#& i did not say a single unkind word to them

[aropride]

this post was a game changer for me. thank you ryan reynolds

[beneathashadytree]

A TASTE OF HONEY - SYLUS QIN X READER

Warnings : insecurities & body image issues, chubby & curvy!reader, mentions of stretch marks, body worship, praise kink, marking, very mild breast & nipple play, implied cunnilingus, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Genre : smut n loooots of comfort☹️🫶🏽

Word count : 1.4K words

Additional notes : This was a paid commission I made of a lovely OC with Sylus, and this version is just the slightly more non-specific version I took permission from my commissioner to post, so that all fem!readers can see what my commissions are like! If you’re interested let me know💗

Commissions are open here!

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Masterlist

“Another event, another dress with your name on it, sweetie.” Sylus’ grin as he walked into their bedroom would’ve almost been infectious, had her mood been entirely different than it currently was. Right now, though? His words seemed to have cast a curse onto her.

She had to fight against her growing irritation. It’s not his fault, he didn’t do anything to deserve it—unlike the majority of the times he’d earned her ire. This time, the dismayed feeling in her chest at the sight of the exquisite dress draped onto the back of the dresser’s chair was entirely because of her own racing thoughts.

“Skipping out tonight,” she simply mumbled under her breath, collapsing onto the bed with weary bones and an exhausted expression like she’d run a hundred miles. And she really had, just inside her head.

Sylus—ever perceptive Sylus—frowned at that, taking a seat at the edge of the bed beside her. “Tired?” Concern filled his eyes, and it only grew worse as she seemed to curl in on herself and burrow deeper into the mattress. “I could cancel.”

With a sigh, she shook her head “You’re Onychinus’ leader. You have to be there. My moods shouldn’t dictate whether or not you go.”

“You have the privilege of commanding me to do whatever you want. I say you abuse that right.” It was clear from his teasing tone that he was trying to get a lighthearted reaction from her, and upon receiving none, his voice turned softer. “Seriously, what’s wrong, darling?”

Her grip tightened on the bedsheet, blinking back the tears as she trained her gaze on her fingers. “I just… don’t want to wear that dress.”

Sylus was silent for a few moments, before he nodded. “Okay. Is it not to your liking?”

“Not really.” With a shuddering breath, she sniffled a little, trying to calm herself down as Sylus’ hand gently stroked her calves in a soothing motion. There was no point in getting so worked up after all, it’s always been the same. “Those types of dresses always show my stretch marks. They’re… kind of short. And tight. And weird-looking on me.”

Screw not getting worked up; her tears were dripping down her face at this point, her vision blurry and her heart heavy with each word that spilled forth. “It feels like every single one of these outfits makes my thighs look big, and my body’s not made for wearing them. It’s just… wrong, like I’m unworthy,” she choked on the last word in despair.

She could hear Sylus sighing, a twinge of sadness she’d never heard before lacing his words. “You couldn’t be more wrong.” Firm in tone, yet not unkind, her boyfriend leaned in and rubbed her forearms gently, making sure to meet her watery eyes as he did. “These dresses only show just how breathtaking you are, and how you belong by my side.” A crooked grin made its way on his face. “If anything, it feels like I have to earn my place next to you.”

“No! You—”

“See how absurd it sounds?” His deep voice was soft as he gently nudged her on her back, climbing in on top of her as his fingers delicately brushed back her hair. “I can never get enough of you. Of every inch of you. I almost refuse to believe you.” His gaze grew impossibly softer, voice even quieter, and his hand even gentler as it traced down her ear, rhythmically stroking at her neck. “But I know that really is what you’ve driven yourself to believe. And I can’t blame you for that.”

Wiping at her own cheeks, she tried her best to make herself feel less sorry. “It’s no one’s fault but mine. It’s not like anyone else has been telling these things to me.” What on earth was she doing, crying to him over dresses? Or her appearance at some stupid events? Or was it simply her body? She didn’t know at this point. All she knew was that she wanted to stop feeling so distraught over something so…

Before she could continue that train of thought, Sylus had silenced her rushing brain with a slow, open-mouthed kiss and a steady grip on her waist. Even now, he was ever the tease, nipping at her lower lip and huffing out a fond laugh as he heard her breath hitch, before pulling back. In half-defeat, he said, “Maybe I’m the one to blame for neglecting to remind you of what I think of you.”

He peppered kisses down her jaw and to her neck, his teeth grazing and sucking at the warm skin there. With a hiss, her hand reached out to pull him closer by the back of his head, and all he could breathe out against her was a stilted, “How often I think of you.” Practiced hands almost blindly pulled down the strap of her silk slip for more access, as he left his bold marks across her neck. His hair tickled her, but she reveled in the feeling even more as he traced a path down the top of her breasts.

They were heaving with the effort of having to pretend she wasn’t falling apart at the seams with his mere touch, and he let out a half-groan as his hand reached out to cup one, while he sucked more hickeys onto the flushed skin of the other. It was too much, but somehow not enough to ease the growing ache between her legs. “Sy,” she whispered, a plea in his name, quickly turning into a whimper of pleasure as his tongue boldly flicked at her nipple through the silk. “Don’t be cruel.”

“Mm. I could never. My pretty girl likes it when I indulge her, I know,” he muttered, ruby eyes flicking up to meet hers and pinning her down with just a gaze as he kneaded at her soft breasts through the thin fabric, his touch burning through her like wildfire. “Tell me where you want me. What you want me to do, to show you how I could never stop wanting you and your body.”

Swallowing thickly, her fingers dug into his silvery hair, like it was second nature, guiding him where she needed him the most. “Want your lips on me, please,” she whispered, as if it were explanation enough for the sudden dizzying heat of the room, and her eyes swimming with unwrought desire. “Tell me you want me like this. I… I need it. Need you.”

The chuckle that spilled from Sylus’ lips was lovesick, and then his large palms pushed her smooth slip up to her waist and expertly tugged down the ruined lacy underwear. “As if I could stop wanting someone so divine.” He sweetly kissed her navel, then completely diverted from his path for a second to squeeze at her thighs, hooking them up on his broad shoulders.

Even between her legs, he looked invincible—more so when he maintained their intense, passion-riddled eye contact as he suckled at the skin of her inner thighs. “So sweet, so perfect right in front of me,” he sighed, almost in just as much pleasure as she was while he brushed his thumb back and forth near the apex of her thighs, mapping out every stretch mark under his adoring touch, and giving her hips a firm squeeze as his hands wandered everywhere they could reach.

Her head was filled with cotton, all her senses consumed by him and all he was. “I can spell out just what you want me to say with my tongue instead.” The very prospect of it sent even more molten heat pooling to her core. Sylus’ tongue would be her undoing. She knew it, her body knew it, and his grin that turned wicked meant that he could see perfectly well just how dripping wet the idea made her.

That smirk was almost predatory; like she was his prey, all prepped and prettily pinned for him. It shouldn’t have aroused her so badly, knowing that he’d torture her with sheer blinding pleasure and a sinful tongue, and yet she could feel herself clench around nothing. He was her undoing, and always would be, especially when his voice was such a low purr. “And you can ride my face until you can translate every filthy word. What do you say, sweetie?”

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[charmedreincarnation]

When I say that this journey is real, and our struggles are not in vain, I am shouting it from the rooftops. A month ago, I woke up with my dream life. Obsessed with the "void state", I woke up one day being the same person but with an entirely new life. All because I chose it.

Your efforts aren't going unnoticed. The universe is always on your side. You are the universe. It's been a month, and I still feel overwhelmed with joy and wonder every single day.

I was once poor and battling depression, a reality many can relate to. But we found the law because we knew we deserved more. You can be ordinary, flawed, even unkind, but you can choose to transform and have it all. And I did just that. My parents, who were illegal immigrants working underpaid jobs, are now wealthy and respected figures. My last name alone garners recognition, and I am a socialite earning money just by being me.

I used to live in an attic infested with cockroaches. Now, I reside in a four-story mansion, complete with exotic cars, house help, cooks, drivers - all treated and compensated fairly. We also own three other houses across the United States.

I was once insecure, severely underweight, and bullied. Today, not only am I stunningly beautiful, but I am also praised for my fashion sense. I was once a dull person, but now I am radiant with positivity.

I attended an underfunded school where I was bullied, and teachers lacked resources to intervene. Now, I study at a prestigious private school that assures my entry into an Ivy League university. Finally, I am respected and appreciated.

I was lonely and uninteresting. Now, I am vibrant with a close-knit group of friends and a man who seems straight out of a Wattpad story. He's perfect, and he's mine.

This transformation happened overnight. And I've been on this journey since 2020. But how??? I surrendered to my imagination!

The void was overwhelming, but now I can easily navigate it. I was tired of giving my power away. So, I gave in to myself, to my dreams. I knew I deserved it. Even if I didn't believe it at times, I made the choice. If you desire something, it's already yours. It's done.

I didn't have a list or anything of my desires, just a vision of happiness. I didn't know what it looked like, but I knew how it felt. Now, I embody that feeling every day. My life is a series of plot twists. It's not perfect, but my worst days now are what I once prayed for. That old life? POOF It's gone. All I have is now, and I'm living it to the fullest.

My advice?

Stop seeking proof. If you're looking for proof, you'll never manifest your dreams because the only thing that needs to change is self. Doubt is a reflection of your disbelief in yourself. When I surrendered to my imagination, it didn't matter who was lying or telling the truth, because I had my truth. The burden of proof lies within you. It's called the law of assumption. You might harbor some doubt, but you must have faith like the devout. They believe without proof. You can too! We all can! Believe in yourself, and the universe will conspire in your favor!!!!

