#also the colouring is all over the place but it is what it is
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Can We Become We?
Chapter 3: So Much, Yet So Little
Summary: Satoru, Suguru, and you are forced into a marriage by your families for economic reasons. Satoru who doesn’t know what it’s like to love or be loved. Suguru who believes he is undeserving of anyone’s love. And you who didn’t want to love in the first place.
The three of you agree to stay out of each other’s business, and save the relationship acts only for the elders who imposed this on you. But what happens when feelings for each other start to develop?
She/her pronouns for reader | use of y/n | no smut in in this chapter
You can also read it on ao3 here
When everything was finally over, it was way past midnight. A majority of the guests had already filed out of the building, while the remaining few were gathered in small clusters, quietly chatting among themselves – the elders probably.
The whole wedding passed by in a whirlwind of activity, a blur of colour and sound that your mind couldn't quite grasp. The whole time, it was difficult to ignore the unfamiliar light weight around your ring finger.
All you could really focus on was maintaining that smile on your face, feeling the ache in your jaw from keeping it there for so long. It almost felt like your face was going to get stuck like that.
The night breeze was cool on your skin as you exited the wedding hall, grateful to breathe in some fresh air. You could finally drop the fake smile. Satoru and Suguru had moved to the side, each of them standing in front of their respective parents as goodbyes were being said.
Your father steps forward and takes your hand, looking you directly in the eye. “I know this wasn't what you wanted, but you need to be strong.” He says gently, his voice laced with a mix of concern.
You just nod, pulling your hand out of his grasp.
“It’s getting late, we’ll let you go.” Your mother smiles softly. "We’ll miss you so much. But please come visit us soon, alright?”
“Yeah, of course.” You try to keep your voice neutral, but you can't help but feel a little resentment towards your parents.
You knew that if you expressed your true feelings, it would only lead to more drama and stress, and you were tired of the fighting. Instead, you simply offer a tight-lipped smile and mutter a quick goodbye.
You turn around, without giving them a hug. Nothing felt real, as if it was all just some kind of dream.
A gleaming, white limousine was waiting for you, Satoru, and Suguru. The sleek car stood out against the darkness.
You’ve never been inside a limo before. You always thought that if you were going to get the chance one day, it would be so much fun, to feel like a literal celebrity. But all you felt like was a robot on autopilot.
The chauffeur, a stout, middle-aged man in a dark suit, opened the rear door for you. He offered you a polite smile and ushered you inside. The smell of freshly cleaned leather and pine air fresheners welcomed you into its embrace, as you sink back into the plush seat.
After you, Suguru enters the limo. You exchange a brief glance with him as he gets in, but neither of you says anything. Satoru follows suit, before the chauffeur closes the door. Soon, the car pulls away from the curb, silently and smoothly, like a ghost on wheels.
Between the three of you, no one speaks. And it stays like that for a while. You don’t really care though, not with the way your cheeks were hurting. Talking was the last thing on your mind right now.
You're tired, you're emotional, and above all, you're done. You’re so done with everything.
You lean your head against the window, letting out a deep, exasperated sigh as your muscles finally release the tension they've been carrying. The cool glass feels soothing against your skin. You close your eyes, focusing on breathing.
Tap tap
You frown, shrugging away the light poking on your shoulder.
Tap tap tap
“What?” You murmur groggily, not quite ready to open your eyes.
“Y/n?” That was Suguru, his voice soft but insistent. “We’re here.”
Your eyes flutter open into a squint, vision unfocused as you lift your head up from the glass. Wait what? Did you fall asleep?
“Oh.” You mumbled, trying to shake off the exhaustion that still clings to you. “I fell asleep.”
“It's okay.” Suguru says again, his tone comforting in its familiarity. For a brief second, you’re grateful that he’s being nice.
Satoru rolls down his window as a rather polite looking man with short, black hair and glasses walks up to the limo.
The man bows respectfully, arms by his sides, before straightening up again. “Sir.” He says his voice barely more than a whisper.
“Stop calling me that, Ijichi.” Satoru extends his hand out of the window, his face stoic and expressionless. “Just call me Satoru.”
Ijichi, who had been standing at attention, relaxes slightly at Satoru's words. The man produces a small set of keys from his pocket and places them in Satoru's waiting palm, before Satoru wraps his fingers around them.
Ijichi’s voice takes on a shy, almost meek tone. “You know I can't do that, sir.” He replied, a light blush growing more visible on his cheeks. “Just call me if you need anything, sir.” Satoru nods dismissively at that, and he stepped aside.
The driver takes off again, the car's wheels roll along the quiet residential road, until it eventually slows to a stop.
You blink and suddenly the fatigue of the night's events disappears. The house is not too big, no where near the grandiose of the Gojo estate, but it definitely wasn’t small either.
Satoru is quick to spring into action. Without wasting a second, he thrusts open the car door and leaps out, his movements swift and fluid. It’s fascinating, how a man with such long limbs has such precise mobility.
Suguru stays seated next to you, his eyes glued to the house in front of him. Was he overwhelmed by all of this? Should you comfort him?
Hesitating, you push the silent question away, and instead reach out to open the door. But before you can even touch the handle, the door is suddenly opened by the chauffeur.
A wave of irritation suddenly washes over you.
You suppress a frustrated huff and step down onto the pavement. You know he was just doing his job and all, but for some reason, you wanted to open the door by yourself. Annoyed, you pull at the hem of your dress with one hand to make sure it doesn't get dirty.
Satoru had already reached the wide front porch, slipping the key into the door’s lock. As you make your way to him, you notice the familiar silhouette of your car parked in the driveway of the house, beside one other. Someone must’ve dropped it off here.
Satoru had moved to the side, letting you and Suguru step through the threshold and onto the small foyer, before shutting the door. The automatic lock clicks, and the reality of everything hits you like a ton of bricks.
The atmosphere immediately shifts to something tense and awkward. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, not really sure of your place in this situation. What do you do know? Can you just walk in or…?
When Suguru decides to speak up, you felt like you could breathe again. “We need to sit down and discuss this.” His voice is calm and measured, as if he knows exactly what to do in a situation like this.
Satoru, on the other hand, looks like he’s had enough of the playing nice and pretending they’re all happy when they’re not. He shakes his head, a mixture of frustration and annoyance evident on his face.
“Discuss what exactly?” Satoru says, his voice sharp.
“This.” Suguru’s eyes narrow. “All of this.” He gestured broadly at the room and everything it contains. “And us.”
His bun, which was normally full and round, was now sagging lower on his head, weighing down from the strain of the long day. And yet, even with his hair less than perfect, it didn’t make him look any less stunning.
Satoru's lip curls into a sneer. “There is no us.” He spits, cold and biting. “There is just you, and you, and me.” He pointed at Suguru, then you, then at himself. “I said to stay out of each other’s business.”
Suguru's hand runs down his face, his eyes closing as he takes a deep, calming breath. I know that, and I said I agree with it.” Don’t groan. “But it's not that simple.” He opens his eyes, looking directly at Satoru. "We have to sit down and list everything, talk and work something out."
Your eyes dart back and forth between them, lips sealed tight to avoid adding any more fuel to the fire.
Satoru doesn’t nothing for a moment, as if he was thinking. Then his whole demeanour changes. “You wanna sit down and talk?” He scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Fine then.”
He turns on his heel, walking down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps echoes through the empty house. You and Suguru have no choice but to follow.
You take your seats on the couches, facing each other, the air heavy with unease. Satoru crosses his arms, a sneer on his face as he nods with his chin. “Go on, curtain bangs.” He snarls, his tone thick with contempt. “Talk all you want.”
Suguru feels a pulse throb on the side of his temple. Satoru’s attitude was really starting to piss him off. But he breathes. Control yourself. “Okay, so first things first. Are we all getting our own private space?”
Satoru’s expression remains stoic and cold, but you can see a slight edge to his voice as he responds. “If this is about bedrooms, then yes.” Blunt and to the point. “There are plenty of rooms to go around. Pick whatever.”
As the words sink, something in your heart settles.
You’ve heard that, generally, most people have sex on their wedding night. And you can’t deny the fact that, while the thought had been looming in the back of your mind the whole day, you kept telling yourself that nothing would happen. Because in the end Satoru and Suguru were forced into this too.
You were more than reassured now.
“Okay.” Suguru nods. “Now, what about everything in the house.”
“What about it?” Satoru raises his perfect, white eyebrow at Suguru, and your heart skipped a beat.
“It is yours after all. We’re basically living here as guests, are we not?”
Okay, Suguru’s point makes sense. Satoru didn’t choose for you to live here with him, it was an obligation. It’s only fair if he sets the rules.
Satoru's response is as cold as ever. He shrugs, as if to say he doesn’t give a shit. “Just don’t come into my room.” His voice was devoid of emotion. “And keep your business in your own rooms.”
You look at him in confusion, trying to understand what he meant by that. “Business?” Your eyebrows furrow.
But he only scoffs. “What? You think I’m stupid or something?” He sneers at you both, every word coming out of his mouth was bitter. “Don’t act like you’re not gonna be screwing around.”
Well that felt like a personal slap to your face. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?” You scowled. Was he seriously accusing you of bringing random people to fuck with? As if it was that easy? You couldn’t even rizz yourself up in front of a mirror let alone a whole other person!
“Pretty sure it was self explanatory.” Satoru rolls his eyes. “But like I said, I don’t care. This,” He takes his ring off his finger. “Means nothing to me. Do whatever the fuck you want.” As if to drive the point home, he tosses it on the coffee table.
The room is silent for a moment before Suguru speaks up, his voice firm and steady. “Okay. Well, it’s settled then.” He picks up the ring and puts it back into Satoru's palm, curling his finger over it. “We’ll stay out of your room, and we should be fine.”
“Whatever.” Satoru stands up and walks away, leaving the two of you behind.
He didn’t want anything do with you, or anyone. Everyone was the same anyway. Just greedy slobs who only cared about what they could get from him. It wasn't just a feeling he came up with overnight, it was something he knew from experience, having been used and hurt in the past by people he had let close to him.
He’s let himself open his heart before. He let himself touch and be touched. Only for the person who ‘loved’ him only act that way for his father’s money. After they got what they wanted, they had spilled the news that they never actually loved him.
The very next day, he saw them share a post with their partner, showing off their newest car. The car he had bought as a gift.
It was just one person, he tried to tell himself. He needed to have hope.
He waited some time before opening up again. This time, the one who proclaimed love lasted longer than his previous one. He was staring to believe that their promise of forever might be real.
Until they asked for a huge amount of money for their project overseas. Satoru wouldn’t say no to someone he loves right? Except, they to left him right after their project succeeded.
Satoru realised that he would only be a fool to believe anyone ever again. No one was ever going to love him. Just his money and his father’s money. There was no point in anything. He couldn’t care less about you and Suguru.
But despite all this, there's a part of him that's still searching for connection and love. He's afraid of getting hurt again, but he's also lonely and longing for something real.
The soft pillow cradles your head as you stare up at the ceiling. You don’t know how long you’ve been awake. There was only the rise and fall of your chest. The bed you were on is so soft, so comfy. One would think you’d have blacked out the moment you touched it, considering how tired you were. But you couldn’t.
Your eyes were sore. You sigh and roll over, trying to force your eyes closed, but it's no use. Your mind wouldn’t switch off.
Suddenly you hear it. The soft, mournful notes of a violin fill the air, piercing through the silence of the night. (Violin playing)
At first, you're not sure if it's real or just a part of your sleep-deprived imagination. But as the music continues to play, the sound becomes more distinct, and you realise that it's coming from somewhere outside.
You make your way to the window, eyes straining in the dark as you search for the source. Then you see him. Satoru. He wasn’t asleep either? You slide the window open.
The night air was cool, but Satoru seemed to hardly notice the chill. He stood still on the back porch, with nothing but the moonlight illuminating his figure with a silver lining. The white hair on his head seemed to shimmer in the dim light.
He held his violin under his chin, the bow in his other hand, moving effortlessly across the strings as he played a melancholic melody. It was a hauntingly beautiful sound that seemed to echo through the night, filling the air with a sense of loneliness and longing.
