimmered in the light of Telperion.

The crowd roared their approval of these theatrics, but Artanis caught the look of surprise on Indis’ face. This entrance had not been by design. Artanis tutted and turned to the spread behind her: her brother would get no approval of his antics from her. She plucked a few plump grapes and stuffed olives from the table and added them to her plate.

Then she caught a heady whiff of that cinnamon-honeysuckle scent. Like a spiced wine it sank straight down into her belly and pooled there, pleasantly warm.

“Psst.”

Artanis looked up. With fluid grace, the seahorse-costumed elf slunk over the sill of an open window.

“Don’t tell me you are part of this ridiculous act,” said Artanis.

“What?” He glanced at the stage where Findaráto had begun to dance in time with his recitation. “Oh, no. No, I just got a little lost on my way back and came round the outside. Easier to get my bearings. I hope you will forgive the delay.”

Artanis cleared her throat and tilted her chin towards the ceiling. If only he were taller, she thought, and in her thought she heard the voice of Írissë rejoinder, “Why? You know it makes no difference lying down.”

“Forgive you?” said Artanis. “That will depend on how you intend to make up for it.” Artanis sliced her front teeth through a fat grape and licked a circle around the rim of her parted lips to gather its juices.

Through the openings in the other elf’s mask, she could see his eyes darken.

“Well,” he said, his red lips dancing around the syllable, “the dew is gathering on the primroses about this hour and they are most fragrant—”

“Yes,” said Artanis, who was going to go mad (from both lust and vexation) if she heard one more word about flowers spoken in that dulcet tone. “Let’s go.”

It was not well known among Tirion’s elite that the staid and formidable Nerwen Artanis Arafinwiel was as ambitious about the acquisition of lovers as she was about the acquisition of athletic and intellectual accolades. Because Artanis was decisive and efficient, eschewing the coquetry that normally preceded an act of pleasure, it was believed, by those she did not bed, that she was uninterested in such matters. As for those she did bed, the reverence and fear she inspired kept them from making any boasts about having breached the steely exterior of Arafinwë’s daughter — at which each believed him or herself to have been uniquely successful.

This included Canafinwë Macalaurë Fëanorion, who, when he had looked about the dance floor and spotted, on her own, an unusually tall woman with spools of silver-gold hair escaping her headdress, had rearranged the evening’s agenda to include concourse with not one but two children of the House of Arafinwë.

“Won’t you take off that ridiculous mask?” Artanis protested, as the tip of Macalaurë’s seahorse snout brushed the space between her bared breasts.

“Ah, but that would spoil the fun, now, wouldn’t it?” Macalaurë took one swollen breast in each hand, shaping her chocolate-brown nipples into hard peaks with his thumbs. He looked up at her. “I tell you what. I will remove my snout if you will remove but the hood of your headdress. I long to run my fingers through the beautiful hair you are hiding beneath there.”

Artanis shoved him off, hard enough that Macalaurë stumbled backwards over the wet grass. “No. We shall have to make do.” Then she tugged him back, navigating her way around the awkward protuberance of his mask to stick her tongue down his throat.

They were both gasping when she pulled back. “There is one way this could be made significantly easier,” she said. “And fortunately for you, I am in the mood to be fucked like a bitch in heat.”

Then she threw off the rest of her gown, spun around, and bent down nearly in half. She planted her hands on the low garden wall.

Face appearing upside-down between her calves, she commanded: “Come now, get on with it. I have little patience for a drooping stem.”

Macalaurë, all the blood in his brain currently allocated to maintaining the rigidity of said stem, failed to note the reference to his earlier florid blandishments. With all the enthusiasm and cocksure confidence he brought to celebrating victory in the theatrical arena, he thrust into the glistening blossom of Arafinwë’s daughter.

What a splendid evening! Findaráto leapt off the stage, landing with another sweeping bow. The applause vibrated in his bones. The success of the recitation (and extempore dance) with Grandmother Indis had been a triumph, and all the more so for how perilously close it had come to disaster. Findaráto should have known better than to trust Macalaurë to be punctual for a warm-up on such an important occasion, but truly there were no other lips or fingers so skilled in all of Eldamar. And then the ladder toppling over! Scaling down the palace walls!

Findaráto laughed and threw his head back. He let it rest there, inhaling deeply. The chandeliers cast a myriad of colours over the domed and tiled ceiling. Marvellous!

A resonant, vaguely threatening voice drew his chin abruptly down.

“Have you seen your sister?”

Findaráto worked to keep the smile plastered across his face. No ‘Well done, nephew!’ Not even a ‘Good evening, Findaráto, how are you?’ Just ‘Where is your sister?’ Fëanáro’s interest in Artanis’ hair, amusing at first, was becoming a worrying fixation.

“Uncle,” Findaráto replied to the elegantly but plainly attired Fëanáro. He wore no costume or mask save a tall plumed headpiece — likely at his wife’s insistence. Fëanáro was vocal in his disdain for wearing disguises, even in fun (and yet his hand in crafting the bedazzled costumes of his sons was unmistakable). “Good evening. No, I have not seen Artanis.”

Fëanáro frowned. “Hm.” He threw back the last of his drink and shoved the glass into Findaráto’s hand. “Would you tell my wife I’ve gone for a walk?”

Without waiting for an answer, Fëanáro spun, heels clicking on the stone floor as he marched towards the hall’s exit.

Findaráto stared at his retreating figure. His mouth flapped uselessly. 'Leave my sister alone!' he wanted to cry. Especially now. Artanis’ proclivities were no secret to her eldest brother and primary confidant (or so Findaráto flattered himself into believing). If Artanis was nowhere to be found at this hour there was almost certainly a salacious reason for it. So far the evening had gone so well! Not even a word of aggression exchanged between the bifurcated lines of Finwë. But if Fëanáro were to catch Artanis in an act of passion—! Findaráto rather doubted the proud son of Míriel would come away unscathed.

By now, Fëanáro was nothing but a black plume rising above the crowd. Findaráto trotted after him.

Fëanáro stalked through the garden paths silent and perilous as a panther. Findaráto tracked him. It was due only to his greater familiarity with these gardens, which his uncle shunned whenever possible, that he managed to escape notice.

While keeping an eye on Fëanáro, Findaráto quirked his ears in the direction of various locations he knew from personal experience to be ideal for holding tryst.

His left ear caught on a staccato series of sharp cries. They were coming from the primrose garden. A low moan and murmur soothed the cries into silence. Momentarily — for they started up again almost at once, louder than before, and then broke into speech.