I agree! Your words resonated with me a lot. Faith, particularly self-faith, is such an important tool in shaping our realities. The ability to trust ourselves, our desires, and our potential is essential in manifesting our dream life, and it’s only so beautiful to slowly see yourself give yourself all your trust when you’ve never even liked yourself.

You're spot on about the issue of seeking confirmation from others. It's an unnecessary hurdle that we give ourselves but it’s human nature. Our truths and dreams should not be validated by anyone else but us. As you said, why should it matter if someone lied or told the truth? We are the creators of our own lives and thus, the only validation we need comes from within.

And I wholeheartedly agree with your point about deservingness. We don't have to earn our desires or prove ourselves worthy of them. If we want something, that desire alone makes us deserving of it.

More importantly I am very proud and happy for you !!!! You’re a testament of what our own imagination can do for us and I hope you only keep getting happier and happier <3!!!!

[cordeliawhohung]

Soft Spot - Part 3

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part thirteen of "soft spot"

taglist | playlist | dissection links

you're so used to the teeth that they don't even hurt anymore

warnings: childhood trauma, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past torture, threats and unkind language

wc: 4.4k

Some part of you always knew you’d see him again, but you never imagined it would be like that.

In your pitiful daydreams, you always envisioned things would be darker; scarier, even. You’d find him again in some dim corner where he would trap you and would lurk and stare until he was ready to pounce. In the version of yourself in your daydreams, you were stronger. You knew exactly what to say, how to convey how you felt, but most importantly, he would pay. He would pay for every single transgression he wrought upon you and your mother. You would never have to see him again. But it was wrong. You weren’t supposed to run into him there. Not on a perfect day like that. 

It would have been a perfect day. 

The warmth of the sun on your skin, the laughter of everyone around you; you had every right to enjoy that day. To bask in the beauty of the trees with their singing, fluttering leaves, and to soak up the fragrance of tulips and freshly trimmed grass. But behind it all, there was always something lurking. A second layer you hadn’t yet exposed. The rotting carcass of a bird nestled by the trunk of a tree. Musty hot car exhaust from the street on the other side of the park. A man too angry for his own good and his daughter petrified on the bench. 

The smell of cigarettes. 

Your eyes had no choice but to stay glued onto the man in front of you. So many years had gone by, and though his age caught up to him, that unbridled rage that festered within him was painfully distinct. It was his eyes, it always was. You could see every thought and intention that came to fruition in his thoughts, and though he smiled, you knew none of it was good. It alerted some primal instinct in the back of your mind that screamed at you to run, to fight. All you could do was place your hands on your stomach and hope Simon would return soon. 

“I don’t have anything to say to you.” The words flew out of your mouth of their own volition, like some sort of ghost had taken control of your body and given you the strength to say them. 

Your father snorted as he took a step closer to you, and you had no choice but to watch him sink down into the seat next to you. His movements were slow, frail even. There was something wrong with him, as if he rotted from the inside out. Perhaps all his wrongdoings had finally caught up with him, and you took an odd sort of comfort in the thought he looked too sick to properly hurt anyone other than himself. 

“Haven’t seen each other in years and you have nothing to say? Bullshit.” He coughed. It sounded wet, and you could make out the sticky sounds of it clinging in the back of his throat. “Though, the last time we talked you didn’t have anything to say to me but a threat.” 

He was right. A threat. A promise. Maybe both. Whatever it was, you had meant every word of it at the time when you said you would kill him if he ever hit you again. That felt like forever ago. Some other lifetime. Really, you were surprised he even remembered it at all. No, of course he remembered it. He would always remember the worst parts of you; the parts of you he could twist and use against you. 

“I still mean it,” you said. 

It was an empty promise. You knew that, and he knew that too. 

“Sure thing, darling,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ll do a whole lot of damage in… this state.” 

No surprise bloomed in your chest at his comment, but disgust did. Having to see that vile man again was already bad enough, but seeing him while you were pregnant was a different form of degradation. It felt violating to be perceived in such a disgusting way, especially by the man who fathered you. Him seeing your mother pregnant hadn’t pulled on his heartstrings to save her from the terrible fate of his fury, and it certainly wouldn’t save you. 

“So, who’s the dad? Some rich American? Surprised to see you back here after you ran off to play school girl in the States,” he sneered. 

“You don’t have the right to ask that,” you snapped.

“Don’t I?” he challenged. “You’re my daughter.” 

“I’m nothing of yours.” 

A heavy sigh left your father’s lips as he adjusted his position on the bench. You hadn’t moved an inch since he approached you, and even your son seemed to know well enough to stay dormant inside of you. 

“You always have to be difficult,” your father huffed. 

“What the fuck do you want?” you bit. Intense eyes landed on the pathetic figure next to you, and you found your hands balling into fists in your lap. “We haven't spoken for years, and you think it’s okay to just stroll up to me in the damn park for a conversation?”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said with a glare. “Remember, you were the one who cut contact with me, not the other way around, darling.” 

“Because you are a piece of shit, and you know it,” you retorted. “You’ve never been useful for a goddamn thing in your entire life. You beat my mother, beat me, and then left her to die when she got sick like she was a fucking toy you were tired of playing with. All that shit and you think you have any right to talk to me? To approach me and act like nothing happened?”

“Don’t raise your voice at me, girl,” your father warned. “I don’t give a fuck if you’re knocked up, you don’t get to speak to me like that.” 

You weren’t sure what made your body move the way it did, but suddenly you were on your feet with your back facing him. Everything happened of its own accord. The way your feet moved along the pavement. How your heart thundered in your chest so violently you swore it would break your ribs. A sense of self preservation consumed your body and its senses as it did its best to get you away from the threat of your father. You were in no shape to fight, and you couldn’t afford to freeze, so you took flight. 

But you had never been very good at getting away. 

The brutal cycle of getting caught continued in the same way it always had; with a hand around your wrist. Your father’s grip was just as unforgiving as Bukin’s had been, and the same as Eric before him. Just like all the other times, you turned to face the aggressor with a bewildered glare on your face, incapable of holding back neither your fear nor your anger. 

“How long do you think you can keep running? Huh? Before your legs stop working? Before someone breaks them?” he asked, his tone all but demanding an answer from you. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Truly?” you questioned. 

“I’m your fuckin’ father,” he retorted.

Hot breath fanned across your face and you could almost taste the rancid tobacco leftover in his lungs. It was enough to make your stomach turn, and with the anxiety pooling in your stomach you nearly puked, but you held strong as you wiggled your wrist out of his grasp. 

“You are nothing to me. Not my father, not my family; nothing,” you spat. “I know you’ve got it in that thick skull of yours that you have some odd ownership over me because you fathered me, but that’s where our relationship ends. Do you understand me? I’ve lived my life fine without you. I’ll continue without you. I’ll have this kid that you’ll see no part of. I’ll get the life I always deserved while you die, alone and unloved, and nobody will fucking miss you at all.” 

A heavy silence weighed on your shoulders as you watched your father’s face morph in front of you. He was always an angry man, but his true nature was something your nightmares could never quite capture. They could never paint the twitch of his lips or the flexing of his jaw, or the way his fingers buzzed with anticipation. Your fuzzy childhood memories paled in comparison to the real, unbridled enjoyment your father experienced when instilling fear and pain in someone. 

Maybe that’s why you never learned. Not because violence wasn’t a good teacher, but because you could never remember just how bad it hurt. Not until you were there in the maw of the beast. 

Whatever you thought was there lurking in your father’s features vanished faster than it had formed. Your father’s eyes scanned every inch of your scowl and you watched them light up with something sinister and wicked the moment they landed on the corner of your lip. A grin replaced the anger on his face as he took in the sight of that unsightly scar that still plagued the corner of your lips even after all those years, and you almost flinched. As his quiet and sour chuckle sounded, you knew exactly what he thought. He hadn’t given you that scar, which meant you had never truly escaped trouble as much as you wanted to pretend you did. 

But you did. You climbed away from that life, fought tooth and nail just to live without violence, and you made it. Each night you were able to go to bed in the arms of a man who had never once caused you harm. In the mornings you would wake up to fresh air and a chaste kiss before you ever even slithered out from underneath the covers. The only bruises that tainted your skin were ones caused by unseen table corners, not the fists of an angry man. 

Yet you knew he would never believe you. Abusers always had to come out victorious, even if that meant dipping their mind into their own delusions. You would sooner turn to dust and bone before your words would ever reach him, and he seemed to hold himself with pride over that fact. 

He chuckled again, louder that time, and looked down at the ground for a short moment as he shook his head. His eyes landed on you again with humor before he shrugged. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.” 

A large hand settled on your stomach as you felt a looming presence gently pull you away from the monster of your childhood. You didn’t even have to look up at the figure to know it was Simon; you knew him by touch alone. Your body did not untense at all even with him there, and the distilled anger was palpable on your husband. Dark eyes glared at your father, who hardly bothered to look Simon up and down. 

All it would take would be one word. Something to anger your father, to get him to lose his judgment, to get him to lunge. A vile, dormant anger inside of you wanted to. Wanted to goad your father into attacking just to watch what Simon would do. You’d seen what he was capable of. Watched him break a beast’s arm and stomp on it just to feel the bone crunch under his boot. It was so easy for him to pull that trigger and end the life of a man simply for calling you darling. If only he knew half the things your father had said to you. 