He looks otherworldly.
Suddenly, weariness takes hold of you, wrapping a comforting blanket over your body. You feel your shoulders relax, your limbs growing heavy. You sink into the comfort of your bed once more. Your eyes drifted to a gentle close, listening as the sounds float in through your window.
Meanwhile, Suguru wasn’t sure if he’d be able to sleep at all.
On one hand, the bed is incredibly soft, and he's grateful to have a place to rest. On the other hand, he feels like he doesn't deserve it. He's used to sleeping on much stiffer, less comfortable mattresses, and the idea of sleeping on anything this heavenly? It feels almost wrong.
He couldn't shake off the thought that he should sleep on the floor or something. He didn't deserve to be given this kind of thing, to be surrounded by all this. It was a feeling of guilt and inadequacy, that he wasn't good enough.
Slowly, Satoru's violin fills the house with a sweet, muffled song. Suguru sits on his bed, leaning his head back against the headboard. His eyes close, and his expression falls into one of complete relaxation.
A small smile plays at the corners of his lips, and he hums along with the tune, lost in the rhythm. The sweet song washes away the thoughts plaguing his mind, helping him to find a sense of peace.
He was so tired. Maybe he could fall asleep after all.
chapter1, chapter2, chapter3, chapter4 (coming soon)
taglist: @keira80808
#satosugu x reader#jujutsu kaisen#gojou satoru x reader#getou suguru x reader#jjk satoru#gojo satoru#satoru gojo#gojo x reader#getou suguru x you#geto suguru#suguru#satosugu#stsg#stsg x reader#satoru x suguru#polyamory#poly satosugu#ao3 fanfic#multple chapter series
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thank GOODNESS I could finish this- beneath the cut's a profile for them!! :D
buckle up, because it's a lot of information-
TENEBRIS!!!
Goes by they/them pronouns :D
Don't ask them for their age. Even I don't know how old they are.
The one and only leader of the Obitus Cult/Cult of Obitus!!
A very egotistic and anti-social being that has utterly devoted their loyalty to their "god" Obitus.
Can be quick to anger as well, lashes out on their members if they're really frustrated.
Of course, they're nothing like this around newcomers. Needs to somehow convince them to join, right?
Well, they can just force people if they wanted to with spells.
The magic they're capable of involves more chants and recitals, as well as making very strange substances and potions.
Their shopping list looks very strange, as you can imagine.
Kind of tying in the shopping thing, they get all of their resources delivered to their temple. Tenebris very rarely leaves the premises, and the members aren't allowed to leave at all.
They hate children. And chocolate.
And bright lighting- all the rooms in the temple are very dimly lit and all their clothes are darkly coloured.
This is their voice claim!
Their hair is quite heavy (and well taken care of) so you can guess that they're very slow.
MORE THINGS ABOUT THE CULT ITSELF!!
You can call it either the Obitus Cult or the Cult of Obitus- Tenebris calls it the latter.
This group made up of almost 100 people places their faith and loyalty to Obitus.
According to Tenebris- who claimed to have witnessed them in their sleep one night, starting up the cult the next day- Obitus plans on completely obliterating the Earth of humanity and civilization and told them to prepare for the end of the world. basically.
When this will happen?....Tenebris wasn't told that.
They also do not know what this otherworldly overlord looks like- however, they know an eye-shaped symbol (on Tenebris' hat and necklace) is very important as that appeared in their dream too.
The temple is located in a very secluded mountain range- Tenebris was simply told to go there by Obitus and it was already there. Convenient.
As pictured above, members have to have the eye symbol engraved into their wrist (or palm)- after this, they happen to be almost under a trance or brainwashed.
When praying to Obitus, they expose out the arm with the marking and their other arm behind that one, raised up to their face. Like this:
I hope that makes sense sjkksjks- while they do have lengthy prayer times and different types of prayers, a short and simple one they use is "We place our faith in Obitus."
The temple is full of many different rooms, including a dining hall, summoning room and bunkers (Tenebris gets their own room, obviously.)
They also follow a strict schedule- They must be asleep by 8 p.m. and awake and ready for the day by 4 a.m. They have two food breaks- one for breakfast and one for dinner. Once a month, they also hold a summoning ritual in order to attempt communicating with Obitus once more.
Members have their own jobs as well as worshipping Obitus though- cooking, cleaning, assisting Tenebris; that's all done by them as well.
While Tenebris mainly targets lonely people or those who don't have a social life, they are happy to accept anyone in! Well, that is if you're over 18.
I'm afraid teenagers (and children) are not allowed to join. However, Tenebris does take note of minors who do want to join and if you're REALLY nice, may let you visit the temple if you do some errands for them.
EXTRA FACT STUFF ABOUT TENEBRIS:
I based them more off of what first comes to mind when you think of cults- and, unintentionally, they also partially remind me of the cult in Spooky Month which I forgot existed ;-;
Because, after researching real life cult leaders, I felt like their stories weren't really what I was going for with Tenebris.
I guess the Peoples Temple founded by Jim Jones and the Family Cult by Anne Hamilton-Byrne were partial inspirations- oh, and religious experiences I've had, Catholic-Christian ones that is. (this is in no way meant to portray anything bad about that religion- or any at all- I just wanted to make the cult-y side of this more interesting by basing it off of what I know.)
My sister nicknames them Tenny and I (as well as others hee hee) nickname em Tennis, so you might see that often lol
I'm pretty sure they're the first oc I posted about on here! Although I think the post got like 7 notes-
When I first drew them, which was a while ago, they were more like a triangle shape and had larger eyes- my sister likes this version more but I think it just looks goofier- might post it once I find it :D
Tenebris means Darkness in Latin (according to translators) because I couldn't think of a name for them and just thought "think of something kinda edgy, then make it Latin to sound cool >:D"
Obitus means Death in Latin (according to translators once more I can't speak Latin-)
Thank you for reading this far!! I'm going to just tag @night-terrorzz @lobotomize-d n @gummy-worms-in-my-brain since you lovely people seem to like this cult leader :>
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languages, travel, identity, grief
Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩 再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.
I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.
That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.
I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.
And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.
I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.
And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.
But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.
There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!
And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.
So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.
You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.
I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.
It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.
And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.
It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.
Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.
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I'm in the fluffiest mood lately, so how about a no stakes sickfic. Movie night and the trip (Matt, Sel/Zaya) are home and decide to put on something like spiderverse or smth else, point being, either Isaiah or Matt gets super motion sick from it
Something fluffy it is. Thank you for the ask, Soup!!💙
Cinema sickness
The middle position was the best.
Matthew didn't notice when exactly they started to fight for it like that, but it was increasingly a place one of them got as special treat.
Like of course, when Isaiah was having his not so heart episodes that Seline still didn't know the cause of or when he was emotional. Then it wad Seline herself with a fever. She also usurped the spot most openly when she was well.
Matthew was a little too embarrassed to be that forward. Not when he was feeling fine.
They bought a camera projector they have been saving for a few months. Seline dreamed about the home cinema early on and Isaiah was such a movie buff, it was only to be expected.
Matthew found the cinema experience tiresome because of all the people, so their own private living room cinema because of the projector? Sounded fun. Though the cinema made for good people training.
"You guys didn't watch the second Spiderverse movie yet, right?" Seline said, taking control of the chromcast with her phone to put it on.
"I didn't see the first one either," Matthew grumbled as she climbed up between him and Isaiah who was scrolling through IMDb. He had a thing for ratings, while Seline loved comments and spoilers.
Matthew considered himself the only sane and commonly invested movie person. He liked to get surprised.
"The animation is out of this world. The first movie got an Oscar for it too, but they went overboard and beyond with the second. Each universe has a different animation style! It's the perfect movie for a cinema." Seline waved her phone in front of Matthew enthusiastically.
"Isn't animation for children?"
Isaiah and Seline both gave him scandalised looks. "In what hole did you live until now for such an outdated opinion?" Isaiah asked teasingly.
Matthew rolled his eyes. Didn't look like he would have a say today.
"I don't think you need the first one to understand," Seline said thoughtfully as she put the movie on. "They explain it pretty well, plus I can always explain things to you if you need it."
"You are still more of a fan of the first one, aren't you?" Isaiah said, bumping against her. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder, all three of them.
"I think the character development is simply better there? Also the relationships. The focus on bad mentor and a confused kid and different father figured...this one goes more into the romance storyline-"
"The focus just shifts from him to her's all-"
Matthew shook his head. "Alright, quit it. I want to see for myself."
The movie looked like a very expensive video game. The animation really was something else. Matthew understood quickly they would not be able to film stuff like this for real.
So many colours and so much quick movement. Their living room wall was basically flickering, going from one side of the colour spectrum to the next at rapid speed that had his head spinning.
How could there be so much happening on the screen? It was downright impossible to catch it all.
His eyes felt tired from it. It was all so fast and coupled with the music it was downright aggressive.
Matthew didn't notice when, but the left side of his head felt like someone held it in a vice grip. The more he watched and tried to make sense of what was happening, the more his left temple pounded in unison with his heart.
He found himself shaking his head to clear his vision, rubbing at the side of his face. He even tried closing one eye and then the other. But the images just kept coming and there was some kind of dramatic scene with spidermen all over the screen and damn, his head really hurt.
Seline was leaning her head against Isaiah's shoulder, her legs stretched out and touching them both. Her lap seemed very inviting.
Matt leaned to the side experimentally. He wanted to go slow and see how that would be taken, but the possibility of getting some cover from the screen was getting more irresistible by the second.
He slumped down into Seline's lap, twisting so his face was against her stomach. The lights were all over the living room, reaching even to the windows and the kitchen. No hiding from them.
Matthew closed his eyes, face buried in Seline's belly. He secured her from squirming with his arm over her torso, stretched out all the way to Isaiah's tight. If the other wolf wanted to protest or made any move of displeasure, Matt would quickly notice from that position.
His head hurt. Why just the left side of his face? It was tingling.
Everything was moving too much. The dizzying spinning sensation didn't quite go away, although he had his eyes squeezed shut and wasn't looking.
Not to mention he was starting to feel vaguely queasy, his dinner sloshing in his stomach angrily.
"Mattie, you aren't watching," Seline admonished softly. Her hand went into his hair though, petting it softly. He melted under her touch, grateful for a pleasant feeling to focus on.
Suddenly there was the incredible sound of the movie stopping.
"Matt? You tired?" Isaiah asked, shifting somewhere behind his head.
"Mhhhhhhhhmmmm." Was he that obvious? Suspicious? He wanted to stay huddled there in the softness, thanks.
Isaiah's hand landed on his arm. The older wolf reserved his touches for when Matthew felt sick. But they were so physically close these days, because of Seline of course, no other reason, Matthew kind of craved it, even when he didn't need it.
Or maybe it would count now. But he didn't want to ruin the celebratory mood by being a baby. It was a stupid children's movie, for God's sake.
"We can just call it a night, I think. Continuation tomorrow," Isaiah suggested, ever the peace keeper trying to accommodate everyone.
It sounded nice to not continue the movie in any case. But going to bed created a new set of problems.
Matthew would have to move.
Seline wiggled under his head. "You are heavy," she said playfully. She seemed more open to the gesture than Matthew expected. For no reason at all.
Matthew hummed non-committalally not sure how to explain or escape his predicament without losing his dinner. His stomach was churning angrily and his head was still pounding, sound or not.
Isaiah chucked. "You can sleep here for all I care, but at least let the lady get her PJs."
Matthew huffed at that, but opening his mouth wasn't a good idea. A little burp escaped, muffled against Seline's ribcage.
Seline's fingers in his hair stilled. "Mattie? You feeling alright?"
Did she notice that he got burpy when he was about to spew? He could just be full. Damn it all, the risks of living with people so closely.
Another burp, this time a little louder and wetter. Matthew pressed his face closer into Seline's shirt. It smelled of rain and ozone and grapefruit.
He felt both of their gazes on him without looking. They were probably mouthing something to each other at this point. He could picture it vividly.
The pain in his left temple spiked and he moaned quietly.
Seline's cold hand cupped his nape, stroking his neck up to his cheek where she could reach.