“Aahh, yes, yes! Fuck me, you wanton rogue!”

A knowing grimace tugged Findaráto's mouth down. He was by now mostly inured to the shock of hearing such cries from Artanis' mouth, but no big brother would ever wholly be free of the impulse to drag his little sister away from her ravisher, no matter how willing she might be.

Then he panicked: the path Fëanáro followed was leading him directly to her location. Findaráto broke into a run, thoughts grasping for a clever distraction while his feet raced to stop his uncle.

When he came to a breathless halt and Fëanáro spun on him, he still had no plan.

“Then I just blurted: ‘Uncle!’ — he grimaced at that — ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about a point in your recent lecture on the tehtar.’ ‘Yes?’ he said. ‘Er yes,’ I said, frantically trying to remember something from the talk. ‘Ah! Yes, well, as you know, I am fluent in Telerin,’ — he huffed and rolled his eyes at that — ‘and I was interested in your point about the roots of Quenya méla as it relates to Telerin māla.’ He raised his brows impatiently, but his eyes lit up. I think my youthful enthusiasm must have saved me from humiliation. ‘Well, my Telerin prince,’ he said, ‘it doesn’t,’ then he took me by the arm and indulged me with an hour lecture on the coalescing of vowels, which might have gone on until Laurelin’s flowering had not your mother tracked us down and dragged him away. But it was a small price to pay to keep him from coming upon my sister and her lover. Can you imagine!”

Findaráto burst into a fit of laughter.

“Mm, clever Ingo.” Macalaurë nipped Findaráto’s collarbone. His hands tightened around his ribs.

“Ah, that tickles!” Findaráto shrieked.

Macalaurë settled himself on top. Findaráto was still chuckling as he stooped to kiss him. When he pulled away, his lips curled in that way that meant he was about to say something he thought witty: “Lucky you didn’t walk yourself into a bed of thorns.”

“Oh, please.” Findaráto smacked his shoulder.

Macalaurë’s smirk split into a grin. His thumbs followed the curve of Findaráto’s pectorals and toyed with the pearl rings piercing his nipples. When Findaráto responded with a shiver, he slipped his tongue through one of the rings.

Findaráto’s sigh of pleasure ended in another fit of giggles. He could not keep his thoughts from straying to the narrowly-avoided crisis in the gardens.

“Who do you think she was with?” he mused.

Macalaurë groaned and thumped his forehead against Findaráto’s breastbone. “I do not care!” he grumbled, then bracing himself on his elbows and adjusting his hips so that the hard length of his arousal met Findaráto’s abdomen, he said more seductively: “You are with me now, and there is something we need to finish.”

Findaráto’s own arousal jumped in answer, and he allowed himself to be rolled over and hoisted on top of Macalaurë, where their mouths joined hungrily.

It was not long before Findaráto’s neck was thrown back, breath coming in short gasps and hands clenching and unclenching around the sheets, while two slick fingers worked to ease him open. A tongue swirled around the head of his shaft. A shock of pleasure rushed from each point of contact and Findaráto cried out when they met mingled inside him.

Then suddenly he was bereft of both tongue and fingers. “Wha— What, no! Please, don’t stop, I’m— wha—”

A hand clamped over his mouth. “Did you hear that?”

“Herwut?” Findaráto mumbled against Macalaurë’s palm.

A shout and the patter of feet on the stairs answered for him.

“Ingo!” the woman’s voice called.

Ai! Findaráto cursed himself for not speaking to Artanis after the last incident with the wax ‘body painting’. “You have to draw a boundary, Ingo,” echoed Turukáno’s wisdom from the recesses of his memory. Too late now.

“Quick!” he squirmed out from under Macalaurë’s embrace. “It’s Artanis! Under the cover!”

Findaráto sprung up to tug at the blanket bunched at the foot of the bed, but with a flash of skin Macalaurë was out of the bed and—

“NO!” cried Findaráto.

—out the window.

In the same moment he disappeared from sight, the door swung open. “Ingo! You will not believe the evening I have had!” Artanis swept into the room, and her oblivious enthusiasm granted Findaráto precious seconds with which to cover himself.

She perched on the edge of the bed, flinging her cobra headdress onto the mattress beside her.

“Hello sister,” said Findaráto, and smiled.

Artanis laughed. “Ingo, did you know there are hatches in the ceiling of the Palace that lead to little balconies atop the turrets?”

“Mmhmm.” Under the cover, Findaráto’s fingers gripped his knees. His teeth clenched behind his smile.

“Well, there was this elf behaving very oddly — the one dressed as a seahorse, did you see him? — and he slipped off for a ‘rendezvous’, so I followed him.” A pained squeak rose in Findaráto’s throat. “Oh, don’t be a prude, I know you would have done the same. In any case—”

Abruptly, she stopped, her darting eyes landing on the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed. On top of it lay Macalaurë’s forgotten, and rather mussed-up, seahorse mask.

Her face fell. “Why do you have that,” she said darkly, a pallor of revulsion bleaching the rosy tint from her cheeks.

Angaráto was seated on the low portico wall when the nude elf landed in the flowerbed directly in front of him, arms extended like wings and mouth agape, as if shocked he’d stuck the landing.

Grinning smoothly, Angaráto shoved the dark head between his thighs down and draped his other hand casually across his hips.

“Hello Macalaurë,” he said. The body lying prostrate against the wall at his feet grunted. Angaráto kicked it.

Macalaurë blinked, mouth still hanging open.

“Are you lost?” Angaráto asked.

“I…” Macalaurë stammered. While he waited for his cousin to verbalise his thoughts, Angaráto’s eyes darted down the exposed plane of his chest to find him — as expected of one who had fallen naked from his older brother’s window — still half-hard. Macalaurë evidently took this as a sign of interest (which it was, on some level): when Angaráto’s gaze again found his, he was smiling smugly.

Macalaurë dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. “Lost? Not at all! I was just going for a swim — would you like to come?” His brows waggled suggestively.

This could be fun, Angaráto thought, stamping down on the body beneath him and leaning forward to come closer to Macalaurë. “A swim, eh?” he said.

Then several things happened at once:

The body on the ground sprung up between them, knocking Angaráto’s chin with one shoulder as he swung to shove Macalaurë into the greenery.

“Can you not leave anyone for the rest of us?” growled Macalaurë’s assailant.

“Carnistir?!” Macalaurë cried. “But I thought you hated—”

From upstairs, a shriek louder than both Macalaurë’s disbelieving protests and Angaráto’s roll of laughter: “I cannot believe you let a Fëanárion put his teeth near your—! Ugh!”

