#author mentor match
Note
hello it's me again not sure if it's alright to request one more (literally just ignore this if not) and its also not y2k but i'd like to request work song by hozier for nanami especially "no grave can hold my body down, i'd crawl home to her" angst with a happy ending during/post shibuya (no dying please) and reader is also a healer like shoko
thank you so much and congrats again 🫶🏼
Work Song
No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her
Pairing: Nanami x f!reader
Word Count: ~1.6k
cw: mentions of d*ath, bl*od, burn injuries, canon-divergent, set in the canon-universe during the Shibuya Incident Arc, MAJOR spoilers up to Shibuya Arc, angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, happy ending
Summary: You’re a healer working with Shoko inside the medical tent at Shibuya Station while Nanami, your boyfriend, is in the line of fire for the battle ahead. After an especially life-threatening attack, Nanami, on the brink, runs into an old friend, who helps guide him back home.
Author’s Note: @75songs thank you so much for sending in another request for the y2k karaoke party, always appreciate your love and support! I ADORE this song and have honestly always thought it was perfect for Nanami. I am an anime only and am not caught up with season 2 yet, so I didn’t want to read too much into what exactly happens during this arc, so some of the details may be inaccurate, just a heads up. This one got me in my feelings. I will forever hold a grudge against Gege for what they did to Nanami. Anyways, likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated! Thanks so much for reading! Divider by @/saradika.
October 31st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, you and Nanami would be celebrating Halloween tonight, passing colorful candies and decadent chocolates to kids going door-to-door across the neighborhood. You’d force him to dress up in a silly costume, one that matches yours, despite his reluctance at first. Deep down, you know he likes this; domestic bliss, especially with you. The idea that the two of you could live a peaceful life together, away from the dangerous world of curses and Jujutsu sorcery. You discuss it constantly, dream about it, strive for it. A few more years, he says, and he’ll retire. There’s still more work to be done, people to be saved.
You’re inside the medical tent beside Shoko, helping her set up the cots, anticipating injured sorcerers to arrive soon with the battle underway. Masamichi Yaga, Jujutsu High’s principal, stands guard outside, determined to keep the medical team, especially Shoko, safe from any posing threats. There’s no way to know what’s happening until people start arriving, in need of medical attention. You’re a healer too, but not nearly as skilled as Shoko, your mentor. Still, she encourages you to join them tonight, needing all the help they can get.
“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, setting up the last bed. Observant as ever, she notices your quiet demeanor.
You nod, giving her a weak, unconvincing smile. “Yeah.”
“Nanami is going to be fine,” she assures you, sensing the root of your anxiety. “When this is all done, the two of you should take a vacation together.”
Relaxing a bit, you reply, “We already have our trip to Malaysia planned in a few months.”
She smiles kindly. “There you go. Something to look forward to.”
Her words ease some of the tension, but there’s dread settling in the pit of your stomach, and it won’t go away until you see Nanami again in one piece.
The waiting game finally ends as soon as the first wounded sorcerer shows up in the tent, initiating nonstop chaos. You assist Shoko diligently, making sure everything is prepared for her to perform her Reverse Cursed Technique for those who need it, and patching up those who don’t, with less severe injuries. You’re constantly on the lookout to see a familiar face, trying to get an update on what’s happening out there. None comes, until you see Kiyotaka Ijichi limping towards the entrance, blood spread across his shirt. You and Shoko rush towards him, carrying him over your shoulders, leading him to an empty cot, gently laying him down.
Shoko, showing panic on her face for the first time all night, inspects him carefully. “Ijichi, can you hear me?” She’s always had a soft spot for him, often telling you how endearing she finds him, always a nervous wreck in front of her. Seeing him like this is surely jarring, even for her, who’s as tough as nails.
He nods weakly, mumbling something incoherent, blood sputtering from his mouth. You remove the shattered glasses from his eyes, wiping his lips with gauze. Shoko starts to work on him, directing you to check on the other patients. Before you can follow orders, you feel his weak grip on your wrist. You turn to face him, focused on his lips as he quietly utters, “Nanami.”
Your ears perk up at the mention of your boyfriend’s name, leaning in closer to hear the rest of what he has to say, taking his time through labored breaths. “He…saved…me…”
You do your best to keep your composure, nodding at him silently, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. Unsure how to respond, you leave them, going to the other side of the tent to check on the remaining sorcerers.
With everyone else in stable condition, you take a minute outside the tent to sob into your hands, praying that Nanami is still alive. Unaware of your surroundings, you’re startled when Yaga approaches, his large figure sitting beside you. “You alright?”
You wipe away your sniffles on your sleeve. “Just…nervous.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, sighing. “Yeah, I get it. But Nanami is one of our strongest sorcerers. I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”
Again, more words of comfort, but not enough to ease the nervous flutter in your belly. Yaga recognizes this and adds, “Nanami would fight through the fires of hell instead of letting himself die. Not because he wants to live for himself. But because he wants to live for you.”
You face him now, processing his statement. He chuckles, lifting his sunglasses to meet your gaze. “That man has never been so smitten in his life. He’d crawl out his grave just to be with you, I guarantee it.”
~~~
The last thing Nanami remembers is desperately wishing he was in Malaysia with you instead of at Shibuya Station right now. He wakes up, sitting in one of the seats on the platform. It’s eerily quiet with no one in sight. The distinct sounds of trains on the rails or the hustle and bustle of people moving along is strangely absent, and it occurs to Nanami that this may be a dream.
He's sure of it when he feels a nudge to his side, turning to face Yu Haibara sitting next to him. There’s a warm smile on his boyish face, dressed in his Jujutsu High uniform, exactly as he was many years ago when Nanami last saw him, alive and well. The same bright, earnest eyes he remembers vividly of his best friend. He swallows hard, an uneasy feeling surrounding him. Is he seeing a ghost? Or is this the afterlife?
Haibara laughs, and Nanami is snapped out of his reverie and taken immediately back to 2006, when he first met his friend during orientation. He can’t help but grin, happy to see him still so lively. “Well, aren’t you going to greet your old friend, Nanami?”
Nanami does, hugging him, astonished to feel him in his arms almost like a real person. Almost. “What are you doing here?”
“Just came to visit you, that’s all.”
Nanami lets him go, studying him carefully, looking for any signs of decay. When he spots none, he asks him, “Am I dead?”
Haibara shakes his head. “Not quite. But you’re pretty damn close.”
“I am?”
“Yeah. So you better hurry and get home quick.” Haibara points towards the railings, now illuminated at one end by a blinding flash of light. “Yuji’s waiting for you.”
“Itadori? How do you know – “
Haibara then says your name with a big smile. “Yeah, I know her too. They’re all waiting for you, Nanami. You don’t want to keep them waiting any longer, do you?”
It takes a while for Nanami to get up, and when he does, he’s off balance, legs wobbly, body unsteady. Haibara helps him, offering his shoulder, the two of them walking slowly towards the light. “I really like her, you know. Your girlfriend.”
“You do?” Nanami asks, hobbling beside him.
“Yeah. She’s really nice, really pretty, and she eats a lot, especially with you,” he chuckles. “You know how much I like that.”
“Yeah I do.”
“And I’m a good judge of character, so I think she’s perfect for you. If that means anything,” he says, proudly.
“It does. It means a lot.” They’re near the edge of the platform now and Nanami will have to hop down to reach the end of the tunnel.
“Are you going to marry her soon?” Haibara asks, pausing just before the edge.
Nanami nods, grinning. “I’m planning to propose during our vacation in Malaysia.”
“Good. Good.”
He’s tempted to stay longer, wanting a few more moments with his friend, but he knows that time is ticking. He hugs him again, squeezing him tight. “Take care, Haibara.”
“You too, Nanami. I’ll be looking out for you.”
His chest constricts, jumping off the platform, landing roughly on the railings, blinking away the tears in his eyes. It’s sweltering now, the light emitting an intense heat from within. He gives Haibara one last glance, cherishing the happy expression on his face as he waves goodbye to him before walking into the light.
Seconds later, Nanami wakes up with a gasp of breath, vision blurred, a droning pounding beating against his ear drums. It soon fades and only Yuji’s panicked voice yelling from behind him is heard. He’s being dragged by the armpits, away from the battle. Smoke radiates from his entire form, and he can barely move. In fact, he can barely feel anything at all.
They reach the medical tent, Itadori yelling for help the whole way. Yaga is the first to reach them, his usual calm demeanor wavering at the sight of Nanami, body half-burned from the explosion. They carrying him delicately inside, resting him on the only empty cot left. He wants to close his eyes; he’s so exhausted, and sleep is the only thing to bring him peace right now. That, or you.
As if his prayers were heard, you appear at his side, truly a vision, even while you sob for him, holding his mangled hand in yours, begging for him to stay with you. He can die happy now, seeing your face, knowing that you’re here, alive, heart beating, surviving. Can he do the same? Can he survive this? All he knows is that he’s trying with every fiber he has left in his being. He won’t leave you, not like this. Not without experiencing life on the outside with you.
It’s in this moment that he vows to endure. Even if he has to crawl out of his grave to do it, he’s determined to be with you again.
~~~
November 1st. Maybe in another timeline, another reality, Nanami is gone. Not in this one, though. Instead, you sit beside him, healed and in one piece thanks to Shoko, fingers laced with his, careful not to squeeze too tightly. Yuji and Ino are at his other side, talking animatedly about how amazing Nanami was the entire fight, and all he can do is lay there, smiling. Happy to be alive. Happy to be with you.
#nanami kento#kento nanami#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami fluff#nanami kento fluff#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk spoilers#jujutsu kaisen spoilers#jujutsu kaisen x reader#y2k karaoke event#milestone event
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How I Got My Agent, Take Two
I’m so ridiculously over the top happy to say I’ve signed with a literary agent to sell my magical bookbinder book. This has been a long process that started in 2017, and I’m genuinely overjoyed.
It played out thus:
Write book one.
Write book two. Query the book.
Write book three. Query the book.
Write book four. Get into Pitch Wars with the book. (Yay!) Query the book.
Write book five. Get into Author Mentor Match with the book. (Yay!) Query the book.
Write book six.
Write book seven.
Write book eight.
Write book nine.
Get a Revise and Resubmit offer from an agent for book five. Do it.
