“Woah, woah, woah, wait. You’re destroying my doomsday device while I’m monologuing about my feelings?! And you say that I’m cruel?!”
Injury Prompt #372
Locked in room with no air
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Do you ever want to romanticize things about yourself because no one else is?
Do you want to write a school girl crush about the constant rambling and facts of a particular interest, the way this person says it is quiet in tone but loud in excitement?
Want to write about the smudges of graphite on fingers from drawing constantly.
Love the little things that you would see in another but instead it's you?
When the world says "give up", hope whispers.. Try it one more time.
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BW's Daily Article Link: Maybe The Dead Should Stay Buried
When you kill off a character be very careful. If you can avoid it, consider it if you know the character has a lot of fans. Just ask Hasbro. Resurrecting a character is also tricky to the point where death has become meaningless to superheroes…and Optimus Prime, who has seldom gone through a continuity WITHOUT dying and coming back to life. I can’t even think of one off-hand. This cheapens death…
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Changes to Terraclaw’s story
@happyorogeny @insidedamienshead @purgatorydotexe @abalonetea so this will be slight spoilers because I talk about abandoned plans for Terraclaw, but I thought you’d be interested!
@staroftheritotribe @radiozilla im tagging you two because you’ve helped me these past 6 years with the original plans and dont worry I have all of our notes and stuff still
TW: Talks of heavy subjects e.g war, abuse ect
Okay so, heres some of the changes with Terraclaw.
- Winderemere no longer exists in Terraclaw because this stupid bitch realised Windermere is a lake after her stepdad told her its a lake XD - so Terraclaw consists of: Molteshaden, Icerrun, Raridon and Warrendon
-Duskblood isn't basically Hitler. He's going to experiment on the wildlife (basically think of the wildlife like its fucking Pokemon or Yu-Gi-Oh or something, just think of like, mythical creatures from something that isnt offensive) and he's going to be more of a mad scientist.
- Duskblood isn't going to bomb Icerrun and make Lucia/Zapp the last of her kind
- Molteshaden will not be cut off from the other countries.
- The others will not use the wildlife to fight ‘Clawslingers’ are nonexistant now and they’ll all fight with the typical magical, bows and arrows ect instead
- Crystal WILL find out she has magic. Athena will state that she does not have magic but Damien and Crystal will.
- Duskblood will not be searching for the Entrance to Terraclaw so he can start a war and take over The Surface world (1960s Earth)
- Duskblood isn't going to have been in power for twenty years when Crystal shows up, I'm going to have him do his entire plan for power within about a year or two so by the time Crystal is called to Terraclaw, she'll be there to stop him after he's done most of what he had planned.
- Zapp will not be arrested for terrorism and put on trial in her own country and charged, because Duskblood never bombs her home.
-Crystal will actually know her father when the story starts and she'll know what Terraclaw is, instead of finding out as the story goes on
- I do however, need to figure out why Jess, Roger, Crystal, Samuel and Bonnie will be living in The Surface when Duskblood's bad intentions have been mostly rewritten so he's not as bad as he used to be.
- Timber isn't going to be going by "Steelwing" because as Duskblood doesnt experiment on people now, there is no need for him to be seen as monster who is half monster half man
- Same can be said for Zapp, seen as above but she'll be given Zapp as her name for a different reason
- Damien, Alexandria's son is going to have a bigger role in the story but still be classed as a side character
- We learn about Damien and what happened to Alexandria, Athena's sister
-Instead of having 14 main characters consisting of all the original team and the original Terraclaw struggled because I tried to get everybody's voice heard, I'm probably going to have the main characters be Athena, Jess, Oakley, Crystal, Duskblood, Timber, Alexandria and Zapp. Everybody else will probably be a SC-
- Side characters: Roger, Bonnie, Samuel, Terra, Darcy, Cinder, Ember, Damien and Caius
- speaking of Bonnie and Samuel, Jess and Roger's parents, they will probably end up coming back to Terraclaw instead of staying in 1960s Nottingham on The Surface.
- Samuel will be in much better health so can probably do a lot more than how I originally helped him (he was affected by Duskblood in the original plans)
- the Forgotten Realms aka trilogy 2 of the original plans, no longer exists. It will be implied there are other unexplored regions of Terraclaw but that is it.
- Ember isn't going to die.
- Athena isn't going to sacrifice herself for her daughter
- Duskblood's fate however, is unknown at this moment in time
- Duskblood is going to kill Alexandria as she makes her way to her wedding, same for her fiancee.
- Instead of being a baby when the above happened, Damien will be thirty and witness what Duskblood is doing, and will be the one to alert Athena to what is happening
- Alexandria will be trying to raise the dead so she can have an army to fight Duskblood to get revenge on him because she's a ghost
- In the original plans, Alexandria was going to possess Crystal to use her body so she can physically fight Duskblood but in the original plans, Alexandria didnt know Duskblood was already dead by the time she starts her revenge plan. Instead in the new plans, she's going to just be a ghost on a path for revenge, with access to her powers
- Caius, Alexandria's fiancee was going to be a main villain and would have paid people to say nice things about her, but he will have no power now but will still be a dead spirit trying to guide the others.
- Duskblood is going to become paranoid because he wont realise the bad things that start to happen to him, are Alexandria's fault and the others will have to tell Duskblood what is going on
- The monarchy will probably be restored???
- Athena will probably abdicate, but if she does the choice of who is next in line falls to Damien or Crystal and there will be that big discussion. Because Damien should have been next in line to the throne but Duskblood put Athena on the throne before he overthrew her when Athena refused to marry him so he could be King.
- The Drunk Dragon and Duskblood's entire fortress will move from Molteshaden to Raridon because Raridon is the kingdom capital. Duskblood will have taken over the castle.
- Oakley will not be an orphan anymore.
- Darcy, Ember and Cinder’s dad will still be a drunken alcoholic but will still be alive
- Oakley will still be a protege under Timber, but Crystal won’t be hurt over the fact.
- Darcy will still hate the monarchy ect but will be toned down.
- Darcy won’t hate Crystal as much as she did in the original plans because she believed Crystal was the reason everything bad happened, but given the fact that most of the story will be different in the new plans, there isn’t any real reason for Darcy to hate her
- Duskblood won’t be homophobic or racist, so he’ll have no problems with Crystal getting with Oakley nor will he go off on Athena for getting with Timber (Timber is black, Athena is white)
- Timber’s backstory of finding Terraclaw when he’s escaping from The Blirz will still be intact but Duskblood will be nicer to him instead of being a racist, jealous genocidal bastard
- The original plans for Terraclaw had a side plot where Duskblood tried to convince Crystal that he was her father because Duskblood is obsessed with Athena and he does all this despite the fact Crystal clearly isn’t white. This has been dropped from the new plans
Word Find Tag Game XX
Thanks for kindly tagging me, @dontcrywrite! I'm fond of the words you picked for us, which are star, wind, chair and gaze. Excerpts from Aquiver, Aglow:
But how could they possibly ask Anne to do so? Anne, who spoke to the stars and coaxed them into shining a little more, for a little longer, their Anne who had so graciously taken the brunt of their frustrations, speaking their rebellion to life?
Anne, the Angel of Lies, with one eye of wisdom, and the other vicious.
And if she had so taken the event underwing, there was nothing for them to do but to sigh and rub at their faces at the sudden conundrum.
Her words hadn’t been kind, but he could forgive that. They hadn’t been cruel, either.
Untamed, unscarred, a wide smile broke on his face, so wide it threatened to spill off his face. With unknown, buried joy, he cried, “Anne!”
Anne was startled. Her wings faltered, wind dying beneath feathers. She stared at the boy below, recalling, with a frown in her heart, a name she’d asked before. Tyrone.
Another night, he sat with his Mother on the chair, and they looked at the branch she’d given him, that he’d placed above the mantlepiece.
“Mom, don’t fight with Anne anymore,” he scolded with a serious expression.
Yet, gentle as the chill of the night, “What are you called?”
His gaze shot upwards, heart lifting. A thin smile hovered on her face.
Warmth was the blankness of black, curling him to its chest. Warmth was the end of the autumn, and warmth was the beginning of the nights.
Tagging @artbyeloquent, @sedonawritess, @firstdraft and @spacetimewraithwrites to find gleam, morning, blade and hurry, if you want!
Seggsy werewolf dean and his feral little brain thinking sammy is his mate
That is his mate! That's his best friend! His life partner! (I come from a land down under)
Oh crap now I have to write a fic skdjaksma
Dean gets cursed by a witch 🙏
"Cass please, get your ass down here before I kill myself." Sam looked up desperately, hoping the angel would answer him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed dramatically as he stood there, running his hands through his hair.
"Alright, that's it, I'm killing myself." He started to walk up the bunker stairs but stopped short when he heard deans voice. "Hey dean." He greeted through a clenched jaw. He heard dean sigh. "Oh c'mon Sammy don't be like that."