How much would he have to bleed to make it feel better? How many bones would have to break? Would it ever be enough? Could more violence ever satiate the need for revenge that stowed itself away inside of you? Did that make you just like your father? Did you even care? No, it would never be enough. There was no penance he could offer you that wouldn’t just turn your stomach sour. 

He would get his turn. One day. If you were lucky, you would never even hear of it. 

“I never want to see or hear from you again. I mean it,” you said as your eyes locked on him. 

Your father’s eyes flickered up to Simon, where he finally seemed to understand the weight of the situation. He was old; a stupid drunk with nothing to fight with but a decayed body and rotten core — something Simon could shatter in an instant. Perhaps he finally realized he didn’t have as much power over his little girl like he thought he did, or maybe his self preservation instincts kicked in, but your father finally took a step back with a shrug. 

“Whatever you want,” he said. 

It wasn’t until you were halfway back to the car that you realized Simon tried to grab your attention. Your name fell from his lips hushed and even, yet no matter how hard he tried it was impossible for him to mask the worry it was drenched with. His pace was slow compared to usual, but then again it wasn’t like you could move as fast as you would have liked. You wanted to run — run to the edge of the world and never look back, yet you were so painfully present on earth. 

“Sweetheart, slow down,” Simon said, trying to calm you. 

“I’m fine.” 

Those were the first words you were able to choke out, and you hadn’t realized how tight your throat felt until you said them. Still, you continued to push ahead, chest heaving with anxiety as you got closer to Simon’s car. All you wanted to do was go home. It seemed that’s all you ever wanted to do. 

“Who was that?” Simon then asked, still trying to pull answers from you. 

“Your father-in-law.” 

There was no need for further explanation. Simon was well aware of the horrors you had to fight when you were a kid. A storm swirled in your mind so violently even he could feel the raging wind, and rather than try and fruitlessly fight it off, he chose to weather the storm with you instead. 

The ride home was a blur with your thoughts so full to the brim yet simultaneously empty. Numb. It had been a long while since you had felt that way, and it didn’t wane until Simon unlocked the door to the flat where you pitifully shuffled over to the couch. Boo beat Simon to your side, and he instantly attempted to climb up on top of your stomach as if it were a perch and not where your child rested inside of you. You wanted to smile at him, but all you could manage was a quivering bottom lip. 

“Sweetheart,” Simon tried again as you pushed your overly zealous cat off your lap. “Talk to me.” 

Instead of sinking into the cushion next to you, he crouched on the floor where his hands quickly found yours. Every nerve in your body felt fried, too hot for you to exist properly. It traversed up your body in painful waves until the pressure built up so much behind your eyes you swore they would burst from your skull. 

“I hate him,” you said, voice trembling. “I hate him so much. It’s been years and- and he shows up now? When everything is good? Wh- When I’m like this?” 

You paused for a moment as the rush of hormones nearly suffocated you. Eyes overflowed with tears as you sniffled back the snot that started to run in your nose. You wanted to take your hands out of Simon’s in order to rub at your eyes, but his thumb running along your knuckles was too comforting for you to deprive yourself of that feeling. 

“And I want him to pay. For everything. For all the years of bullshit he put mum and I through. But it feels so far out of reach because no matter what it’s not good enough. I just hate feeling like this, so fucking useless.” 

Simon’s hands moved up from your hands, across your arms, along your shoulders, and all the way up until he cupped your cheeks in his hands. Everything felt heavy, yet he held your head high as he shifted closer to you. 

“I know it’s hard. It’s never easy running into monsters like him,” he said. “But he’s never gonna see you again. Never layin’ a fuckin’ hand on you either.”

“It’s not that, it’s just… he makes me feel like a kid and I hate it,” you said in a near whisper. 

“I know,” Simon shushed as he moved up to sit on the couch next to you. His arms wrapped around your body as he drew you as close to his chest as your body could comfortably contort. His warmth was all consuming, settling your frayed nerves as his hand traced along your waist. “I know.” 

His chin rested on the top of your head while you did your best to calm your breathing into something more manageable. That simple action — breathing — had already grown to be so difficult those days with the extra weight on your diaphragm, but the crushing feeling of being reduced into nothing but a scared little girl again was unbearable. 

“Family is bullshit, anyway,” Simon suddenly chirped. “Don’t have to keep anyone around that you don’t want. Could just be me and you, if you want. You, me, and our boy.” 

Our boy. Those words had your tears falling harder than they did before. Having a child wouldn’t fix all your problems, and you were very much aware of that fact. Children weren’t supposed to be the glue that mended old wounds, like so many people wished they would be. Yet still, an odd sort of excitement flickered at the thought that you could one day erase it all. Erase all the parts of your life, and replace it with something truly worth living for. 

Like Simon. 

Like your son. 

The prospect of no longer being your father’s daughter was an exciting one. Maybe your unfortunate conversation with him had been the universe’s way of getting you to say goodbye, though you could have very well done without one. Either way, none of it mattered. It was done. You would have a child to fuss over before long, and you didn’t need thoughts of a sour old man ruining that joy. 

You didn’t even think of your father that night as you and Simon settled in for bed. There was too much love to enjoy in the warmth of his arms as he held you close to his chest that there was no room for anything else. Simon’s hands roamed your stomach, as they often did those days, where they settled at the top of your abdomen as if waiting for a good kick. For a moment, everything was still as Boo curled up against your legs with a quiet purr, and a smile curled your lips as you felt Simon’s lips press against the back of your neck. 

Except, no matter how good things got, you always seemed to end up back in that basement. Some days it was difficult to tell if you left a piece of yourself there, or if a piece of it had clung to you even after so many years. Either way, it didn’t change the fact you stood in that room with its pale lilac walls that were still just as empty and bare as the first day you woke up in that cursed place. 

However, several items were missing from their usual spot in that room. There was no door to the bathroom in which you spent so many hours hiding in, or the bed with the quilt you had spent half a day bleeding into. In fact, an entire wall had all but vanished, giving you the perfect view of the ocean with its salty waves. A comforting freshness lingered in the air rather than the rotten scent of iron, and for the first time in years, you didn’t feel scared. 

“He’s so handsome.” 

An old rocking chair creaked in the center of the room as your mother sat rocking a bundle of blankets in her arms. The back of her head faced you as her attention was soaked up by something else, something new, and your wavering feet shuffled closer to her. 

“Who?” you asked, attempting to peer over her shoulder. 

“My grandson,” she replied with a chuckle. 

Impatient eyes peered over your mothers shoulder as you tried to steal a glance at the baby boy, yet no matter what angle you tried to get, his face always seemed to be obscured by the blanket. He was so quiet, so much so that the waves crashing on the shore just beyond that missing wall drowned out each quiet whine and sigh. 

“He looks so much like you,” your mother cooed. “Good thing, too. I was worried he’d get Simon’s nose.” 

You laughed, and it was strange. You never thought you’d be laughing in that basement. 

“Simon’s got a fine nose,” you defended. 

“Oh, I’m sure he does. Underneath all the scar tissue, anyway,” your mother teased. 

Your laughter sounded in harmonious unison as she finally looked away from your son and up at you. Her eyes shined brighter than any other time you could remember in your dreams. She looked so real it was almost like you could reach out and hug her again like you used to when you were a kid. 

“Can I see him?” you asked. 

“Not yet. Just let me have this for a moment. You’ll see him soon enough,” she replied. 

She paused as her bottom lip began to tremble.

“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered. 

“What for?” you asked. 

“Everything.” 

There was no need to ask for further explanation; it was written in her face. Despite everything that had happened to you throughout your life, there was the indomitable will to survive, even if that just meant more suffering. After so many years, your suffering finally bore fruit. You no longer had to go to sleep wondering if you’d wake up to shattered porcelain on the floor. Unlike her, you had escaped.

That’s all she had ever wanted for you — for someone to take care of you. 

Your mother’s attention wandered back to the missing wall in front of her, and your gaze followed. Fluffy clouds billowed along the horizon, and seagulls danced in the sky together while they sang to one another. That ocean was brighter than you had remembered it, like the sun had finally peeked through the clouds. 

“I think it’s time for you to go home,” she said. 

“Home?” you repeated. 

She nodded. “You don’t need to keep coming here anymore.” 

She was right. You were tired of that basement. Tired of the memories that haunted you from time to time. They would always be with you in some way, but you couldn’t wait to drown them with new memories. Better memories. 

There was no need for a goodbye, as you had said them years ago to that wretched place. Instead, your feet trudged forward until carpet turned into grass. Cold wind moved freely around your body as it beckoned you closer to the crashing waves on the sandy shore. When your feet got close enough to the water that it nearly kissed your toes, you turned around only to find the house, and its terrible basement, had vanished. 

That was the last time you ever looked back. 

Searing hot pain ripped through your body when you woke up. It rippled all throughout your abdomen in a wave so vicious it took your breath away. Boo, who had been by your feet when you had fallen asleep, pawed at your face as he purred and bashed his head against yours. The pain left you nearly incapacitated for a moment until the wave eventually waned, and it was only then that you were able to slowly push yourself up so that you sat with your legs over the side of the bed. 

Sticky sweat clung to your body with little remorse for your comfort, and you tried your best to calm your racing heart with a steady breath. In some poor attempt to assist you, Boo pawed at your aching stomach with an annoyed meow. You gently pushed him away, only for him to whine. Simon grunted, half awake yet still irked by the creature’s impressively loud demands for attention. 