Start querying book six.
Get an offer from the R&R (Yay!)
Write book ten.
Book five dies on submission.
Start writing book eleven.
My agent and I amicably part ways.
Start writing book twelve.
Finish querying book six.
Query book ten.
Start writing book thirteen.
Go back to book eleven.
Go to a live pitch event. Pitch book eleven to two agents. Neither likes it. One asks what else I’m working on, and when I do the one sentence pitch for book twelve, says, “I could sell that.”
Pivot to finishing that book.
Query book twelve, sending queries first to four agents who only want queries and who are actively requesting off those queries. Get a 75% request rate. Query is fire. Check. Unfortunately, every agent rejects when they see the opening pages, which turn out not to be fire.
Revise opening
Resume querying book twelve. In case you’ve lost count, while this is the twelfth book I’ve written, it’s ‘only’ the seventh I’ve queried.
Finish drafting book thirteen in NaNo. Revise. Send to CPs.
Have existential crisis on a Tuesday. Meltdown on Tumblr. Weep in my living room. All my books have failed. I do not know how to write a better book. Maybe I should give up. This turns out to be a very well-timed dark night of the soul within the narrative.
Get two full requests for book twelve on Wednesday.
Get an email telling me one of my short stories has been held for consideration on Thursday.
On Friday get an email that the woman who handles submissions for one of those agents from Wednesday loved the book but she doesn’t think it’s a great fit for the agent I queried. Would I mind if she forwarded it in-house to a different agent? In shocking news, I would not mind this.
On Monday, get an email asking for a call.
On Wednesday, which is Valentine’s Day, have a call with the agent. She’s lovely in every way, her thoughts on the book are so good, every editorial idea she floats is good. Like, really good. She is super enthusiastic about repping the book and offers to do so.
There is an etiquette requirement at this point that I tell any agent who has the book that I have an offer on the table and give them two weeks to respond, so I go around nudging all the agents with a full (four people) and several agents who only have a query. Three more agents request fulls. The rejections start trickling in. People are very sweet and complimentary, and I am deeply, deeply relieved that I never waver from how much I adore the original offering agent.
I sign with her on February 29.
Final stats for Book Twelve (THE ARCHIVE OF THE WORLD):
Total Queries Sent: 39
Requests Before Offer: 8 (20.5% request rate)
Request Rate Including Post-Offer Requests: 28.2%
Year I Started this Nonsense: 2017
Total Queries Sent across 7 books: 456
Takeaway wisdom: The query trenches are a soul-mangling machine into which we all keep putting our souls and most of us don’t make it out unmangled. I am not unmangled. BUT, I am a persistence hunter, and I will walk steadily towards publishing until it lies down in exhaustion and gives up.
Thanks for hanging out with me as I do.
Also, this book is so much fun. You’re going to love it.
#querying#wow that process sucked#when we've sold the book you will hear about it#and when you can pre-order#and when you can order
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The Deathly Devout
Pairing: Executioner!König x Nun!Reader (Medieval au)
Word Count: 1.2k
Warnings: Religious themes and settings, talk of death, religious guilt, nothing much this is pretty tame. I have very little knowledge of how catholic confessionals actually go especially in a medieval setting forgive me. probably many spelling errors im sorry.
Author’s Note: was talking to @thesadvampire about @hffhifjou fucking amazing art of the 141 as knights and now we have Executioner!König. This is mostly just a word burst from this morning but I really like this concept and wanted to share with you all
Tagging some mutuals I think might enjoy this: @sprout-fics @humanransome-note @moondirti @fnny-bnny @yeehaw-djarin @captainsamwlsn
_______________--
It was quite amusing to see the executioner in the confessional booth.
That isn’t to say that he doesn’t visit often, no. If anything it’s the exact opposite, Father Montomgery sees him more than any pious banker or self-hating gambler in the city. But the man was monstrous, broad in his shoulders with thick arms and legs to match, resulting in him having to twist and fold his body to properly fit into the little wooden booth. He could see the silhouette of the poor man’s shoulders hunched in and head tucked low.
It almost made up for how absolutely aggravating he was to listen to.
“Forgive me father for I have sinned.”
“May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you know your sins and trust in his mercy.”
König swallows.
“I killed a man this week.”
The priest, knowing this voice better than others and the hulking silhouette it belongs to, sighs.
“The thief, then?” He asks, voice dripping with indifference. “The little painter who was caught stealing?”
“Yes father.”
The “little thief” has been a blossoming apprentice under a most respected artist within the city, only for the truth to come out that he had been stealing funds from his mentor for months on end. The king had suggested König simply cut off the painter’s hands and let him live out the rest of his days in poverty. “What better punishment for an artist than a life where he cannot create?”
But the end ruling was for the artist to lose his head in the town-square and König’s hands delivered the blade to his neck.
“That was simply an act of your work, my child.”
“But-”
There is a deep sigh from the opposite side of the booth and König falls silent, like a scolded child.
The irony isn't lost on the priest, that a man who must associate himself with the macabre so often is incredibly devout in his worship. But the humor was drowned out by how astonishingly self-loathing the poor bastard was.
“My child, do you believe our king is the one true king?”
“Of course father.”
“And do you believe our God is the one, true, God?”
There’s a garbled noise that comes from the larger man, an incredulous sputtering at how the priest would ever assume he would say otherwise.
It makes the man chuckle.
“Of course father!”
“Then acting out the King’s law is acting out God’s law, is it not?”
There’s a pause, the priest can see the man shrink down into his seat even further, if that was even possible with how he contorted the bulk of his body to squeeze into the wooden booth.
“I’m not saying you cannot feel-” He waves his hand in the air, despite the fact that König cannot truly see him. “-conflicted, about your career. It’s not one that comes easily, I’m sure. But it is not one that makes you a monster, despite how many people would try to have you believe that.”
“Yes father.”
The man’s voice is a shred of what it should be- all but a trembling whisper that makes even the exhausted priest frown.
“Being an executioner isn’t an easy job. But it’s one that is needed nonetheless.”
König says something softly to himself, but the priest cannot be bothered to ask what.
“For your sins I-”
“Actually, father-” the wooden step creaked under his weight as he shifted on his knees. “There’s something else.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been having impure thoughts about a woman.”
“Oh.”
The priest blinks. He had never heard the man speak of any sin aside from the violence he acted out on the King’s word. Truth be told he had begun to think the lad was so devout such a concept was all but foreign to him.
But this?
“I’m listening, my child.”
This was far more interesting than listening to him bemoan about a town square beheading.
“She is-” König chews on the inside of his cheek, chipped teeth digging into the formed scars he has had since childhood from the nervous habit. “Promised to somebody else.”
The priest hides a snicker behind a well placed cough.
“Married?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“I haven’t…acted upon them.” The man who has killed week after week fiddles with his hands, face turning bright red as simply speaking of his attraction toward the woman. The priest couldn't help but wonder who she was. Whether it be a kind tavern girl who ignored his gaze each day he walked by or a local prostitute that urged on his affection as long as he could afford her time.
It’s no secret that few women would concern themselves with the local executioner, if not even look him in the eyes.
“She’s a good woman of proper virtue, I would not sully her name in such a way.”
This poor bastard.
“Is she beautiful?”
“I’m sorry?”
“The woman you speak of, do you find her attractive?”
König swallows. “Yes, incredibly. Her smile rivals that of the sun and-”
“That’s more than enough.” The priest grins into his hand as the airy tone the executioner’s voice took on, like a poet reciting his latest venture. The man was properly lovesick, how charming. “I do not believe you have committed any sin in appreciating a woman’s beauty.”
“I haven’t?”
“Admiring a woman’s beauty is like admiring a piece of art, is it not?” The priest offers. “You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands, my child.”
Before König has a chance to respond, through the lattice he sees a flash of white through the corner of his eye. A soft voice humming a tune fills the air, echoing through the church hall like a well-respected hymn. In a panic, König begins to stand his full height before he is halted in his tracks as the top of his head slams into the confessional roof.
“My son?”
“Ah, apologies father! But I have to leave because of-”
The priest nods. “Yes, yes of course.You are absolved of your sins, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good.”
The final word is drowned out by the slam of the confessional door opening the man’s thundering footsteps receding from the booth.
The executioner stands to his full height as he exits the church. He shields his eyes as he steps outside, suddenly overwhelmed by the burst of sunlight.
In his haste, he did not see the figure at his side.
“Good morning to you, König.”
The man jumps, twisting around to face you where you stand at the bottom church steps, broom in hand and a smile on your face.
“Ah! Yes! Good morning to you as well, sister.”
“A lovely day, is it not?”
Heat creeps up the back of his neck and he struggles to find the words he wished to speak to you. But you, ever patient and kind, wait without judgment.
“Yes, quite lovely.”
As König stares down at you, his heart beating as he watches the sun shine on your figure and your smile, he finds himself thinking of the Holy Father’s words.
“You are simply taking in the art that God has created with his own hands”
What beautiful art indeed.
#executioner!König#könig x reader#König x you#König x female reader#the priest is like. super chill because König comes in EVERY WEEK and hes like YES i KNOW YOU KILLED SOMEBODY WHATEVER MAN#but also said priest is most likely corrupt and gambles and takes bribes and shit. so he doesnt really give a fuck#but anyways. konig big soft for nun gal#konig x reader#konig x you#konig x female reader
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4 Things You Can Try Now That You’ve Read THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE THE TIME WAR
(technically 5 things)
Mabel - a podcast by Becca De La Rosa and Maybell Marten.
Anna Limón is a home help worker currently looking after the elderly Sally Martin. When Sally has a bizarre and frightening reaction to a box of letters Anna finds in her attic one day, Anna attempts to seek answers by contacting Sally’s only known living relative: Mabel Martin.
“A podcast about ghosts, family secrets, strange houses, and missed connections,” Mabel is a story that is difficult to describe, but one of the most important points is that the vast majority of it is an epistolary narrative between Anna and Mabel, just like how This Is How You Lose The Time War is an epistolary narrative between Red and Blue. It also has a very distinct writing style- dramatic, flowery, and a little bit intimidating. However, if you loved the writing style of TIHYLTTW, I personally think that Mabel is a perfect match for you.