Sam gripped the railing so he wouldn't go over there and tackle dean.
All this started a week ago. They were in a diner eating lunch, dean kept hitting on the waitress and was obviously annoying her. Turns out the waitress was a witch. They had killed her but her stupid curse stayed, and Sam was about five minutes away from killing himself, and then dean.
At first it was fine, dean was just more cuddly. The hugs would last longer, the stares would too, and when dean hugged him Sam swore he was sniffing his hair.
But Sam didn't mind, honestly he liked the extra affection. But it all went down hill about four days ago.
Sam walked into his room after a long day of research. He was just gonna throw himself into bed and relax, but dean was in his room, going through his wardrobe.
"Dean, what are you doing in my room?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow. He seemed to have caught the hunter in surprise, because he jumped about a foot in the air and backed away from Sam's clothes like they were radioactive.
"Ah, nothing." Dean said and ran out of the room, avoiding Sam's eye contact.
Turns out dean was rubbing his hands, and, other parts of his body over Sam's clothes, trying to get his 'scent' on them. Sam wasn't even that mad. They shared clothes anyway so half of his shirts already smelled like dean. It was a little weird, but not that bad.
It got worse.
Two days ago Sam was sitting in the library, reading a book and was just in his own little world, he didn't even hear dean walk in. But he did feel him.
Dean walked up to Sam and started sniffing his butt. Yep. He was sniffing his brothers butt. Sam yelled out in surprise and almost hit dean with his book. Dean ran out of there without even looking guilty.
Now, dean wouldn't let Sam out of his site. He would sit with him in the library, follow him to the kitchen, wait outside when he was in the bathroom (it was the only privacy that Sam got all day), and once Sam woke up with dean wrapped around him. Dean made him breakfast that day as an apology.
Sam finally let go of the railing and sucked in a breath to calm himself down. "We need to fix you." Sam said walking back down the stairs. "Before you start humping me." Dean looked away with a guilty look on his face, Sam prayed once more to cass.
He never showed up.
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AAAHHH you are working on another Reeves fic?! *squeals* May I inquire about that one, pls? (Also, OMG a Blue and Bud crossover?!)
Hi Chrissie! 💜 Okay, so yeah. That Reeves fic has been hanging around for almost a YEAR and it originally wasn't even Reeves. And then I realized it would make more sense to use Reeves, but then I was having trouble getting it to cooperate with me. I feel more comfortable with the character now, and I will probably try to give it another shot, especially since my other Reeves story was pretty well received! It's based on some music-related things that happened to me in my 20s, and I just now realized that it does, ironically, have a parking lot scene. 😂
And uh, we can call the other one a crossover. Yeah. We can also sort of call it a crossover, I guess? And yes that probably means exactly what you think it means...
oh to be a young victorian doctor sitting in a candlelit office with his shirt undone, writing a hesitant but incredibly homoerotic letter to a colleague he hasn't seen since they attended medical school together where they never acknowledged anything immodest with words but spent the nights in each other's arms and talked for hours about their hopes and dreams and fears while tracing a hand over their scars and didn't have to specify that the thing they wanted most of all was each other
Walking away. No destination. I'm free. . #amwriting #flashfiction #writing #sixwordstory #writersofinstagram #writingprompts. . Writing prompt courtesy of Melisa Quigley https://www.instagram.com/p/CN4i0o8rOuq/?igshid=1e9zzxgm1l9ex
I’m happy when I feel your presence in my life… I can never write often or much, but I want you to trust me, and I want to press you against me.
Albert Camus, Yvonne Ducailar
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“I’d heard tell of many a new face in the company, and thought it best to meet my new comrades, to better get to know them. It’s always good to have a feel for people, for what little insight it might give for them on the field.
I made them drinks; played a game, asking questions as i always do.
What do they value most?
I feel, that’s the most telling answers anyone could give.”
When the Weasley's came to stay at Grimmauld place before school, Mrs Weasley told Tonks that her daughter had been struggling with nightmares.
Tonks starts sharing Auror tips on how they are told to deal with PTSD and trauma with Ginny. She even teaches her some close combat moves to make her feel more confident and in control of her own body. This includes an introduction to punk music and letting loose.
Ginny's nightmares never fully go away, but she learns to build that strength she needs to feel safe. Most importantly - Tonks gives Ginny an ear and time to listen without judgment (this is also how she becomes one of the first people to see what's going on between Ginny and Harry).
Tonks very quickly becomes that cool big sister that Ginny had been needing.
former competitive dancer!akaashi is taking over my life. also, this is kinda long.
tags: dancing, akaashi being super hot, fem!reader.
the last day of training camp for the volleyball teams coincides with your second-to-last day of dance company competition training.
“coach wants us to perform a number, as a thanks for the teams and coaches for letting us take a gym,” your captain says, and your teammates nod. there was a mix up in the scheduling; normally the company reserved the athletics block almost always after the volleyball camp, but this time around, you came in on their day three, which led to a lot of confused stares.
apparently the administration office got the dates mixed up.
in any case, after profuse apologizing by your own coach, the volleyball teams graciously let your team use the second gym while they stayed within the premises of the first gym, and at night, some of them used the third gym. it was fine, though; the second gym had plenty of room, and as it was easier to navigate empty space than be wary of stray balls flying around, it was a welcome option.
overall, in the three days of training, both parties managed to avoid each other, almost completely. until the last day of the boys’ training.
“what piece are we running?” you ask, twisting open your water bottle and taking a huge swig.
“we’ll run through the compet piece, then we’ll do the practice piece for september. the older people might like it.” when the rest of the team murmur their assent, your captain calls to fix the block, and you all scuttle to your positions.
“right this way,” your coach’s voice carries from the entrance, and you stiffen, consciousness settling in your limbs. dancing with an audience is different.
shinzen high school’s dance company consisted of mostly girls, and more often than not, competition teams ended up being almost always all-girl teams, and since having days-long compet trainings were not a rarity, you all were pretty comfortable with each other.
that did not apply to strangers.
sure, the shinzen boys’ vbc was an exception—you all saw them at school on a regular basis—but the rest of them?
“girls,” your coach calls, “can some of you get chairs?”
a handful of the team, mostly freshmen, set into motion, but the exposed skin of your midriff starts to prickle. it was inappropriate, but it was so hot in the summer, so you’d tied your shirt up to rest loosley beneath your chest, the high waist of your cycling shorts leaving only a strip of skin. it wasn’t scandalous by any means, but the form-fittedness of it would definitely highlight the choreo.
you shake your head. whatever. you’ll deal. some of the girls who’d donned the same outfit or similar kept their shirts tied, while others unraveled their knots. one of the other girls, the one from korea, was in a sports bra and tights. if she didn’t bother to put on a shirt, you wouldn’t bother to untie your shirt.
“ey, _____!” you hear, and your head twists to find your classmate, akatani, pointing at you with a smirk. “make it good!”
“shut up,” you laugh, flashing him the finger. he tips his head back to laugh, and you discover that he’s the last to enter from the shinzen team, and all of the other boys are coming in. your eyes catch the gaze of the person behind akatani, a slender, dark-haired boy with an uninterested expression.
“akaashi,” someone booms, and the boy you now know is named akaashi looks in the direction of a tall-haired boy who beamed with joy. “sit with me!”
you don’t hear what akaashi says, but he follows. your captain calls everyone’s attention, and you look away to listen to how you’ll execute your piece.
after your run, you’re red-faced, beaming with pride, while akitani and the other boys in the shinzen team scream and yell and jump, visibly impressed. they’re silenced by one glare from their assistant coach, and the boys from the other schools snicker.
your captain looks to the volleyball teams and bows, thanking them for their time. the rest of the company follow suit, then take a seat while she asks for feedback. your coach stands next to her, listening intently.
“thank you again for your time,” your coach says, and she and the captain bow. “we’ve prepared a little something extra, so we hope you enjoy it. girls.”
“whoo, go _____!” akitani hollers at you. your teammate has to pull you back before you turn and smack him upside the head.
the music starts and the old man who introduced himself as coach nekomata roars in laughter. “wow, this song is quite old! i appreciate that you’ve thought about the enjoyment of an old geezer like me!”
it’s a happy piece, easy and meant to be danced with joy. the feeling spreads throughout the gym, some of the shinzen boys standing and clapping their hands. it’s contagious, and sooner rather than later almost everyone is on their feet, laughing and celebrating. even the severe-looking blonde coach of the karasuno volleyball team is smiling in his seat while tapping is foot.
“keishin!” coach nekomata hollers, smacking the karasuno coach’s back enough to make pitch forward. “dance with the pretty coach!”
the karasuno team bursts into laughter, and your coach’s cheeks burns with embarrassment.