Simon didn’t fully wake up until a second wave of pain hit you, and you were unable to hold back the squeaky wince that it forced out of you. The bed shook as Simon’s hulking frame tore the blankets off of his body and scooted so that he sat next to you. His hand rested firmly against your back, yet he almost retracted when he felt your muscles tense and nearly tear with the strength of your contractions. Had it not been for the little human in your womb blocking your way, you were certain you would’ve been doubled over in pain. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart. What do you need?” Simon urged. 

It was impossible to get any words out with the intensity of it all, and for a moment the only thing you could do was pant sharply as you tried to keep yourself from hyperventilating. You leaned your head to the side where it rested on Simon’s shoulder while your teeth nearly shattered as your jaw clenched. Eventually, the pain diminished once more, allowing your brain to clear just long enough to form a proper thought. 

“He’s coming,” you panted. Your hand reached up to wipe the sweat from your upper lip, and your entire body shuddered with a sigh. “Fuck, we gotta- gotta go.” 

“Okay, yeah,” Simon said. 

He slipped off of the bed to stand in front of you, hands quickly capturing yours in his. His voice was calm and even, and not even his grip trembled as he helped you to your feet. Simon was always strong. Never one to show when he was nervous. But even then, you swore you could feel his racing heart pulse in his fingertips. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

[originallandlockedmariner]

I’m nothing special.

I’m just flawed and weak as the next person. I let my emotions get the best of me at times. I’m not perfect. I read old messages looking for clues. I listen to old playlists of sad songs when I’m sad. I swear too much. Drink too much. I can be selfish and impatient. I’m a sarcastic asshole for alarmingly long periods of the day. I regret choices I’ve made, words I’ve said in anger, people I’ve let down. I’m no role model. Wow, there’s an understatement. But every day I own my shit. I’m accountable and humble. Every day, I try to just be a little bit better than yesterday. Becoming who you are is a life long journey, baby step after setback after stumble after lesson learned. Forever forward. Green and growing as they say.

I wake up and look at those four framed sentences. “Be impeccable with your word. Don’t take anything personally. Don’t make assumptions. Always do your best.” Simple and yet powerful.

Every day, I’m trying to see things differently. Gain perspective. Embrace not taking every single thing personally. Getting cut off in traffic, not personal. Waiting forever in line for coffee, not personal. It is an uphill climb getting comfortable with the concept that nothing others’ do is directly because of you or to upset you. People do what they do because of themselves. That’s it. Even when they treat you awfully or take you for granted, it has more to do with what’s going on with them than you. *insert lecture about Attribution Error.

As for assumptions, I kinda have a PhD in that field. Never met a situation, never had a conversation, never waited for a text, that I couldn’t attach an assumption to. Assumptions are generally born from misunderstanding and a fear of asking questions. Fear of what might be said. We lack courage to inquire so instead we stand back and fill the void with the worst. Draw from our past pain and create a narrative. I’m trying to break that cycle. Ask more questions. Communicate. Be clear and upfront. I can no longer assume others know what I mean or want and then get upset when they don’t act accordingly. It’s unfair to them and only serves to hurt me in the process.

I’m making integrity part of my daily practice. Speaking with integrity. Actions with integrity. And above all, avoiding the trappings of believing my own landslide of bullshit, being my own worst enemy, and justifying every blunder. Be better. Sidestep gossip and small talk. Apologize when you hurt someone. Accept that you’ll be wrong sometimes. Or in my case, a lot. Do what you say you’ll do. Character isn’t built upon what you said you’d do, but what you rolled up your sleeves and actually did.

As for always doing my best, I’m still figuring out what that animal looks like. I strive to be helpful, but sometimes when you’re always available, they take you for granted, not because they are selfish or unkind, but because they think you’ll always stay. Let them miss you for a while. This goes against everything I am but makes sense. I’ve also learned that there is no shame in being broken and anxious and sad. Be whatever you are right now. No need to make excuses or try to minimize the hurt, deny the confusion. You cannot learn about yourself if at first you aren’t frustrated and confused, the hard questions are born from this. You cannot heal without first being damaged. So be broken and anxious and sad. Cope however you need to; as long as you need to, for there is no instruction manual for this, we all make it up as we go along. Day by day and more often, minute by minute. So as for my best, I guess it is just knowing that when I put my head on the pillow, I gave all that I could, was kinder than I needed to be, inspired a few, and made sure the garage door is closed.

I’m nothing special. But I didn’t lose my shit on the drive into work, didn’t assume sporadic texts were anything but a busy day, and a couple people told me that they are grateful for me - so I’m gonna just go ahead and chalk today up as a win.

@originallandlockedmariner

[yo-yo-yungi]

MY LOVE, MY GRATITUDE - JEONG YUNHO - SFW

Yunho x reader

Genre: angst

Warning list: Angst- so you know, it ain’t happy. Mentions of a fall (no serious damage), mentions of a scar on the readers knee, mentions of food

Word count: 583

Summary: sometimes letters are made to be sent. Other times, letters are for the words we regret never saying.

Dear Yunho,

I wish I had sent this letter years ago, now it's too late. How am I supposed to confess when you look at her the way I look at you? Why did it take you only 2 months to ask her out, when I've been waiting for 10 years? Yunho, I've known you for so long, seen the good, the bad, and the ugly (yes, like the cowboys - yes, I'm a dork). We've known each other since we were 12 - is that the issue? Do you see me as a sister? I doubt it, especially since you kissed me at the Halloween party. Yes, you were drunk. No, I never mentioned it. But have I been thinking about it every second of every day since then? Yes.

I frequently revisit the photos of you stored on my phone. There are over 1,000 of them... you always had a habit of taking selfies whenever I left my phone unattended. Oh how I long for you to do that again.

When I look at photos, they can't compare to a single glance at you. Your beauty cannot be fully captured in an image; it's not the same as seeing you in person. Could you walk past me one last time? No need for a sly wink or even a glance my way, just walk... I'll be watching.

Did you watch the sunset with her as you did with me? I should have confessed my love to you then, should have expressed how those moments meant everything to me.

The little moments with you are etched into my memory like sacred scripture. I can’t look at a tulip without remembering the time you got me some for my birthday, I can't look at a toothbrush without remembering all our childhood sleepovers. Yunho, even my own desk brings back memories of you falling off the chair. But… worst of all, the one that bothers me the most… I can’t look at myself without thinking of you. You changed me, both physically and mentally. Like that scar that graces my knee from when you pushed me a little too hard and I fell to the concrete… I’m sorry by the way, that was my fault… I shouldn’t have said the cupcakes you made were ugly. I loved them… truly. Every time I see that mark on my knee I think of you. It’s not fair…

Whenever someone mentions my considerate nature, I think of you, because you were the one who taught me that. Before I met you, I was unkind and harsh. Why did you give me a chance? You, this beacon of positivity, why did you give me a chance? Is it selfish to wish you hadn't? Because now I'm left with an emptiness in my heart. It stings like a fresh wound - I understand this may not be the best metaphor, but I don't care.

Yunho, I'll put it simply-

I am absolutely, desperately, unconditionally in love with you and everything that you are. If I can turn back time and tell you how I felt before you met her- I would- but I can’t do that now… it’s selfish. You taught me that selfishness isn’t a good look on anyone.

Since I can't express my love for you, I'll express my gratitude instead. Thank you for shaping me into the person I am today. I'm also grateful for the lessons you've taught me about love. I'll cherish these memories forever.

<3

[dragon-kazansky]

Symphony of dreams

Morpheus x Female Reader

Once upon a time, a loving sister gave her brother a gift. That gift would be the most important thing he ever had, but it took a while to get there. Dream had no intention of falling in love, but when he fell, he fell hard.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Warnings: Cuteness overload. A single use of Y/N.

Chapter Six - When the stars aligned

☆☆☆

Loneliness was not something Dream thought much about. He was very much focused on his role as the Dream Lord. There was not much else he took pleasure in.

Death was fond of humanity. All their quirks, wishes, and pleas. Each one was unique and different. They reminded her of her own family. Each with a different role to perform.

When Death looked at Dream, she saw the loneliness buried deep within but knew better than anyone, not to mention it. Yet, she couldn't ignore it. How could she pretend her brother was not suffering in silence.

Death swore to herself she would change this. She would help dissolve his loneliness. At first she attempted to simply spend tike with him, but she soon realised it wasn't enough.

As humanity began to grow, and learn, and love, she saw what he needed.

What could be more romantic than dreaming of love? Human or not, every living being was capable of such an emotion, even if they denied it.

To deny love was to deny yourself the pleasure of experiencing such feelings.

Dream pushed such feelings away.

Not any more.

Death was determined to find someone special. To find him his soulmate. He would know what happiness was in its purest form.

Death gave him a gift.

You.

A woman so warm and pure. You were not judgmental. You did not hold ill feelings without reason. You were not cruel, unkind, or dishonest. You were pure. You were true. You were perfect.

Death visited you with a wish.

"My brother is lonely. He does not know love. I want you to show him."

You had listened to her request.

☆☆☆

Dream had no idea why he had been summoned by his sister. When he came to her, he was not expecting to see her with anyone. His eyes lingered on you for a good few moments before he sat down in front of his sister.

"Brother."

"Sister."

The two looked at each for a moment. The silence was strange, heavy. Death smiled. You relaxed.

"What is it?" Dream asked.