And I’m not just saying that because Mabel is a story about two extremely overdramatic women who are somehow both frighteningly caustic yet almost adorably useless.
The Honey Month - a book by Amal El-Mohtar
I certainly hope I don’t have to tell you this, but Amal El-Mohtar is one of the authors of This Is How You Lose The Time War, and The Honey Month is a short book she wrote several years ago.
The Honey Month is almost more of an experiment than a book- in its introduction, a friend of El-Mohtar explains how she sent her several small samples of honey, leading El-Mohtar to use the gift as in a unique way. For one February, every day she used a different vial of honey as inspiration for a small piece of writing.
The Honey Month contains 28 short pieces of writing, poetry, prose, and some things in between. It’s a small book full of things with big impact, and contains the lyrical yet meaty writing I enjoyed from El-Mohtar in TIHYLTTW.
Otherside Picnic (裏世界ピクニック) - A series of novels by Iori Miyazawa (illustrated by Shirakaba)
College sophomore Sorawo Kamikoshi longs to find an escape from other people, and in trying to find it discovers the Otherside, a strangely beautiful yet unfathomably dangerous parallel world inhabited by the-once-fictional creatures she knows from net lore. She also meets Toriko Nishina, another young woman with a knowledge of firearms and a desire to find her missing mentor. Together, these two girls explore the Otherside and find themselves changing little by little, both due to their adventures, but also due to their relationship with each other.
If you know me you probably aren’t surprised at this reccomendation. Otherside Picnic is a truly odd beast- it’s sci-fi, it’s horror, it’s comedy, it’s yuri. It’s about trauma, it’s about Japanese creepypasta, it’s about useless lesbians, and it’s about how the scariest thing of all is being vulnerable with another human being. I think fans of This Is How You Lose The Time War will enjoy it- Otherside Picnic’s writing style will likely feel almost spartan compared to TIHYLTTW, but in my opinion there’s a similar level of poetry in it. There’s also a similar level of women who are “badass” yet kind of messes. You’ve heard of “Enemies to Lovers,” get ready for “Accomplices to Lovers”!
(there’s also a manga adaptation by Eita Mizuno, as well as an anime adaptation directed by Takuya Sato)
The Handmaiden (아가씨) - a movie directed by Park Chan-wook (written by Park and Chung Seo-kyung, based on the novel Fingersmith by Sarah Waters)
In Japan-occupied Korea, the pickpocket Sook-hee is recruited by a con-man to aide him in his scam of a Japanese heiress, Lady Hideko. While the con-man poses as “Count Fujiwara” and woos Hideko, Sook-hee will play the part of her maid and subtly push the heiress towards him. But as time passes, Sook-hee begins to realize there are things occuring in the mansion that are even more sinister than her and the Count’s scheme, and there is much, much more to Hideko than meets the eye.
This is a list of recommendations for “people who have finished “This Is How You Lose The Time War,” but I try to recommend The Handmaiden to as many people as I possibly can. I’ve described it in the past as the cinematic equivalent of running a marathon: with a 144 minute runtime full of gorgeous direction and set design, dark machinations, twisted yet romantic writing, often troubling themes, and so, so many plot twists, it’s a movie that nearly feels like too much of a good thing. But for fans of TIHYLTTW, I’m sure what will intrigue you most is the relationship between the two main characters, one so complicated that “Enemies to Lovers” can’t hope to capture the roiling feelings of pity, guilt, hatred, desire, annoyance, sympathy, and everything in between.
It’s also just really hot.
The Handmaiden is a movie that is best enjoyed going in knowing as little as possible. That said, it is also a story with dark and often upsetting themes that are absolutely crucial to its narrative. If you are concerned about that statement, I reccomend looking at the movies’ entry on DoesTheDogDie, which I have looked at and found to be a pretty comprehesive list of content warnings that can be examined in a way that doesn’t spoil the twists of the story.
Fingersmith - a novel by Sarah Waters
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I’m going to get around to it!! I can’t technically recommend the book that inspired The Handmaiden since I haven’t read it yet, but I have at least one friend whose opinion I trust who sings its praises, so it��s good enough for me. Besides, if the recent popularity of This Is How You Lose The Time War has showed us anything, it’s that people constantly crave stories about complicated women, so it certainly can’t hurt, right?
#this is how you lose the time war#max gladstone#the honey month#amal el mohtar#the handmaiden#fingersmith#mabel#mabel podcast#otherside picnic#tihylttw#trigun#bigolas dickolas wolfwood#yuri#gl#sapphic#wlw#lesbian
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Rise And Fall | D.P.
Summary: Fem!reader is Rhea’s protégé & after Rhea gives up her title due to injury, the reader decides to get that title back to Judgment Day w/o telling the group. The group is shocked when the reader comes out with her new look & wins the title. Damian/Reader becomes close while Rhea sees her as a threat that needs to be taken out.
Author's Note: I changed it so Liv Morgan has the title and not Becky. Hope it's okay. ❤️
Requested by anon.
@plentyoffandoms @mrsarcherofinfamy @brideofinfamy @theworldofotps
1!
2!
3!
The bell rang to signal the end of the match. Y/N sat on her knees with her fingers through her hair. All the training paid off. She was the new women's champion.
"The match is over, Michael Cole! We have a new champion! Y/N has brought the women's title back to Judgment Day!" Pat McAfee announced at the commentary table. The commentators watched in awe at the new champion. She looked nothing like what they had just seen on RAW. Tonight, she went all out, and she had everything to show for it.
Y/N could barely think over the deafening crowd at Backlash. She stood in the middle of the ring with a huge smile on her face. The ref raised her hand as happy tears slid down Y/N's cheeks. The women's title was coming back to Judgment Day, where it belonged.
The referee presented the belt to her. She slowly took the belt from him. Y/N kissed the belt and raised it high in the air with one arm. The crowd cheered loudly for her once more.
Y/N turned to leave the ring, but Liv was in front of her with her hand out. The two women put each other through hell the past few weeks. A simple handshake could squash the beef between them. With a weary smile, Y/N took her hand to shake it. Liv shook her hand yet pulled her close.
"Don't get too comfortable. You have a target on your back, and Mami will betray you," Liv warned her. The new champion rolled her eyes.
"She would never betray me. I brought the title back to its rightful place. You held her back,"
The laugh that Liv produced caused her skin to crawl. "Watch her,"
Y/N pulled her hand away and started to walk to the top of the ramp. As a face, she started to high five fans that reached their hand out. A few times, she stopped to take quick pictures with the fans. This must be what cloud nine felt like.
Once backstage, she was met by HHH first. He congratulated her and hugged her close. A quick picture was taken of the two before he had to get back to work. Dom and Finn were next.
"Way to do the Judgment Day proud, Y/N," Finn spoke and pulled her in a hug. "You made Rhea proud. Nice new look, by the way,"
Damian walked towards them. He easily towered over them. His normal serious look washed away once he saw how happy Y/N was.
"You know you are going to have a lot of challengers for that title. I think we should train together," Damian offered. Y/N blushed and looked away. A huge grin crept up on her face.
"I think we should too, Dam," Y/N agreed, unable to hide her crush on him.
Over the next several months, Y/N was able to beat anyone who stood in her way. All the women were adamant that they would be the one to take the title from her, but they all met the same fate as the last.
Damian stood by her side through it all. They eventually became closer and started dating. Rhea's long reign was seemingly forgotten, and Y/N was the new leader of the women's division. It all came crashing down once her mentor came back.
"I'm so glad you are back, Rhea," Y/N smiled and hugged her backstage. Rhea returned the hug, yet things felt off. The simple act of affection no longer had the same feel it once did.
"I'm glad to be back, Y/N. You are making quite the name for yourself out here," Rhea commented.
"And I only have you to thank for it," Y/N agreed. She looked at the time and sighed.
"No need to thank me, darling. You are certainly talented," Rhea complimented and patted her shoulder.
Y/N started to get waved at by production. She sighed and gave Damian a quick peck on the lips and hug. "I gotta go to the ring. See you guys soon,"
The protégé excused herself and took off to release an open challenge. Rhea watched her leave. Damian could see the look in her eyes. Mami wasn't happy.
"You know, she did a lot while you were away," Damian started. Rhea looked up at him. "Y/N kept the women's division in check while you were away,"
"Yeah, well, Mami is home now, and it's time Y/N learned what that means," she told him. They had a brief staredown before Rhea walked to be the next challenger in Y/N's reign.
#fanfiction#wwe fanfiction#damian priest x reader#damian priest fanfic#damian priest x y/n#judgment day fanfiction
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Fraud | Part 1 | Yandere All Might x Hero!Reader
(A/N: So I decided to start this instead of the Reiner one (which I have some drafts off for the future don't worry. But I'm currently rewatching the show right now so I'm just particularly more inspired by this one. So if/when I do the AOT one I'm not sure. Most likely not for a while unless I feel super inspired by it. And if so I'll probably write it all out and then post it on an additional day once a week. Since I usually post Break Me Slowly on Monday and now this on Tuesday, if I decide to do it I most post it on a Wednesday basis. I'm not sure. Also this won't follow canonical story line! For a little background, reader's hero name is Shade, and their quirk is that they can create shadow copies of their enemies. But thank you for reading and comment to be added to the taglist!)
WARNINGS: implied noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, graphic depictions of violence, mind breaking, misogyny, power imbalance, age difference, etc.
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The world's symbol of peace and justice, a hero for all. Great and mighty. People all across the world knew him, he was the ultimate authority on this planet. Respected and revered.
All Might. The Symbol of Peace.
As a pro, Shade of course respected him above all other heroes, he was the ultimate role model that everyone should look up to and adore. Admittedly that had to do with her desire to become just like him since she was a bit of a fangirl. But regardless, there was nothing so bad about wanting to follow his ideals, was there?
She was determined to meet him one day and make an impression. Hopefully, he would see her talent and invite her to be one of his sidekicks. It wouldn't be totally uncommon, Sir Nighteye was already his right hand man, surely a hero as busy as him could use some more help to keep Japan in its state of reigning peace.
Ever since she was little she dreamed of becoming a pro just like him, she enjoyed watching his battles and keeping up with the news of his latest feats to inspire herself even on her daily commute, who wouldn't want a chance to impress their idol by embodying the same ideals he has?