“if you’re not going to do it, i will,” the old man teases, and the blonde man glares before standing up to walk to your coach. the girls in your team supress squeals, and while some got lost (like you), most of the company manage to keep it together.
almost everyone screamed when the karasuno coach and your own coach start to cha-cha, and like the rest of the team, you disregarding finishing the routine completely. you applaud as you laugh, unable to help yourself. and it becomes so much funnier when your eyes land on some of the karasuno boys, who look absolutely dumbfounded by this new development.
“what is happening,” a grey-haired karasuno boy said, laughing as he did, clutching at the chest of his 2 jersey.
“COACH UKAI!” karasuno’s 4 and 5 yelled with admiration, looking absolutely sparkly-eyed.
no one is laughing as hard as the younger nekoma coach when the music dies down, and applause drings throughout the gym when coach ukai and your dance coach take a bow. the girls squeal when he places a kiss to the back of her hand, and you place a hand to your chest, grinning wildly.
coach nekomata grins as he applauds.
you all discover that the volleyball teams arranged an extra grill so you could join in on their barbecue, and it’s the best thing in the world.
“i love food,” you groan, swallowing a mouthful of meat.
your teammate laughs next to you. “easy; you’ll choke.”
“it’s too quiet,” your co-captain complained. “can we play some music or something?”
“you can ask,” you tell her.
“i’ll ask,” your captain says, and she jogs over to the coaches. coach nekomata nods enthusiastically, grinning all the way, and some of the girls accompany your captain to grab the stereo setup from the second gym. you stay behind and grill more meat.
“hey,’ someone asks from behind you, and you turn to find the towering captain of the nekomata team behind you with a black plastic bag in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. “need more coal?”
“oh, yes, please! thank you,” you bow and step aside to let him get to work. “you’re... the nekoma captain, right?”
“yep,” he says with a smirk. “name’s kuroo.”
“kuroo!” someone hollers, and the fukurodani captain is bounding over with the tall dark-haired boy you saw earlier, and a taller, bespectacled blonde boy who seemed like he’d rather be elsewhere. “hey, i—oh, hi!” he grins at you. “what’s your name?”
you’re taken aback by his enthusiasm, but answer anyway.
“nice to meet you! my name’s bokuto; i’m the captain of the fukurodani team. this is akaashi, and this is tsukki!”
“please don’t call me that,” tsukki says flatly.
bokuto ignores him and beams at you. “you’re a very good dancer!”
“thank you,” you stammer. “um, thank you. do you like to, uh, dance? too, i mean?”
“dancing is fun!” he says brightly, then deflates, “but i’m not a very good dancer.”
“you’re not bad, bokuto-san,” akaashi says mildly.
the fukurodani captain’s chest puffs up as he turns to his friend, and you’re a little concered by the extreme mood swings. “thanks, aakashi!” he looks back at you. “akaashi used to dance competitive, you know.”
“you did?” kuroo and tsukki ask, surprised.
“he did?” you ask, interest piqued.
a blush spatters itself on his cheeks. “a little ballroom.”
bokuto turns to look back at his friend. “what’s it called? dancesport?”
“used to?” you ask. “so like youth? or junior?’
“i would’ve qualified for junior ii,” he explains, “but i’ve never competed.”
a harsh tinny sound resounded through the air, making everyone gasp and groan. “sorry!” one of the girls on the dance team said, sheepishly lowering the volume. they manage to get it to work, and music fills the air. “much better!”
“oooh,” bokuto says, impressed. “it is much better!”
“play some old tunes old folks like me can enjoy!” coach nekomata calls, and your teammate salutes. disco-era music starts to spill out of the speakers, and it’s a good song, enough to get some of the boys to sway while they ate. the atmosphere changes, it’s a lot more joyous, a lot more active, like a party instead of a get-together.
“okay, i think that’s enough,” you say, setting aside the raw meat and tongs, watching the meat sizzle on top of the newly-filled grill. you notice bokuto look a little forlorn. “do you want some meat?”
“no,” he whimpers. “i want to dance.” you look and a space had opened up near the prep tables next to the speakers, and a bunch of your teammates were already dancing, and some brave souls (mostly shinzen boys) joined in. there was a high-spirited orange-haired kid from karasuno who looked like he was having fun with some of the freshmen on your team.
you smile back at bokuto. “i can teach you, if you want.”
his face looks absolutely hopeful. “really?”
“yeah, come on.”
“akaashi!” he turns to his friend with sparkling eyes. “i’m gonna learn how to dance today! cheer me on, okay?”
“okay, bokuto-san,” he says with a nod, following you to the dance area. “you’ll do fine.”
“hey, hey, hey!” bokuto beams. “i did it!”
you laugh. “told you it was easy!”
“akaashi!” the captain looks back at his friend. “did you see that? i did it!”
“you did, bokuto-san,” the dark-haired boy says with a mild smile.
the orange-haired boy, whose name you discover is hinata, looks up at him in admiration. “bokuto-san, you’re so cool!”
the fukurodani captain puts his hands on his hips. “it’s beccause i had a great teacher!”
at that moment, trumpets start to blare from the speakers, and you recognize the song immediately. this song was perfect for partner dancing. maybe bokuto would want to go another round.
apparently, he had other ideas. “you and akaashi should dance!”
“huh?” you ask.
akaashi blushes. “bokuto-san, i don’t think—”
“oh, come on! please?” bokuto pouts. “i’m sure _____ would like a decent dance partner for once!”
“you’re not bad, bokuto,” you tell him honestly.
“but akaashi’s better because he used to do it for real,” he declares, brokering no argument. he gives you a firm stare. “go dance with akaashi.”
“why does he sound like he’s scolding her?” kuroo asks with a grin. he followed the three of you earlier as you made your way to the dance area.
hinata looks absolutely mystified. “akaashi-san, you used to dance?!”
the setter looks a little uncomfortable. “um, yes.”
“that’s so cool!”
“everything’s cool to you, dumbass,” a taller boy with a severe looking tells hinata, and the shorter boy turns to glare at him.
akaashi clears his throat. “i’m a little rusty,” he says, then extends his hand. “but one dance won’t be too bad, i don’t think.”
one of your teammates loudly gasp. “are you going to dance ballroom?” she turns to everyone and extends her arms, as if pushing them back. “make room, people! mika, play song again!”
“oh my god, shut up,” you mumble, heat rising to your cheeks when the loud declaration catches more people’s attention.
akaashi chuckles and leads you into a proper closed position. “here’s to hoping i don’t step on your toes.”
“i’m sure you’ll be fine,” you tell him with a considerate smile, and the music starts.
as much as akaashi liked to claim that he hadn’t danced in a while, you know how a dancer’s muscles would react to music. it’s much like riding a bike; it comes to you before you even notice, and you slowly come to the realization that akaashi is a very good dancer.
his feet are quick and his grip secure, leading you confidently into turns and twists, even pausing to give you time to execute a few more complicated twirls at arms’ length. he’s excellent at leading—which, you realize, is probably due to his competitive training—and the smile on your face is absolutely natural. you don’t even notice the crowd that has gathered around you, vaguely registering the squeals that punch the air at the sharp dip he pulls you into.
the grass isn’t exactly conducive to dancing, but you don’t care. you hadn’t had this much fun with ballroom in a while.
the song is over before you know it, and akaashi gracefully twirls you into each of his arms to bow to the front, and then to the back. and when he twirls you again, you can’t help but hug him and laugh.
“you’re so good!” you tell him, letting go.
he’s smiling—more than you’ve managed to witness—his hands settled at your waist. “it helps that your partner’s a lot better than you.”
your stomach flutters, and you hide your blush with a laugh.
“akaashi-san, that was so cool!” the fukurodani boys praise, while bokuto’s and hinata’s expressions are marked with wide eyes and unhinged jaws.
“akaashi! _____!” bokuto whimpers, covering his teary eyes with his forearm. “that was beautiful!”
your teammates, too, are screaming and cheering behind you, and your coach is clapping with a bright smile. you beam back, happiness filling you, your hand still clasped around your partner’s.
it’s early evening when the karasuno boys depart—hinata excitedly asks for your email so you can keep in touch—and dark when the rest of the teams leave. your coach is kind enough to let you say your goodbyes despite it not being the end of your own training, so you and your teammates bid the boys goodbye with a bow.
“_____,” bokuto calls, jogging over to you and engulfing you in a giant hug. “thank you for teaching me how to dance!”
you pat his shoulder. “it was no problem at all.”
behind bokuto is akaashi. “thanks, too. i had a lot of fun.”
bokuto pulls away and gasps. “did akaashi just learn the new move, ‘openness’?!”
you chuckle. “it was very nice to meet both of you,” you say with a bow. “i’ll see you two around?”
“we’ll visit!” bokuto says sincerely. something occurs to him, and he fishes his phone out of his pocket. “hey, what’s your number? i’ll text you!”
you smile. “sure!” you give him your number and look back at your teammates who have started to retreat back into the school. “oh, i have to go. did you get that?”