“I can’t believe you were listening! How could you not have known it was me?”

This was followed by a cry of dismay and several incomprehensible noises of disgust. “I don’t know! He was very— oh Varda save me! I can’t believe I let a Fëanárion fuck me!”

“You WHAT!?”

“I let him fuck me! After I heard him with you, I went to the gardens and he fucked me. And then he came back here, to you, the insatiable boar!”

But when Artanis and Findaráto appeared side-by-side, torsos thrust out of the upstairs window, shouting “Cáno!” and “You Fëanárian philanderer!”, it was only Angaráto they saw grinning up at them.

Concealed by a high retaining wall, Carnistir and Macalaurë made a slow retreat, mouthing curses, flicking, shoving, and tugging at the other’s hair.

The dining room in the seldom-occupied quarters set aside for Fëanáro and his household slowly filled with bodies. Fëanáro beamed as brightly as the rays of Laurelin streaming through the windows as each of his sons took their seats around the table.

When at last they were all assembled, Fëanáro addressed them. “My sons, I am most proud of your appearances last night. Seeing each of you like a jewel amid the crowd—” he ignored several groans “—swells my heart with—” a glimmer stopped him short. Laurelin’s light had caught on a long thread of gold on the tablecloth between Macalaurë and Carnistir.

“What is that?” Fëanáro asked.

His sons mistook the intensity of his tone for displeasure. “Oh, sorry,” they both said at once, reaching for the glorious strand of hair.

“No, let me see that,” said Fëanáro, extending his hand greedily. Macalaurë scowled (poor child, thought Fëanáro, he had clearly had too much drink), then plucked the hair from the table and held it out for his father.

Fëanáro snatched it from him and twisted it around one finger reverentially. He slipped it into a pocket. He looked from Macalaurë to Carnistir, briefly considering which of them— no matter. He had it now, that precious filament of mingled light he had so long sought.

“You did well,” he said to them both.

Sticking his fork into his eggs with satisfaction, he missed Macalaurë whispering to his brother: “Should we tell him?”

“No,” Carnistir replied, and shrugged. “Anyway, who's to say it isn’t hers?

#silmsmutweek #galadriel #maglor #finrod #galadriel x maglor #finrod x maglor #makarato #my fic

35 notes · View notes

drabblesandimagines · 1 year

Note

*looks both ways, hands you a $20* If you’re comfortable with it, poly Kazuki, Rei, and reader taking Miri to daycare and the daycare moms are going feral in the background or a date or anything with those wholesome train-wreaks somehow making things work. Thank you ♥️♥️

Thanks for the request, anon! I'm mainly a fluffy-type writer but I wanted to challenge myself and give this a go, albeit a few tweaks.

Please let me know what you think (anon or not!) <3 Buddy Daddies Pairings: Rei x Kazuki x you (polyamorous) Warnings: Nothing graphic, but implied. One swear word. Drabble under the cut if this isn't your sort of thing!

Aozora Daycare Moms (Non-Kazuki chat)

Sakura: Devastating news, ladies. Papa Kazuki looks to be off the market. Spotted looking very cosy earlier…

A photo of you and Kazuki is attached – the blonde man staring deep into your eyes, leaning across the table, a flirtatious smile on his face as the two of you enjoyed a mid-morning coffee. Your knees are brushing up against one another.

Yui: That doesn't mean anything, Sakura. They could just be friends catching up. I can’t believe you took photos!

Sakura sends a gif - a repeating video loop of you wiping the milk froth off of Kazuki’s top lip before he takes your fingers in his mouth and sucks, eyebrows raised seductively.

Aiko: Gosh, poor Papa Rei!

Mai: Poor Papa Rei? Poor me!

Masako: Sakura, did you really make a gif?!

Sakura: No, I took a video… my phone suggested it made a gif and I clicked okay.

Yui: I still think they could be just friends.

Sakura: Mm, and denial is also a river in Egypt.

Yui: ???

Mai: Ladies, HUGE developments. Huge.

Sakura: What?

A photo pops up, Rei and you, hand in hand, entering a video games store. Mai has drawn a big red circle around your intertwined hands in case it’s not obviously clear.

Sakura: Mai, that’s an awful picture. We need one from the front.

Mai: I’m working on it, jeez.

Ten minutes later…

Mai: You WON’t believe this.

Another photo, front on, of you and Rei, his arm now around your waist, keeping you snug to him as you walk down the aisle, browsing the shelves.

Masako: No, it can’t be.

Mai: It is.

Masako: No way.

Yui: Can’t be who?

Mai sends the photos of you and Kazuki and Rei and you, side by side.

Yui: Oh.

Yui: No, I still don’t understand.

Sakura: She’s dating the two of them?!

Mai: YES.

Yui: Maybe they're just friends.

Aiko: Do you think this is why Rei looks so tired - the guilt?

Sakura: No, Rei’s so quiet and sweet. I can’t see him doing something like that to Kazuki, or Kazuki doing something like that to him! She's obviously two-timing them both and they have no idea.

Aiko: Oh, my goodness, you’re right. Poor papas. That’s awful.

Sakura: Out in the west side of the town for an errand and who do I see? The harlot and Kazuki! Rei did the drop-off this morning and seemed perky. I can’t stand it. I’m going to confront her.

Aiko: Sakura, don’t.

Mai: Sakura, YES.

Masako: Please.

“Kazuki, stop!” You giggle as the blonde man kisses your neck again. He’s been terrible all morning and you’re not quite sure what’s got into him. His hand slides up your thigh, dangerously close to going underneath your pleated skirt and you playfully slap it away. “I thought we were just going to have a nice lunch, what’s the matter with you?”

“It’s this outfit, it’s unfair…” He whines. It is quite the short skirt, but it hadn’t been your choice. You think now it might have even been on purpose, the scoundrel…

“Kazuki, fancy seeing you here!” A cheerful female voice chimes. You don’t recognise her, but Kazuki seems to, greeting her with a smile.

“Oh, Sakura! Yes, we’re just out for some lunch.” He nods to you, introducing you by name. “She’s my girlfriend. Sakura’s one of the other moms at daycare, baby.” Sakura’s face seems to darken at the nickname.

“Hi!” You smile brightly. Kazuki is a good-looking man – it’s not like you haven’t seen jealous women in the past.

“Mm, hello.” She replies, tersely. “Kazuki, would you mind awfully if we had a word in private?”

“Private? Er…” He looks at you, a puzzled look on his face. “What about?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t say in present company.” She gives you a sour look. What on earth is this woman’s deal?