Besides, her success as a pro was...lacking, to say the least. Her quirk was impressive enough, creating shadows of her enemies and even comrades to fight with her in battle. However the problem lied with the fact that some people believed her quirk seemed rather villainous from outward perspective, apart from some of the teens who enjoyed more intense heroes she had a small fanbase. Most of the ones who did follow her stopped after they discovered her personality didn't match her hero persona at all.
A boost from All Might's agency would really help her brand.
Eventually she could go out more on her own and maybe in form a team with her new found friend and mentor.
"Wake up Shade! Unless you want to be sprayed with acid in the face!?"
On the scene of the crime several pros faced off against a dastardly villain, his quirk was to spew acid from his mouth, and the power of it was disintegrating her shadows. It always seemed like the moment she had a chance to make a name for herself it was against a villain who completely outmatched her quirk type.
"I'm awake, okay? I've got it."
Nothing was able to touch this villain, all hope seemed to be lost until the laugh she had gotten so familiar with filled the air.
"Fear not citizens, hope has arrived!"
An expression of wonder and awe comes across her face when the gust of wind followed by the monstrous form of the Number One Hero steps into the scene.
"Because I am here."
One punch is all it ever took for the criminals to surrender and admit defeat, but this was the first time she had seen him in a professional setting, he was even more amazing then she ever could have believed!
Now was her chance to become a hero just like him.
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"Well done fellow pros, that evil-doer was certainly a heavy hitter, but all of your valiant efforts to keep the peace are much appreciated." His smile never wavered.
"You were amazing All Might, I think I can speak for all of us when we say thank you for saving our butts back there. None of our quirks were really suited for it." Shade's giddy expression never left, truly in awe of the man before her.
"Anytime, but I don't think I've seen you before, still a newbie I take it."
She blushes ever so slightly. "Yes sir, I'm just starting out, my hero name is Shade, it's super nice to meet you-"
"The pleasure is all mine ma'am," His stare was piercing, as if deciding if she really was a hero. "now I must be off, a hero's always got somewhere to be!"
With that he flew off, leaving her behind even more inspired than before.
"He's the most amazing hero in the universe, one day I'll be just like him-"
==============================================
All Might returned to Nighteye religiously pouring over his computer screen, only around his sidekick could the hero's mask fall slightly. His smile disappearing.
"Excellent work on that takedown, your approval rating keeps going up."
"I want you to do something for me. There's a new hero in town, goes by Shade. A newcomer. Find out everything you can about her."
"Why? Another one of your little projects?"
"You could say that."
"All Might this is twice this year now."
"Does that matter? It's not my fault the last ones couldn't handle me."
He rolls his eyes. "I'll find what I can. But go easy this time, alright? I barely was able to cover it up last time."
"Agreed. I'll be more careful."
He shut the door behind him to his personal quarters, staring down at the city below. Being the strongest in the world came with a deep sense of dissatisfaction, he was untouchable, unbreakable.
He needed something to break.
#fraud#all might#yagi toshinori#mha#boku no hero academia#all might x reader#all might x you#all might mha#all might bnha#yandere all might x reader#yandere all might#mha toshinori#bnha toshinori#toshinori yagi x reader#toshinori x reader#toshinori yagi#toshinori yagi x you
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Ex-Wife, published anonymously in 1929, was a succès de scandale. The very title aggressively challenged American mores and morals; divorce was almost unheard of in the middle classes at the time. And Manhattan high life in the 1920s (the novel takes place between 1923 and 1927) gave the prurient everything they could wish: not just divorce, but promiscuity, abortion, smoking, and drinking.
And I had, for an instant, that feeling that New York was an altogether beautiful place to live, no matter what happened to me living in it—a comforting feeling that had come to me sometimes, of late, when I stopped looking to people for comfort.
Narrated by Patricia, it tells of her life after her husband walked out on her. She goes from grief and despair to acceptance to indifference while becoming increasingly successful as an advertising copywriter in fashion, and bedding numerous men. Her friend Lucia, a slightly older and more experienced divorcee, supports and mentors her.
Surprisingly, the book is vehemently anti-feminist. The 1920s were a time when women could vote and were free of Victorian behavioral constraints, but systemic sexism ran deep and went largely unnoticed—at least by Patricia and Lucia.
The book was filmed in 1930 as The Divorcée, starring Norma Shearer, who won her only Oscar for it.
Norma Shearer in The Divorcee
In the forward to the 2023 edition (whose cover is shown above), Alissa Bennett writes, "It's easy to get caught in the trap of Ex-Wife's nostalgic charm; there are phonographs and jazz clubs and dresses from Vionnet; there are verboten cocktails and towering new buildings that reach toward a New York skyline so young that it still reveals its stars."
The author's son, Marc Parrott, agreed. "The New York described here," he wrote in an afterward to the 1989 edition, reprinted in the current edition, "and this was true, I think, for 20 years or more—was much smaller, much more intimate, much safer and much cheaper than the city from the '50s on to the present. It was also cleaner. My mother called it 'shining.'"
This is how Patricia and Lucia react to Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue:
"The tune matches New York," Lucia said. "The New York we know. It has gaiety and colour and irrelevancy and futility and glamour as beautifully blended as the ingredients in crêpes suzette."
I said, "It makes me think of skyscrapers and Harlem and liners sailing and newsboys calling extras." "It makes me think I’m twenty years old and on the way to owning the city," Lucia said. "Start it over again, will you?"
Second & fourth photos: NYC Past
Third photo: eBay
#vintage New York#1920s#Ursula Parrott#fiction#NYC fiction#novels#Ex-Wife#NYC in literature#Jazz Age#roaring '20s
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you want pharma and prowl? I’ll give you pharma and prowl!! Them both as romantic rivals trying(and failing) to woo reader (gn, can be whatever species) cause they are both losers (affectionate) they keep trying to flirt with reader, but are so jealous and possessive they keep getting in each others way, which is not helping their image in front of readers eyes. Maybe reader is a secretary and has worked under both, and their personality(and bod) attracted them in the first place . Here’s your pharma and prowl <3
author’s note : YESSSS YESSSSS THIS IS THE CONFLICT I NEED. ILL GIVE YOU A SMOOCH FOR THAT IDEA ALONE ANON. I’m a sucker for these tropes on goddd. Also don’t mind me as I change it to a medic, since it’s more flexible for me to work with <3 possible three some later ;;)) also, whoo! This is a lot longer than I expected.
ONLY ONE WAY UP THE HIGH WAY
summary : prowl and pharma finds themselves as rivals when they pine for the same darling pet and thus the inevitable egos clash.
You hate rom-coms.
Now, you might be a hopeless romantic; delving and losing yourself in romantic stories, tugging even the most deepest heartstrings which gets you all giggly and kicking your feet. What you hate, however, are bland characters. A random, mix and mash kind of chemistry, forced with no substance, set up as a love triangle.
Which is, quite literally, what's occuring right now.
You see, you’re a medic up in Delphi for some time before being paired up as Prowl’s buddy-buddy partner, because Chromedome insists someone needs to look after that unruly cop who’s always destined get himself killed.
And so you do. Upon Ratchet’s introduction to the Autobot SIC he’s not exactly someone friendly. He's, ah, rigid and prickly, the know it all by the book, kind of prickly. His unresolved anger issues takes quite the toll wheb you tend his wounds or even so much as to touch his arm. Though, demure as you are, you know when to stand up for yourself when the situation gets out of hand. And this kind of resistance managed to ease down his sharp edges. Now, he’s still a prick, a tolerable prick more accurately, but you’re both good pals!
Or so, that’s what you thought.
One unassuming day, you were lounging off as usual in the main area, gathering your bearings after another tough match with the hoards of patients when your communicator buzzes with a ping. It's a message from Pharma.
An Autobot base will be set up here in Messatine at due time. Will be expecting your arrival promptly.
Ah, Delphi. How long has it been, seven years? Meeting your mentor again was something of a, well, it wasn't far from a dream. Wasn't really a need, either. But it's definitely something, at least. Besides, Prowl said he had to monitor the new crew in case they messed up the communication systems, again. So, you decided, with a hopeful heart, to follow along with the Coppa to Delphi.
Yeah, bad decision. Whomp, whomp.
That hospital might have it's up and downs, and while saving patients might not be it's strongest suits, it's decor are definitely a catch to mind. Goodness, since when did they have the funds to do that? The stark white of the tiled floor ( since when did they had marble designed pillars? ) embellished with grey, engraved carvings stumped your prior, blatant distaste of the facility.
It's safe to say you're surprised.
You're sauntering across the halls of the hospital, admiring the added features of new wards, machinery and nurses, when you bump into a wall that is, apparently, Pharma. Your, uh, very, very nice superior who you squint at your notes is definitely obsessively clingy BUT very smart , but also crazy. Like, mad crazy. Haha....
Why do you attract people like this.
"And, who ..? is this?" Condescension spools from his tone as he sizes up the Autobot SIC with a careless wave of his hand like he's some newly discovered specimen.
"Their partner." He makes sure to emphasize the 'partner' like it's a bullet. "The 'who', here is a Prowl."
"Oh, is it now. I didn't expect you to move on that quickly, dear."
"You're in a relationship?" You feel his glare on you; it's not a question.
"No, he's just—"
"Kidding! I'm only kidding." Pharma gives a hearty laugh. "My, my, officer. You know, tight muscles are a sore to deal with if you're not going to loosen them anytime soon."
"No thanks. I'll stick with a stroke."
"Ah, the ever so pessimistic. Pleasure to meet you then, officer. I've heard lots about you."
The doctor gracefully extends a hand to which Prowl ignores and then replies without much a look to him.
"If that's so, then I'm not very pleased."
The hand falls sharply, so does the smile.
"Oh, good,"
You swore you heard a joint breaking when he snaps his neck to your direction, and while you look away, you knew the chesire grin-like smile on his face is nothing but a threat.
"Very, very good." He straightens up. "How about a tour?"
Honestly, you expected the two would be more civil since they’re both so heads over heels about their reputations in front of another superiorly defined character. What you didn’t expect, however, is intruding in a tug of war that materialized from, seemingly, out of nowhere.
Right, the doctor insisted on an individual tour of your own. He suggested Ambulon show Prowl around, while he would take the pleasure of doing the same to you.