“yep!” bokuto pockets his phone and waves. “bye, _____! it was nice to meet you!”
“bye, _____,” akaashi says with a sincere smile, and you fight back a blush, waving back as they boarded their bus.
later that night, as you prepared for bed and dodged the teasing of your teammates, you notice a message on your phone.
5:44pm, 20 apr.
[So, @cinlat has been dabbling in a Sith au for her Fynta, with cameo slots available for various other characters to come hang out. And just the little bit of contemplation we had about where Ahuska might slot into this particular version of events, I wound up inspired enough to dabble with a scene! So welcome to an Ahuska who still wound up adopted into Mandalorian life, but has not forgotten/repressed her early years. Rather than their usual easy friendship, she and Fynta wind up butting heads more often than not and bumping into one another more than either would like. Apologies if I’ve gotten Fynta totally wrong, I will put up a disclaimer that I’m throwing this out here without any sort of proofing from Cinlat so she gets the final call as to the authenticity of this scene! I’ve also borrowed @askshivanulegacy’s Blakk for the ride, I think I needed a little cathartic fluff to counterbalance all the fluff-gone-wrong happening elsewhere hahahaha.]
‘Not on My Watch’
“I don’t know why you won’t just let me take a speeder…”
Ahuska lifted a hand to cut him off, raising a finger and shaking her head with a smile. It was no secret that the young bothan was soft for this particular Imperial Agent, even if her clanmates were quick to remind her that no self respecting human Kaas citizen would pursue anything more than a functional work relationship with her, a rudderless, stable-working alien.
She chose not to listen to what her clanmates had to say.
“Because a speeder won’t pull back when it feels the ice getting too thin or warn you when you cross a wampa’s path, that’s why.”
Cipher Blakk rolled his eyes and pulled the zipper of his insulated parka higher, but it still wasn’t enough to keep his face properly protected from the frankly absurd level of chill. “It’s not as though I plan to park on an ice sheet…”
“Uh huh, and you’ll know exactly what’s under the two inch layer of snow that’s just fallen…”
He huffed, and she laughed, opening the stall door against which she was leaning to lead out the young tauntaun buck she already had saddled and haltered. “Quit fretting. Thunder here is a solid ride and a soft touch, he won’t give you any problems, and I’d trust him over any autopilot to get you safely back to base if something goes wrong.”
Blakk felt some unexpected warmth rise in his cheeks, and while he wondered for the thousandth time why she cared so much that he got back safely, the buck lowered his head to snuffle through Ahuska’s hair. She raised a hand to give the tauntaun a firm rub on the cheek and horn. “Yeah, you’re a good boy aren’t you? You’ll be good for the Empire’s elite, won’t you? Won’t you my good soft woolly buddy…”
Ahuska’s ears flicked at the same moment as Thunder’s twitched, and a heartbeat later Blakk’s head turned as well, hearing the heavy rasp of an iron gate lifting.
Ahuska had been stationed on the remote Hoth outpost for the last month and a half, more than enough time to get to know the sound of every latch and door in the stables, and the animals that spent their lives here knew them even better. Her sky blue eyes turned to ice as she squinted, staring down into the lower level. “Who… oh.”
Her lips turned to a tight, flat line as she recognised the figure down below, and the coolness in her expression was enough to prompt Blakk to lift a brow. “Ahh, is something the matter…?”
“We’ll see. What is she… oh, oh no, no no no…”
The Cipher suddenly found himself with a set of reins thrust into his hands, with Ahuska taking the liberty of closing his fingers around them and squeezing tight. “What… what are you…?”
“Hold him. Hold him tight and don’t let go for a second, distract him with this if you can…” She shoved a pinkish rock of some sort toward him, and with his hands full he was forced to stoop and hold it under his chin, expression nothing short of bewildered.
“I don’t… oh, gods no,” Blakk had the profound discomfort of realising then that it was a block of salt, as Thunder pressed forward with an eager little warble and began to lick at it. He made a tiny sound of dismay. “Ahuska…!”
But she was already gone, not even sticking around to have a snigger at his predicament, darting down the stairwell rather than waiting on one of the stocklifts. “Oi! Oi, di’kut, what’n Kad’s name do you think you’re doing---!!”
The object of Ahuska’s anger turned, unnaturally blue eyes flashing with irritation, and then immediately turned back to the stall door she’d been about to open.
“Don’t you dare touch that! Who the hell authorized you to be down here and what the shab d’you think you’re doing opening straight up into the yards?” Rather than heading straight toward the Sith, Ahuska veered to the far wall where a harsh wind blustered through the now gaping entry to the outdoor paddocks, and slammed her fist against a set of controls.
“This animal is… Shen-Four-Seven, isn’t it?” Fynta Wolfe, Assassin for Sith Intelligence and Infiltration, glared at the Bothan stablekeep who stood firm in the gateway, as though she could somehow block her passage while the heavy gate groaned back shut. She cut a strong silhouette against the glaring white world outside, framed with reflected light and fluttering snowflakes.
“Star, yeah, that’s her.” Ahuska’s tone was curt. She didn’t enjoy dealing with Fynta any more than she explicitly had to. Never mind that the Sith knew far more about her than Ahuska was comfortable with, but the fact that Fynta thought she could just slip on some beskar and mingle amongst the clans as though she weren’t an out-and-out Sith grated at her terribly. The nerves struck were just… a little too close to home.
“Then she’s the one I’ve been assigned while I’m on duty here. And since I’m not here to take riding lessons, I don’t see why I need to answer to you of all people, stablekeep.”
Ahuska bristled as the steel gate locked shut behind her, putting an abrupt halt to the chill wind. “Maybe ‘cause every last one of these animals has been assigned to me while I’m on duty here, and I don’t give a damn if you’re the Emperor himself, you don’t take one outside without my say-so. Not a taun, not a vulp, not a gods-damned arctic womp-weasel! So you can take your fingers off that latch and let me do my job, or you can deal with the shab’la stampede you’re about to let loose. It’s stable master, by the way.”
Fynta knew Ahuska wasn’t the type to lie for the sake of a power trip. The bothan’s conviction and ferocity at this moment was enough to give her pause and slowly arch a brow, though her tone was flat and unconvinced. “Stampede. You mean the whole three out in the main yard.”
“Mmm.” Ahuska’s tone was equally flat, but there was something smug about the way she lifted her chin and stared down the bridge of her muzzle toward the Sith. “Those three first, if Thunder up on the balcony doesn’t fling himself over to beat them to it.” She gestured upward and over her shoulder with a thumb, toward where Blakk diligently kept a firm but wary hold of the tauntaun buck Ahuska had left in his care. The agent swiftly averted his gaze when he realised attention had momentarily turned his way. “Then the seven in the exercise yards ‘cause let’s face it, those fences aren’t gonna stop a buck in rut, and maybe the dozen in the outer…”
“A buck in rut?”
“I said what I said. I know it doesn’t look much like the seasons change here on Hoth, but believe me, there are seasons, and we’re in the thick of one right now. Your little Star there…” Ahuska dipped her head toward the stall door that Fynta remained precariously close to opening, though to her credit her fingers were looser on the handle than they had been moments before. “Is a very, very appealing little lady at the moment. She gets lead out through the back to be worked in the yards on the south ridge or not at all, and when she’s being groomed and treated in here this gate…” She slapped the metal surface behind her with the back of her hand. “Stays shut! I wouldn’t even recommend her for a mission today or tomorrow unless you were absolutely certain of no wild herds en route and let’s face it, you can never be certain of that…”
Fynta hadn’t exactly paled, but she was definitely looking less confident about taking her assigned mount out onto the slopes. She found herself feeling unwittingly grateful that the blasted bothan had been here to intercept her, and then an equal measure of furious at herself for feeling grateful at all. “Alright, alright, fierfek, just get me a more suitable animal ready as soon as you can, I’ve wasted enough time here already…”
“Of course, my Lord,” Ahuska’s grin was far too toothy, her flourished salute and bow far too exaggerated to be genuine. She enjoyed watching Fynta bite back her seething a little too much. “And let me know what shebs-for-brains gave you Star to begin with so I can have some words.”
“I’ll try to find out,” Fynta lied. No way in hell was she going to let Ahuska know that, in a bid to get herself in and out of Hoth as swiftly as possible, she might have forged a signature or two on a requisition document here and there, and arbitrarily assigned the tauntaun to herself. She straightened, stepping away from the stall, and stared Ahuska squarely in the eye. “I’ll be back in ten minutes. Don’t keep me waiting.”
She didn’t give Ahuska the opportunity to respond, making her way smartly off down a corridor. The bothan might come across as meek as a runt nerf calf most of the time, but Force be damned if she didn’t find a spine and a half where her animals were concerned. Fynta couldn’t decide whether she was impressed or irritated, and just found herself hoping that Ahuska would be able to find the same amount of backbone if anyone ever pressed her about matters that remained better left unspoken.