"This is Y/N."

Dream turned his blue eyes back to you. You stated back at him. He was not quite what you were expecting. Long dark hair, sharp eyes, and sharper cheekbones. His skin was pale and smooth looking. His lips turned down in the corners as he looked at you.

"And?"

"I am giving her to you."

"I do not require a slave."

"Not a slave, brother."

"Then what?"

A few moments of silence pass between them. You remain quiet, watching.

"A companion?" He asks.

"A friend," Death smiles.

"I do not need friends."

"No? She is quite something. I think you'll grow fond of her. Quite fond of her."

"What are you implying?"

"Nothing," Death says, looking at him.

"You do not fool me, sister."

"Nor am I trying to."

Dream's eyes glide back over to you. You have not said a word. You have been watching, listening. He looks you up and down, not so subtly. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

He was so intimidating.

How were you supposed to show him love? This would not be easy.

"My answer is no."

Death sighs and looks at you. "I'm sorry about my brother. He is a moron. He will see sense."

Dream narrows his eyes slightly at you both.

"I understand." That's the only thing you say. You do not speak again. Dream does not want you. He knows Death knows he does not want you.

However, his sister was nothing if not persistent.

☆☆☆

"What are you doing here?" He asks, seeing you standing in his throne room.

"You sister let me come here."

"That was not her decision to make."

"I am sorry."

Dream looks at you. You avoid his eyes. Your hands are entwined in front of you. You look guilty.

"Jessamy will show you the way out."

"Jessamy?"

"My raven."

The raven in question came flying in and landed by your feet. She looked up at you with curiosity. Her master gave her a look, and she understood.

You looked back at Dream.

"Your sister told me you would try to get me to leave. She said to hold my ground. So I shall stay."

Dream narrowed his eyes at you.

"And who are you to defy what I want?"

"No one. I am no one of significance, but your sister is kind, and she asked me to do something. Do it, I shall try." You stand there determined.

"Do what?"

"Show you love."

Dream goes quiet. Your words go round in his head. Show him love? Nonsense. What would Death get out of that?

"Pity."

"Hm?"

"Does she pity me?" He asks softly.

"I do not think so. I think she worries."

"Worries? What for? I do not ask for such pointless things. My realm and I are doing just fine. She need not interfere."

"I do not see it as interfering," you say.

"Then what do you see it as?"

"An experience."

Dream falls quiet again. He regards you cautiously. A few moments of silence pass before he turns around and walks away.

☆☆☆

You stand on the bridge to the palace, looking out at The Dreaming. You have never seen anywhere so beautiful before. All these magical and wonderful things.

Dreams. Adventures. Stories.

It was wonderful. It's just simply wonderful.

"You may leave. You need only keeping following this road."

You do not turn around as he approaches from behind. You keep your eyes on the wonderful things around you. The bright sky, the dragon above you, the fairies flying over the bridge.

"I have no intention of leaving."

Dream looks at you. His face does not give away anything, but if you look hard enough in his eyes, you may catch a slight glimpse of amusement.

"No?"

"I was given to you by your sister as a gift. It would be rude to return a gift."

"People are not usually gifts," he says firmly.

"I'm special."

"How?"

"I shall live forever."

He looks at you curiously. Immortal? You truly were a gift then. One his sister intended for him to have forever. How interesting.

"I see."

You turn to look at him. "Can I explore?"

"The Dreaming?"

"Yes." You smile. "Can I see your realm?"

"Fine, but be careful. Dreams are not the only things that roam my kingdom. There are plenty of nightmares too."

You stare at him. "I am not afraid."

His lips twitch. "No?"

"Will you not guide me around your kingdom?" You ask.

"No."

You appear to deflate slightly. His rejection puts a damper on your mood. For some reason Dream does not like that look on you.

"Do as you wish."

With that, Dream walks away.

☆☆☆

You walk into the throne room and look up at the tall stained glass windows. Just below them sits a throne. You stop at the bottom of the steps to see the king sitting in his throne with a book in his lap.

"How was your walk?"

"What are you reading?" You avoid his question.

"A book."

"Yes, but what book?"

His eyes lift from the pages and focus on you. He closes the book carefully and holds it up in one hand. "Your book."

"My book?"

"Your life. I wanted to know where my sister found you and why she brought you to me."

"I told you."

He says nothing. Dream puts the book down and stands up. Slowly, he descends the stairs. "Do you know what I am? What my sister and I are?"

"You are Endless." You confirm. Death had told you all you needed to know. "There are others too. You are siblings."

Dream says nothing as he comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs.

"You are Dream. The lord of dreams and nightmares. When people go to sleep, they come here. You keep their dreams alive."

He remains silent.

"I think that's wonderful."

Dream looks like he wants to say something, but his attention is drawn to something behind you. You turn to fine Lucienne waiting to talk to her king.

You excuse yourself.

His eyes follow you.

☆☆☆

You have been in The Dreamkng for a little while now. Dream has since stopped suggesting you leave and find his sister. He just let's you be. He does not spend much time with you.

Dream works a lot, you have discovered. He puts a lot of his time into his realm and his duties. You do not see much of him. Just fleeting moments here and there.

One day, you find yourself in a gorgeous field. Grass so green it looks impossible. Trees so tall they do not look real. Life thrives in this meadow.

"How did you get here?"

You turn slowly and find the Dream Lord watching you. He looks so out of place here.

"I was walking and then... I was here."

"Impossible."

"Hm?"

"This is Fiddler's Green. Not just anyone can be here." Dream looks at you curiously. His mind is running with thoughts.

"I told you. I'm special."

Your smile stirs something deep inside him. As he looks at you, he feels like he is seeing you for the first time. True beauty in its purest form. He has never felt anything quite like it.

"What are you?" He asks.

"Human, or I was."

"Why did my sister grant you immortality?"

"So you would never be alone."

"Why?" He asks. He almost sounded like he was pleading.

"She wanted me to show you love."

He stares at you. He feels... lost.

"What is love?"

You smile again. Dream can not look away. Your smile is... beautiful. Why was something so small affecting him so much?

"Let me show you."

☆☆☆

Everything you did was unexpected to him. You had reached for his hand and did not let go. There was a smile constantly on your face as you walked with him through his palace.

He had never just walked through his realm before. He normally walked with a purpose, a job to do. You were walking with him simply because you wanted to.

"What are we doing?" He asks, not once taking his eyes off of you.

"Just walking."

"Where to?"

"No set destination. We're just going to walk together."

Your hand was smaller than his. So soft. So gentle. So warm. He glances down at your entwined hands, fascinated by the way they looked together.

"Sometimes you just need to walk and see."

He doesn't say anything as you both keep walking.

"What do you wish for?" You ask him.

"I have no wish."

"Everyone has a wish."

You look at him to see his expression as stoic as ever. Those eyes were hard to read, but somehow, you could understand him.

"Do you want to know my wish?"

"I feel you will tell me either way."

You giggle.

"I wish you were happy."

Now that caught him off guard. Of all things he thought you might say, that wasn't one of them.

"Who says I am not?" He asks you, his voice stern.

"Your sister. I also see that loneliness in your heart. Is it such a bad notion to let someone in?"

He stares at you.

Perhaps not.

"I don't need someone."

You smile.

Yes, you do.

☆☆☆

Dream sits with his back up against the tree. Your head rests in his lap. He's not sure how he came to this, but here he was. You were looking up at him with bright eyes.

"Do you not believe in love?"

He looks down at you. His lips slightly parted. You ask him the most strange questions sometimes.

"Of course I do. It is a fundamental part of human life."

"What of the Endless?"

"We do not need it."

"Is that what you think? I don't agree with you. I think you're scared of falling in love with someone."

"Scared?"

"Yes. It's foreign to you. You're not used to receiving it, nor giving it."

He states at you silently.

"I have so much love to give," you tell him. "Can I give it to you?"

Dream finds himself unable to think. He feels his heart racing in his chest. Why do you keep making him feel like this? What is this spell you have cast on him?

"Why?" He asks.

You smile. "Because I want to."

Dream states at you, breath caught in his throat, thoughts running wild in his head.

What if he let you?

What would happen?

☆☆☆

You smiled as you ran up behind him and hugged him from behind. He was startled by your sudden hug. Your arms wrapped around his torso and settled on his chest. He could feel you hide your face in his back.

Slowly, he reached up and placed his hands over yours.

"You sound happy."

You smile and look up, but remain behind him where he can not see you.

"I am."

"What happened? Why has such happiness befallen you?"

You chuckle.

"Jessamy told me something."

"Did she? What did she tell you?" He asks, curious about what his raven was sharing with you.

"She told me you were jealous when I left to visit Death. She said you were lonely without me."

Dream says nothing. He does nothing.

"Did you miss me?" You ask.

More silence.

"I'm back now. We can spend some time together. Shall we visit Fiddler's Green again?"

His hands remain enclosed around yours. A small smile appears on his lips.

"Yes please."

☆☆☆

Dream was in love.

You were dancing among the flowers singing a happy tune. You were so carefree and happy.

He was falling in love with you. Hard.

You took a deep breath, taking in the fresh air. The sun was shining down on you. This was your dream. It was beautiful, just like you. You looked... phenomenal.

You stop when you catch him looking at you.

You have been living in his realm for quite some time now. You had made this place your home. You belonged here, with him.

He loves you.

His heart yearns for you.

"What is it?" You ask, looking at him.