Obviously, Prowl isn't having any of that. So, you're currently between them, one arm in Pharma’s grip and the other in Prowl’s unrelenting grasp. You wince as their digits dig into your skin. If they're not careful, that's gonna leave a mark for sure.
“They already know their place around the medical facility, Jet-fuel. I’m sure they’re able to handle themself just fine without your guidance,”
“Oh, yes indeed,” Pharma, despite Prowl’s 100 degree glare, grits through his forced grin and yanks you back by the scruff of your collar, right into his chest, “I invited them here, I might as well show them around. If I didn’t know any better you’re trying to hog my staff.”
You know better than to voice your opinions. Their inner brain workings, all the cogs and mannerisms were already familiar; operating under their influence is like treading around a field of broken hards bound to prick you at any moment lest you misstep.
"Your staff?” The Autobot SIC scoffs. “Im not hogging them. It's long gone. They're not working for you, anymore. But I'm sure you're not aware of that since you've got a stick up your ass."
“Not quite, actually. Before they became your little pet—“
“They're. Not. My. Pet. I’d prefer it if you didn’t reduce them to some mindless animal—"
“Doesn’t matter. they’ll be fine. I know you haven’t you heard about this since you’re new here but Delphi has its new additions around the facility. I’m merely trying to greet back an old prodigy of mine back. In fact, they’ll be fine without you.”
"Oh, really." Prowl's up in his face now, grinding his dentas.
"How about you push my buttons and let's see where this leads?" Pharma taunts with an obvious tick on his under-optics.
That’s last week and you’re surprised when Prowl is frequenting your work station more often, always nagging you about your reports and how you ‘incorrectly’ structure them. That's strange, he never does that. Why is it only now he's bothering you about it?
When you asked him to take a look, however, he merely tosses it elsewhere and hands you his own datapad for you to look through. Of course, Pharma pops up round the corner and chastises the strategist for hogging his medic’s working hours. He says it's 'unethical' use of Power-play and authoritism and that Prowl should be locked up in jail.
Even worse, they’ve had this tug of war battle where they would try to ‘woo’ you when they can. You weren’t surpised; Pharma’s quite full of himself, so obviously he’s got territorial problems, even though you're not sure why he's so possessive over you. But later you realized he IS the entire problem. Not singular, not plural, he’s a walking embodiment of a complicated problem.
It gets worse when you're trying to do your work and here they are barging into your cubicle with another problem. At this point, you’re convinced it’s just a fight Pharma puts up because he hates sharing his pets. Now? He’s gotten too far down the rabbit hole to get up. For sentient robots who’s been through a war and back, they’re so damn petty.
Pharma’s idea way of flirting is more up and personal, he doesn’t care about your personal space and he never will. Brother in Christ, this mech does NOT leave you alone. AT ALL. He touches you whenever the time allows him to and you knew he's doing that to get under the lesser affectionate Cop-bot's skin, who finds physical touch repulsive.
Sometimes, you feel his hands up on your waist, your back against his chest as he leans over to regard your report, chin on your shoulder. If he’s feeling more bold, he often puts in his two cents of insinuating a quick session in the office which you, uh, politely decline because you’ve got a meeting with the new interns.
There's always another time, he'd jest. Yeah, well, not so funny. He’s clingy, obsessive and despite the charming suave-esque front of a Bond Villain he puts up, he’s easily the best person you can turn into a pile of seething venom.
“My little pet, I think it’s high time Prowl has his duties transferred off elsewhere, don’t you think?” His optics are twitching, and his unusually sharp talons pierce the metal desk. “ Not that I mind, that rancid Cop-bot has been getting in my nerves, recently. Wrong, this, regulations that. Can you believe it, he terminated half of my crew for, as per his words, carrying out unsanitary operations! Thats defamation! A false accusation. It takes a whole restraint not to shove him down the grinds of the accelerator.”
Please, don’t.
“He’s just monitoring the district, sir.” You maintained a neutral tone. He’s at your desk again. And, instead of trying to woo you into his bed he’s complaining. Oh, my god. I’ve got a report due tommorow. And you’re complaining. Someone, help me.
“Well, he’s not monitoring anything anytime soon with how much blood he’s leeching from your body. I should've known better than to agree with his demands to stay in your office as well. He’s stuck to you like a damn mosquito.”
Like, you're any better. You deadpan.
Prowl, on the other hand is aware and accepted the fact that he’s definitely not the most likable or the best lover kind of material out there. And, to take someone like YOU to like him, someone playful and fun, not ripping out his head every two seconds, is a blessing in and of itself.
He can't even stay a second around someone without pissing off their early descendants. So, with his glock locked and loaded he takes 'counteractive measures' to ensure that nobody is going to take that moment of happiness away from him. Even if in unethical terms he’ll have to ensure it.
“You’re been forty five meters off from your office.”
You let out a startled yelp, swivelling around to meet Prowl, oh thank god prowl, who's expression is pinched, lips pressed in a thin line and his hands are intertwined behind his back, military-like.
“I’m buying drinks,” You clutch the myriad of snacks and drinks in your arms, blinking away your pounding heart. “ H-how’d you find me?”
Prowl merely glances at the contraption on his wrist where, when you crane your neck to look over, is a circular radar with a blinking red dot.
“You’re to notify your disappearance when necessary.” He grunts out and turns on his heel. “Let me know when Jet-fuel decides to harass you again,”
Weird. Still, you brush off his disdain for the medic as nothing when instead his, ah, paranoia (?) goes on for months. That one instance youre in the bathroom? Yeah. Hello, there. I'm just walking. Totally not peeking. Totally not—
Is that a new sock?
"Prowl!"
"I'm checking if there are cameras here."
"It's a bathroom?!"
"All the more reason why I should ensure there isn't."
What's more strange is the fact that there's a blatant evidence of someone meddling with your schedule. And, you had an inkling their tug of war session travelled even to technological seams.
This rivalry continued on (despite, literally, the entire hospital's annoyance) until you eventually lost it.
It was a Friday night.
A party was held in the lounge. The younger mechs had set the celebration up to mark the lethargic end of July. Of course, since you’re invited to the party, the two came along despite not being known as party-dwellers themselve. So, it was quite a sight for the young mechs to see.
You thought they’d tone down the hostility a little and even warm up with how much time they spnd trying to one up the other. That's enough months to start a relationship, God damnit. Unfortunately, you’re not able to drink freely without the two mechs pushing against your personal space. Prodding, blabbering away about how skimpy your outfit looked. You're wearing your uniform.
At some point you drink in defeat, squished between their two frames as either tries to stop you from drinking your misery out while the other eggs you on with another bottle.
After the party they insisted dragging you back to their quarters. You’re not even halfway into your room when they start bickering again.
“Don’t you have anything better to do, Prowl?” His name is a venomous jab in the guise of a forced, seething smile. “Your presence in the hospital is unnecessary as the security guard up front. A mandatory monitor check doesn’t require you here all the time. If i didn’t know any better, you’re deliberately trying to distract them so they’ll end up in your berth.”
You hold back a vomit as Pharma nabs you into his hold, the alcohol seething your veins aren’t doing much for your psyche and you stare dumbly at the floor, wanting to retch over it.
”I’m checking up on my partner.” Prowl stands his ground then tugs you into his chest again, “Doesn’t have anything to do with you, Jet-fuel.”
“Oh, it does, actually.” Another tug back, “ It’s called harassment and I'm going to report to your superiors for pestering one of my medics.’’
“Your medic?” He scoffs. “You’re a sad sorry bunch who’s got no chicks up his ass. If I didn’t know any better you’re manipulating them into caving into a newly registered scheme. A play toy, plaything, exhausted for pleasure. Don’t think I know you used to work with the D.J.D, Jet-fuel.”
“Call me that one more time and I’ll ensure your processor isn’t he only thing I’m dislodging from that helm."
“Illegal malpractice of surgery is an offense. Is that a threat, Jet-fuel?”
“Oh, you’ll see, Officer. You’ll see just how skilled I am with my Servos.”
They’re both at already each other’s throat, servos clenched, door wings, jet-wings flaring and blasters at the ready. The Engex they’ve ingested earlier only prompted the hostile ambience and as they were about to—
“Why won’t you both fuck me already!?”
In a fit of annoyance, inebriation and stupidity, the three horsemen of your misery, the words left your lips before you even think. They stop bickering and it felt like forever as they did a 180 , full, joints creaking swivel of a ‘What did you just say???’ baffled expression thrown at your direction.
But you’re still seething and only then you’ve realized your slip-up, you’re a crumpled mess on the floor, palms wide and open, clutching your face that’s unrelentingly burning. Pharma looks like he's been kicked in the crotch and Prowl looks like he's seen God.
Kill me. Kill me. Kill me. Kill me.
“Both of us, hm?” You hear Pharma muse and whether or not Prowl is considering the prospect, all you want to do as of now, is to rot in this hole you dug for yourself.
#prowl x reader#idw prowl#transformers x reader#maccadam#idw pharma#pharma x reader#pharma#ikkosuwrites
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I was looking at your art with Minori and I just can't help but wonder what makes her have so much affection for Reigen? Does he act in a special way towards her? How does he return the affection? This is stirring all my braincells and I'm curious of your headcanons
(I'll preface this by saying: Please keep in mind that my answer is not meant to reflect canon at all and it's 100% just me making up stuff in my head because it's fun, and I'm writing this with the help of a translator so if my sentences sound weird then that's probably why)
I'd say her behavior towards Reigen would begin as hostile ("adult = intimidating authority figure, and I hate everyone who has power over me"), then it gradually transforms into playful rudeness probably after realizing Reigen does not place any importance in asserting his dominance or anything like that. Reigen is her punching bag that she uses whenever she has a bad day and needs to let out her anger, at the same time she wants to befriend him because she's not the type of person who can tolerate being on bad terms with someone. By being playfully rude, it makes the relationship between them less intimidating for Minori and puts both of them on equal ground. She'd only know Reigen as a reliable mentor (from her conversations with Mob) which is why she'd be somewhat scared of him at first.