“Could we do this some other time, Sakura? I don’t mean to be rude but we don’t get much time alone together, you’ll understand, with kids and all…” He throws an arm around your shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Okay… I really didn’t want to do it this way, Kazuki, but I’m afraid she’s cheating on you.” Sakura places her hands on her hips, giving you a withering stare.

“Excuse me?!” You stand up from your seat but Kazuki pulls you back down to your seat immediately, preventing a cat fight. He knows your temper.

“You heard me, you harlot. It’s even worse, not only is she cheating, but she’s two-timing with Rei!"

Kazuki stares for a second before he erupts into laughter and you let out an exhale. Sakura looks back and forth between the two of you, in disbelief.

“I know that seems unlikely, but I’ve seen photos. I couldn’t stand to let this concubine hurt the two of you…” Her hand is rooting around in her purse now.

“What’s so funny?” Rei asks in his usual monotone voice, carrying a tray with a variety of drinks on top of it. Kazuki is laughing so hard he’s in tears. Rei places the tray down on the table and gives Sakura a hard stare.

Sakura is speechless now, trying to work out what on earth was going on. Was Aiko right and, actually, Rei and you were having an affair behind Kazuki’s back? Well, she couldn’t stand for that either. She locates her phone in her purse at last and scrolls through, finding the photographs of Rei and you in the video games store, looking particularly cosy. She hands it to Kazuki, who wipes a tear from his eye and looks.

“Oh.” His face settles back to a neutral position.

“Yes, oh.” Sakura chimes back.

Rei’s peering over Kazuki’s shoulder at the photo – his expression unreadable. He shrugs, before taking the seat the other side of you.

“Well, don’t you have anything to say for yourselves?” Sakura lectures down at you and Rei. Rei smirks, leans forward and makes eye contact with Kazuki, who gives him a sly grin. Rei’s hand slides around the back of your neck and jerks, turning you towards him before he forces his tongue into your mouth - not that you give much resistance - kissing you passionately, nibbling at your lip as if he was starved – his hand sliding up and under the skirt he’d bought for you at the same time.

He pulls away, leaving you breathless a moment and smiles up at Sakura who is standing there, shell-shocked. The audacity of the two of you, doing this in front of Kazuki! Poor, sweet Kazuki who looks... pleased? Kazuki then turns in his seat towards you, catching your chin in his hand and pulls you into his own kiss. He’s more gentle than Rei, his other hand caressing your head, running his fingers through your hair, softly kissing you over and over, before he pulls away.

“What on earth…?” Sakura forces out, looking in disbelief between the three of you.

“Sorry, I should’ve made it clear from the start, she’s our girlfriend.” Kazuki wraps an arm around your shoulders, and Rei’s hand rests back on your thigh. You’re flushed, trying to catch your breath. They’ve never done this in public before – not that you’re embarrassed. You mean, fuck, you love it when they tussle over you at home, but it just was so unexpected.

“I… I… I’m so sorry, Kazuki, Rei. I didn’t mean to…”

“I hope this won’t be an issue, Sakura. I really hope we can all still be friends.” The blonde states.

“Y-yes, of course,” she bows her head. “Forgive me for interrupting your…date. I’ll see you all at pick-up time - maybe.”

She backs away, her body shaking, before she high tails it out of there.

“That poor woman. You guys are jerks.” You giggle.

“We’re your jerks, though,” Rei whispers in your ear and you shudder.

“Hmm. I think I’m thirsty for something else now, actually. How about you, Rei?” Kazuki grins, getting to his feet and stretching.

“I wouldn’t argue. Come on, sweetheart.”

You had quite the afternoon.

Masako: Sakura, what happened?! Did you confront them?

Aiko: Sakura, you can’t leave us hanging like this. I’m going to bring cookies to pick-up though in case they need consoling, poor things.

Sakura: I did it.

Masako: And?!

Sakura: They knew. They both knew.

Aiko: What, they knew she was dating both of them…?

Sakura: They’re all together. They’re polyamorous. I made such a fool of myself. Gosh. Mai: NO.

Yui: Polyamorous?

Aiko: Google it, Yui.

Yui: Oh!

Yui: ..do you think they’re looking for a fourth?

Check out my masterlist.

#ghostdogwrites #reader requests #poly relationship #kazuki x rei x you #kazuki x you #buddy daddies #buddy daddies fanfic #rei suwa x reader #suwa rei x reader #poly rei x kazuki #kazuki kurusu x you

128 notes · View notes

campingwiththecharmings · 1 year

Text

Happy Accidents

AN: No one asked me for this but here it is all the same lol

(Un-beta'd)

Prompt: You were waving at your friend behind me but I got confused and waved back at you and now I’m dying of embarrassment but you think it’s cute. x

Rated: T (for some mild cursing) Words: 1,636 Pairing: Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Warnings: awkwardness, cursing, over-use of the word 'kriffing' for some reason, possibly terrible writing. AO3

——————

It’s early. Early enough that the hangar bay is mostly deserted. That’s fine with you, though; less people means less distractions.

You’d joined the Resistance a few months ago and were still a mechanic-in-training. Master mechanic Nicorile Crisbay had graciously taken you under his wing and you were so grateful. He was older, and a little rough around the edges, but he recognized your potential and was (mostly) patient with you. He was the reason you were here so early. About a week ago, Crisbay had given you a project, a project he expected you to complete in addition to your daily tasks and lessons. You’re struggling, but you don’t want to disappoint him, so here you are up before the sun trying to rebuild the engine of an old starfighter.

You mutter a curse as your hand slips, your wrench clattering to the ground as it falls from your hand. Sighing in frustration, you hang your head, allowing yourself a couple of seconds of self-pity, before bending over and snatching it from the ground. You toss it onto the workbench behind you, plopping down on the stool beside it with a groan.

You’re exhausted and the sun’s not even up yet.

Rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands, you sigh, searching the workbench for your canteen. When you spot it, you grab it and twist off the cap. As you bring the container to your lips, you allow your gaze to sweep the room, giving your brain a much-needed break. The hangar has more people milling around than it did an hour ago, but it’s far from bustling– there are a few other mechanics working on ships and droids, as well as a couple of pilots, the harsh orange of their flight suits brighter beneath the glaring hangar lights. Your eyes are drawn to one pilot in particular: Poe Dameron, the best pilot in the Resistance. You might be new, but you’ve been here long enough to know who he is. You haven’t exactly met just yet (though you swear he made eye contact with you in the hall one time), but you hope you will one day.