Dream walks over to you slowly. You stand there watching him. You're trying to read the expression on his face, but it is unlike any you have seen on him before. He reaches out and gently pulls you closer by your waist.

Your cheeks tint pink. You can feel your heart racing.

"Marry me."

Your eyes widen. You stare at him. Did he say what you think he said? You're not quite sure. He's staring at you intensely.

"Huh...?"

"Marry me," he says again, even more firmly.

You stare at him for a moment before you smile and wrap your arms around his neck. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes.

You take the chance to kiss him.

He loves you.

☆☆☆

You look up at your husband with a smile. He smiles back at you. His arm is snug around your waist as she holds you close to him. The light filters through the stained glass windows, casting you in a beautiful glow.

"You're beautiful."

You blush softly.

"You're beautiful," you tell him.

Dream paused. He had never been told that before. He began to smile again.

"I love you," he whispers.

You smile and caress his cheek. "I love you too, Morpheus. Now and always."

Dream leaned into your touch.

The Dream Lord did believe in love. He believed in your love. He would have to make sure to thank his sister when he saw her next.

For now, he was going to show you just how much he loved you.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @mischievousvillainy - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy - @emarich7 - @lollipopsandlandmines - @mouth-whore -

[scaryspears]

Earth 42 Miles x Telekinetic Autistic (Black) Reader

Notes: The Reader was inspired by Carrie. Why? I wanted to do a black reader with super powers, but I didn't want to write her like other black readers have been written with 42 Miles. I just can't relate with how they speak or the situations. This isn't to say she will be a sweet, precious thing, just odd.

You had a bunch of issues. First, you were a target for harassment, verbal most of the time. Vandalism was rare, but it did often happen. Your locker would be painted with unkind words, and a pencil would be missing from your pencil case and you could never point out who took it but you always had a suspicion. It wasn't too bad, depending on who you compared yourself to, but it still hurt. It was still bothersome.

You had to wonder what made you such a great and easy target in the first place. Your habit of wearing the same clothes everyday, sleeping in class, and taking things too literal. Even worse, you were too gullible. A genius would've just said these were your autistic traits, but too bad you didn't know that at the time. The many times you attempted to be different didn't work out, always setting a standard. So you gave up, counting the days until graduation. Hoping that it would come sooner than expected.

There was only one worthwhile thing in school and that was art class. Not too many people present. You weren't amazing with drawing or art in general, fairly decent, but it was the only class with any peace in it. The least judgemental lesson. In every art class you sat behind Miles Morales, and you would find yourself staring at his back. At his pretty braids.

You always liked boys with long hair, and Miles was no different. This day was no different, quiet as always and slow. It would be most preferable if you didn't make your crush obvious.

"Are you going to keep staring at me or are you gonna look away?" You heard him speak. He didn't even have to look over his shoulder.

You blinked hard, "Hmm?"

"You're staring. Stop." he didn't sound angry from what you could hear, but his tone wasn't pleasant either.

You immediately did as he asked. You tried to focus on your sketches, drawing pictures of magical girls from your favourite childhood cartoons, then drawings of more serious things. The Prowler had been on the news again, reporters painting him in good and bad light. He saved two teenagers from a burning building, others say he caused the fire. But teenagers always did stupid things, and you would know from being one. Just thinking about it made the windows crack a little.

"Look at the windows!" one of the boys spoke, pointing.

Everyone else, except Miles, either got up to have a closer look or sat in wonderment from their seat. You feigned surprise as best as you could, you've long since learned that you weren't good at faking expressions. The teacher ordered everyone to start packing up, safety being the number one priority. There was no reason for the windows to break by themselves, and you contemplated if you should stop.

As you stared at the window you slowly started packing your equipment, watching the cracks reach the corners and edge until every single one of them smashed entirely. It was like lifting an eyebrow, some could do it naturally and others couldn't.

"Alright, everyone out!" the teacher called.

Your classmates were already rushing out of the room, but only Miles remained sitting while you stood looking at the broken glass on the ground.

"[LN], Morales! Time to go!" the teacher called.

You left the room, but halfway through the door you heard Miles say behind you, "Serena had a party last night."

You started fiddling with your top, dreading what he would say. "Okay."

"What were you doing that night?" he asked coolly.

That party. That damned party.

"I got invited, and then I left." that was the truth.

"So you weren't there, when Jordan..." he grabbed your arm, "Threw his drink at you."

That's not all that happened. They threw food at you, and your clothes became stained. You dressed special for that day, hopeful, unfortunately expectant.

"I..." you tried to pull your arm away.

"How did that fire happen?" he turned you to face him. You averted your eyes. Miles' eyes were beautiful but the way they bore into your soul was most unkind.

You had heard that artists were weird. They either did weird things or had something weird about them. Maybe this was another occasion. You tried to forget about these powers. Even though you have embraced that there was something wrong strange about you.... you couldn't help the need to be decently normal deep down. Now these powers just had to bite at your behind.

"What fire?"

"Don't play stupid, you've seen the news. Serena and Jordan are now in the hospital, the others might still be in a coma."

"How is that my problem?" you asked, your cruel side demanding attention.

Miles was mildly impressed with your response, the grip on your arm loosening. "It isn't," he admitted, "I just know the fire wasn't natural."

"I don't know what happened to them."

He let go of your arm, "Fine."

You walked away.

If you ever wanted to grab the attention of Miles Morales, you didn't want to grab it like this. You weren't sure if your classmate suspecting you of arson should be something to worry about.

"I can't blame her if she did do it, I mean I don't think I should go around killing my classmates, but can you believe they decided to live stream it?" Miles removed the screwdriver from his claw.

Miles' uncle, Aaron, sighed, "Kids as old as you run wild, boys most of all. Girls are different, they go out of their way to plan stuff. I don't know what to tell you."

"I worry about her, tio. She really didn't do anything to... warrant that behaviour."

This, Aaron knew what to say to. "Sometimes people don't need a reason to do something, they'll just do it. That hazing thing was a classic example of that." he tossed a drill to Miles, "Was there a chance she got any clue what they were planning?"

Miles shook his head aggressively, "I don't think she understands basic human interactions even if she tried, I've seen how she is. All they did was smile in her face when they invited her. Smiles are a good thing, and it takes her a while to pick up on the fact that she's getting made fun of."

"Look out for her, then. If she really has something to do with that fire like you suspect, then this could turn bad. Women can be crazy, Miles."

"Okay. I will, tio."

Some days passed since the minor interrogation with Miles, and though he seemed to pretend you no longer existed, you could feel his eyes on you. You tried to be on your best behaviour, and you've had better control of your powers ever since he brought up the incident. You didn't want to be suspected of a single crime.

Upon this suspect-tion came sleepless night, which led to sleeping in class.

"[Name]." sounded faint, like the screams that only felt regret from fear and not guilt.

"[Name]." it was louder this time. A warning for your attention. You search through the heat for where it was coming from.

"[Name.]" This time there was no mistaking it, this voice was not from the dream.

Wherever you were, there was no escaping that fire. Although you had gotten so used to the dreams, you couldn't help your eyes tearing up. You made sure to turn your face away from whoever had shook your shoulder.

You weren't sad or scared, but you couldn't help it. Something about being unable to regulate your emotions.

"[Name.]" the person hadn't left, and now that you were no longer as sleepy you recognised whose voice it was.

"Hey, Miles."

"Hey." he greeted.

He hadn't moved back to his seat, so you looked up to his face, waiting for him to potentially say more, this time not averting your eyes.

He did have more to say, "You're a Tokyo Mew Mew fan." he looked down at your sketchbook, which was still open.

You quickly covered it with your arms, glaring at him. Daring him to say something about your long lasting interest.

"I'm going comic con this Saturday. Do you wanna come?"

His face, and his eyes, were kind. But you couldn't help suspiciously being on edge.

"I don't know." left your lips quicker than it usually did.

He didn't appear disappointed, judging by the lack of expression on his face. He glanced to the side, "Class finished five minutes ago, by the way."

So that's why it was so quiet.

"Can I walk you to lunch?"

Yes. No. What was the correct answer?

"I don't know." you couldn't come up with a better response.

For whatever reason he smiled, or smirked(?). For better or for worse.

"Come on, I'll make sure you get there safely."

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Feeling cute, might do a part 2.