As for Reigen's POV, he sees her as Mob's friend and wants her to feel welcome. He'd show a lot of enthusiasm, her responses wouldn't match his energy, and he'll notice that. So as time goes on, he'll speak to her less to respect whatever boundary she might have. Minori would interpret this as Reigen disliking her, and she can't cope with anybody disliking her regardless of who it is, so she fights back by showing affection. In Minori's eyes, this is done with the intent of bothering him. In Reigen's eyes, this is a very confusing act, so he'll either play along or be annoyed depending on what she's doing to him (both reactions will make Minori satisfied, just as long as he doesn't ignore her presence). I think Reigen would feel awkward showing affection until he figures out what goes on in Minori's head, because he wouldn't really know if it's okay for him to do that.
#asks#if you want a more genuine answer:#i have a 14 year old sister who behaves very similarly to minori#so sometimes i think of her behavior towards me and other people when drawing minori and reigen together
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what does querying mean
Ah! OK. I forget that normal people don't know what this process entails.
So, if you want to be "trad" published (which basically means the kind of published that gets your book into bookstores) you will probably need a literary agent. Some small presses do not require that writers submit books for consideration through an agent, but pretty much every book you've ever heard of went through both a literary agent and a publisher that requires authors use them.
So, how do you get a literary agent?
You send a very specialized letter called a 'query letter', often with the first few pages of your novel, for them to read and decide if they want to 'represent' it, which means try to sell it for you in exchange for a 15% commission.
The query letter I used for the 6th book I queried was this...
Dear [agent],
NO GOOD WITCHES is a 90,000-word YA speculative that will appeal to readers of A Deadly Education and Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. It’s a ‘girl goes evil and gets shit done while awe-stuck boy holds her purse so she can do the murders’ kind of book with popular tropes including found family, female friendship, dark academia, morally grey characters, power corrupts, and a romance where the boy is bad but the girl is worse (you could save him, I could make him worse; we are not the same).
Seventeen-year-old Calla watches the witch burnings on television along with everyone else in the United States. Witches can move things with their minds. They know what people are thinking. They’re terrifying, and dangerous, and the shows are a nationwide reminder that witches will not be tolerated. Her friends have never suspected Calla is one, and she needs to keep it that way. But when she answers a question before it’s asked in a history class, her future goes up in flames. She can read minds. She’s evil. Game over.
Caught and terrified, Calla is surprised when she isn’t dragged to a pyre, but to a hospital where she’s poked and prodded to find out how powerful she is. Turns out, good witches—compliant witches—don’t get sent to the stake. They get trained in hidden schools and sharpened into weapons. Their ability to manipulate matter powers the electrical plants and their mindreading gets used by the diplomatic corp. Calla doesn’t feel like getting burned alive, so she learns everything she can.
Including how she—and her new witch friends—can burn the system down rather than let powerful men exploit their magic.
By the time she’s done, there won’t be a single good witch left.
I was mentored in both the Pitch Wars and Author Mentor Match programs, and I was previously represented but my agent and I have amicably parted ways and this manuscript has never been on submission. I live in Connecticut with cats, my family, and some unhappy plants. I am not a witch.
Thank you,
Collie
I sent 69 versions of this query out, 2 of which were referrals (meaning a current client of the agent recommended me)
17 times the agent ghosted my query.
43 times the agent rejected at the query stage
7 times the agent requested more materials. (This is about a 10% request rate and is not great but not terrible either.)
2 times the agent ghosted the requested materials
3 times the agent rejected the additional materials
Once the agent offered me what's called a "revise and resubmit" where she sent some detailed edits I could do and then she would reconsider whether she wanted to rep it. I disagreed pretty strenuously with one of her suggestions (she wanted me to cut the romance) and so I didn't pursue it.
The whole process is tedious and unfun and pretty much necessary if you want your book to be in, say, Barnes and Noble. I do not enjoy it. I am going to do it for the seventh time starting this fall. Maybe I'll do a 'querying diary' the way I do a log of what I've written. That would be fun.
Ask me anything about querying. I am a bona fide expert on this.
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With all of his angel-punching shenanigans, would Jayfeather definitely be one of those cats who gets a trial? Do you think he’s ticked off starclan enough to have a strong shot at getting yeeted into the dark forest or something?
There's no fucking way he's not getting a trial. He has punched so many fucking angels
They didn't stop him from taking Poppypaw home but they might want to count it in hindsight
Chasing after StarClan to find out what his powers were about when they would be trying to avoid him, just telling him to stay on the path of a warrior
Cavorted around after a strange being in the tunnels when they wouldn't answer him (blaspheme)
Angel punching.
Taking a name that was explicitly to remind StarClan that he punched an angel and he's done with their shit
Broke the Cleric Vow; sired Ivypool and Dovewing
Blaspheme. A lot of blaspheme.
In an earlier era, he would have been damned so fast his head would spin. They do NOT take well to disrespect. But now...
StarClan is filling up with people who ADORE him.
Deadfoot and Ashfoot are incredibly impressed and moved by their grandson.
Firestar is too, and Bluestar as an extension of him.
Lizi and Oak understand solidarity and would move to vote yes with them.
Deerfoot and his rebels love questioning authority
Leafpool, able to defend her position objectively as well as emotionally
Both Honeysnake AND Briarlight.
Grunckle Longtail, his mentor
And he's a hero. He pulled a bunch of angels down to defend the Clans in the BOTTE. Every one of those angels who clambored down with him is going to vouch for him
Saved so many lives and was committed to his job
He's at risk, like Featherwhisker. But unlike that situation, StarClan has changed significantly in composition.
StarClan shifts, matching the culture it represents. Older spirits will be furious with him, but he has a ton of modern allies. He's going to get grilled massively, but I think it would be very unlikely he gets damned.
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The White Raven 7/9
The next chapter of Thorin and Carra's story is here!
Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x OC Carra
Rating: G
Warnings: mentions of injuries/death/dragon sickness
Author's notes: This is the story of Thorin Oakenshield's quest to find the White Raven, a mysterious creature of legends only few were fortunate enough to see. This is the story of love stronger than time, destiny, and laws of gods and mortals alike.
You can find this fic on AO3.
Special thanks to @legolasbadass for being a great, great, great beta reader and extra special thanks to Legolasbadass (again!) and @i-did-not-mean-to for our Silm evenings and discussons that helped me write this chapter 💚
Khuzdul:
Karkûnê - My Raveness
🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟
The tint of Carra’s face closely matched the crispy white colour of the pillowcase beneath it, her silver-white hair scattered across it in disarray. Her eyes were closed, and Thorin held his breath for a heartbeat—before he noticed the slight movements of her chest.
She was breathing. Still.
Sitting on a makeshift wheeled chair, which Nari, the disgruntled healer, procured from somewhere, Thorin leaned closer towards Carra, biting his lip in an attempt to ignore the pain his protesting body evoked. Another spell of dizziness washed over him again, and his body pleaded for mercy, but he pushed those sensations away. Perhaps Balin and Nari were right, and he should have stayed in bed, but at that moment, Thorin’s own discomfort felt insignificant.
His fingertips brushed against the softness of Carra’s hollow cheek. Her skin was cool under his touch, but warmth still lingered within.
“Carra… Karkûnê…“ he murmured. There was no response. Her eyelids did not flutter to show the iridescent depth of her gaze; her lips did not open to utter his name. She was here, beside him, yet completely out of his reach.
“How long has she been this way?” he asked.
“Since she was brought in here on the day of the battle, Your Majesty,” the healer responded and cast a worried glance at Balin. “Most of her injuries are minor, but she has yet to regain consciousness. We do not know why it takes so long but then again, she is not a Dwarf.”
Thorin thanked him with a nod, and his eyes returned to Carra. Her face and arms were marked with multiple bruises and scarrings—mementos of her confrontation with Azog. He closed his eyes, attempting to get rid of the tightness in his throat. At least a fortnight had passed since the battle ended, and her body seemed to refuse to heal at its regular pace. Throughout the years, he learned how quickly she regenerated; one or two nights should have been enough to cure most of it, and yet, for some inexplicable reason, this did not happen. But…
She was still breathing.
He took her slender hand in his. So soft. So fragile.
“I want my bed moved here,” he turned to the older dwarf, not letting go of her hand.
“Thorin?” Balin raised his eyebrows.
Nari’s stifled cough of surprise reached him at the same time. Thorin chose to ignore it.
“She needs me, Balin,” he looked at Carra’s hand. So delicate in his palm, like a folded wing of a sleeping fledgeling.
The older Dwarf pulled at his beard and cast a meaningful glance at Nari. It was enough to make the healer bow and leave the room, closing the door behind him. Only then did Balin speak again.
“I assume that you are aware of what message this is going to send, laddie.”
“What message…? I told you, Balin, she is my wife.” Thorin’s eyes wandered to Carra’s peaceful, unmoving face. With his left arm bound up, he had to gently free his right hand and reach into her hair. He let his fingers run through the silver-white strands until he uncovered the marriage braid he had pleated himself. “She watched over us on our way to reclaim Erebor. Now I shall watch over her.”
His mentor sat down on a nearby bench with a grunt, his gaze resting on Thorin’s hand, once again clasped with Carra’s. Thorin could almost feel its weight.
Balin sighed heavily, “There will be trouble with the lords when they hear of it.”
“I have never supported any of their plans of political alliances via marriage as you very well know,” Thorin furrowed his brow.
“Indeed. I still applaud you for how you handled the situation with Lord Yngví and managed to convince Fili to marry Lady Tarja. You killed two birds with one stone!” A shadow of a smile appeared on Balin's lips. “The Firebeards are our strongest allies, and if Mahal blesses the couple with a babe, it will rule over the whole Blue Mountains.”
“It was not a great feat. They were already in love with each other,” Thorin tilted his head.
“But you saw the opportunity and took it,” Balin’s smile grew slightly. “And now it seems I will be the one on the lookout for an opportunity to explain the current situation to the lords. And Dain…”
“She is my One, Balin.” The rasp of his own whisper sounded hollow in the silence of the stone chamber. He had said these words only once before and only to Carra. They were meant to be said not more than once in a lifetime, and it felt wrong to repeat them in this stuffy, dimly lit chamber and not under a star-studded sky with his Raveness in his arms.
His old friend remained silent for a long while. Silent and unmoving, like a stone statue. Thorin avoided looking into his face by turning his attention to Carra’s hand, which he still held. He felt the warmth of his own body seeping through her skin, but it remained cool despite his best efforts.