You watch as he walks across the hangar, his adorable droid rolling along beside him. You take another mouthful of water from your canteen, eyes still following him, as he continues his trek. He stops to briefly look at the ship parked a few spots away from your workbench. After a moment, he turns away, looking around as if searching for someone. You should really get back on task, you think. Crisbay will be in soon and you had hoped to have made a little more progress by then. As this thought crosses your mind, Poe turns back around, gazing in your direction. You look away quickly, replacing the canteen’s lid, and pray he didn’t catch you staring blankly at him (and when his back was to you no less).

Setting down your canteen, you rise from your place on the stool and reclaim your tools from the workbench. As you make your way back over to the old starfighter, you sense movement out of the corner of your eye and absently glance over…only to see that Poe Dameron is waving at you.

You stop in your tracks, eyes widening a little in shock because you seriously have no idea what to do here. Your brain is screaming at you to do something though, because if this happens to be your first interaction with Poe kriffing Dameron, you’d rather he not think you’re rude. So you wave back, albeit a tad awkwardly because, hey, you’re a little confused.

Poe stops mid-wave and cocks his head a little, a smile stretching slowly across his face as he looks at you, and you stop, your stomach dropping. Slowly, you turn and see Snap Wexley, Poe’s friend and member of his squadron, almost directly behind you and you die a little inside; clearly, he was waving at Snap, not you (shit).

Mortified, you turn your attention back to the engine you were working on, mentally kicking yourself and thinking about how stupid one of the biggest Resistance heroes now thinks you are. You force yourself not to look in his direction again, instead deciding to dive head-first into your work.

Crisbay arrives promptly at 0700 and seems at least mildly impressed with your progress. Your relief is short-lived, however, as he then proceeds to teach you so many new things, your head is spinning by lunch. He seems to sense this, however, and graciously grants you an extra long break. You decide to return to your quarters for a quick nap, exhausted from your early morning. After setting your alarm, you fall onto your bed, sleep taking you the second your head hits the pillow.

You start when your alarm goes off about an hour later, sitting up abruptly as the blaring noise pulls you from sleep. You groan in annoyance, flopping back down onto your bed with a huff. After a moment, you turn, moving to shut off the alarm still going off beside you. As you move to sit on the side of your bed, you stretch, scrubbing a hand over your face. Your stomach growls loudly after a moment and it’s then that you realize you’re starving, having forgone breakfast that morning in favor of more time in the hangar. With a sigh, you stand, stretching once more as you glance at the clock. You still have enough time to stop by the mess hall before you have to be back so you rise, stretch, and head out into the hallway

On your way, you pass people who work all over the base; some you know, some you don't. You nod at anyone that happens to make eye contact with you, returning smiles here and there. As you get closer, the bright orange of a flight suit catches your eye by the entrance to the mess hall and your step falters, your heart stuttering in your chest when you realize who it belongs to.

Poe kriffing Dameron.

Sirens are blaring in your head as you slow your gait, your brain screaming ‘Mayday, mayday! Abort, abort!’ and you wonder fruitlessly if it’s too late to turn around—

But then suddenly he's heading toward you and the last thing you need is for him to catch you staring for a second time. So you panic, looking at the wall beside you with far too much interest as you continue slowly down the hall, praying to the Maker that he doesn't notice you.

You’re not far from the mess hall now, and you’re pretty sure he's passed you, so you breathe a quiet sigh of relief. As you turn your attention ahead, you chuckle at yourself for making such a big deal out of nothing, only to look up and lock eyes with him—Poe Dameron is standing right next to the mess hall door, an amused smile on his lips as his warm gaze holds yours.

Immediately you stop in your tracks, frantically praying that the ground will split open and swallow you whole.

Regrettably, it doesn’t.

“Hi,” he says, smiling as he directs a little wave at you.

Your face burns with embarrassment as you continue to wordlessly stare at him like a deer in the headlights. His stupidly gorgeous smile widens a little, presumably at your reaction, and you idly wonder how far the cliffside is because you’re considering flinging yourself off the edge.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he continues, taking a step toward you, “I’m Poe.”

When you finally manage to shake some sense into yourself, he’s directly in front of you.

You nod, awkwardly waving back. “I know. I mean—”

Wow, you’re really batting a thousand today, aren't you?

You grimace, mentally kicking yourself for the umpteenth time that day, when you see an outstretched hand enter your field of vision. You follow the arm attached to it back up to (who else) Poe and his annoyingly handsome face. He raises his eyebrows at you as if waiting for you to say something, but when you don’t, he wiggles the fingers on his outstretched hand a little.

“And you are?”

At this point, you’re wishing you were in space so you could throw yourself out an airlock, but instead you’re here embarrassing yourself.

You smile awkwardly and take his hand; it’s warm, solid, and oddly comforting, despite everything. You finally tell him your name and he repeats it softly, his warm brown eyes roving your face as if to commit it to memory.

“Great to meet you,” he says softly, smiling as he lets go of your hand.

“Likewise,” you agree, flushing when you notice that his attention is still fixed on you.

He seems to realize he’s staring and looks away, the tips of his ears reddening as he clears his throat.

“You heading inside?” he asks, gesturing toward the mess hall door a little awkwardly.

You nod, shooting him a small smile, grateful for the change in subject. He glances away briefly as if nervous before meeting your eyes again.

“I, uh, was about to head in there too. You want some company?”

You blink at him in confusion as you could’ve sworn he was heading away from the mess hall when you’d walked up, but you must’ve been mistaken; it’s not like Poe Dameron would make up an excuse to have a meal with you, right?

You smile again and nod. “That’d be great.”

He smiles at you again and you swear to the Maker that it’s like the sun and—shit, you think, you might be developing a little bit of a crush on Poe kriffing Dameron (and he might just be developing one on you too).

Review (pretty please)?

🌟 Masterlist 🌟

i am no longer doing a taglist. please follow @charmingupdates for updates and turn on notifications.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fic #poe dameron reader insert #my fic

173 notes · View notes

mariana-oconnor · 7 months

Text

Thor Bridge pt 1

Marvel has officially ruined everything because all I can think of at this title is

Big intro spiel from Watson today. Lots of stories he isn't going to tell us.

The following narrative is drawn from my own experience.

On the contrary, I found that he had nearly finished his meal, and that his mood was particularly bright and joyous, with that somewhat sinister cheerfulness which was characteristic of his lighter moments.

Watson: Holmes was eating and happy, this creeped me out.

"...we may discuss it when you have consumed the two hard-boiled eggs with which our new cook has favoured us."