She really didn’t want to see another decent Mandalorian having their arm twisted into Imperial service.
Ahuska, meanwhile, had every intention of keeping Fynta waiting; she had another Agent of the Empire to finish dealing with first, and she wasn’t going to rush seeing Blakk and Thunder off soundly for the sake of a single agitated Sith. Her hackles were already smooth and the set of her ears fully relaxed by the time she made it back to the upper level, though the way Blakk’s wide-eyed gaze settled on her when she flashed him a grin threatened to dishevel her all over again.
“Didn’t give you any trouble, did he?”
“No, you were great- I mean he, he was great. Thunder was… great. Perfect. No trouble.”
Ahuska might have plenty of backbone when it mattered, but that didn’t stop certain moments making her utterly weak. She coughed into her hand, glancing aside as she took back the reins and returned the remains of the salt lick to her pocket. “Ahh, uh, right, good. Good! Where have you got your gear then? Better get him all loaded up for you.”
[And now a bonus for everyone who got this far, hahaha, have some zipped up Hoth geared little Imperials. Ahuska thinks they’re both ridiculous for complaining so much about the cold.]
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What are your favourite fanfic tropes/aus for romione?
(I’m gonna try to make my way through old asks I received AGES ago and never answered because I’m a procrastinating lump. Here’s betting I’m going to give up and play videogames all day instead.)
Oh my god, so many.
Okay so as a rule of thumb as long as it’s nice to Ron I’ll read it. I’ll read anything. I have been known to read Ron/Draco and even sacrificed my dignity and everything I stand for as a human being by reading some Ron/Snape stuff. Yes. I was THAT desperate. This is how low I’m willing to go because of sheer love for Ron.
Which means that when a fic will go “oh poor Hermione, poor Hermione who is waiting for Ron to grow up because She can see one day he could be worth it but for now he’s all dumb-dumb and inferior and doesn’t deserve Her perfection :(”, I will be judging. Judging very hard. I may not leave a comment but rest assured, my thoughts are loud enough for me.
This is 2010s mentality. This is “haha I’m so like Hermione, not like other girls who throw themselves at boys, I’m so special and girl powery :)” Horribly Bad Feminism. Fuck that. We’re doing better now.
Speaking of doing better. Recently I read something about how Ron is, paraphrased, “the brute of the Trio”, spun in a positive way since he uses his strength to protect them but, but, still... please no?
Just no! Just eff no with these takes about how Ron is a hypermasculine dudebro M For Manly™! No, no, fucking no! Just because he’s the Sulfur to Hermione’s Mercury and Sulfur represents the masculine component to Mercury’s feminine one, DOESN’T MEAN Ron is “the brute”! (”the” brute... seriously... who’s the more brutish one, the one who punches a racist in the face or the one who uses a torture curse as retribution for spitting on his fave teacher?)
The way I see him, Ron is a balance, a blend of feminine and masculine qualities intertwined close together. I LOVE that he can swear like a sailor but can only say “scarlet woman” or “cow” when it comes to insulting a woman. Some will probably see it as “hurr durr he sexist he doesnt think women can take it!!!!!!! >8C” but given that those are probably also the peeps who say “HE CALLE D HERMOANI A NIGHTMURRR!!!!!!! DDDDD8″ I’m gonna venture the idea that we don’t care about those folks’ biased, sexist opinions.
Where was I going with this... oh yes! Ok, so Ron can swear like a sailor yet couldn’t insult a girl to save his life. He’s strong physically but most of all he’s strong mentally (to put up with the way his friends treat him for years speaks a lot of his mental fortitude... and to top it off he comes back for more to boot! I’m not sure if that’s more mental fortitude or straight-up masochism though.) When he succeeds at things he gets a bit attention-whoreish but at the same time, you can see that when he’s being complimented he’s all unsure of himself and blushy and shy and you just, dude you can’t handle positive attention because you don’t know how to react to it I don’t know whether that’s adorable or the saddest thing I’ve seen in my life? He’s insecure but he’s always the first to cheer on Harry and Hermione when they’re doing something great, which speaks VOLUMES of Ron’s selflessness and of his actual character: to quote @peetamaellark, Ron doesn’t think “Harry is great, therefore he sucks and I hate him”, he thinks “Harry is great, therefore I suck and I hate me”. THIS is Ron. THIS is why Ron will lash out, not because he hates Harry, but because internally he hates himself and you can’t keep that sort of feeling bottled up for too long before... you got it, you explode.
I. Want. More. Fics where Hermione isn’t this ~oh dear~ Victorian damsel in distress who cries and Ron is the Big Strong Man who holds her with one arm and is stony-faced and goes “I’ll protect you”, please no that was old before it existed, let us have nice, realistic depictions of Ron and Hermione please.
Like, Hermione is more than capable of kicking butt herself. She IS absolutely nervous and scared and cries easily and that’s a vulnerability we NEED, but the fact that she can be super scared and crying but still hex her opponent into oblivion? THAT’s good, THAT’s excellent. It’s a very important message for girls, I think. “You can cry, you can be sensitive, you can be emotional, AND you can still kick butt”. And as important as that message is for girls, it’s also a very important message to give boys, because boys are socialized to “never cry” and that’s super unhealthy.
I love Ron’s admiration of Hermione. I love the way Ron hesitates, the way he can be cautious when he needs to as much as he can be reckless and impulsive. I love how he shows himself to be a big softie and a sweet soul. I don’t think that makes him an “emasculated doormat” (to quote a guest I once saw on FFN), on the contrary it makes him an even better man in my eyes.
You know why I love the locket scene so much? Because Ron’s tears aren’t ridiculed. Ron gets to cry about the terrible ordeal he’s been put through, and while Harry “pretends he can’t see Ron cry” because it’s more comfortable for him personally, he doesn’t try to tell Ron to “man up” or anything. His reassurance is pretty lousy but he lets Ron cry, he lets his friend be upset, and he doesn’t try to invalidate Ron’s pain. (ok, the “I thought you knew” is kiiiiinda on the way there, but it stops at that and I’m grateful for it).
I like. Seeing Ron distressed. I like seeing Ron upset and be allowed to be upset. I like to see Ron’s pain treated with respect. So when Ron is having a shit day I like to see him get a cuddle. I like seeing Ron go through horrible ordeals and break down and for his breakdown to be properly acknowledged and not turned into insensitive comic relief (ISN’T THAT RIGHT, LATTER HALF OF THE SILVER DOE????).
I mean seriously, just imagine GOF, Harry sitting in the hospital wing after Cedric’s death, Molly Weasley gives him a hug and it’s all very sad and angsty. And now picture Ginny running into the room screaming “HARRY JAMES POTTER” and punching him over and over and saying “PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER MAN, PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER” then after two pages of Harry “explaining” himself to Ginny she goes away saying “aight but if you do that shit again you’ll have to answer to me” then Harry’s friends are like “damn she’s spunky huh?” and Harry laughs and everyone laughs and this is how the book ends? How would it be funny? How would it be appropriate? How would it feel like “romance”? When Ron returns in The Silver Doe, he’s been psychologically tortured (”tortured” is the actual word JKR uses, please), we don’t need him to be hurting outside as well.
I want more accountability for Hermione. More “uh hey Hermione maybe don’t do that”. More “hey Hermione you know you think of yourself as a good person buuuut yeah actually if all good persons were like you I’d be very afraid”. More “Hermione please for the love of God educate yourself”. More “Hermione sweetie I love you, but you can’t actually learn everything from books”. CHARACTER. DEVELOPMENT. PLEASE. Don’t be afraid to punch Hermione down and tear her apart the way the best Ron fics maim and torture our poor boy. Just because Rowling treated Hermione with kiddy princess gloves doesn’t mean you have to mimic her.
So when Hermione does a genuinely shitty thing let her own up to it. When Ron is a victim let him be upset and angry, even if Hermione is the one treating him badly. Just because he loves her doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to be disappointed in her or that she’s entitled to his immediate forgiveness.
Give Ron and Hermione equal consideration. If you’re brushing off Hermione’s actions but condemning Ron for the slightest mistake, I am sure to hate it.
Okay, uh, so, those aren’t really tropes. Those are more just, guidelines I presume.
Oh, yeah, a trope that annoys me! Ron saying “you’re mine”, “my Hermione” and stuff, and Hermione just swoons and says “yours” and shiz. Ok, once in a while, why not. Once in a while. BUTT. I WANT HERMIONE TO SAY IT TOO. “Mine”, “my Ron!” and Ron swoons and says “yours, absolutely yours”. DO IT YOU COWARDS. FUCKING TAKE THOSE GENDER ROLES AND PUNCH’EM IN THE FACE.