"...If I move, I'll hurl," he admitted finally, figuring he should inform her of the danger she was currently in.
The sigh came from Isaiah though, as the raven haired man moved gently away from the sofa into the direction of the kitchen.
"What's wrong? Is your belly upset?"
Jesus, that sounded childish when she said it like that. Not to mention that weird new Mattie nickname.
"Headhurtss," he manged to get through his gritted teeth, still entirely muffled against her stomach. It was quiet, churning only gently, like a purring cat.
"Has it been hurting for long?" She sounded amazingly calm considering he was lying across her lap. "You seemed fine to me," she said with puzzlement. He could imagine the way her forehead creased, a little wrinkle between her eyebrows as she thought back about the evening.
He opened his mouth the respond, but another burp rushed out instead. Pocket of air against her stomach. Saliva was flooding his mouth.
Matthew loosed his hold on her reluctantly, turning so he would be lying on her knees. He covered his eyes with his hands. "Ow."
Seline placed her hands on both sides of his face. "Where?" Her voice was impossibly soft.
He pushed her cool hand - how was it so cool? - against the left side of his forehead.
He felt more than saw two of her fingertips on his temple, making tiny circular movements against it. She bowled over him, her lips hovering over his ear. "How is this? Should I stop?"
"No, that's nice," he said, relaxing a little. The gentle pressure felt good against the pain, though his stomach was still roiling.
Isaiah came back then, the sofa dipping under his weight as he knelt on Matthew's other side. "I got a bowl if you need it."
"Not the nice popcorn bowl, come on," Seline complained, lifting her head.
"It's big and deep," Isaiah protested, sounding amused.
Matthew groaned at the banter. The headache was giving away a bit at the message, but the nausea rose steadily no matter what he did. He felt air in his throat and spit flooding his mouth. He didn't want to move away from Seline's fingers or the attention, but his stomach cramped angrily then.
It had him shooting up into general direction of up. Except he felt dizzy right away, swaying and moaning.
Isaiah grabbed his shoulder to steady him.
Matthew held his eyes shut against the spinning of the room, trusting him to have the bowl at the right place, cause he couldn't aim. His head exploded on his left side with the sensation and puke rocketed into his mouth.
He was right to trust him. The vomit made a splashing sound against the bowl without him even looking, Isaiah holding it under hid chin.
Seline's hands came to cup his forehead from behind. "You are okay, you are okay. Just get it up."
Matthew gave in to his body completely then, a little more voluntarily at the support. His senses were all over the place. He couldn't tell which was was up and down and his left side of the face as pounding and burning from warmth.
More waves of vomit came, easier to bring up now that he wasn't fighting it. When he thought he would catch a break, a loud burp brought in one more splash and then two more. His back arched, only Isaiah's hold on his shoulder keeping him upright. The sofa was moving like a water bed.
When he was finished, he spat the rest of the foul taste and slumped blindly back into Seline's lap. He wanted her nice scent and her cool hands and the little message against his temple that had a drilling machine against it.
"Better now?" she asked, her hands on his face just like he wanted, stroking his cheek and forehead.
"Mhhhhhhhhhmmmm." There was a relief from the nausea, but he was still afraid to open his eyes.
He could vaguely sense Isaiah's movements as he got rid of the bowl, returned to position it next to Matthew. Then circled around, fitting himself into the opening between Matthew's side and the sofa.
Matthew wasn't sure when vomiting because a group activity, or if he shouldn't apologise or feel embarrassed for making a fool of himself.
He sighed contendly as Seline went back to massaging his temple. Isaiah was rubbing his arm gently, as if to remind him he was there.
And who was Matthew to refuse the middle spot?
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𝐴 ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟
𝐻𝑎𝑧𝑏𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑙 𝑥 𝑀𝑎𝑙𝑒!𝐴𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟
This is a series so if you'd like to be tagged simply just comment!
I AM SO SORRY WITH HOW LONG THIS TOOK I'VE BEEN SO BUSY ಥ_ಥ
The big boss himself is gonna arrive very soon (˵ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°˵)
Please do not use/steal my work on this site or any other! Reblogs and likes are appreciated greatly!!
Part three ← Part four → Part five
Summary: As Charlie and Vaggie are in Heaven they attend the meeting and Charlie finds out more about the boy, along with a sweet girl called Emily.
Warnings- shit, grammar and spelling mistakes, Adam mentioned, idk what else, everyone is slightly oc
There she was again, in heaven. But this time accompanied by her girlfriend for support.
Her girlfriend seemed so uncomfortable, I mean don't get her wrong she was super nervous as well Vaggie was sweating, fidgeting and awkward. Not like the hard tough girl she usually was.
It was beautiful, bright and shiny, just like her father's old bedtime stories. The whole place practically sparkled, and she was greeted by two of the most beautiful beings she had ever seen, Sera and Emily. Emily was much more bubbly than Sera so she quickly caught the blonde's attention.
To say Emily was beautiful was an understatement, her hair was soft and blended from a crisp white into a greyish blue, she had soft freckles scattered across her face which glowed a bright white, her eyes were as blue as the ocean and her wings... Were all angels this beautiful? This angelic?
They had walked around almost everywhere, Charlie just couldn't help herself from talking, I mean she was talking to an angel. A real angel. Not a fallen one like her father.
As they talked she couldn't help but notice Emily staring at an angel, he looked beautiful... blonde hair and lilac eyes. That's when it hit her... He was the angel she met after her first meeting with Adam.
"(M/N)!! Look!! It's 𝙩𝙝𝙚 princess of hell" Emily shouted and waved, (M/N) smiled at Emily and walked over "Pleasure to meet you, again.. My name is (M/N), son of Archangel Micheal, which makes us cousins" he said, placing his hand out.
Emily tilted her head "again? What does that mean? You've seen a demon before 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦!? "Doesn't matter Emi I'll tell you later"
Charlie paused before growing a massive grin. "You're my cousin? I have a cousin. Oh my god!! That's so cool!"
(M/N) didn't match her energy, instead just giving a soft smile. "Well, you should take her to the council I suppose... Good luck"
He was already taking a step before Emily tugged the boy's sleeve "C'mon you can do better than that! This is your cousin! Be nicer"
The blonde grumbled before holding out his hand, it started to glow a yellowish colour before it cleared, leaving only a small pendant in his hand, it was a golden shade and had a duck carved into it.
Charlie let out a gasp "Woah... " she admired the small pendant "Take it. For good luck. They're supposed to symbolize protection, good luck and fortune after all".
Emily softly laughed at his comment "(M/N) really likes ducks"
The boy's face turned a hot cherry colour, blending with the patches on his cheeks "Hey only a little"
"Did you make this?" Charlie asked, waving the necklace in her girlfriend's face to show it off. "Ah. No, my father gave me it, but I want you to have it"
Charlie smiled before grabbing him in a tight hug, squeezing the boy's soul out.
He did remind Charlie of her father, his hair was styled in a way she had seen her father wear before, the patches of pink on his cheeks, yet he was taller, Maybe this is similar to what her father looked like before he was banished.
And other than the looks he also liked ducks? Her father had been obsessed with them since he made them on earth, making so many figures and rubber versions.
"Well, we should go! Come on princess! Bye (N/N)!
(Nickname in case you don't know!)
Emily walked Charlie to the meeting, (M/N) decided to sit and watch this shit show.
As it started the energy was tense, to say the least.
The angels sitting in the courtroom stared at her menacingly. She felt like a sheep in a Wolf's enclosure during feeding time. Emily was sat next to Sera who had a stoic expression, Emily was the complete opposite, with a toothy smile that was filled with nervousness and a thumbs up.
This would be great. Right?
"Objection!! Lame and unoriginal!" Adam had shouted the minute Charlie opened her mouth.
The meeting was really quite boring to (M/N), what did take his interest was when she mentioned some of the demons rehabilitating, a porn star? (M/N) couldn't really understand how he was improving, all the clips were of him taking drugs and drinking.
Well, it did improve slightly. The spider demon did a few food things but that was it.
Everything was normal until they started singing, and Adam blurted out something that he shouldn't have.
At that point (M/N) had joined Emily where she was flying.
"Wait! What are you saying?! let me get this straight, you go down there and kill those poor souls?"
(I'm skipping this song because I'm not writing it all out)
In the end, the court decided that demons couldn't be redeemed, he could see the heartbreak in Emily's eyes as Adam celebrated. (M/N) draped his arm over the smaller girl.
"I-I can't believe it.. " she said, now sitting in her room with him, he nodded in response as he poured tea into a china cup for her.
"I can't believe Sera allows it! It's awful! We must put a stop to it!" She said, hitting the armrests on her chair with her fists, making a soft thump.
He stopped pouring the hot liquid and stared at her, bewildered. "What? Emi what on earth would we do" he chuckled
"I'm serious! Your father is Michael! He'll help us!"
"Emily I can't just bother my father like that, you know he's busy" he said softly, handing her the cup and she sipped it.
"Cmon.. Please... Just try? For me? Pleaseeeeeee!" She begged, hands together in a praying position "And you still haven't told me what you meant by seeing Charlie again!"
He sighed softly "fine, I shall talk to him but I cannot guarantee anything. But what I meant was my father sent my down the the Angel base in hell to collect paperwork and she was leaving a meeting with Adam. That's all"
"Oh.. But thank you!" She placed her tea down fastly and hugged him tight.
He grunted before chuckling "okay okay!"
He was dying inside, how would he get his father to listen to him about this? How could he even bring it up. But he had to, Emily was his only friend, he needed to pay her back for everything she had done for him.
Tag list - @demstarno @kenny-619 @bunbunboysworld @lovedesperatevampire @stealing-kneecaps @paastaboi @1yyyan @enjisthings @type-ink @kiiannnn @cicithemess @lisoong @that-levi-kenma-kinnie
#a hidden star#hazbin hotel fanfic#hazbin hotel angel dust#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel Charlie#charlie morningstar#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel vaggie#sera hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel Emily#fanfic#fanfiction#hazbin hotel lucifer#lucifer morningstar#male!reader#hazbin hotel x male reader
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My dear Indi, I need your expertise !
Do you have any ideas or headcanons for Andorian outfits, from lighter to warmer? What would they look like in general, what texture is most appreciated or considered fashionable ?
Thanks ! 💙
Hello Zier! Let's see what I can do for you! Fair warning, this one is going to be image-heavy.
For the most part, Andorian fashion in my headcanons isn't unified. Different folks prefer to wear different things, same as Humans, but there are broader elements that are quite common.
Firstly, we know from ENT and subsequent appearances in the modern Treks that Andorians tend to wear a lot of leather, often embossed or tooled to have a particular sort of feel. The samples below from Discovery give me powerful 2009-2013 Gareth Pugh vibes.
Beyond that, the only other time we see Andorians is when they're in Imperial Guard or Starfleet uniforms, which mostly just gives an overall impression of leather, suede, and future-kevlar.
The Andorian ambassador in "Terra Prime" had a very different feel from these, of course, and that shiny outer robe ultimately inspired Thoris' official get-up.
By contrast, some super early screen tests and comic book depictions for everyday Andorians look rather different, however. We've got draping fabrics, robes, tunics, some thigh high boots, and what looks like bits of armoured studding and chainmail. That's quite the departure from the other depictions!
And then, of course, we have Shran's post-Imperial Guard coat. This one gets its own mention, because that coat is fabulous.
Honestly, this isn't a lot to work with. It's better than nothing, of course, but the different depictions feel very disjointed and all over the place. There's no sense of unity in the designs across the board.
So, from there I looked to real-world fashion to help me build a better idea of what I wanted my Andorians to actually look like outside of a uniform. As much as their depictions would lead us to believe that Andorians have an oddly prevalent leather kink, that's really not practical. Leather is a useful material, and certainly a heavily carnivorous population would end up with quite a lot of it, but surely that can't be everything they wear. So, I started looking around for things that felt like they fit the vague aesthetic we were given to work with.
Below are some samples from the ungodly huge pinterest board I keep for ideas and references for Andorian fashion. I think these mostly hit all the key notes for my headcanons.