New cook? What happened to Mrs Hudson? I thought she did the cooking.

And apparently Holmes has to throw shade about their taste in literature... or rather the timing of their literary entertainments.

I hope it was a good story.

“You have heard of Neil Gibson, the Gold King?” he said.

No, but if he doesn't wear gold all the time - an entire suit of gold - I will be very disappointed.

What on earth does 'the interesting personality of the accused' mean? I assume we will find out, but that's a peculiar little phrase to throw in there.

"This man is the greatest financial power in the world, and a man, as I understand, of most violent and formidable character. He married a wife, the victim of this tragedy, of whom I know nothing save that she was past her prime, which was the more unfortunate as a very attractive governess superintended the education of two young children."

So Gold King is a dickhead and quite possibly the actual murderer.

“Well, in the first place there is some very direct evidence. A revolver with one discharged chamber and a calibre which corresponded with the bullet was found on the floor of her wardrobe.”

By 'direct evidence' you mean 'entirely circumstantial and very probably planted'.

"Then the dead woman had a note upon her making an appointment at that very place and signed by the governess."

Really fucking dumb of her to lure her to the crime scene, take the weapon away but leave the note that had lured her there. And to put the murder weapon in her own room.

"Finally there is the motive. Senator Gibson is an attractive person. If his wife dies, who more likely to succeed her than the young lady who had already by all accounts received pressing attentions from her employer?"

...does she want his pressing attentions? Nothing about that sentence indicates that she reciprocated his advances or encouraged them. You have established him as a violent and unpleasant man - a side of him she'd probably see, living in the house - and sure there's a chance she's in it for the money and doesn't care that he's terrible, but also... he's terrible. More likely she turned him down and he decided to eliminate both of the women he hated in one fell swoop.

"On the contrary, she had to admit that she was down near Thor Bridge—that was the scene of the tragedy—about that hour."

“Mr. Gibson is coming. Mr. Gibson is my employer. I am manager of his estate. Mr. Holmes, he is a villain—an infernal villain.”

More evidence that Mr Gibson is a terrible person. But can we believe Mr Bates?

"She was a creature of the tropics, a Brazilian by birth, as no doubt you know.” “No, it had escaped me.” “Tropical by birth and tropical by nature. A child of the sun and of passion. She had loved him as such women can love, but when her own physical charms had faded—I am told that they once were great—there was nothing to hold him."

There's a lot to unpack there. The racism. The misogyny. The ageism. The racist misogynistic ageism.

The thing about scared employees reporting on their bosses is that they don't want to be caught by said bosses.

The thing about frauds trying to frame other people is that they don't want to be caught by the people they are framing.

Although so far everything Mr Bates has said corroborates what Holmes said at the beginning of the story, albeit with more... racism (Holmes actually was a little misogynistic and ageist, but I glossed over it).

...then with a masterful air of possession he drew a chair up to my companion and seated himself with his bony knees almost touching him.

“What were the exact relations between you and Miss Dunbar?” The Gold King gave a violent start and half rose from his chair. Then his massive calm came back to him. “I suppose you are within your rights—and maybe doing your duty—in asking such a question, Mr. Holmes.”

Huh... that's like an actually reasonable response to the question. Initial outrage at the rudeness of it, then tempered with understanding that the facts are required.

Huh.

I sprang to my feet, for the expression upon the millionaire's face was fiendish in its intensity, and he had raised his great knotted fist.

Ah, there's the violence we were promised.

"You're like a surgeon who wants every symptom before he can give his diagnosis.”

You mean... a competent one?

"Well, the stakes are down and the reserve open, and you can explore where you will. What is it you want?” “The truth.”

You can tell he's American because he's talking in American, see?

And don't we all, Holmes. Don't we all.

But alas, the truth will have to wait.

#Letters from Watson #Thor Bridge #Sherlock Holmes #long post

25 notes · View notes

marginaletchings · 4 months

Text

Apropos of nothing: I think people see Stella as "underdeveloped" because of 3 reasons:

A lot of people understandably get upset at cheating partners and sympathize with the partner who was cheated on-- sometimes to a degree they become blind to the nuances of why someone would pursue a partner outside an exclusive relationship in the first place.

Her lack of screentime.

People claiming she was "suddenly" nothing but abusive. ExCUSE me???

Warning for discussion of abuse, child abuse, childhood trauma:

The thing is... people seem to forget how verbally abusive she was for years. Stolas said it himself, and we SEE her loudly going on and on and on about his apparent lack of abilities in bed. I see fans happy to note that she's married "without consent" (as though this isn't also the case for Stolas???) and fail to understand that she is still clearly using him for status. If she were emotionally involved AT ALL, ever, do you really think she'd be going on and on about their sex life?? It would be humiliating in any other circumstance except where she uses it as leverage to demean her husband. All she's ever done is take her shit out on him. Stolas seeking comfort from someone else--albeit through dubious means--is his escape from that abuse and loneliness.

For the screentime: Tons of screentime or a lack of it isn't a good metric for how "deep" a character is. I'm also not gonna lie, not all characters need to be DEEP-- we have a fuckton of characters throughout media who are cruel, petty, and mean, but for some reason we still get to see them in a sympathetic woobified light. Stella, in my opinion, could use more screen time, sure, but do we really need to see her ~angsty backstory~ about how tragic it is that she was married to Stolas? Or maybe we could just admit, like, some people are just mean and miserable and can't take the level of shit they dish out to others. She's not angry he "betrayed" her, she's angry he's doing something she sees as disgusting and potentially ruinous to her status and standing in society.

Finally, I want to point out how she's clearly always had a terrible temper, Stolas points out she's been verbally and emotionally abusive for years, presumably the whole marriage, and she clearly neglects Octavia at "BEST." In little Octavia's room, we can see pictures she's drawn with just her and Stolas. We also see Stolas sigh when Stella tells Stolas to go to Octavia when she wakes up from a nightmare--that always came off to me like a parent absolutely frustrated with the lack of effort another parent is putting into raising their kid.

Stella is ABSENT from Octavia's life and always WAS-- Octavia is nothing to her except a means to an end. What's worse, is Octavia clearly has abandonment issues--gee I wonder why that is (Stella)--and they manifest in her fear of losing Stolas, too.

Not to get too personal here, but my parents had a similar dynamic in terms of my mom is a raging toxic shitbag and my dad is a sensitive man trying to make things work for the sake of his kid(s). I want to point out some (imo) important points here:

Stella having more "nuance" doesn't change the fact that she's still a toxic, gold-digging maniac. Regardless of her circumstances, which have always been privileged, she still chooses to be this way.