[vonpharma]

ok, well, this is kind of ridiculous and sad, but the husband of one of the sicktember mods is now harassing me on my personal blog for giving some pretty lukewarm criticism of the event in the past few years. i have not picked fights with anyone or tried to incite any kind of ire myself, just been professional and upfront with how much it's sucked to fall out of love with my favourite writing event. i sadly deleted the more vitriolic response i got from them, but here is what they left on my post:

again, i cannot stress enough, i have not contacted the mods in any capacity! i have not left any tags on their posts, i have not interacted with them except last year to ask permission for a spinoff blog, all my thoughts & feelings have just been on my personal blog.

in 2022, i filled every prompt for sicktember, totalling at 92 thousand words total. in 2023, i did the same, at 118 thousand words. i adore this event, so much so that i complete it every year despite my busy work schedule. it has always been my absolute favourite--the accessibility of it, the community, the prep time, writing with people who love the fic trope as much as i.

i am not just some rando. i am not just some bad actor, here to incite drama. i am a fan of this event who has been consistently supportive and celebratory, using my large following to both plug said event and rope my many servers and friends into it. in fact, in 2022, my friends and i wrote more fills for our fandom than any other:

that is us. i counted, and only 4 of the fills in the aa tag are by people not in my immediate friend circle.

i love this event enough i have physical books of all our fills:

...and this isn't even all of them, this is just how many i could afford to make at the time. i don't know how to prove that i am a savant for this event, and a passionate supporter. not from day one, as i didn't know of it until 2022... but definitely for the long-haul.

it is really unfortunate that this is the response the fans of this event are getting. in my initial post i talked about how resistant to feedback the event runners are are, but now we are getting full-on attacks if we don't blindly worship every aspect of said event and kiss the event runners' feet.

a word to the wise: when you run an event, it is not so black and white. it is not just two sides, where one is "i am spending time and effort on this thing i love and how to best share it with others, so i do not owe them anything." and the other is "i must bend to the whims of everything my fellows ask!" there is nuance in the middle, where you can keep firm in your ideals, protect your free time, and still listen to what your community is saying. compromise is a wonderful skill to learn.

either way, sending your friends & family to pick fights with the disappointed or barely critical fans of your event on their personal blogs is wretched behaviour regardless. i am not interested in petty internet arguments with people. i am interested in making my feelings known with the hope that maybe something can be changed. whether that be that the mods loosen up to community feedback & try to open a dialogue, or some folks who feel similarly to me take it as inspiration to make their own sickfic-centric prompt event, or nothing happens at all--it doesn't matter.

but this is literally my personal blog. where i post my personal feelings. if you don't like them, ignore them, scroll past them, block me if you must.

i have 3000 words of sicktember prep in another window and wholeheartedly plan to attempt my best to stick to my record of doing every single fill and having a blast. but if another event comes along, and the mods of this one don't intend to change how they interact with their fans, it won't really be a contest where i go from there.

this is not a call for harrassment, please do not act unkind or bother anyone involved here, i'm just sad man. and i figure if people are gonna start attacking more outspoken members of the community, y'all might want their usernames to block.

as always, i will keep on writing for you guys.

[feralbutfluffy]

49: Aziraphale

Chapter 49 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

******

Aziraphale watched Muriel leave with a growing feeling of anticipation and dread.

He was going to kill him.

He was going to kill him.

The room was quiet as they both listened to Muriel’s footsteps disappear down the corridor. They heard the front door close, and then there was total silence.

Actually, Aziraphale thought, probably better to first let the silence stretch until Crowley was writhing in discomfort, and then kill him.

He stared straight ahead and tapped his fingers against his thighs.

The silence drew out…

There was a rustle of fabric from Crowley’s corner as he adjusted his position.

… And out....

A soft thump on the back of the sofa as Crowley let his fist fall against it.

… And out… 

More uncomfortable shifting. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows slightly and bit back a small smile. He knew Crowley well enough to identify the obvious signs of the former demon’s increasing agitation.

It had barely been two full minutes when Crowley cracked. “Did you have something to say?”

“Absolutely nothing,” said Aziraphale primly.

“Well you’re being weird. And you’re making me uneasy.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows slightly higher. 

“Ah. Right. Making me uneasy is the point. Got it.” A pause. “Bit unkind of you, really. Didn’t you hear Muriel? I’m injured! ” The last word was said in an exaggeratedly pained voice.

“What you are,” muttered Aziraphale, “is insufferable.”

“Oh relax!” Crowley scoffed. “All I did was tell the truth. Although I understand your discomfort; I know historically that’s been quite difficult for you-”

Aziraphale refused to rise to the bait. “You and I both know you only said it to make trouble!”

“Troublemaker, that’s me alright,” he said, and Aziraphale couldn’t identify the tone in his voice. Then- “ ‘Silly .’ Really?” 

Now he sounded irritable.

“I was downplaying it for Muriel’s sake.”

“Thought we were making progress.”

 “We were. We are!” He exhaled. “You’re overreacting.”

There was a loud rustle, and Aziraphale glanced over to see Crowley’s wings were out, fluttering and fluffing and finally settling, falling over the armrest to drag on the floor. The iridescent accents of his sleek black feathers were in stark, beautiful contrast to the plush softness of the suede. Crowley was craning his neck, trying to examine them as best he could without standing or using a mirror. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” he said roughly. “Just wanted to take a quick look.”

Killing him would have to wait.

Aziraphale got up and approached Crowley. “I could look at them for you?” he said delicately. “The contortion required for you to see them is probably quite beyond what you’re capable of at the moment…” He reached out-

Crowley flinched. 

The movement was minute, but Aziraphale caught it. And Crowley caught him catching it.

“Sorry,” Crowley said quickly. “Didn’t mean to. Reflex. Sorry.” He swallowed hard. A tinge of colour appeared high on his cheeks. 

Of course.  

Last time Crowley had seen Aziraphale near his wings, some sadistic angel had been wearing his physical form and causing him a great deal of pain. Of course he was skittish. Aziraphale looked down at his friend’s uncomfortable, unhappy expression and his heart twisted in his chest. 

“It’s me, Crowley,” he said. He reached out to place a hand on his shoulder, then thought better of it and let it fall to his side. “I won’t hurt you. I would never…”

Crowley slid him a wry look, making Aziraphale reconsider what he had been going to say. He modified the sentence, adding a single word to make it honest.

“I would never hurt you intentionally.”

“Yes. Sure, I know that. ' Course. Thing is…” Crowley unclenched the fist on the back of the sofa and flexed his hand, looking frustrated. “I know that, I do, just...” He gestured towards his chest looking faintly chagrined. “Bloody heart rate doesn’t seem to be getting the message.”

His breathing was looking rather shallow. 

Aziraphale wavered for a moment, then rounded the sofa and stood right behind Crowley.

“Is it better or worse if you can’t see me?” He asked, not knowing which answer he'd rather hear. Would it be worse if Crowley had lost so much trust that he needed to see what he was doing at all times? Or worse for him to not want to see him at all?

There was a moment of hesitation before Crowley murmured, “Better.”

Aziraphale ignored the sting he felt at the word. He consoled himself with knowing that there had probably been no good answer. He miracled a glossy black stool out of the ether and sat, examining Crowley’s wings for the first time since Saraqael had healed the bones and stemmed the flow from the blood feathers.

The outline of Crowley’s wings now looked like an unfinished puzzle. There were great, gaping, jagged spaces where feathers should have been, and Aziraphale hated to think how long they would take to grow back. There were also half-plucked feathers still caught up in the ragged, tattered mess that would probably need to be pulled.  

From where he was sitting, Aziraphale was looking straight at the nape of Crowley’s neck, and he had the sudden urge to run his fingers from the hairline down to where the skin disappeared under black fabric.

He didn’t, of course.

Instead, he reached out with both hands and started to gently groom Crowley’s right wing, fingers meticulously checking and rearranging each feather before sliding down to the next. He worked in silence for some time, glad to see the tension in Crowley’s shoulders disappear by degrees.

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale tried to make his voice as soft and warm as possible, hoping not to remind Crowley of whatever the angels had said or done while using his form. He highly doubted they had been affectionate or spoken to him with fondness, and so he endeavoured to do just that. He would remind Crowley that he was not them, that they were not him. He would help with this, at least.

Crowley hummed in affirmation. 

Aziraphale continued gently combing through Crowley’s feathers. Every time he reached a dangling feather he braced a hand flat against the wing to protect Crowley before -  slowly, slowly, painstakingly slowly - tugging it loose and placing it in his lap. 

A shiver went through Crowley every time.

“Thanks for…” The back of Crowley’s head bobbed as he trailed off. “Wings’re probably an eyesore.”

“Don’t be silly,” Aziraphale kept his voice soft. He ran a reassuring hand over the downy covert feathers near his shoulder. “Still beautiful, just temporarily… incomplete.”

A noise that could have been an attempt at a laugh, then, “Flatterer.”

Aziraphale carefully manipulated the wing up and out to reach the longer feathers.

“Do they hurt, your wings? Saraqael said that they-”

“Nah. ‘S fine. They sting a bit in places, but I’ve had worse.” He turned so Aziraphale could see the right side of his face and pointed at himself. “Have worse, I suppose.” The corner of his lips curled up and he said, “Now that’s an eyesore!”

Without thinking, Aziraphale leaned forward and placed the fingers of his right hand on Crowley’s temple, pushing him to face forward again. “Don’t be silly,” he murmured, and instead of removing his hand and continuing his task, he dragged his fingers through the hair on the back of Crowley’s head until he reached the skin on the back of his neck. “Still beautiful.”

Crowley made an incoherent sound. 

Aziraphale knew he should remove his hand, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to do so.

His other hand threaded through the feathers of Crowley’s left wing in repetitive soothing strokes, but Aziraphale no longer knew who it was soothing; his own heart seemed to be throwing itself at his chest wall with something approaching actual panic.

Crowley reached up to the back of his neck and wrapped his long fingers round Aziraphale’s hand. He tugged lightly and then he tucked Aziraphale's hand in against his clavicle, and Aziraphale was very close to Crowley actually, and-

“I can’t do your other wing from this angle, Crowley,” he said, trying to sound sensible.

“I don’t care.” 

“Let me groom the other!”

“Nah,” said Crowley, and then his wings were gone, instantly folded into another plane, and their absence made Aziraphale lose his balance and topple forward. He grabbed hold of the armrest to steady himself as his other arm moved down across Crowley’s chest, and when he had regained his equilibrium Aziraphale froze; his lips were just behind Crowley’s ear. If he tilted his head he could place a kiss on his friend’s neck. He let a deep breath out. 