A lot of these images are very bland in terms of colour, particularly by Andorian standards, but I think you should be able to see what I've drawn inspiration from.
What I ended up with was a combination of future-fashion elements, and influences from places like Japan and India - with a heavy slant towards using leather, silk, velvet and occasionally soft, drapey fabrics. Heavy ornamentation, such as embroidery, is very common but lacework on clothing is actually quite unusual. Andorians tend to find it catches on their chitin and tears too often to be worth the fuss.
In particular, I really like the idea of layers, off-set or asymmetrical necklines, and elements of structural/architectural fashion for Andorians. Tooled leather is very popular, as well.
Another detail about Andorian fashion that I've mentioned a few times in other posts is that they like to show off their chitin patterns. Often this is done using leather as the medium, but embroidery is also a perfectly acceptable option. Often times, these articles of clothing (usually outerwear but not always) will have a Clan sigil somewhere on it as well, but it's not at all a requirement. These practices accomplish a couple of different things:
Firstly, it offers prospective playmates a tantalising 'preview' of what's underneath. Andorians are not shy about these things, nor do they understand why aliens think they should be. Some Andorians find particular types of chitin patterns very attractive, while some are averse to partners with what they perceive to be too much or too little chitin - or worse, chitin patterns that are far too similar to their own, which would suggest a shared lineage somewhere.
Secondly, it shows off Clan affiliations, especially for Clan members who were not born with their Clan's 'typical' chitin pattern. (Married individuals will often wear things that show their affiliation to both their birth Clan and their marriage Clan, as well, though these are usually ornamental items such as jewellery or hair pieces.)
Thirdly, wearing one's Clan affiliations stamped on their sleeves can sometimes serve as a conflict deterrent. Some Clans are just not worth picking a fight with, and knowing who's who ahead of time instead of after someone says something spectacularly stupid tends to save lives. Since the Unification, the need for these sorts of deterrents has dropped substantially, but it's never entirely gone from Andorian society.
This is not to say that I imagine that all Andorians wear the same things. Being able to express individual preferences is very important, especially in a society where most other individualistic pursuits are seen as counter-productive to the harmony and unity of a community.
Shral, for example, deviates from the norm by preferring dark colours and minimal ornamentation. To other Andorians, his sartorial choices are almost conspicuously bland. On the other end of the spectrum, Thelen adores vivid colours - neon oranges, shocking yellows, acid greens - and fully embraces the bombastic colour palettes his people are known for. Thoris is doomed to be trapped in billowing robes he'd much rather burn in a steel drum behind the embassy under cover of darkness, but he prefers layered tunics, boots, and breeches that don't inhibit his movement. Vrath is in the middle of the road, favouring bold colours and practical clothing but never quite able to resist bits of ornamentation that give her wealthy Tha'an Clan allegiance away. Miraal, on the other hand, adore soft, draping fabrics and wears very little leather, or any other similarly heavy materials, and she prefers to wear minimal ornamentation so as not to distract from her wares.
In terms of seasonal clothing, Andorians can tolerate very broad rangers of temperatures, and they have thermal regulators built into much of their clothing. They can get away with quite a lot, in terms of weather, but a heavily cultivated sense of caution generally prevents them from wandering out into surface conditions wearing anything less than full winter gear - though, naturally, their idea of full winter gear is rather lighter than what a Human would go in for. In extreme heat, Andorians have no problem wearing as little as possible - often to the consternation of other species who do not share their total lack of nudity taboos.
Regarding colours, I headcanon that much like how Vulcans view green as a traditional mating colour owing to the hue of their blood, and Humans view red much the same way, so too do Andorians with the colour blue. Just wearing blue alone isn't an invitation for anything, but it is very noticeable and considered a very attractive colour. Wearing a particularly fetching shade of blue while lurking in a bar and being very noticeably single, however...
Andorian silk is a luxury item, and one in high demand. Made from cocoons harvested from a domesticated relative of the infamous Andorian ice borers, it's ten times stronger than Terran silk, rendering it resistant to slashing and piercing damage. It can be woven into heavy brocades or crafted into a diaphanous, organza-like material, or blended with other fibres. It almost always has a slight iridescent or even metallic shine to it, a highly coveted property, and it is ludicrously expensive.
Hope this helps! <3
#star trek#andorian#andorians#emigre by indignantlemur#headcanon#Andorian fashion and fabrics#Andorian fashion#Andorian silk
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Of Kings, Crowns and Love (Thorin Spring Forge 2024 Entry)
accompanying art piece by @koyunsoncizeri here!! 😭🩷🩷🩷 it's gorgeous!
Summary: Thorin hears of Rohan’s king’s death, and how his son, moving back home from Gondor, is about to be crowned the new king of Rohan. Normally, Dwarves keep themselves out of the business of men. But something is stirring in the North, something dark and evil that seems to be connected to Gundabad and the fell lands of the East... and having some extra allies is not bad (as he’s learned on his quest to retake Erebor).
The King under the Mountain officially invites himself to the crowning of King Thengel, where he meets not just Thengel and a mysterious man called Thorongil, but also the new king’s sisters. Falling head over heels for the oldest of the two sisters, Thorin finds himself no longer on just a political mission, but also one of love.
Fandom: The Hobbit / Lord of the Rings
Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield / original female character
Tags: everybody lives AU, Dragon Sickness, PTSD, First Love, Courting, First Kiss, Romance, Love Letters, Baking
Word Count: around 9157
Notes: I want to thank the lovely moderators from @thorinsspringforge for this event and the support they offered us all! This was so much fun :3
I also want to give a HUGE shoutout to my artist @koyunsoncizeri who created something so so beautiful (please go check out their art piece for this fic and reblog and give it love!!), which helped inspire me to keep writing when I struggled!! Their talent and kindness knows no bounds! Thank you love 🩷
AO3 link to the TSF24 collection
AO3 link to my entry but you can also read the full thing in this post
Tag list: @fizzyxcustard @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @knittastically @heilith @lathalea @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @nowandthane
Part 1: The Coronation, Interrupted
Flower petals moved through the air like a gorgeous spring rain. Puddles of colours lay on the floor already. The people must have picked clean huge fields of flowers just for this very occasion, the newly ascended King thought to himself as he stared out over the sea of colours and smiles.
They would do such a thing too, for him. For today was a joyous and important day in the Kingdom of Rohan. Their wayward and lost prince, Thengel, had returned to take over the crown since his father’s passing. There were, in other words, not just one thing to celebrate, but two.
The crown, heavier than it looked both with burden and physical weight, rested atop his long, golden hair whilst he smiled at unknown faces that saw not him, but his father; who clapped not for him, but for their own relief at no longer being without king; who were happy not for his return, but for their own leadership not disappearing with the life of their previous king.
The colours, the beautiful sight of the petals, was all loathsome to Thengel. He had had a nice life in Gondor. Why, oh why, did his father have to die so soon? He’d hoped to die in some battle before him. But here he was, forced to take the crown because his annoying brothers had skipped town the second they heard their father was on his deathbed.
No one wanted this bloody crown, heavy as it was in so many ways… No one but potentially the faces smiling back at him now. He knew no one. He trusted even fewer people.
Aside from… Morwen. His beautiful wife, stood next to him bearing an equally as heavy crown. Yet, she seemed to carry it with ease. Her beauty, her love, her kindness… They, Thengel thought to himself, were going to be what ruled Rohan. And Morwen, his dear beloved darling, would do it too, even if she would rather spend her time with their children: Theoden and Theodis.
Just as they were going to sit down and start the feast and be one step closer to ending this dreadful day, the large doors to the hall opened. A wind gushed through the place, forcing the petals to blow away from the feasts, some falling into the large beacons of fire to shrivel into ash…
A silence fell over the hall, every gaze turned toward the doors now wide open...
Dwarves.
Uninvited Dwarves. Six of them too!
Slowly, the leader, the one and only Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, slayer of Smaug the Terrible, and defeater of Azog the Defiler, moved through the hall and up toward the thrones. He avoided all gazes sent his way, walking with intent, determined steps, and with a look on his face that was anything but kind, at least in the eyes of the humans.
“I thought Dwarves were meant to have longer beards-“ With a quick, reprimanding tug at her nephew’s shirt, Maerwyn silenced Theoden’s whispers which were far too loud to be called whispers in all honesty. She stood together with her niece and nephew to the side of the thrones, watching everything play out from the sidelines, yet with equal curiosity as Morwen and Thengel.
Maerwyn, sister to Thengel and born with the same beauty and blonde hair, had been in Gondor with her brother almost her entire life. She mourned her father quite little, having never known him. Thengel was more her father than anyone else.
Thorongil, their mutual, closest friend, stood to her side too, looking amused by Theoden’s words. As a friend and not Theoden’s family, the ranger didn’t have to reprimand the child. So he winked at Theoden, rendering Maerwyn reprimand useless, of course.
Theodis, at an age now that her mischievous brother embarrassed her as she wanted to be as graceful and grown up as her mother, glared at Theoden.
Once the six Dwarves reached the front, they each took a bow, staying down on one knee.
“We come to pay our respects to the new King of Rohan,” Thorin spoke. He, crownless as he was (and rumor had it he never wore his crown either), had a face everyone knew. He did not have to introduce himself. And he apparently wasn’t going to either.
Maerwyn glanced to Thorongil. As the older (though he didn’t look it) and wiser out of the two, she wanted to see what his reaction was to Thorin’s own invite to the occasion. He looked suspicious, but mainly surprised. Indeed, the ranger was right to be surprised. The Dwarves, as good of an ally as they could be, weren’t known to so openly approach Men for any sort of diplomatic meeting. This… well, this was certainly a surprise.
As Thorin raised his head to speak, his gaze flickered over to Maerwyn for a split second and she felt her heart do a somersault. No one had told her that the great Thorin Oakenshield was so… handsome.
“We come bearing gifts to rekindle a friendship between their people.” The Dwarves stood, upon which two younger Dwarves and one much older rounded Thorin to bow in front of the king and queen, presenting three boxes each. “Myrr from the people of Esgaroth. An embroidered Rohirrim symbol on a tapestry from the merchants of Erebor. As well as a divine set of new bracers and a dagger from the Dwarven smithies of Erebor. You could wish for no finer equipment, I can assure you,” Thorin spoke.
Morwen smiled and graciously bowed to accept the gifts.
Thengel, however… “So you have come to rekindle something ancient, indeed.” It sounded for a second as if this was his way of dismissing the Dwarves and denying a rekindling of allyship. But then: “Welcome.” And with that, Thengel sat down, with Morwen in tow, and the people in Edoras Hall continued to cheer.
The feast was grand. Tables laced with meat, mead, cakes and everything one could have hoped for had been prepared by servants for days before this, and it all looked as perfect as they’d hoped it would turn out to be. Before long, the lutes from bards filled the Golden Hall’s entire air with joyous music. People sung, danced, drank and ate to their heart’s content. It was a merry occasion once more.
The Dwarves stayed in their corner. All apart for Thorin’s nephews, who had found their way into the crowd of Men to sing and dance alongside them with ease. They’d found Theoden and Theodis, and had danced with the little children for a while before Morwen had sent them to bed. Now they were merrymaking with the adults instead.
The older Dwarves seemed less inclined to mingle or mix with the strangers. And it showed in their way of glaring and mumbling to each other each time someone had the ‘audacity’ of glancing their way or coming a little too close to their corner.
Thengel, watching his people’s merrymaking from the sidelines with a cup of untouched mead in his hand, found it only making him distrust these Dwarves’ intentions more.
“You look troubled, my friend.” Thorongil had appeared by Thengel’s side. “As new King, you should not have those frown lines on your face just yet. Leave that for your first duties.” A joke. But Thengel was far from a joking mood.
“They want something…” he muttered quietly. His gloves squeaked as he closed one hand into a fist. “I just know it. It’s just like those nobles in Gondor, Thorongil. They want things from me because I have power.”
Thorongil didn’t react at first, simply listening to the grumbling of his old friend. “Did I want something from you?”
Thengel scoffed. “No, but you are different.”
“Perhaps they are different too?”