Octavia's fear really hits close to home for me. I was always close to my dad, I was the baby, the only girl and youngest by six years, and my mother was abusive and neglectful--when I was five they fought almost every night and once my mom threatened my dad with a steak knife. I grew up having nightmares into high school about being in a moving car and suddenly both my parents vanished, leaving the car without a driver on busy roads or precarious cliff edges. The fear that my dad might suddenly decide to abandon/neglect me just like my mom was an irrational but extremely understandable fear that I am STILL working through in therapy at the age of 34. Octavia actually makes me feel seen and heard in number of ways, and it drives me crazy that y'all will make excuses for Stella "only" neglecting Octavia. Fuck OFF with that.

No one thinks Stolas is without fault. Neither he nor Stella wanted that marriage on an emotional level, but judging by their behavior, and how cunning and driven Stella is (she has nuance, y'all just don't want to see it because it doesn't make her your pathetic babygirl, but an independent, conniving and ruthless demoness) she likely would've been more on board by the time they came of age and were married. Time to get power and money! And with Stolas trying to make things "normal" for Octavia, I cannot see Stella being interested in playing along. Stolas kind of just lay down and took it for years, didn't have the courage to suck it up and boot her out once Octavia was born, and started the affair with Blitz without actually using his brain beforehand.

Like. Don't get me wrong: I LIKE Stella. I hate, loathe, want to kick the teeth of people who act like her but I enjoy her as a character. Let this bitch be petty, cruel, conniving, all about living her best life (no matter the cost), and a screaming karen. Let her be Cersei Lannister, for fuck's sake: All of the above, and not as smart as she thinks she is, but she's got determination in SPADES to get what she wants.

I'll never understand why y'all are so mad about her other than just wanting more screen time. But don't let me catch you going "it's just neglect, other people had worse" or what the fuck ever. Also, her being awful doesn't make Stolas look good, it just makes the whole situation sad.

Two fucked up and extremely flawed adults are both hurting their child, but at least ONE of those adults actually gives a shit. It's a low as fuck bar, but it's Hell's royalty, idk what y'all were expecting.

PS: People who want to get shitty about this and not act like civil g-damn adults are gonna get blocked. I work 45-50 hours a week and use a cane, I am in too much pain and too tired for dumb bullshit. Y'all can either disagree politely or earn a hard block from me.

#helluva boss #helluva stella #helluva stolas #helluva octavia

16 notes · View notes

northropi · 7 months

Text

She Has Been Birded (like boarded get it)

basis is primarily on Ospreys so we have a little non-Aequornithes rep but there's probably gonna be just a liiiiiittle Loon/Albatross/etc in there. or maybe a bit of Dipper...

Included is a diagram of the hand, albeit not a terribly clear one. Basically the idea is that digits 1, 2, and 3 function as they do in birds- 2 and 3 are fused, 1 (thumb) is free and supports the Alula. However, the Alula is also clawed, and digits 4 and 5 (ring and pinky) are present- thumb is opposable, but can only manage a sort of claw grip- they have difficulty holding flat objects without piercing or slashing them because the hand is sort of circular when closed. Digits 2/3 fold at obliquely over the other fingers at the first knuckle to allow for use of a somewhat awkward three-fingered hand. Harpies tend not to mind this because of the advantage of being able to use their feet for things sometimes (and resorting to their mouths in a pinch), and even when it does become a tradeoff flight is sorta worth it. Wingspan is on the order of at least ten, maybe going up to twenty feet, weight is probably in the 40 kilos ballpark so about as high as conventional birds can get and still fly, give or take a little? Digits drawn taking after Ospreys with strongly curved but not radically long claws, Digit 2 being apparently the shortest, 3 the longest, and 1 and 4 moved back for zygodactyly. Claws might be able to extend a bit due to Vampirism?

While I neglected to show it the "being made of a bunch of little bat-like critters" part is probably still applicable. She can break up into a swarm of them as opposed to just turning into a single bat via pure shapeshifting, which has ups and downs relative to the alternatives.

Backstory is that she was a familiar to a Vampire for a while and when someone who was Every Kind Of Bigoted Possible came through he thought it would be funny if he cut the Vampire-loving transfem Harpy's head off to test the adage about chickens, right in front of her buddy, who was juuuust out of reach. The Vampire turned her to save-(ish) her life. Not sure if this would involve a bite to the head-side of the neck, body-side of the neck, or just both- currently have it drawn with a fang mark to either side of the neck cut implying he sort of stuck them together, but it would be a Funny Reference if part of the asshole's bit was testing out whether forcing the Vampire to turn one part would turn the other.

Oh and that poleaxe thing she has, it's basically a bardiche with a comically oversized matchlock firearm built into it. Thing could pop the crew's heads through the armor of an IFV even before accounting for the magic bullshit.

#artist sona #art #sona art #vampire #harpy #harpy oc

18 notes · View notes

strayheartless · 8 months

Text

Well here’s a series I thought I had grown out of…

Welcome back (albeit on a new account) to Flo copes! A series where I channel what I’ve just been through into my faves because I’m incapable of dealing with strong emotions on my own!

Todays topic? Panic attacks! And how each character deals with them!:

Sora: simply put, he doesn’t. Sora is incapable of recognising when he needs to stop and breath. Nine times out of ten he thinks a panic attack is his body finally giving up the ghost and he makes himself worse. It usually hits him randomly and any little moments of panic he locks down until it mounts up and makes him cry and throw up and then cry again.

Kairi: Kairi good at managing her emotional well-being, and regularly takes brakes to ensure she’s doing okay. But when it does hit her it usually manifests itself as uncontrollable crying. Usually her panic attacks are more drawn out, their like an all day thing. She will wake up feeling terrible, spend breakfast fighting tears, cry by lunch, then get set off by small stuff like music that sounds sad, cry again around bedtime and end up going off to look for someone to help her calm down (usually Aqua or Axel because they give the best hugs.)

Riku: ah yes, my boy is hyper aware of panic attacks and the minute one presents itself he takes himself off -like a dog in distress- and deals with it alone. It manifests it’s self as intense nausea, swimming vision and shortness of breath. He’s thrown up more times than he hasn’t, and nobody except Ienzo and Even have ever seen him have one.

Roxas: this kid don’t have the time nor the inclination to deal with panic attacks. He knows what they are and that he has them, he just simply refuses to let them rule him. If one starts he goes and plonks himself between Axel, Xion and Isa and stays there until it stops. It usually feels like a overthinking spiral that leads to shortness of breath but he’s never let it get far enough to know if there’s anything else.