But she was still breathing. There was still hope, he reminded himself.
“How can it be? She is not a Child of Mahal.” Balin frowned. “She could not have been made from the same piece of stone as you.”
“I do not know, Balin,” he shrugged and presented their joined hands to him. “But I do know this: she saved me. Twice. Once—at Rivendell. And the second time… Do you remember my feather, Balin? That is how I overcame the curse. In the darkest hour I took it in my hand. And so I recalled my One—and my true self.”
Thorin glanced at Carra’s face, but it remained unmoving; her eyes closed.
“My blood sings in my veins whenever she is around. Even now. It feels almost like when you sing to the stone and it sings back, showing you the hidden veins of ore in its depths.” His voice was but a whisper. “I shall not attempt to understand Mahal’s mysterious ways, but I am certain beyond doubt that she is my Other Half.”
His mentor pulled at his beard once again. “Let us only hope that this explanation will be enough for our people to accept her as their queen. Our kingdom is about to be rebuilt. We need unity, not dissent.”
“You told me once that I have done honourably by our people. That I had a choice… This is my choice. She is. If Carra cannot be accepted, so be it. We have never planned for our secret to see the light of the day and it can remain hidden,” Thorin admitted with conviction. After taking a brief look at her pale face, he addressed Balin once again. “And before you mention the issue of succession, we both know that I have already named Fili as my heir. The lords have no leverage here. I will do all in my power to unite the Seven Kingdoms again, but I will not be parted from Carra. That is my final word on the matter.”
Speaking of a future with Carra, regardless of the shape it would take, felt like a fresh waft of hope. She would wake up—and soon. And then they would keep meeting in hidden forest clearings, secluded valleys, and forgotten caverns, just like they had done for years.
Thorin never noticed when Balin stood up with a grunt. He barely felt his hand patting him on the shoulder.
“Very well, laddie. I will see what I can do about this matter. And now—allow me to leave you be. You have your wife to take care of.”
Thorin’s eyes met Balin’s in an instant. It was impossible to miss neither the softness of his gaze under those white bushy eyebrows nor the warmth in his smile.
“Balin, I…” he began, his voice faltering. Instead, he covered his mentor’s hand with his.
“I know, laddie, I know.” The old dwarf nodded. No other words were needed between them.
At that very moment, something brushed along the inside of Thorin’s palm, as if a butterfly opened its wings.
“Carra!” He brought her hand to his face, hoping to see the repeated motion of her little finger. Gently pressing his lips against the back of her hand, he breathed in the faint scent of snowdrops.
Her face was as expressionless and pale as before, but when Thorin was about to look away, Carra’s eyes darted about once or twice under her eyelids.
It took him one heartbeat to lean closer toward her; before he knew it, he gave her forehead a soft, lingering kiss. The pain and exhaustion he felt did not matter any longer. Everything besides Carra was of no consequence. His One was still there, and this knowledge imbued him with a new strength.
“Fight, Karkûnê. Do not give up,” Thorin whispered into her ear. “I am here, beside you. Do you hear me, amrâlimê?”
He pressed his forehead against hers in an intimate gesture they exchanged whenever they met. Her skin pleasantly cooled his burning hot forehead while Thorin whispered, “Come back to me, Wings of my heart.”
***
The butterfly circles above the rock basin. Its orange wings flutter gracefully a hairbreadth above the still surface of the water, yet its wings never touch it. Carra cannot seem to tear off her eyes from the afterimages of the spectacle she has witnessed a mere moment ago. More blurred shapes appear in the water, but they are distorted and barely recognizable, fading away quickly.
“Do you see now, Silver One?” The Weaver’s voice fills Carra’s ears. “There are countless possibilities for the thread to run through the loom.”
“But the taint is spreading in the pattern,” the white-haired man, the Water Bearer, says; his words sound hollow. “Everything withers in its wake.”
“There is still hope. Not everything is lost.” The Great Mother walks towards a nearby apple tree. Both its leaves and her gown shimmer in the sunlight. Something tells Carra to follow her creator, and so she does, her legs unsteady.
“Not everything? What about… ” The White Raven’s voice trembles. “Thorin Oakenshield’s life?”
The Great Mother does not reply. Instead, she plucks a large, ripe apple from the tree and smells it with an approving hum.
“Curious creature.” The Water Bearer approaches them from ahead; Carra could have sworn he was behind them merely a moment ago. “Is it the silver dust in your wings speaking or your heart?”
Carra lowers her head—in shame or embarrassment? She does not know which one burns stronger.
She wants to seek redemption—to show that there is still a part of her that is worthy. In fact, she wishes to explain that her question was born solely out of her sense of duty, that her feelings are insignificant, but then her own faint whisper reaches her.
“I speak from my heart,” she says. Always my heart, she thinks.
The Water Bearer and the Green Lady exchange a boundless glance. An eternity seems to pass, as long as one blink of Carra’s eyes.
The Great Mother turns back to her and speaks; a shadow of a smile blooms on her lips, “Then you should already know the answer to this question, my child.”
“I do not understand, Great Mother.”
“Was it not you who alarmed us of the threat to his life?”
Carra recalls the very moment when the Pale Orc attacked Thorin and finds that she does not have the strength to speak. She simply nods as the sense of foreboding tightens its fingers around her throat.
“Your croak echoed so strongly across the tapestry that I almost lost several useful threads!” The Weaver’s voice seems to come from afar, but when Carra turns towards its source, she sees the Weaver standing only a few steps behind her.
“My apologies, my lady,” Carra says faintly. “It was not my intention to cause trouble.”
“Child, you did no such thing. You fulfilled your duty.” The Great Mother shakes her head gracefully, the apple still in her hand. “He is still among the living.”
Something hums in Carra’s ear, and the dread that has been gnawing at her mind finally leaves her; her legs fold beneath her, and she finds herself on the grass, supported by trembling arms. Her heart beats fast, as if after a long run.
Thorin lives. Thorin lives. Thorin lives.
“Thank you, Great Mother.” The world blurs before her, and she needs to wipe away the tears. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“You should be thanking yourself, dear child—it has come to pass through your sacrifice.” The Great Mother extends her hand, and Carra takes it tentatively, lifting herself from the ground on unsteady legs.
The Water Bearer steps towards them. His hands are empty. The butterfly is nowhere to be seen.
“And so the line of Durin remains unbroken,” he says.
“So does the pattern.” The Weaver’s elegant fingers move along a thick piece of thread. Its colour makes Carra think of the waters of the Long Lake at dawn. “I was almost certain that this thread would be lost to the tapestry forever.”
The three of them exchange a lengthy glance in silence, and Carra wishes she could understand its meaning.
“Forgive me, Great Mother.” Her throat constricts at her own boldness.” But who will watch over Thorin Oakenshield and his kin now that I am gone?”
“The mettle on this one!” The Water Bearer chuckles, but Carra can barely hear him. A strong gust of wind picks up suddenly, making the leaves rustle in the trees around them. As she looks up, the wind brings another sound with it. A low whisper that reverberates in her ears with longing.
“Carra… Please…”
“Thorin?” Her eyes search the beech grove ahead in hopes of seeing her son of Durin, but there are only tree trunks and shrubbery, and the rustling of leaves. Has she imagined hearing his voice?
“Is that…?” There is a hint of amusement in the Water Bearer’s voice. His white hair dances in the wind.
“That silver in her wings…” the Weaver adds, but before she can finish her sentence, another figure appears in the garden, as if out of nowhere. With a few measured strides, he approaches the Great Mother, who offers him the apple she picked before. He takes it, reverently kissing her on her hand. Even though the newcomer is taller than his companions, there seems to be something dwarven about him. Perhaps it is his robust figure or muscular arms, his long hair, brown as elm bark, or perhaps his thick, braided beard; Carra is not certain.
“Husband mine, it is good to see you here,” the Great Mother says.
“I would not have missed it for the world, my dearest.” The man’s voice is as deep as the deepest mines of Erebor.
The wind picks up again, and the rustling intensifies, but the Great Mother’s spouse remains unmoving; even his hair and garments remain still, as if carved out of stone.
“Karkûnê… Come back to me…”
Carra’s searching eyes frantically move from one tree to the next, from one patch of shrubbery to another, but he is not there.
“Thorin!” Helplessly she exclaims towards the sky. “Where are you?”
“You will not find him here, Winged One,” the Great Mother’s husband addresses her. “He is under his Mountain.”
“But I hear him as if he was here!” Carra does not dare to lift her eyes and look into his radiant face.
“The bond between you is as strong as mithril,” he explains.
She opens her mouth to speak, but then she hears the Weaver’s voice.
“So it is mithril, not silver… What are you up to, Smith?” With her brow furrowed, the ethereal lady glances at her loom. “You are not hammering out a new pattern, are you?”
He gives out a short chuckle, “Nothing of the sort, Spinner. This pattern does not need any adjustments on my part.”
“Because you have already made them,” the Water Bearer interjects, once again standing by the rock basin, the silvery jug resting at its edge. When his all-knowing gaze meets hers, Carra wants to disappear.
“A pinch of mithril has never done any harm to anyone.” The Smith takes a step towards Carra. “Has it, Winged One?”
“My lord, I do not comprehend…” she speaks shakily. “I only wish to know if Thorin is going to be safe now.”
There is something benevolent in his expectant gaze. Is he smiling? He has heard her, surely, but he does not address her. Carra does not understand what is expected of her now. A glance passes between the Great Mother and the Weaver, but Carra remains oblivious to it, her attention caught by a new occurrence. The orange butterfly appears in front of her, its wings fluttering, and then it flies off to rest on the folds of the Great Mother’s robes, as if on a flowery meadow. Standing by her husband, she gives a shallow nod.
“So be it, Smith,” the Water Bearer says.
Carra blinks, and when she opens her eyes again, she stands by the rock basin once more. This time, the water is black and impenetrable, like the sky on a winter night. An image starts forming, but it feels like a mere shadow of the visions she has experienced before.
***
Thorin sits on a gilded stone bench on a high terrace carved out of the slope of the Mountain. A beautifully ornamented walking cane rests against the wall behind him. A thick fur-lined cloak rests on his shoulders, adorned with golden embroidery. His breath turns into mist in the cold air, and several stray snowflakes find their way to his hair, adorned with braids and golden cuffs. His sunken cheeks and pale skin are in stark contrast with the opulence that surrounds him. A guard passes by and salutes him, only to disappear in the bowels of the Mountain.