Thengel narrowed his eyes at them, especially Thorin Oakenshield. Maybe he didn’t don his crown, but a crown he had. A whole kingdom that looked up to him and marvelled at his power. What could he possibly want from Rohan? Nothing good… It couldn’t be anything good…
Part 2: The Feast
Moving through the crowd, Maerwyn approached the Dwarves standing in their corner of the room. Her hands cupped a chalice of red wine, but it was not the reason for her seamless movement through the crowd. They parted for her, bowing respectfully. She was now no longer the daughter of the King. She was the sister of the King. Yet, that was not the reason for people to part for her so quickly and respectfully. Her importance to the kingdom had not changed. But rather, she, herself, was put on a pedestal by all who saw her, it seemed.
This, Thorin noticed as he caught sight of the woman approaching them. Her green eyes flickered between the vessel in her hands, and him, letting Thorin know her intent. Curious, he’d watched her, long since forgetting about the conversation at hand between his fellow Dwarves. Dwalin and Ori seemed oblivious to it. Balin was not, watching Thorin and Maerwyn’s looks to each other with curious dismay.
“It’s not worth it, Thorin-“ Maerwyn had interrupted a conversation as she approached, blinking innocently at Dwalin with an unsaid apology, to which the Dwarf only glared.
There was a moment in which Dwalin wanted to push forward and place himself in front of Thorin protectively, but Thorin was quick to stop that with a single hand gesture. Instead, he stepped forward to greet Maerwyn with a bow.
Maerwyn couldn’t tell whether Thorin had done so to be kind to the sister of the King Thorin clearly wanted something from, or whether Thorin truly had meant his kind greeting.
Approaching guests was unlike her. She stayed in the background, sister to great men, daughter to Kings, doomed to be of a gender that was given little space or power in the Kingdoms of Men. Yet here she was, approaching guests of the King, her brother, without a care in the world. Confidence bloomed through her body, driven on only by the pure infatuation with this one Dwarf’s attractive face, curious whether the Dwarf’s heart might be as attractive too.
“My lady..?” Thorin asked politely.
“Maerwyn,” she replied. “King Thengel’s sister.” She curtsied politely before offering the cup she was cradling in her hands.
Thorin looked confused. She smiled. He smiled. “It is an offer of kinship and generosity to share wine from the same cup.”
“And who else has drunk from this?” Thorin asked curiously, though his voice held a little edge to it.
Maerwyn blushed. “Me.”
Spurred on by this answer, it seemed, Thorin reached out and took a long sip, lips lingering on the cup as his eyes found hers… with intent. She watched with wide eyes, her blush gone but not because she was not feeling something. Rather, she was too surprised by the Dwarf’s obvious meaning to allow herself to feel anything-
Then before she could say or do anything else, Thengel’s hand suddenly touched her shoulder.
She was silently goaded to leave, and so she did, her head lowered but a smile playing on her lips.
“You seem happy.” Thorongil said as he walked with her through the crowd.
Surprised he had approached her, Maerwyn nodded her head in agreement. “I’ve never met a man with such reputation.”
“Yes, reputation,” Thorongil said with a little glint to his eyes. “I am sure his reputation was what just motivated you to act.”
She blushed.
“Be careful, my lady,” Thorongil added quickly. “He is a man who has seen much, been through even more, and whose heart is darker than it seems.”
“I see darkness,” Maerwyn was quick to say, as if defending her own choices. Though, she knew, that one needn’t defend one’s choices to Thorongil. He was kinder than most: a man who had seen much and been through more. A man who, perhaps, could understand Thorin better than most. “But I don’t only see darkness. He can get out of it.”
“Few can.”
“Indeed.” Maerwyn put the cup down and gave Thorongil a pointed look. “Sometimes, with a little help, a person can do surprisingly much.”
Thorongil bowed his head. “Just be careful. You’ve only just met.”
Thengel watched Maerwyn and Thorongil walk away for a little bit before turning his gaze to Thorin. “Few dare come uninvited to a Coronation of an unallied King.”
“Yet here I am,” Thorin replied.
“Here you are…” Thengel said, pretending to ignore the three Dwarves behind Thorin tensing up, ready to step in and help. “Might we speak in private? Outside, perhaps, on the balcony?” Before Thorin could even respond, Thengel was already leading the way through the crowds. With a look back at Balin, Dwalin and Ori, Thorin offered a disgruntled look at Thengel’s behaviour, before following the new King.
The balcony was positioned to offer a view of the vast fields that made up Rohan. Hills upon hills of green grass that had sickened into a beige colour now that autumn was here.
Far, far away, the outlines of mountains surrounded them. Helm’s Deep, Thorin recalled from his studies, was somewhere there. Among many Rohirrim dark secrets one needed to pass to get to the lands of Gondor the quickest.
Thorin had to admit that the vast openness of the lands of Men made him uncomfortable. Sometimes, Thorin thought to himself, when he stepped out of Erebor, he thought the Sky would fall down on him, or that he himself would float up toward it. It was strange not to have anything above his head.
So whilst he could understand how this was a beautiful view, he didn’t quite share in admiring it the way Thengel was.
Though, something told Thorin that Thengel was merely biding his time so he could gather his thoughts and speak his mind without… offending Thorin too much. A bitterness surrounded Thengel. No man should be too overjoyed by a crown burdening their shoulders, or they would become bad kings, but this much bitterness revealed more anger than a king should have.
“You come here… uninvited,” Thengel began, repeating what he’d said earlier but with agitation in his voice. Thorin joined the man by the railing of the balcony, eyes only just managing to peak over at the view. He tried to stare at it to keep his mind at peace, to try and listen rather than see what Thengel was feeling. To anyone who might catch a glimpse of them, it didn’t look like there was any tension between the two. But oh… there was. “And you demand things of me.”
“Demand?” Thorin asked, astounded and surprised. “I merely wish for a fellowship between our people.”
“Fellowship… Wish…” Thengel grunted under his breath. “People always want things from me. It is never a courtesy call.”
“The burden of a king-“
“The burden of Thengel,” he was quick to interrupt and correct, glancing down to the Dwarf beside him. Thorin raised his chin, eyes curious, and also slightly annoyed at being cut off. “No man ever simply speaks to me. I was and will always be my father’s youngest son, destined to bring news to him of lords and ladies who did good deeds and who would like, very much, to be invited to his court. I escaped to Gondor to try and find peace. Yet it was only worse.”
Thorin understood his meaning. “And now you are back here.”
“And with only more people demanding things from me.”
“I demand nothing,” Thorin tried to reassure him. “I merely wish-“
“Wishing is the lordly way of demanding, is it not?” Thengel muttered. He turned to face Thorin, eyes crueller than they had need to be in this situation. But his trauma spoke for itself, taking control over Thengel in this moment. And quite honestly, out of everyone to understand that, Thorin would be highest on the list. His past did not come without its fair share of trauma. To remain King under the Mountain meant dealing with the Dragon Sickness that never quite faded, a constant vicarious battle between reality and his own demise. Yet, he couldn’t say anything to help Thengel.
Because Thorin’s belief was that there was no one who could help Thorin but Thorin himself. And therefore, there was no one who could help Thengel but Thengel.
“I will think on it.” Thengel interrupted what had turned into a really long silence where both Kings had stared into each other’s eyes. “But I guarantee nothing.”
Then, with a sigh, Thengel waved his hand and offered Thorin and his company a place to stay whilst they recuperated, and to enjoy the feasts and blah blah… The man was done with niceties. He was no fit for a king, but there also was no sight of any of his brothers. No one, it seemed, wanted the crown.
As Thengel left Thorin’s side, Thorin thought hard on Thengel’s words. A troubled man, indeed. But not without cause. If only Thorin had the communication skills to offer his sympathies, but he had a feeling nothing would come of it but two stubborn men butting heads. He wished, for a split second, that his dear friend Bilbo might be there by his side to do the talking for him. Alas, he was enjoying a peaceful life in the Shire, away from politics and kings.
Good.
The Hobbit deserved as much.
“He is troubled, he means no harm.” The voice surprised Thorin, who turned and watched that curious ranger who seemed to be in the shadows during this feast, yet stand beside Thengel on his throne, approach him instead on the balcony. Hands behind his back, rugged black clothes and cape hiding a toned body, Thorongil remained a mystery to Thorin.
“And who are you?” Thorin asked, his voice a little too pointed to call it a kind question.
“Thorongil is the name people seem to use.”
“Yet it is not your name?” Thorin asked with a furrow brow of annoyance. It was a normal question to ask. Why not answer it?
Thorongil stayed quiet, an amused look appearing on his face. He pretended to watch the view as well. Men really were fascinated by these green open hills, weren’t they? Thorin doubted they’d offer his halls the same admiration, as cruel as that sounded.
“How do you know Thengel?” Thorin asked instead.
“We met in Gondor. We fought together during battles at the borders of Mordor.” Thorin’s spine shivered at the mention of that foul place. “We became friends, I suppose. I never asked much of him.”
There was something in his words that made Thorin tilt his head.
“It seems to be the way to his heart,” Thorongil added. He glanced down at Thorin with a pointed look.
“You mean to tell me I should simply not ask anything of him? Have no purpose for being here? And what, leave without an allyship?”
“Your purpose would be to welcome a new king to your neighbouring realm.” Thorongil gave Thorin a pointed look. “Support will take you a long way, Thorin Oakenshield. I suggest, for now…” Thorongil turned to glance over his shoulder. When Thorin did, he’d only caught sight of Maerwyn’s dress flowing as she rushed away. “For now, you simply enjoy the company.” With a knowing look, Thorongil left Thorin alone.
Men were confusing. Worse than Elves, it seemed.
These were going to be some long days spent in their company.
Part 3: Early Mornings, Baking and Courting – All Somehow Wrapped in One
The festivities died down a long time ago. Yet, Thorin could only hear noise. Noise from his own mind.
He tossed and turned in his bed, far too big for a Dwarf to begin with. He felt like he was being swallowed by some deep dark hole that would drown him in screams and anguish and growls and pain and dragons and gold-
Thorin sat up with a sigh, rubbing the thoughts and the gold away from his eyeballs.
Sleep would not come to him that night.
With a cold sweat shining on his skin in the faint glow of candles, Thorin stood and put on some clothes that would render him anything but royal looking. Dark robes and a large hood to pull over his head. He meant to walk the halls until morning. To occupy his body and get rid of the restlessness that persisted in his bones whilst his mind surged with dark thoughts.
Fili, his blessed nephew who seemed to always have a third eye for his uncle’s moods, awoke in his drunken sleep. He and Kili had enjoyed last night’s festivities to the fullest.
Groggily, Fili turned and glanced at Thorin. “Uncle…?”
“Go back to sleep, Fili.” How Fili could sleep with Dwalin and Kili snoring as much as they were, Thorin had no idea. But the vast amount of mead Fili had had most likely offered some help.
“Are you alright?” Fili pushed.
“I am just fine. I simply want to go for a walk.”
He didn’t convince his nephew. That much was obvious. But Fili gave in and put his head back down onto his pillow. He fell back asleep instantly. Most likely, Fili wouldn’t even remember this conversation come morning.
Heading out, Thorin wandered the halls, as he had planned. His mind was still clouded, dark, and he truly had no idea where his feet brought him. He found halls that were riddled with cobwebs, unused. He found basements and servant quarters and large libraries. A crypt, too.
But he didn’t explore any of the areas. He simply… wandered.
Until suddenly, he collided with something soft. In his half asleep state of panic and anxiety, Thorin had not noticed someone roaming the shadows, much like him, dressed in dark clothes, much like him, and collided with the figure upon both taking the same turn.
“I apologise- My lady?”
Her hood had fallen back as she’d stumbled against someone. Shocked, Maerwyn stared down at Thorin. “Oh! My Lord!” Her cheeks blushed. Pale skin tinted with emotions she was not used to. “I humbly apologise…” She curtsied.
Thorin smiled. “Please, I should be the one apologising. I was not looking where I was going. I was a fool for not seeing your beauty a mile away.”