Oh, right, while we’re on the subject of gender roles! Dad!Ron is everything. SingleParent!Ron is mwaaah. Stay-at-home-Dad!Ron is ALKZLDSJDLQSKLFJ <3. AnimalLover!Ron is HHHHNNNGG. Remember, the small gestures, the tiniest, softest acts Ron does (helping Harry get dressed when his arm is deboned, giving Dobby his brand-new sweater, praising Ginny, Luna and Neville when they escaped Umbridge), those are often those unremarkable, unmistakeably kind and sweet actions that tell us who Ron really is at his core: not a guy who’d want power at all costs, not a guy who’d give it all for ambition, not a guy who sees people as possessions, but someone kind who wants to make others happy.
Ok, I was also asked for AUs, so, uh, pretty much every AU is game as long as Ron gets treated with respect? I mean I don’t really care for Mafia!AUs or such but if you can find a way to fit good Romione then go for it I guess. Royalty AU, yeah why not but I often see Ron being made a prince while Hermione is a poor wee servant girl and like. Uuum, we’re talking about the same characters here? Hermione the highly educated girl who keeps on walking over everyone’s toes and loudly talking about how things should be done and is definitely Nouveau Riche, Ron who is a country boy who lives on a farm and is lost in the constant shuffle of his brothers, you think she should be the peasant and he should be the royal? Whaddafack?
Oh, and all the “Hermione is a Muggle, Ron is a wizard” AUs that start this way BUTT! Suddenly... Hermione... turns out... to be (wait for it!)... A WITCH! And a super powerful super talented very good one too!!!... yeah ok, yawn. It’s quite scary, actually, how often I’ve seen that plotline, but in the rare cases when it’s Muggle!Ron and Witch!Hermione, Ron never ever EVER (I mean, seriously, NEVER EVER) turns out to have been a wizard, not even a mediocre one, all along. No, when Ron is made a Muggle for the sake of AU he stays a Muggle. But when Hermione is made a Muggle she has to turn out TO HAVE BEEN A WITCH ALL ALONG OMYGAH. I can count on one hand the number of Mugglemione/Wizardron fics that actually stick to their Mugglemione premise till the end - and usually they’re one-shots.
(Also I don’t mean “Ron mistakes Hermione for a Muggle because he meets her in the Muggle world and assumes he must hide his magic from her, oh wait she was actually a witch!” fics, I mean genuinely “Hermione has been raised a Muggle her whole life, never had weird things happen to her her whole life ever, then Ron comes in and is a wizard and he does magic and Hermione wonders what it’d be like to be a witch and oh surprise! Don’t worry Hermione, you won’t have to feel not-special or mundane for long, here comes the plot contrivance to tell you you really were in fact the specialest of them all!!” fics.)
Fairytale!AU is cool. Very good. But honestly I like to see them swapped around. Ron cursed by a nasty fae to be a Beast and Hermione stumbling upon him? Neat, especially if you don’t go the boring route of “oh let’s just rehash the Disney/the original book with different names and call it a day”. But Hermione cursed by an asshole fae for, let’s say, not sharing books, turning into a Beast, and Ron stumbling upon her as she’s trying to survive in the woods (and not doing a very good job of it)? Yes, brava, chief’s kiss. Rapunzel AU where Hermione’s bushy hair turns into the most impractical, most suffocating improvised ladder ever for Ron? Hilarious. Rapunzel AU where Ron has A GIANT EFFING PONYTAIL OF THE GODS and is screaming “ow ow ow” as Hermione makes her way up to his window cringing and saying “sorry! sorry! sorry! (damn his hair smells good)” on every step? Equally hilarious. Go! Be creative! Please I beg of you
Creature!fics! Oh my god there’s not enough of those, at least that aren’t focused on a bullshit pairing! Soulmate AUs! Give me everything! I’ll even take A/B/O if you insist on making it Romione! That’s how far I’ve fallen from human decency I’ll take anything just give me some good Ron content please I beg of you
(Ah and to those that are going to say “Alpha Ron Omega Hermione :)))” well yes, but actually no. “Beta Ron Beta Hermione”? “Beta Ron Alpha Hermione”? “Omega Ron Alpha Hermione”??? HELL YEAH NOW WE’RE TALKIN)
Oh dear god I’m still not finished and I haven’t gone through everything someone stop me.
AND NOW BE CAREFUL CHILDREN, BELOW WILL BE SMUT.
Okay I don’t know if it qualifies as a trope, but. But. A more realistic depiction of Ron is usually what I’m after. All those fanfics that have Ron be “the sexy experienced one ;)))” ravishing “naive virginal Hermione ;))” is just UGH. We spent all the 2000-2010 period having fics like this, mind adding a bit of EQUALITY to the mix???
It’s just... I hate it okay? So many fics read like they’re just projection, writers who are essentially making Ron their big strong sex toy stud who's so attentive and sweet and cherishing, and so it does indirectly ends up as "servant Ron is so devoted to his goddess Hermione, providing pleasure to her while she doesn’t have to lift a finger”. The Dom!SexGod!Ron thing honestly depresses me... Since it's Ron taking care of Hermione, AGAIN. Like, he spends his WHOLE LIFE doing that already. Can we give him a break for once?
In the endI feel that it's less "Romione smut" and more "self-inserting into Hermione smut". In "real" Romione smut I think Ron and Hermione would switch roles according to what they feel like. And honestly I ALWAYS picture Ron being super nervous during Dom stuff, like he spanks her once then immediately he goes "oh my god are you okay?? did that hurt, do you want to stop?", things like that. I cannot imagine it happening any other way. XD
Ron is just... too caring, too sensitive to do stuff like hard BDSM and that kind of thing in my opinion. He’s too much of a caretaker. I understand if it’s your kink and you’re perfectly free to project and write the fic you want, I’m not the fun police, but it’s just... I don’t think that’s really what Ron would be like. I just want MORE realistic Ron.
Also I’m trying really really hard to not point fingers here but WHY is it that it’s always “Ron growled” while it’s always “Hermione whimpered” or “Hermione moaned”? Like... you know it’s okay for a man to moan or whimper in pleasure too, right? You know Ron isn’t 110% muscles and testosterone? You know Hermione is allowed to be fierce too? Hermione can 100% “growl” and be dominant and pin Ron to the wall and reduce him to a puddle of goo if you’re brave enough?
(Honestly how sexy would Ron think that is? The woman he loves is half his size yet can pin him down and ravish him. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG RON HAS WANTED TO BE RAVISHED AND CHERISHED DO YOU KNOW HE’S BEEN WANTING THIS ALL HIS LIFE)
Oooo-kay, so that’s... mostly it, I reckon. Oh also Ron has a gigantic penisraise kink (and a great penis too, but mostly a praise kink). That’s canon and that’s all.
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Worrying is stupid, it's like walking around with an umbrella waiting for it to rain.
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btw, i’m really happy with my good omens thesis statement🥰
do I look moderate to you
In which there is a party. 4k words
“I thought you weren’t holding a Masquerade.”
“Are you wearing a mask?”
Vissenta frowns at herself in the mirror. “No.”
“Then it’s not a Masquerade.” Deirdra pulls a brush through Vissenta’s hair, talking all the while. “Do you ever unbraid this and actually comb the tangles out, or do you just hope for the best until rats start living in it?”
Vissenta crosses her arms. “Those rats need a home.” Her eyes brighten when she sees Portia enter the guest room bearing a tray that holds a pitcher and two glasses. “Ooh, what’s that?”
“Water,” Deirdra says sternly, pursing her lips when Vissenta’s face falls. “Oh, you think I’m going to let you get ready for this party with a glass of wine in your hand? After the way I found you last week?”
Portia rests the tray on the vanity. When she turns toward the armoire, she claps her hands at the sight of the gown hanging from the open door. “Oh, Vissenta, you’re going to look amazing!”
Vissenta scowls. “I’m going to look ridiculous. What’s the point of the sword? Why am I going to have it on my back? Swords don’t go on your back.”
Deirdra rolls her eyes. “It’s decorative. I wanted to try at least some semblance of a theme, since everyone seems to think this is just another costume party.” She hands the hairbrush to Portia. “Pasha, sweetheart, could you help untangle this mess while I go look for some pins?”
Fidgeting in her seat, Vissenta tries to turn her head, only for Portia to grasp her on either side of her temples and steer her face toward the mirror. “Dee, you are not putting my hair up. You aren’t.”
“I am,” Deirdra retorts, rummaging through an enameled box to pluck out an assortment of hair pins, some plain and some jeweled. “How can you be the Queen of Swords with the same old braid hanging down your back?” She rests the pins along the edge of the vanity table. “Besides, the sword would get in the way.”
“It wouldn’t if I just wore it on my hip like a normal person,” Vissenta whines. “Dee, this is ridiculous. All I’m doing is a tarot demonstration, right?”