Time passes as Thorin gazes into the horizon. Although his left arm remains motionless—his left hand clothed in a glove—his right hand reaches under his tunic. Soon, his ringed fingers emerge, holding a silver-white feather. Thorin presses his lips against its tip and closes his eyes for a moment. He whispers something, but his words escape on the wind.
When an elderly Dwarf clad in burgundy robes approaches him, the feather is still in his hand.
“The delegation from the Woodland Realm has arrived, Thorin,” the Dwarf says. “It is time.”“Time, Balin? It feels like mine has already passed,” Thorin replies.
“And yet they say it is time that heals all wounds,” Balin gestures towards the feather.
Thorin rises from the bench with a pained hiss, helping himself with the walking cane. There is a heavy limp in his walk, and as they enter the Mountain, his solemn voice echoes in the corridor.
“But will it heal mine?”
***
“Your Dwarf rules over his kingdom. There is peace and safety for him and his people,” The Green Lady speaks. “Why the tears, my child?”
Carra brings her fingers to her cheek. It is wet.
“I failed him, Great Mother. He needs me. I should be by his side, not here!” With her vision blurred, she can barely see the four luminous silhouettes standing around her, the expressions on their faces unreadable.
“You are on the path to the Timeless Halls of your winged kin where the reward for your deeds awaits you. You have earned it, Carra.” The Great Mother’s voice is like a sturdy nest shielded from the elements, like a warm blanket on a stormy night.
“I cannot draw joy from such honours. Not when my mate—the one I love—suffers. I’d rather…” She stops, terrified by her own insolence. Nevertheless, Carra has had to speak out. The vision of the terrifying king on the throne of Erebor, cloaked in darkness and blood, has been haunting her since the moment she saw it in the water. But this image was not as horrifying as her sudden realisation. Thorin’s gaze in her most recent vision, bitter and devoid of hope, was disturbingly similar to the darkness in the dragon king’s eyes.
The Smith gives out a lengthy hum. It sounds like a rumble of a distant avalanche.
“What is it that you are saying, child?” The Great Mother stands before Carra now.
“I do not have the right to ask, Great Mother, but there is no greater reward for me than seeing Thorin contented and at peace,” Carra explains, and there is no doubt nor fear in her voice now because she speaks for Thorin, not for herself, for the one she has been watching over since she can remember. “His past has been filled with hardships. And now he needs joy, not grief, to heal. I will do anything you ask of me, I will serve you for as long as you wish… Please, Great Mother, do not let the darkness consume him. Does he not deserve a long and happy life now?”
“You would relinquish your place in the Timeless Halls for the sake of this Dwarf?” The Weaver inquires. There are several threads in her hand, but Carra does not see their colours.
“For Thorin’s happiness, I would, my lady. As my last gift to him.” Carra swallows. She has just sentenced herself to oblivion, and yet it does not terrify her in the slightest. Only Thorin’s future matters to her, just like it always has.
“Shall we grant her this reward, husband?” The Great Mother turns to the Smith, who looks at a little pebble in his palm, and then tosses it up, catching it in a blink of an eye later.
“Your devotion reminds me of my own children, Winged One,” he declares. “Know that the path you chose is a path of no return. If you take it, the Timeless Halls will not welcome you. You will become like this stone. Stones do not have wings nor do they dream. Do you understand?”
“I do,” she speaks quietly. “This is the path I want to take.”
“Very well,” the Great Mother grants her a smile as warm as a spring day. In her open palm, a flower blooms. Its countless petals are orange, and it smells like fire.
“You have fulfilled your duty as the White Raven, dear child. We shall bestow upon you the reward you have chosen,” she offers Carra the flower in her outstretched hand. “Accept it, if that is truly your choice.”
“Thank you, Great Mother.” She touches the flower with her trembling fingers. It feels hard, like a piece of stone. “Thank you, Great Smith…”
As Carra closes her hand over the silky petals, a curtain of darkness falls over her, and it is as if the air disappeared from her lungs. She cannot move; she cannot speak. This must be the end, she thinks, and in the cold stillness of oblivion, a familiar sound reaches her ears.
Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh. Tap-tap. Swoosh.
The loom resumed its work.
🌟 Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 ... 🌟
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peter sees the signs before anyone else, finds his mentor's hidden projects all tagged 'SUPERIOR' and sees where it's leading. peter doesnt know who to go to, who would believe some 15 yr old kid who claims that tony stark, the world's hero, is planning to seize more power than any one person should have? peter has no choice but to take matters into his own hands. but spider-man is no match for iron man, especially when tony could simply disable the suit he made for him or even use it against him.
so instead, peter seduces his mentor, collects damning evidence of them together, and makes sure it gets to the authorities and the public before tony has enough control of the media and government to bury the scandal and escape a hefty prison sentence.
peter succeeded in preventing the superior's rise, betrayed him before tony could betray everyone.
but, now that he has, there's no moving on; despite his betrayal, peter's feelings weren't a lie. every now and then, peter visits his old mentor, his old lover, pleads for understanding, for forgiveness, for anything. tony simply stares, unresponsive, calculating and scheming.
#[bonus points if peter basically has them do consensual non consent films it and then testifies otherwise 👀👀👀👀]#starker#sim tony
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TRSB23 PROMO TIME #26 Memory/ Our eyes meet
My second trsb piece of the year (I think it turned out well)
Fic "Our Eyes Meet" on ao3 -> LINK
Author -> Finnritter
Fic Rating: Gen
Warnings:No warnings
Relationships: Erestor & Elrohir
Characters: Erestor, Elrohir, some Rivendell folk cameos
Word count: 21k
Tagline: *Imladris, Year 152 of the Third Age *
Elrohir is young enough to still be very excited about being allowed to start his first lessons, soon. Out of all people, he has elected the reserved, hard to approach librarian Erestor to be his teacher and subsequently tries to win him over with determination, surprise attacks and a lot of eager persistence. Spoiler: It works a lot better than any of the two of them had expected.
Original Prompt: Elrohir's memory of his beloved mentor no longer matches reality, even though it'll be decades still before he'll be an adult. I'd like both moments in the art somehow incorporated into the story, but if that's difficult, one is enough. Hit me in the feels please. @tolkienrsb
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Inkling!! Now, I will say that I don't rlly have a whole bunch of head canons for this guy, so I'm sorry in advance for the short post.
Prof. Inkling Head canons
-Trans Aro/ace
-Autistic
-Rlly good with kids
-Grandfather figure to everyone on the octopod in a way.(Especially Shellington)
-Gives out the best advice and is the one you'd go to if you ever need someone to talk to
-Good at reading people
-Was Tweak's, Barnacle's, and Shellington's teacher in college
-Took shellington in as a mentor and taught him everything he knows abt sea life
-Is a published author
-Helps Koshi, and Dashi edit their book series(Assuming it's actually published in their world)
-Octonauts was just a club for sea life appreciation and to help save the sea
-Him and Kwazii place bets on their pin ball matches (Like trading chores or taking over the others)
-Knows French
-As a teacher, he used to goof around with his students a lot(Like poke fun at them in a light hearted way and was overall a chill class.)
-He wasn't the best at grading though, lol.
-Teaches the Vegimals abt sea life and what not.
Again, not the longest post, so I apologize Inkling fans, but I just don't have a lot of thoughts and head canons for him. Also, some of these are based off of my French Teacher, bc why the hell not?? I am also sorry for any mischaracterization of him.
#professor inkling#octonauts headcanon#inkling#inkling headcanons#design#illustration#octonauts#art#not the best#it'll be fine#based off of a teacher I like and respect
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Yandere Maul Thoughts
I can't see Maul falling for someone completely deaf to the Force, so this is yan!Maul x force sensitive reader, not so much an actual story as it is concepts for how the relationship would be
[0.5K] words, contains violence and other general yandere content, implied mutilation
Man has the most unhealthy desire to nurture people he cares about. Unhealthy to them, at least. Between Savage, Ahsoka, and Ezra, Maul clearly wants a companion he can have power over. And given the number of force users stronger than him, any power imbalance WILL be in his favor.
During the years between Clone Wars and Rebels (or later, going off of George Lucus' sequel idea of having Maul as a godfather crime boss post-Empire) Maul would be on the lookout for a new apprentice. Maybe you are a survivor of order 66, maybe your parents turned down the jedi taking you as an infant, or maybe your force sensitivity was just a bit too low to gain their attention. Whatever the case, you've evaded the Empire, but you didn't realize you also needed to avoid Maul.
Like with Ezra, Maul would be subtle when he first finds you, gauging your natural ability and getting you to open up and trust in him as a mentor or authority figure who has your best interest in mind. And in his mind, he really does. He will expose you to the dark side through fear and anger and suffering, and he will think he is helping you, strengthening you. Training will be brutal and exhausting. He anticipated you would resent him for it at first, yet he finds himself upset by that. To his surprise, he finds he doesn't want to only cause you pain, as he realized your company feels... pleasant. Initially this results in you gaining a slight reprieve as he distances himself, thinking you are distracting him from the negative emotions that fuel his dark side powers. Soon enough, however, he finds that his passion for you can still lead to rage and fear. At that revelation, he finally admits to himself that he desires you, not just as an underling or apprentice, but as a companion and lover. It seems that, as long as he gives in to his passions, even those resulting from love, his power in the dark side remains strong.
If he can't get you to reciprocate his love, he would settle for making you hate him. After all, he has firsthand experience of how all-consuming hatred of someone can be. It would not be his preferred relationship with you, but as long as he knows he fills your mind one way or another, he will be satisfied. Maul would justify any sadness or anger his affections cause in you by telling himself it strengthens your connection to the dark side, giving you more power and making you more able to protect yourself from anyone who may wish to do you harm. Well, anyone besides Maul, of course. In addition to the training he forces you to go through, he would be quite strict in keeping you from leaving him. If fear and punishments don't keep you in line, well... Maul knows some limbs aren't necessary for survival. Besides, matching legs seem more his style than the typical couples' matching outfits, especially when he can install a kill switch that shuts down your legs if you try to leave him again.
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