Shocked by his words, her beautiful green, almost yellow eyes flickered hither and tither for a moment as she tried to compose herself. “I… I thank you for your kind words, my lord. But I must ask… what are you doing out of bed at this ungodly hour?”
A chuckle arose from Thorin’s chest. Oh… that felt nice. It had been quite some time since someone earnestly made him chuckle. “I might ask the same of you.”
She blushed again.
He liked seeing that blush.
“I was on my way…” She interrupted herself. Her eyes betrayed her as it was obvious she suddenly got an idea. “Might I ask you to accompany me, my lord? If I may be so presumptuous, but I feel you might gain quite a lot from this…”
That was mysterious.
Thorin always thought that he had had quite enough of adventures for a lifetime. He’d dealt with dragons twice too many times in his life; he’d travelled Middle-earth in search of a home far too much… Though, he never quite tired of visiting the Shire.
But Thorin had little else to do that night, and wanted nothing more but to bask in this lady’s beauty for a little longer. So he nodded and gestured for her to lead the way to this mysterious thing that would help Thorin.
Edoras Hall was built atop a hill, with a view over not just the surrounding Rohirrim fields, but also a view of the town itself. It was perhaps in no way the same beauty as Gondor, with its vast history and great, white walls; but it was, to Thorin, the most beautiful sight in the world. At least right now. He was biased though, as the town presented itself to him as a backdrop to lady Maerwyn. Anything would be as beautiful as Erebor’s halls to him when lady Maerwyn was present.
Her golden hair braided to the side escaped her large, black hood which was cast over her head to prevent people seeing her leave. Why the secrecy, Thorin had no idea. But he found it elicited some sort of youthful rebellion inside of him that only further made lady Maerwyn enticing.
He was unaware that, already, his mind was distracted away from the worries of trying to create a friendship with the kingdom of Rohan, and the dark nightmares that plagued him.
Down the steps they hurried, into the sleeping town with shadows cast over their faces. The sun was beginning to wake, and although there were already a couple of people awake, Thorin felt himself escape himself. As if a freedom permeated his surroundings, hidden as he was. As if for once he wasn’t King Thorin, or Thorin Oakenshield, but someone Thorin had missed being a great deal; a younger, less known Thorin who could stand beside his father and grandfather and not be noticed too much – who could wander the merchant stalls in Erebor with his friends without anyone treating him differently.
And as they approached a little house in the middle of town, and lady Maerwyn removed her hood to glance back at Thorin, eyes making sure he had kept up with her fast pace, Thorin felt that although he was no one with a special title at the moment, hidden as he was, Maerwyn still found him special.
He’d never felt that way before. Accepted for who he was. Even Dwalin, his closest companion, could not see him without his titles. And although that was not a problem in and of itself, Thorin felt… warm. Nice. When seen as just him for a moment.
Taking off his hood as they entered the house, Thorin found himself, to his surprise, in a little bakery. The sweet scent of freshly baked goods and bread was already all around them. Bakers were amongst the first to wake in most towns. Here it was no different.
However, Thorin found that the owners looked a little more stressed than bakers usually did. Still, as they saw lady Maerwyn, they took the time to pause and smile in a greeting.
“Oh how I’m glad you’re here, my lady.”
My lady. So they knew who she was. Thorin was a little dismayed that his anonymity might go away- “And who is this with you?” Oh!
Maerwyn gestured toward Thorin, and to Thorin’s surprise, she answered for him: “This is a dear friend of mine. He wished to help.”
“I’ve never had a Dwarf in my shop,” the owner, flour all over their apron in her hair, said. “Sorry, that’s a strange remark to make. Please! I need all the help I can get.”
Maerwyn smiled and led Thorin toward the back of the shop. Washing her hands in a little basin, she got straight to work. This woman knew what she was doing. Baking bread was no difficulty for her. Thorin found this curious.
But he didn’t comment on it just yet. Instead, he was focused on his own work because…
He might be a skilled blacksmith. He might be a skilled warrior. And on the road, he was not a stranger to hunting with a bow and making some good meat stews. But… baking was not something he’d done much of. Bread was not something Dwarves never ate, of course, but… it just wasn’t something he’d baked himself before.
And so as he awkwardly tried to mimic what Maerwyn was doing, he found his dough lacked… Well, it lacked everything. It wasn’t really a dough. More of a piece of slime.
And much to his dismay, he caught Maerwyn glancing at his work and giggle.
“It’s alright. Here… just add some more flour.” Thorin watched her, finding his gaze locked on her instead of what she was saying and showing. Her teachings went over his head, blinded as he was by… well, everything about her.
So once she glanced at him with expecting eyes, clearly waiting for him to try once more but with the addition of all she’d just taught him, Thorin stumbled once more and created, again, a slime.
She chuckled. And blushed, clearly aware what had just transpired. “How about you just knead the dough? Your strength will do you good here.”
He did not miss her eyes subconsciously glancing at his arms, the muscles which hid beneath his tunic.
And oh was he suddenly extremely motivated to show her that, yes, he did have strength.
He kneaded the doughs so keenly and with such motivation that he most likely looked a fool. Yet, Maerwyn smiled at him and only encouraged and praised his work.
Before long, another person entered the shop: that ranger who was always lurking around Thengel. Thorin’s heart sunk a bit, not because Thorongil would ruin anything, but because Thorin had enjoyed having Maerwyn’s complete attention.
And why was he always around where Maerwyn was?
Jealousy.
Thorin was quick to realise that what he felt was jealousy. Truly, it was unbecoming of him. This lady next to her, arm sometimes brushing up against his, sending shivers down his spine, awakened sides of Thorin that had laid dormant for so long whilst he had done nothing but try and survive. For decades, his life was all about the Dwarves under his charge. His people’s redemption. His people’s survival. His own throne’s return. Now, suddenly, he cared about kneading dough and a lady’s arm brushing up against his.
It was… a welcoming change of pace.
And he did not want it to be disturbed.
“My lady,” Thorongil greeted. Maerwyn smiled and greeted him back… “Sire,” he greeted Thorin.
And then, to Thorin’s surprise, Thorongil took off his rings, washed his hands, and began helping the both of them too.
A comfortable silence fell over them all, and Maerwyn’s little smiles and blushes toward Thorin never stopped. Thorin found it curious, and his mind suddenly realised that he had no idea why he was making bread.
“My lady, my good sir, might I ask of you… why we are helping the local bakery?” Thorin asked as kindly as he could. He’d learned from his nephews that sometimes he was a little too… gruff. Grumpy was actually the word Kili had used, but he hadn’t liked that. Grumpy was what one called someone old. And Thorin surely wasn’t old yet?
Maerwyn giggled when Thorongil blinked in surprise. “You’ve not told him?”
“I fear I quite forgot,” Maerwyn chuckled. “My brother wished for all the people to have freshly baked bread come morning, as a token of his gratitude and as a celebration for their new king. But I’m afraid my brother has always lived the life of a nobleman, even in Gondor or out on the road, so he didn’t quite realise how much work this would be on the bakers. Thorongil and I decided we’d help out. But working with one’s hands can have quite a therapeutic effect, and when I saw the look in your eyes, my lord, I thought I’d bring you here too.” Maerwyn, a bit of flour on her cheek, glanced at Thorin with sheepish, almost worried eyes.
Had she gone too far?
Thorin smiled. No, she had not. Perhaps he might have reacted differently in another circumstance. Perhaps he’d even reacted differently had it been anyone but Maerwyn who had said these words to him. But Maerwyn with her beauty was a welcomed person to dig deeper into Thorin.
And as a matter of fact, Thorin was a little surprised that she’d seen through him so well. He’d not even realised himself that during these hours, Thorin had not once thought of Erebor or its riches. He felt lighter. Lighter than he’d done since he’d taken on the burden of being King despite the Dragon Sickness in his heart. It felt… nice.
She felt nice. Too nice, for him. He didn’t deserve that after all he’d done. Yet, here she was, put on his path to offer her empathy.
He didn’t want to let her go.
“I thank you, my lady,” Thorin replied.
The Dwarf King caught a look between Maerwyn and Thorongil. A conversation Thorin had not been privy to seemed to suddenly come to an end. Thorongil bowed his head in defeat at her, and Maerwyn looked a little prideful. Thorin adored that look on her face. It made her glow. She should be proud all the time, Thorin thought. Someone should make her feel like a queen. He would, if only to see that look again.
The bakers had bowed and thanked the three of them so much that it had taken them five minutes just to leave the bakery. Once outside, all three of them put their hoods back on and walked back to Edoras Halls in peaceful anonymity.
By now, the morning sun was shining down on the town, and people had awoken. The bakery’s freshly baked bread was a scent that prevailed in the entire town. And when Thorin glanced back before beginning to ascend up toward the halls, he noticed young boys and girls, given a pretty penny to help out, deliver loaves wrapped in cloth to the people.
It was a good day for the townspeople. And, truthfully, Thorin found a newfound respect for the king. Despite Thengel’s demons speaking for him, causing distrust toward Thorin, a kind and well-meaning person was revealed to him through this very ordeal. No king would have thought of spreading food to his people as their first order. Most kings would have thought of themselves.
Thorongil walked ahead, offering Thorin and Maerwyn some privacy. Whether this was intentional or not was not difficult to read. Thorongil had offered a knowing look to Maerwyn before suddenly picking up his own pace.
“I hope you feel better, my lord,” Maerwyn said, breaking the silence between her and Thorin. “You looked so forlorn when we bumped into each other earlier. I wanted nothing but to help you.”
“Few would feel that way,” Thorin admitted.
“Why? You deserve help.”
Thorin grew quiet.
“You speak not very highly of yourself.” The walk up those steps toward the hall made Maerwyn slightly out of breath, yet as she walked beside him, skirts in her hand to keep from tripping, she took deep enough breaths to speak to Thorin clearly. She wanted him to listen. To hear. “You saved your people. You gave them a new home. You defeated a dragon.”
“There are details no one speaks of,” Thorin intervened.
Both paused as they reached the top, turning to face each other. Thorongil disappeared inside ahead of them.
“What details?” she boldly asked.
“I am not myself.”
“We all have darkness.”
“You should not grow comfortable around me. I have days I am no person. There are days I have to lock myself in my room as greed and desire are all I feel. There is, and always will be, a curse on the wealth of that Mountain. And my family, my bloodline, is its prey.”
Maerwyn’s brow furrowed in worry. Not disgust. Not fear. But worry. Worry for him and his wellbeing. Thorin almost wanted to wave it off and tell her to stop being naïve, as he did with Dis, Fili and Kili.
But it wasn’t naivety, and Thorin could see that much.
She meant it.
“Then I will endeavour to find more ways to help you.”
More?
“This was for me?” Thorin asked, gesturing back in the direction of the bakery.
“The baking was for the people. But letting you help was for you, yes. There should be more things that could aid you. I will figure it out. I promise.”
“You have no reason to promise anything to me.”
“And yet I am promising,” she persisted, smiling. “The stubbornness of Dwarves is true, it seems. Yet, the stubbornness of women is equally as true.” She stepped closer, as if wanting to reach out, but her confidence failed her.
Thorin had wished she’d done what she’d wanted.
“You have some flour on your cheek.”
Because it would have meant her touch his cheek.
“So do you, my lady.”
And it would have meant he’d been able to touch her too.
Thorin and lady Maerwyn did not have many more moments where they could speak in private. So they made their own time to do so.
Somehow, without saying a single word about it, both had found a routine in going to that very corner where they’d bumped into each other each early morning, for a stroll around the halls and some peaceful conversation.
Sometimes, Maerwyn came with some new ideas to distract Thorin from the darkness inside him. She presented painting to him, though he really did not want to even try his hands on that. He was a blacksmith. Painting was too delicate for him.
She also presented writing to him. He did try his hands on that and so one fateful morning…
“I have tried my hand on writing something.”
Surprised that Thorin had done this, not because she did not believe in his artistic abilities, but because she was truthfully not sure he wanted to help himself, Maerwyn had paused in their walk to turn to him. “Have you?”
She wore a nightgown underneath a thick, large cardigan. And she looked as heavenly as always, to Thorin.
With a nod, he assured her that he had indeed done some writing, before presenting a note from the inside of his coat. “I would like you to read it and let me know what you think.”