The troubled look on Deirdra’s face doesn’t inspire confidence. In fact, all it does is make Vissenta feel very, very uneasy, even more so when Portia seems to take this as her cue to hand over the hairbrush and make a graceful exit. “Dee?”
Deirdra pours a glass of water and hands it to Vissenta before pouring her own. “Vis, darlin’, we might… we might need you to give a little alchemy demonstration too.”
Vissenta’s heart sinks. “So is Sa- Alexander not coming?”
The look Deirdra gives her now is cheerful. A little too cheerful. “Oh, we can only hope he’ll show up, but I’d rather have a sure thing lined up.” She starts separating Vissenta’s hair into strands to start braiding, placing pins along the way to turn the braid into a crown. “You were just telling me a week ago about how you can make fireglass. I think that would be nice.”
They sit in silence for a long while, with Deirdra braiding and pinning and working a spell for curling as Vissenta stares into the mirror, her eyes gone unfocused as she turns the thoughts over in her mind. When she finally speaks again, her voice is small. “I fucked up.”
Deirdra meets her gaze in the mirror. “I wouldn’t say you fucked up.”
“You don’t know.” Vissenta wishes she could slump over against the table, but Deirdra’s hands in her hair keep her from burying her face in anything, and so she has to face how her cheeks go splotchy and her eyes well up as she tries to explain. “I overreacted, and I mean… who does that? Who just assumes the worst about everyone?”
“Other than you?” Deirdra finishes curling one last wisp of hair just in front of Vissenta’s ear. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Alexander has the same problem.”
Vissenta starts to shake her head, vehemently, until Deirdra seizes her by the temples and tsks. “Ow!”
“Don’t you dare mess up my hard work.” Deirdra sits beside Vissenta and reaches for a pot of pigment - something shimmery and purple, it looks like, and Vissenta automatically closes her eyes - and begins to dab color on her eyelids. “Now, what I was trying to say is that we all have things in our past that affect us. I’d imagine that being known as your mother’s ‘mistake’ would give you some trust issues and just…” She frowns. “Well, to be honest, several kinds of issues.”
Vissenta leans back, blinking her eyes open wide. “He’s what now?”
“Vis, I wasn’t finished!”
Vissenta leans back even further. “Nuh-uh. Nope. You’re going to tell me right now.”
“It’s not my story to tell,” Deirdra snaps. When Vissenta quails beneath her tone, she sighs. “I just think the two of you have quite a few things in common, is all.”
“Oh no.” Swatting away Deirdra’s hand, Vissenta stands and pours herself another glass of water. “He’s still more normal than I am. He is, Dee.” She downs the water in just a few gulps and starts to pace. “I’m just a… gods, what even am I? Armand thought I was a bargaining chip, the twins thought I was an untapped power source, and Marcelie…” Her voice catches.
Deirdra stands and pulls Vissenta into an embrace. “Marcelie did her best,” she whispers. “She just didn’t know what else to do with a scared little girl.”
“She put me on a ship with nothing, Dee, and now what am I?” Vissenta rubs furiously at her eyes. “I still only know how to fight, and I don’t know how to do anything else.”
“You do.” Deirdra lifts Vissenta’s chin up. “Darlin’, you’re smart as hell, you’re a brilliant card-reader, and you’re the best friend I could’ve asked for.” With one more tight hug, she guides Vissenta over to the armoire. “You didn’t ruin anything. You might even find you get another chance.”
Vissenta snorts, dropping her robe to step into the silvery lavender gown. “That only happens in books.”
Deirdra clasps the back of the gown closed. “Never say never.”
Vissenta has to admit: Deirdra planned a damn good party.
She’s avoiding the wine, even though she’d like nothing more to soothe her jangling nerves as the time for the alchemy demonstration draws near. The thought of screwing up what she knows is already a difficult transmogrification spell is bad enough. Best not to add alcohol to the mix. At least, not until after it’s done.
She’s also more than a little irritated at the decorative sword on her back. She’d told Deirdra repeatedly that no self-respecting Queen Of Swords would carry her weapon for the aesthetics, and yet here she is, swanning around with the stupid thing bumping against her shoulders and ass while she’s just trying to play nice and socialize.
And of course, she can’t stop thinking about Alexander, as much as she wants to not think about him, and she finds herself constantly searching for a familiar shade of red every time she enters a new room.
It’s all adding up to make her… tense.
“Shit!” Vissenta spins around, and the hilt of her absolutely useless weapon nearly knocks Deirdra’s drink out of her hand. “Ugh. See? See, Dee? This is why I need to have the sword on my hip.”
“And make it easier for you to draw at a moment’s notice? No thank you.” Deirdra’s voice is mild, but there’s tension in her own shoulders as she takes Vissenta’s hand and steers her away from a table laden with canapés. “It’s almost time for the demonstration,” she says, her voice going high and sing-song. “Last one of the night.”
“Oh, so no pressure at all,” Vissenta retorts sourly as she swipes another handful of bite-size spanakopita from the table. As she pops them into her mouth one-by-one, she scans the hall that they pass through, still looking for a flash of red. “Have you seen…?”
Deirdra looks over and relaxes a bit, an apologetic smile on her face. “Not yet. But I haven’t seen Asra either, and you know the two of them are close.”
“Hm.” Vissenta flexes her fingers and rolls her shoulders back. “Well. Guess I’d better get this show started.”
The many and varied demonstrations that have happened throughout the evening occur on small risers placed at the center of each room, with little fanfare to announce the start. Still, word must have spread that the final demonstration of the evening would be in this room, and there’s more people than Vissenta is entirely comfortable with, milling about and chatting excitedly. She holds her hand out to Deirdra. “Pebble.”
Deirdra presses the stone into her hand and closes her fingers around it. “You’re gonna knock ‘em dead.”
“Or myself.” Vissenta exhales sharply. “Actually, that’s preferred.”
And with that, she takes the small stage.
She tries to remember how Alexander explained this particular working to her, and the principles of transmogrification, and all the rest of the jargon that he still managed to make sound like a damn poem whenever he explained it to her. But when she looks up and scans the faces in the small crowd, it all evaporates, and she simply smiles weakly. “So. I, um. This is how you… make fireglass.” And with that, she closes her eyes and cups her hands around the pebble and draws on her magic.
Alchemy takes the kind of magic that she’s not used before. She has to work for it, seek it out, dive into a part of her mind that feels adjacent to wherever her more natural clairvoyant abilities exist, but is just different enough to feel as if she’s doing everything in reverse. Like if she had a sword in her left hand, rather than her right.
When she opens her eyes, just slightly, she looks down and focuses on the shimmer of purple around the small pebble. Seeing her magic take shape, take color, was perhaps the most exciting thing when she began learning from Alexander, and she wasn’t shy about letting him know her delight.
And he never made fun of her for it, or treated her like she was childish. In fact, he’d been just as delighted to watch her learn.
Stop it. It’s been a week. She can’t wipe at her eyes right now, but she can blink, and she can tilt her face up to the ceiling as she regains her bearings. Instinctively, she begins to murmur the incantation, feeling the way her magic shifts, and it helps guide her back to the task at hand. I can do this. When she looks back down, her eyes scan the crowd again.
And he’s there.
Vissenta stutters mid-sentence, and as she does so, the pebble drops into her hands. The pebble, which is halfway through its transformation, and is hotter than anything Vissenta’s ever felt in her life. “Fuck.” She hisses in pain as she drops the distorted piece of stone, its glassy surface marred by bubbles. She can barely hear the wave of concerned exclamations that ripple through the crowd as she locks eyes with Alexander.
She can’t bear to look at him for more than a few seconds. He’s started to move already, through the crush of people, and Vissenta follows her instincts: she runs.
She gathers up the skirt of her dress in her fists and hops down from the risers, ducking and weaving out of the room as well as the awkward sword jostling against her back will allow. At the door opposite of where she’d come in, and opposite of where Alexander had been standing, she finds Deirdra. “I need a drink.”
Deirdra takes her by the shoulders. “Vis? Sweetheart, are you all right? What happened with the spell?”
Vissenta shakes her head and grabs Deirdra by the wrists and begins to drag her out of the room. “Dee, I mean it, I need something to drink, some fresh air, and something to hit, in that order.”
Deirdra cranes her neck around Vissenta. “Did you know Alexander’s here?”
“Gods, he’s dressed better than you are.”
“Oh, fine.” Deirdra pulls Vissenta to the closest table laden with coupes of golden, fizzing wine and passes one over. “Do you really want to hit something?”
Vissenta tosses back the drink and seizes another. “Absolutely.” She eyes the swords hanging along the wall, sizing them up, and snatches one that looks like it might actually be useful, unlike the joke of a practice sword strapped to her back. “I’m going out to the gardens.”
It might be a tree, but gods, it’s satisfying to hit.