Axel: Axel tends to get explosive when he’s having a panic attack -in the emotional sense (although fire has been known to happen too.). He snaps at everyone and starts to get an intense feeling in his chest until he can’t cope and starts yelling in panic. It’s kind of scary to watch him go through it.

Xion: my poor girl shuts all the way down. It’s more like a PTSD episode. She gets this far off look in her eyes and she’ll stay in the same position for a while as her heart races and she tries to focus on coming back. Touching her is not a good idea because she is likely to lash out and then get upset that she’s done it. Which invariably ends in tears.

Ventus: here’s another little fellow who simply shuts down. His ears start to ring, his heart Jack hammers and then he’s somewhere he didn’t remember going and being told he just clocked out. It’s scary because he generally doesn’t know where the time in the middle goes.

Aqua: like sora, she doesn’t realise it’s happening and then it’s on her and she can’t escape. She ends up throwing up a lot of the time, and quite often panic will grip her FAST and then she’s incapacitated by it. Unlike sora however, she doesn’t put it off or try to push it down. She lets it happen and lets people take care of her when it does.

Terra: cries. Uncontrollable, heaving, body wracking sobs, shaking violently, doesn’t know what’s happening, vision goes blurry, the whole nine yards. Terras panic attacks happen frequently and with an intensity that shocks everyone. He ends up feeling literally everything all at once and sometimes he’s been known to start laughing out of sheer fear. Nobody. Likes. Watching. It. Happen.

#kingdom hearts #kh3 #kh1 #kh2 #kh1 riku #kh2 riku #kh sora #kh ventus #kh terra #kh aqua #kh kairi #kh xion #kh axel #wayfinder trio #destiny’s trio #seasalt trio #panic attack #kh headcanons #kingdom hearts headcanons

27 notes · View notes

ultward · 6 months

Note

Okay, I gotta ask about your fic version of vampirism. What are major changes between your depiction and canon? what stayed the same? and what fun things did you add for pure self-indulgence and just cause you could.

What about the physical changes from Human to vampire? How do gifts work? (Idk if your vampires have gifts or not).

HOO BOY ALRIGHT LET'S DIG INTO THIS

most notably, vampires can consume a wide variety of beverages, including alcohol. i think i got into the "biology" of this in the fic itself, but basically their bodies just absorb liquids the same way they do blood, it's silly vampire magic, it doesn't matter

all of stephenie's stupid and racist skin bleaching stuff is gone, and they get to keep their freckles/tattoos/etc

in canon i think vamps can only get scarred from vamp bites? but i expanded that a little to include claw marks from other vamps + scars from werewolves (of both the shifter and lycanthrope variety, since my version of caius is covered in werewolf scars)

most of the stuff about how vampires work in general is the same as canon! they're nigh invincible crystalline monsters who sparkle and shimmer in the sun and crack like statues when they get hurt, and you can only kill them by tearing them apart and setting them on fire

HOWEVER my vampires are MUCH more monstrous than in canon. i think twilight vamps have the ability to be quite scary if they want, but in my fic i really wanted to play up the idea of them being mythical apex predators. as such, they have a sort of "aura" about them that the cullens are always actively repressing. it allows them to be both incredibly alluring but also unsettling, causing a "terrified but drawn in" effect in most humans - it's a red flag, but also a lure. bella is completely immune to it, which would be a terrible thing for her if she was in any other situation

following that up, vampires who let themselves stay in this "natural" state can tend to be a lot more animalistic, which is definitely something present in canon but i wanted to amp it up a little more. the vampires are very much inhuman and monstrous, and the cullens are putting in work every day to not appear that way

i've also given vampires a much more intense "soulmate connection" that's pretty much exactly the same as canon imprinting. this is just because i wanted my fic to be a twist on the typical soulmate trope where the concept of "love at first sight" is kind of terrifying and inconvenient! i really just played up hints of things that were already in canon, like the fact that denying the bond is... unpleasant for both parties

at the same time, i also wanted to emphasize platonic and familial relationships, so i included the idea that vampires can have more than one "soulmate" and will often have very strong non-romantic bonds with others (though these are less apparent to them at first). this is why the cullens are drawn to be a family, but also why bella and edward are such good friends! they're literally platonic soulmate besties. i love a brotp

i think another related thing i hinted at somewhere is that if a vampire has a human soulmate, that human will slowly begin to gain some vampiric traits (slow aging, increased strength, etc) no matter whether they're bitten or not. bonds are incredibly powerful things in my au, and they're capable of enacting physical change - albeit very slowly

there's also the idea of vampire science and experimentation, of course. most of it has to do with testing out the effects of venom on various types of beings in different states. this is how i wound up with things like ghouls, who are essentially just much weaker, feral vampires (almost like zombies). they, in turn, spread through a different kind of bite-induced infection that causes a rot, which is how bella ends up in her strange state of slow-turning undeath after she gets bitten by a ghoul and rosalie

turning and gifts are pretty much the same! the change takes 3 days under normal circumstances and it's super painful. gifts are accentuated traits from your human life (or amped up versions of proto-gifts, as in alice's case)

i think the last big difference is the idea that vampires are capable of growth and change (not physically, but mentally). if you read the fic, the characters will often talk about how they're incapable of changing due to their nature, but their actions throughout the story definitely contradict this! the vampires aren't perfect and they have issues they have to work through, and they sometimes use their nature as an excuse not to work on themselves - but they're absolutely capable of change

the tl;dr here is mostly that i wanted vampires to be able to drink, i wanted them to be a lot more monstrous, and i wanted there to be a little more mysterious magic at play! i think that the canon twilight vampires are pretty cool, but i also think that stephenie went to weird lengths to explain everything about them, and sometimes it's better to just be like "it's magic lol".

also you didn't ask but my werewolves are different as well! i've never found a good way to actually drop this in the fic yet, but the shapeshifter-type wolves are NOT a phenomenon exclusive to the quileute tribe. there are a bunch of other packs around the world! it's still a genetic thing that gets passed down through families, but it's widespread because in my lore it originated from twilight's other elusive werewolves, the children of the moon. essentially, it's a defense mechanism that evolved in some lycanthropes over time since it was beneficial for humans to be able to protect themselves against vampires. maybe some day i'll figure out how to write that into the fic itself lmao

#i think that's everything!#if i remember anything else i'll probably reblog this with more lol #j talks #ask #addiction fic

13 notes · View notes