“I am no writer,” she was quick to say, shying away from the note.
“You do not need to be to see what can be improved upon,” Thorin reassured her.
Slowly, she took the note from him and opened it to reveal his writing. “I adore your writing style,” she praised him immediately. Thorin smiled and watched her. Maerwyn had this peculiar way of finding the positives in everything. The beauty. The good. The kind. And then she would also voice it, whether in praise or to alert someone to what they were good at. It was quite a beautiful thing, and perhaps it looked like nothing out of the ordinary to most – why a little praise was just kindness, and many had kindness! But to Thorin… when paired with her beautiful lips speaking the praise… it was perfection.
Those very words were what Thorin had written in that note of his. Those very words were what lady Maerwyn were reading right now, her green eyes dancing over the words with a speed that spoke of a well-read mind…
And then she blushed and shifted on her feet, not out of uncomfortableness, much to Thorin’s relief, but… joy.
“Are… Do you mean these kind words?” she asked him quietly. “Do you really find me…” She trailed off, blushing.
“I find you beautiful, yes,” Thorin said quietly, but confidently.
She brought the note to her chest, pressing it close to her heart to show her appreciation. A smile graced her lips.
And then both simply continued their walk. But they walked closer to each other…
And their morning walks turned into their own private courting.
Part 4: The Battle of Love (and Alliance)
“Good morning.” With a curtsey and a smile, Maerwyn, dressed in a green dress that flowed in seamless gentle waves from her waist down to the stone floor, joined her family at the breakfast table. Guests were offered breakfast in their rooms, so these moments were the only ones they had between just themselves.
Theoden and Theodis sat whispering to each other about their day’s plans, clearly looking mischievous. Something told Maerwyn that they were going to spend the day following Fili and Kili again. The two younger Dwarves had turned into the children’s favourite guests quite quickly. And Maerwyn was pretty sure Theodis had a little crush on Kili, which was adorable.
As they caught Maerwyn’s curious gaze, both began to giggle maniacally until their mother told them off. Thengel sat in pure silence, not even having acknowledged his sister’s presence.
Queen Morwen kept sending worried glances to her husband, but kept her head held high and pretended in front of the servants that nothing was wrong.
But Maerwyn was not like the Queen. Silence and patience were not her virtues. So, she reached a hand over to Thengel’s arm, dressed in a silk shirt. “Brother, what is wrong?”
A servant shifted between them, forcing Maerwyn to lean back again, missing the agitated clench of Thengel’s jaw. As more tea was poured into Thengel’s cup, Maerwyn pleasantly busied herself with buttering a piece of bread. A smile graced her lips suddenly, remembering her Dwarf King now each time she saw bread.
“That,” Thengel said. The servant had left, and Maerwyn turned her gaze to her brother again to find him staring at her with a less than pleasant look in his eyes. He was almost scolding her. “That is my issue.”
“What?” Maerwyn asked, her smile gone. It seemed to calm Thengel down.
Thengel did not elaborate on his words, he only quietly seethed in his seat as he said: “I will not agree on a partnership with the Kingdom of Erebor.”
“What?” Maerwyn asked once more, this time astounded at what she was hearing. “But brother-“
“They are here for their own purposes. I am not blind to the reports of darkness up in the north. Things are stirring. Changing. And I know they are here for our support. I will not sacrifice my own men for the sake of Dwarves.”
Maerwyn stared at Thengel in shock. “What has their race got to do with this?”
“They can bury themselves deeper into the mountains if they wish.”
“That-“ Maerwyn took a deep breath. Her brother was a kind and honourable man. Truly. But he was so, so broken and so unsure of himself… She’d hoped Thorongil’s presence would lessen that, but Thorongil was not here right now. “I don’t understand, my lord. There are also Men in danger in the city-“
“And you know this how?”
“I have spoken to the Dwarves.”
“You have spoken to one Dwarf, you mean.”
Maerwyn grew quiet. “I don’t understand your point.”
“You are my sister. You should be on my side. This is a political game. Everything is. No one wants anything from us unless it has something to do with what they can gain from it. Don’t you see? He does not want you. He wants soldiers. Protection.” At this point, Thengel had leaned in closer to hiss the words straight into Maerwyn’s face. “He does not care for you, only for his own skin. He is using you, Maerwyn.”
Promptly, Maerwyn stood up. The chair scraped behind her loudly. Servants paused and stared at her. Theoden and his sister watched her in surprise. Morwen looked sympathetic, but she stayed silent. And that hurt Maerwyn.
“I will not have someone tell me what is and what is not true in my own relationships,” Maerwyn said as curtly as she could, her voice barely above a whisper as she desperately tried to keep her emotions at bay. She’d not noticed how her hands had fisted parts of her skirts in desperation. “Especially not my brother. And not my king. You have it all wrong. You are too blinded by your own self-centred view on life to see how your hurt is hurting others. Not everyone wants something from you. And not everyone will use me to get to you.”
She turned to walk away.
“You will not talk to him ever again!” Thengel ordered angrily, his own chair scraping behind him as he stood but Maerwyn didn’t turn to show she’d heard him.
Tears flooded down her cheeks as she walked with her head held high, as far away from her brother as she could...
Her hands still clutching the skirts, Maerwyn found Thorin waiting for her in their usual spot later that day. A walk before lunch, around the small but still lavish garden that existed on the top of that hill, overlooking the Rohirrim fields like most views.
Yet, as Thorin bowed his head to greet her with a smile gracing his lips, he found she did not return a smile. In fact, she did not even pause her stride. She stared straight at him, well aware that he was there, but seemed to have arrived with a purpose and a determination that was not going to stop her.
It was part of what Thorin admired about her but-
He was not prepared for what was to come.
She strode over to him with such confidence and sad purpose he found no words. Nor did he find words as she leaned down and kissed him straight on the lips. Her fingers, which had clutched so tightly to her skirts earlier, held onto the sides of his face with a desperation yet gentleness that he’d never thought he’d feel before. Her touch seemed to activate some desperation hidden deep within himself, and he kissed her with a passion he’d never have used for their first kiss otherwise. It was on the brink of inappropriate.
But just as soon as they’d kissed, it was all over again as she recoiled in surprise at her own actions and stared at him with wide eyes.
“My lady?” Thorin asked, genuinely a little worried what might have prompted this.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered out aghast, before turning and rushing off.
It felt wrong to run after her, something in the way she’d looked at him told him so. So Thorin stayed put, trying his best to think of some reason for why this had occurred even if his mind was more on the kiss itself than anything else.
It was not until later in the evening, when Thorin sought Maerwyn out in her own chambers after not seeing her at any event during the day, that Thorin found out what was going on.
He knocked on her door and was let in by a maid who excused herself instantly, most likely on orders by Maerwyn. Said lady was sat in her windowsill, forlornly staring out over the Rohirrim fields and mountains. Curiously, her chambers were in the direction of Erebor, north.
“I apologise for this improper action, my lady, but when you did not attend lunch nor dinner, I worried for your wellbeing,” Thorin said, staying a courteous half a room away from her.
She at first didn’t react, nor did she turn her head to acknowledge that he was there.
She truly looked… sad.
“My brother is not going to agree to an alliance between our kingdoms,” she uttered monotonously.
Thorin sighed. “I know. He told me so earlier.”
Maerwyn turned to glance at him now, surprised at first, then even more sad than she’d looked earlier. Clearly, she’d hoped something she’d done might have changed his mind. “I am sorry. I think I am to blame.”
Now it was Thorin’s turn to look surprised. He crossed the room to reach her, gingerly taking her hand in his. “And why would that be?”
“I let myself get carried away. Thengel believes everyone is out to get him. Now he extends this anxiousness toward me.” She moved her hand away from Thorin’s. “He believes you are using me. I am sorry.”
Thorin soured a bit and grabbed her hand once more. “Then that is his issue and burden to bear. My original reason for being here is no more. I am here now, for you.”
A little smile graced her lips, but she didn’t dare to fully smile just yet. “But what of the darkness you spoke of?”
“Whatever is brewing in the North in those foul lands will brew no matter if we have extra support or not.”
“You might need us-“
“We will find some other way to beat it.” Before Maerwyn could try and say something anxious again, Thorin shook his head, “We will find some other way.”
She gave in and glanced down at their hands, letting her fingers intertwine with his. Two different people, two completely different sets of fingers, yet it felt so natural and perfect to hold onto him.
“I still am sorry.”
“None of this is your fault,” Thorin reassured. “Yet, you look sad not just because of this. Why did this hit you so hard, amrâlimê?”
“I wanted to help you…”
“You did.” Thorin smiled.
“And I’ve been trying to help my brother. But he is… If I cannot help, there is no purpose to me-“
“Do not say that,” Thorin was quick to interject. “My love, your purpose in life cannot be others. I appreciate what you have done and continue to do. But if you do not value yourself as highly as you value those that you help, you are going to go down a dark path.” He was quiet a moment, watching Maerwyn take the words in. “Disregard the King’s need for help. What is it you need right now to feel good?”
She squeezed his hand, staring deep within his eyes.
Thorin did not have to hear her words to know what she needed for herself, and from him to help her. With a smile, Thorin nodded his head. “Then come with me back to Erebor.”
…
Two Days Later.
…
Thorin kneeled in front of King Thengel. His nephews did the same a step behind him, whilst Balin, Dwalin and Ori were standing with their heads bowed. A public declaration of gratitude for the visit was occurring, and as King Thengel spoke his pre-practised speech, Thorin only half listened.
The tension that was in the hall was not just from everyone being fully aware that Thengel was going to publicly declare his denial to help Erebor and the people of Dale.
There was also tension because Thorin and Maerwyn would declare their own decision…
Secretly, Maerwyn’s maids were smuggling her luggage out through a back door and down to the horses and ponies. It was not like Thengel would or could force Maerwyn to stay. She was but a sister, so to speak, to the king and there were no laws granting him that privilege over her. However, Thengel might grow angry and Maerwyn’s kind heart would feel conflicted leaving on such notice. She and Thorin had already discussed it. It would be better to have the opportunity to simply leave whilst he was yelling at them rather than be forced to walk back and grab her belongings, giving Thengel time to use sympathy to make Maerwyn stay with him.
It sounded awful. Neither Thorin or Maerwyn wanted to talk like that about Thengel, truthfully, but his hurt and his trauma was evident in his actions. And they would be stronger than his love for his sister.
As silence fell over the hall, Thengel’s speech done, Thorin and his nephews stood back up again. The two kings bowed their heads at each other.
Then… “As for the proposed friendship between our peoples…” Thengel cleared his throat. Beside him, Morwen encouraged her husband with a smile. On the other side, Thorongil was peacefully watching.
Perhaps those two peoples’ reactions should have prepared both Maerwyn and Thorin for what was to come. But they were so adamant that they had all the information that they fell blind to what was happening right before their eyes.
“I publicly declare that the Kingdom of Rohan is now an ally of the Dwarves of Erebor and the Men of Esgaroth!”
A silence followed his words. Until he smiled and laughed at everyone’s shocked reactions, and people suddenly cheered and roared. Lords and ladies clapped their hands in ecstasy, because an allyship was always good.
And Thorin… Well, whilst his nephews elbowed him in the side with happy looks on their faces, Thorin still was not quite sure this was real.
Not until Thengel approached and offered his hand to Thorin.
Slowly, Thorin shook it, and the two kings nodded their heads at each other.
“What changed your mind?”
“People told me to weigh the consequences. I’d not only lose an ally, I’d also lose family.” He smirked. “You thought I wasn’t aware of your and Maerwyn’s plans? I am King of these halls. I hear everything.” He sighed, letting go of the handshake. “I am trying something new, King Thorin. I hope you can prove to me that this something new will not end up as bad as I think it will.”
Thorin bowed his head. That was a promise he could keep. “Thank you, my lord.”