That’s all Vissenta can think as she swings the blade in her hand, landing blows on a tree that she hopes neither Nadia nor Deirdra are particularly fond of. She’s long since discarded her prop sword on the ground, to give her more freedom of movement, and she swings, and thrusts, and even tosses in an imagined parry and riposte.
She’d forgotten how much she missed being able to do this.
Her heart and stomach are still churning, and her head is still spinning, and she knows it’s not from the wine. The way the blows of her sword send a shock up her whole arm - force against unyielding object - helps her push it down. Because if she allowed herself a moment to stand still, a moment to breathe and think about anything other than this sword and this tree and this absolute farce of a night, she’d crumple.
Gods, she might even cry.
Her heart nearly stops at the sound of Alexander’s voice and she whirls, still brandishing the sword, the tip of which whizzes mere inches from his nose. “What?”
His eyes are wide and trained on the sword, which she still holds pointed at his face. “Your fighting form is… very good.”
Vissenta narrows her eyes. “I know.”
Alexander takes a deep breath, but he doesn’t step back, even as he keeps staring at the tip of the blade. “I…” He swallows nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he finally tears his eyes away from the steel in order to meet Vissenta’s stare. “We need to talk.”
“Do we?” Vissenta takes another step closer, but Alexander still doesn’t step back, in spite of the sword still trained at his chin. “I didn’t think there was a whole lot more to say.” Then, an idea begins to grow in her mind, and she can feel a manic grin slowly spread across her face. “Unless, of course, you want to show me how good your fighting form is.” She nods at the prop sword on the ground. “If you can beat me, we can talk.”
Vissenta counted on Alexander to give it a try. What she hadn’t counted on was the way he picks up the sword, as if he’s testing its weight and balance, and immediately takes the stance of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing.
She’s the first to move, as rash as she knows the decision might be, and she mentally curses herself for likely broadcasting her every intention as Alexander deftly blocks her first swing. “Nice form, MacRionnag.”
Something’s changed in Alexander’s face and voice and general demeanor. Vissenta notices, even as she’s doing her very best to knock him flat on his ass, that he moves with much of the same confidence he has when he’s in his lab. He’s in his element, as if he’s done this before, and she makes a mental note to ask him exactly where, when, and how he’s done this before.
No. You’re still mad at him.
The gown he’s in - clearly Asra’s doing, and Vissenta makes another mental note to thank Asra for several blessings on this day, including an advantage for dueling - doesn’t do him too many favors when it comes to maneuvering or footwork, particularly on the stairs they’ve now moved to, and Vissenta prays that she isn’t going to trip on her own hem as she ducks to take a swipe at his knees.
Alexander manages to stay upright and unscathed, though he looks a bit less steady and sure as he twists around to try and catch sight of Vissenta. “That’s not fair!”
“Lots of things aren’t fair.” Vissenta is vaguely aware that a crowd has begun to gather around them, but all she can think of is winning. She pushes him up to the veranda, waiting to see if he’ll stumble on his way up the stairs, but no matter what she does, no matter how she comes at him, he keeps his balance until they’re both on level ground. “Gods, you can’t dance but you can do all of this?”
“Not the same thing,” Alexander pants, twirling rather impressively as he tries his level best to knock Vissenta’s sword from her hand.
As the fabric that falls from his shoulders moves with him, Vissenta knows just how she can win. And it certainly won’t be fair. “How do you think I learned how to dance?” She ducks behind him, behind the falls of gauzy blue, and when Alexander turns to try and spot her, she catches the tip of her sword on them and throws him off balance. He lands on his back with a thud, and Vissenta plants her feet on either side of his waist as she tips his chin up on the end of the blade. “So, have I won yet?”
Alexander looks up at her, eyes wide and chest heaving. “‘Leannan’ means ‘beloved,’” he blurts out.
All of the air is knocked from Vissenta’s lungs, and she drops the sword with a clatter. “What?”
Alexander shoves himself up to sitting, still looking up at her. “It means… a few things. Lover. Sweetheart.” He clears his throat and shakes his head. “The leannan sidhe is a beautiful woman of the Folk who… takes a lover. And possesses their soul.” The words all come out in a rush, and when he finishes, he looks up at her again, his face gone red from more than just exertion.
Vissenta’s suddenly aware of the hush that’s fallen over the knot of people gathered around them, which includes Deirdra and Nadia and Asra. Her own face burning, she reaches for Alexander’s hand and pulls him to standing. “I have a guest room,” she whispers. “And we have to talk.”
Vissenta realizes, as she shuts the door behind her, that her dress is a wreck. The clasp in the back is just barely holding on, the filigree at her shoulders is completely askew, and there’s grass stains all along the hem.
Alexander’s outfit hasn’t fared much better. There’s where Vissenta shredded the bright blue tulle hanging from his shoulders, and the gold spaulders holding it in place look worse for the wear. Vissenta winces when she gets a look at another tear in the deep purple of the gown’s hem. “Oh, I didn’t mean to do that.”
Alexander follows her gaze. “I told Asra this was an absurd thing to wear.”
“Oh no,” Vissenta says hurriedly. “Don’t say that. It looks…” She sighs. “Looked wonderful.” When she looks into Alexander’s eyes, she sees that his gaze has softened, even as it’s still tinged with worry. “I… Sacha, I’m sorry.”
Alexander looks taken aback. “You’re sorry?”
“Yes!” Vissenta crosses her arms and starts to pace, just as she’d done mere hours ago in this same room, though it seems like it could have been days ago by now. “I mean, who reacts like I did? It was… it was stupid, and it was juvenile, and I should’ve gone into it with more…” She waves her hands in the air and huffs. “Realistic expectations.”
“Realistic expectations?” Alexander takes a step towards her, gently grasping her waving hands to still her motions, to still her anxious pacing. “I was the one with unrealistic expectations.”
“How?” Vissenta looks up at him. “How, exactly, was it unrealistic to expect me to act like a normal goddamn human being?”
Alexander looks like he’s ready to start pacing around now. His eyes are wide, even a bit pleading, and he holds on to Vissenta’s hands as if for dear life. “I thought…” He takes a deep breath. “I thought you were joking when you told me. And, and…” He lets go of her hands in order to start running his hands through his hair, as if he might start trying to pull it out by the roots, but seems to think better of it and instead sits carefully on the edge of the bed as he rests his forehead against his palms. “And I underreacted, if anything. I thought… I mean I think… I mean…” He trails off, searching for the words, still not meeting Vissenta’s eyes.
Vissenta sits next to him, unsure if she should reach out to take his hands, or rest her hand on his back, and so she simply folds her own hands in her lap instead. “Keep going,” she says, softly. “It’s just me, Sacha.”
“But you’re not just anyone,” he says in a rush. “Vissenta, I don’t let people get close, and for what I thought were very good reasons, and then you just…” He does look up at her now, his expression somewhere halfway between a smile and tears, if such a thing were possible. “You were… there. Always there, and not letting me forget you for even a minute.”
Vissenta bites her lip to keep from smiling too wide. “I’ve been told it’s one of my most irritating qualities.”
“One of your most endearing.” Alexander does truly smile now. “I mean it.”
She can’t help her disbelieving snort. “So what, I just wore you down?”
He shakes his head. “No. You…” Alexander reaches one hand up, as if he might tuck a stray lock of her hair back, and hesitates, stopping just short of actually reaching forward. “I wanted you around. Want you around. I just didn’t think I’d be able to…” He trails off again, his eyes moving to trace the features of Vissenta’s face.
She tilts her head and purses her lips. “Sacha?” When he doesn’t immediately respond, she feels her heart hammering fit to burst from her chest, and the flutter of her nerves makes her start to smile.
“I love you.”
Vissenta’s still smiling, and now it turns to a grin, and before she can stop to think, she begins to laugh. She laughs with relief, and with something more, and it takes her a moment to realize that she’s the only one laughing. Taking a deep breath, she takes Alexander’s hands and laces her fingers through his. “I’m…” She snorts, giggling again, and needs a moment to control herself before she can begin again. “I’m... sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I promise.”
When Alexander still doesn’t reply, she untangles one hand to reach up and run her thumb over the crease between his brows. “I’m happy, Sacha. Believe it or not, those are words I haven’t exactly heard much before.”
His answering smile is tentative. “So I should say them again?”
Vissenta doesn’t give him a chance. She lunges forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and knocking him back onto the bed as she slants her smiling mouth over his. Pulling back from the kiss, she looks down at him and beams. “I love you, Sacha.”
He pulls her down for another kiss, but not before murmuring against her lips: “I love you.”
Her hands in his hair. “I love you.”
His hands tracing a line down her back, sliding down the dress that’s just barely holding on. “I love you.”
Over, and over, with every kiss, every touch, every inch of fabric that slips away between them, they repeat the words, back and forth. "I love you."
“I love you.”
“I love you.”
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