Thorin glanced to the side where Maerwyn stood, stunned and with her hands over her mouth in shock still. But she looked happy. And so he smiled at her, along with Thengel who had turned to check what Thorin was looking at…
Hand in hand, Thorin and Maerwyn led the entourage of Dwarves down the steps from Edoras Hall. The towns people had gathered to clap and wave the guests and their new allies off. Most looked shocked at the sight of their lady Maerwyn going with the Dwarves. But it was a silent message to all that Thengel’s sister had found her home.
Before either of them took the reins of their horses from the two stable boys standing at the end of the steps, Maerywn and Thorin turned to each other and kissed in front of all. A gentle kiss to publicly declare the truth.
Behind them, Theodis was waving at Kili with a blush on her own cheeks. Kili played along and sent an air kiss her way.
With people cheering them on now, Maerwyn and Thorin turned to Edoras Hall standing proud on the hill, and waved one last time at King Thengel, Queen Morwen, their children and Thorongil.
Helping Maerwyn up on her horse, Thorin took the reins from the stable boy to his own pony, but paused to glance back to this Thorongil one last time, curiosity in his eyes.
But he found Thorongil was suddenly gone, nowhere to be seen. As if his goal had been accomplished and he’d left the scene to keep doing whatever a ranger did…
Shaking his head at that, for some reason thinking that this was not the last time Thorin would meet Thorongil, Thorin climbed up onto his pony. He reached out for Maerwyn’s hand and rode with her beside him down the town of Edoras. Maerwyn glanced back once to wave goodbye to her family. A big smile was on her lips.
“Will you miss them?” Thorin asked her.
“I don’t think so. I have all the family I need right here.” She leaned over to press a kiss to Thorin’s lips…
comment cheat code:
❤️ - I loved it!
💛- Please write more for this pairing/fandom!!
💙- HOW DARE YOU?? /lh
🤍- don't reply to my comment, please (I'm shy/anxious/don't want to talk today/don't like the feeling of being acknowledged when reading on AO3)
🤎- showing support for this / extra kudos
💚- twas okay
🖤- meh... have read better
#my tolkien writing#thorin spring forge 2024#thorin oakenshield#thorin x oc#thorin x female oc#the lord of the rings#the hobbit#the hobbit fic#everybody lives AU#lotr#my writing#tsf24#tolkien event
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Poguelandia, guys. It's all I've been able to think about. We were all together on that island, and it was a good thing, and I don't want to ruin a good thing. And I... I just wanna know, are we still all in? Are we still all together? Because I am.
#outer banks#outerbanksedit#obxedit#obxhub#dailynetflix#userbbelcher#usertelevision#tvedit#userreina#rapunzels#tuserbea#useryusi#obx spoilers#the pogues#can they keep them together during s4 pls#i need my emotinal support found family#also the colouring is all over the place but it is what it is#**
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Sebastian and Charles pose for the SF90 launch photoshoot
#formula 1#f1#f1edit#charles leclerc#sebastian vettel#car launch photoshoots arent what they used to be (incomprehensible and cringefail) 😔#why are you as a man so excited to grasp another man's hand 🤨#also the colouring is all over the place bc i took clips from two different videos im sorry 😭#2/3 men pictured here are no longer employed by scuderia ferrari that's wild 😭 charles the bridge between generations etc etc#they will never reach such magnificent heights again 😤 sexiest lineup idc idc !#*#*mine: gif
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Rainbows (Patreon)
#Doodles#UT#Handplates#Papyrus#Sans#This rainbow is all out of order - and so many negative glows ah :0#I didn't mean for them to trend negative! They were just easier to imagine the expressions - maybe I'll take a second pass on the positives#Or in green's case the negative :')#Again in order of when I drew them so kinda all over the place haha#I wanted to go in order! And then I got distracted pft - thus started with red ow :(#Honestly I was thinking of it just being a surprise-pain more than anything lol - like a splinter haha that wouldn't even pierce him!#D'you think that eyeglows could also act like automatic word-responses? Like how we say ''Ow'' when we're surprised but not hurt sometimes#Silly haha#The second is a lot less silly-intended tho more actual pain#It's also sad to think that Sans' red would pretty much have to be sympathy/emotional pain :(#The kind of survivors guilt of not being able to shoulder more but he's so fragile! It's not his fault!#I am quite happy with both of their expressions there tho especially their mouth shapes - and how the colours interact with their eyes#Lineless colours are some of my favourites :) You can tell it's my pencils and not my pen there 'cause it's feathery hehe#For example Edgar's scars are usually with my pen and they have an almost hard-line quality while my pencils are soft :) S'pretty#Switched colours! I unfortunately misremembered what their meanings were oops lol#Well I got them kinda half-right - I like blue as skeptical quite a lot :D I think it suits them both!#Sans as wary and logical and wanting to keep distance to assure his safety and what he can devote energy to - I like it!#And Papyrus using his brother's colour to be grown up in the way that Sans is hehe <3 It's sweet#I misremembered orange lol I assigned blue's alt meaning of ''curiousity'' - orange is meant to be bravery! Oops lol#I think I was thinking of Papyrus' childlike excitement and wanting to know and be involved! Haha#Greeeeens <3 Happy boys happy with each other! I love when they're happy ♥ Interlocked holding hands hehe#Pinks! Along a similar line! I like pink as platonic affection :D And as embarrassment lol but hgg the sweetness! The care and love!#Is my bias showing lol - especially with the bros sleeping on each other haha ♪ They're both happy to know the other is safe!#Couple'a stresses - I like Sans' more I'm not even gonna sugarcoat lol his expression turned out so good haha#And the inverse for the purples! I do like Sans' face but his body :P Papyrus tho - he turned out sad and perfect :')
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literally do not understand how people can hate bigb. hes such a shining light on the server. he has a cookie on his sweater. thats the cutest shit. this is a bigb stan account.
#but in all seriousness there is a real racism problem in this fandom and it shows through how people treat bigb#and im not saying disliking bibg INHERENTLY makes you racist but there are a lot of biases towards black people that makes the fans favour-#-white creators over creators of colour#im also extremely glad bigb and pearl teamed up this season as this fandom also has a big misogyny problem ontop of the aforementioned-#-racism issue#as im white myself i dont want to speak too much on the issue#as i feel its not exactly my place to say what is and is not racist#just some food for thought#roman rambles#trafficblr#3rd life#last last#double life#limited life#bigb#bigbstatz#bigbst4tz2#tw racism mention
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Apple rabbits
#chainsaw man#chainsaw man manga#csm manga#aki hayakawa#denji hayakawa#power hayakawa#aki csm#denji csm#power csm#nyako#yes the chores list is in colours cus no one can read#but aki#he also was the one who#who did all the writing on the photos#and notes#this is my happy place#also you can chose what they are watching#and talking about#i lovee themm#and ill never get over them#they fall under the found family trope#that im obsessed with if you noticed 😭😭
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feel like I may identify more with trans than nonbinary, but still feeling a part of it. that and embracing my aspec identity more. wanna wear my greysexual flag to Pride, I feel like it gets overshadowed because it's important to me as all the other labels I use.
depending on how I feel, I put out different labels. and that doesn't mean it's just them, these labels have their own unique feelings for each person and are complex right there on their own in their own right. but sometimes I want to show more visibility to the ones I have that may feel overshadowed and not focused on as much.
#greysexual is what i use and makes sense to me#and demiromantic#they are part of me and that's how it is#and trans is already complex but i find myself using it more than nonbinary#though i'm still a part of it#i use pangender more too#my gender's all over the place#but i adore the feel and colours of transgender as a label#i'm soft masc but also who the fuck knows anyway#queer#LGBTQIA+#transgender#being trans is part of the rainbow#personal#vent#aspec#nonbinary
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It's interesting to stroll around Fanlore reading discussions that took place in 2007 talking about the fractured nature of fandom on LJ and people interacting without having enough context (as in commenting on a post they did not read by a user they do not know) when you're living in 2023 and people distribute likes without reading anything or commenting; when there's supposedly "drama" of unknown origins happening in more than one website at the same time because there's no real "home base" for fandom activity anymore; and we're all carrying on with our lives reblogging things without even looking at previous notes and reactions to that same post even if out of simple curiosity...
#what gets me is the lack of discussion. i don't expect anyone to approach things in a more ~intellectual manner no#but i guess i expect a little more than what i see. i'd *like* to see a little more. more than just personal unfounded opinion#idk i have the distinct feeling that we're all screaming into the void only louder and louder and louder#(you will never convince me that twitter is a good place for discussion because it just isn't. it wasn't made for that#it doesn't support it. its very quick structure is part of why so many people have long recognised it as toxic social media)#(it's talking over one another in fragments. if you agree on there all is peachy but if you don't then lol good luck)#anyway. again. i do know tumblr isn't exactly proper for any of this either; the dashboard isn't designed for it#but it's not like i can convince anyone to switch to a slower and more text/reflection-based platform either now can i#i think about migrating every day but then i'd REALLY be screaming into the void#silly blabbering#i'm allowing myself to post this on this blog because it isn't strictly WN related but also it is. i hate twitter fandom lol#(also if you're wondering yes i did read that one for the bakhtin. in this house we love and support bakhtinian studies)#(just in case my last little essay on wn didn't clue you in regarding that lol)#ALSO i love the fact that the post (the actual post. if you click the link and follow through to the original post. which you should)#links to another post that goes to another post (i love these link black holes) where the author voices things i feel too lol#about crafting extensive essays and the expectation regarding their response#i sometimes think that LJ fandom is what made me choose my degree#why am i seeing myself through someone else's words written in 2006 ksjdfhksdjjhksdgjsd#and yeah yeah we should respond to other people too -- but how when no one is writing the sort of thing you want to/can reply to?#i'm not interested in the colour of beatrice's knickers (not that anyone has talked of that... afaik... but you get what i mean)
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thinking about how not only my brain problems but also the way i was taught history in school has just completely fucked up my sense of time
#watching a video and was shown a picture of a person in colour#and then was told that it was like 40 years ago that that was taken#and it felt like i just got kicked in the spine like. what? colour photos? that long ago?#and then i realize that 40 years ago was only the 80's#and then like. how some things in history classes were framed to be older or more recent just to fit a narrative#like how most pictures you see of MLK are in black and white to put the thought in your head that this was Forever Ago#there are photos of that man in colour. they just never show them.#because this is Ancient History of course#but then things that were split by centuries are framed as all being homogenized Oh Here's Those Three Ancient Guys#bc they Only teach egypt greece and rome bc obviously nobody else fucking existed around then#what do you mean humans have been in north america for millenia whites were the First Ones To Find It#and it was So So Recent ago that sometimes ppl still call this place The New World (it's not. fucking. new.)#but also slavery was So So So long ago look all of that was in the past and it's history and we don't need to worry about it bc It's Over#(no it's fucking not. prison labor and outsourcing labor to countries with a lack of labor laws is still fully slavery :)#i love how sometimes the shit the right complains about is also the shit they fucking caused#like 'everything's made in china nothing is American™️ anymore >:('#but then immediately 'why should we pay people to work >:( i'm gonna make other countries work for me bc they're cheaper >:('#i hate this shit i wanna just become moss
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i never posted this alongside the other portrait (when I meant to tbh cuz they’re on the same page) and some things have to shift in her actual design, but like...
im melting, man - im gonna try sketchin something newer but I haven’t had too many ideas OTL
This has more of Ravena’s ‘attitude’ in it, so even tho the anatomy is worse, I think it is slightly better in that regard hehe
i didn’t mention it on the other one cuz it was not ‘approved’ at the time hahaha but this is also another OC (that isn’t mine) hgjdf - We got TWO big tiddy goth girls in this lab, guys and gals
#sketch#doodle#oc#original characters#myart#basically just posting this cuz I wanna stay relevant and not dwell on the previous vent post#when I figure out how to draw hands it's all over for u guys#im just sayin#i almost considered sharing a spicier wip in this one's place but i have chickened out for the time being lmaooo#I wanna get more comfy with posting WIPs tho so I don't go like two months without posting again 8)#again - this was drawn the same day (immediately afterwards actually) the linked post!#there's also more on the same page but uhhhhhhhh I can't share it 8)))))) nsft if u know what i mean#but it's such a shame cuz I'm honestly really proud of how the colouring on those was fdhjdfhfd
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