The breath must have tickled Crowley’s ear because the former demon shuddered and moved closer to Aziraphale’s lips while turning his face away, leaving his neck exposed and inviting. Aziraphale could see Crowley’s rapid pulse just below the angle of his jaw and his mouth watered with the desire to kiss it. He couldn’t help himself. He laid his lips on it like a prayer, and Crowley stuttered an exclamation.

Aziraphale wanted to swallow it down and coax more noises out of Crowley, wanted to consume his every tiny sound. 

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale asked.

His voice was low and hoarse, thick with hunger for something he hadn’t yet tasted, and he hadn’t felt so ravenous in a long, long time.

[januaryembrs]

APPRENTICE | Kylo Ren x force user!reader

Request: Hi! Can you do a Kylo Ren x Reader, where the reader is a wielder of the Force who begs Kylo to be her teacher and to learn more about it. Imagining she’s heard about him and The First Order, & knows that he’s a powerful force user.

@obsessionprofessional says - Congrats on almost 1000 followers! I hope it IS 1000 by the time you read this! May I please request a Kylo Ren x female reader piece in which he finally admits his feelings? And maybe they snuggle :3 Again, congratulations on this milestone!

description: You realise your slight quirk is actually much more than you ever imagined when you meet an Empire commander who asks you to become his apprentice.

word count: 2.5k

trigger warnings: swearing? slight angst? feeling of being unworthy?

main masterlist

Some people said you had a kind of magic touch when it came to fixing machines. Call it a dull way of living, but being plunged into a world where it was thrive or die, being a useful hand at repairing droids proved incredibly beneficial.

When the order ransacked your village, in need of a crew to fix up a ship that had crash landed nearby. It wasn’t until they started pulling out blasters and yelling threats that someone threw you into the line of fire by claiming you were the best in town at engineering. It was true of course, but the candour had meant you were dragged at gunpoint to the ship and forced to work. 

You quickly realised this was not just any ship, but an officer's vehicle. Important, sleek, complex machinery. Not only that, its pilot looked royally pissed as he caressed a bleeding forehead and black eye. 

His cold near-black eyes flicked to you as the troopers thrust you forward. “The villagers said this one could fix it,” They said, nodding a head in your direction. He looked you hard in the face, and you jutted your chin up to give some impression that you weren’t afraid. 

Truthfully, you were shitting your cargos the moment you saw the saber on his hip. 

“You know how to build ships?” He barked, almost as if he was tired of you already, despite the fact you hadn’t dared breathe yet. You swallowed heavily, the stone in your throat not quite dislodging itself.

“Some, yes,” He seemed displeased, as told by the slight tilt of his head, “Most actually,” you corrected yourself, warily. “I’d have to give it a look but with the right tools proba- yes,” You stumbled.

You had no clue what he was thinking as his eyes narrowed into slits. He nodded his head for you to approach the ship, which you did so promptly.

One small mistake and you just knew your heart would be ripped from your chest cavity in seconds. 

Breathing in deeply through your nose, you lifted a gentle hand to the body of the ship. It hummed under your touch, as if groaning in pain from the damage to its body, and you let out a deep exhale, removing the control panel to at least pretend to be looking at the damage in the conventional way. You knew you didn’t even need to move an inch to discover the problem thanks to your superpower.

The parts of the ship flickered through your mind, each ticking over in their correct tune until your mind found the source of the problem. You had no clue how you’d always managed to feel the machines, feel every part of them with a single touch, as if they had a life or soul of their own; it was what made you so practical at your job. 

You quickly assessed the engine was shot, along with part of the wing’s wiring needed rebuilding. You turned back to the unkind commander with the answer ready in your mouth, only to see him staring at you with something in between fascination and confusion.

“The wings-” You started only for him to cut you off.

“How did you do that?” His sneer shut you up. Normally people just took it that you were talented at your job, no one had ever caught onto what you were actually doing. 

“Do- Do what exactly?” You stammered, chest puffing out in faux confidence.

He looked over you a moment longer, before igniting his saber and drawing it to your neck. You could feel the heat washing over your windpipe, the crackling of the weapon echoing in your ears. 

You gulped, the bravery slipping with no heistance. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I felt the disturbance in the force. Are you really so stupid you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Your face screwed up. “The force? What’s a force?” You asked, eyes flicking to the saber as he brought it closer to your jugular. It was then you crumbled, “Please! I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s just something I’ve always been able to do, it’s how I fix machines so quickly back home-”

“So you have no idea what you are?” He mutters, his eyes dark as they took you in whole. He saw the sincerity in your puzzled expression, saw how your eyes showed nothing but fear and helplessness, like a wounded animal in need of a mercy kill.

He grunted, thrusting out a hand to his ship. You thought he was getting ready to strike you with his bare hand, drawing in on yourself. It was then that you heard a loud groan of metal work, and your head snapped to the ship behind you. You watched as something strong began crushing the vessel, as if the air around it was betraying itself and began squeezing. The metal dented, falling under the weight of the traitorous force. 

Force. He had said it himself. 

Your head whipped back to meet his eyes, dark and ravenous for the truth. “Do you see? We’re the same, you and I.” Your mouth dropped open, settling for a nod. 

He took a step closer to you, a gloved hand coming up to hold your temple, fingers gentle caressing your head. “You think I could do that?” You whispered, feeling something heavy settle over your brain, as if a bug had crawled into your ear as he touched you. You daren’t move away, something about his sharp eyes stunning you into place.

You wished to know what it was he thought you were capable of, the blind faith he was putting in you and whatever this force was you had. 

Of course you’d always wondered what it was that made you special, and here he was offering you an explanation. 

“You don’t know just how special you are,” He said clearly, dropping his hand. His black eyes flicked over your face that drew back in shock. It was as if he’d heard every thought you’d had, surely he couldn’t have. “I could show you just how remarkable you could be, just say the word.”

You gaped at him, stuck for words. The Empire were evil, they tore everything good up from the root and left the rest of the world to rot. You could never be one of them, never succumb to their ways. But you yearned to know what it was that gave you this power, yearned to wield it, perhaps even then use it for good; wanted to learn how to become as powerful and strong as he was. You saw how the troopers cowered around him, perhaps you could even hold that fear over them. 

You looked up at him, his eyes calculating as they took you in. He could give you all that.

“Teach me,” You murmured back. 

“Again!” He commanded, your chest constricting in an ache now familiar to you. It had been six months since he had found you and while you had come on leaps and bounds than simply testing machinery, you were even able to move objects with your powers now. 

The Force as you had come to understand it was peculiar in how it presented itself in each user. Kylo, who you spent most days with as his new apprentice, had told you some were better at healing while others specialised in combat, though you were pretty sure he was trying to comfort you in his own way at the fact you struggled some days to so much as lift blocks than move people like he could. 

Today being one of those days, where no matter how hard you pushed yourself, how hard you willed your hand to grasp the metal block and bring it to yourself, the damn thing would not budge.

“Kylo, I’m trying,” You grunted between attempts. You wouldn’t be surprised if you burst a vessel at this point with the exertion on your brain, “I can’t-”

“You are much more capable than you know,” The man retorted, and you felt his snake-like eyes watching as your face crumpled in effort. It was supposed to be supportive, but the way he said it was cold and plunging to your chest, as if he was tired of your dramatics. 

It only served to dishearten you further. 

“You expect too much of me, I’m no better than any child trying to learn this stuff,” You snapped, lowering your hand with a slap to your leg. You were tired, tired of all of this. “Maybe-” You willed yourself not to cry, “Do you ever think maybe I’m just not good enough?”

The past six months had truly taken your spirit out of you. Kylo woke you up early most days for the two of you to eat together before you had training. From there it was four hours in the morning, a break for lunch, then studying the texts he gave you on force users that came before you. Then more training like today's session, usually about object manipulation but he had been trying to get you to learn how to read his mind for the past few weeks. That alone was proving difficult since you were constantly on edge wondering if he was doing the same to you, the way his eyes darkened and jaw clenched making you believe he knew exactly what you were thinking. 

It wasn’t so difficult to see with one look into your head that your every thought revolved around him these days. How handsome he was, how he occasionally would caress your arm when helping you to focus, which only worked to send you spiralling. How pretty he was when he laughed if you said something particularly witty over first meal. 

You stopped trying, looking up at him tiredly. “What if I’m not as special as you want me to be?” You asked emptily. Seeing how talented he was only rubbed salt in the wound of your failures and had you wondering if you were cut out to be here for weeks now. 

He stopped, looking across the room at where you stood looking hopeless. “You’re being stupid,” He said, but the way his eyebrows quirked upwards slightly told you he wasn’t as annoyed as he sounded.

“No!” You protested, shrugging your shoulders and rubbing your neck, “You keep saying I can be great, I can be so much more- but you don’t get it. I’m trying, I’m bleeding myself dry to please you and I just know I’m never going to be as powerful as you want me to be,”

He was losing you, he could feel you slipping between his fingers as you stepped away from him. He knew he was pushing you but it was only because he saw the fire burning inside of you, the energy growing day by day, because he wanted you to be able to defend yourself if the worst should happen, if he couldn’t be there to take care of you. 

Kylo had not known any feeling like this before, as if the day he saw you fix his machine he had met himself in the form of another. Someone who could understand, who he could shape into an equal. His fondness only grew once he realised  how funny you were, how your mind ticked in an entirely different way to his own, how you were not another version of him but your own in an entirely unique way. 

He loved how kind you were, and gentle. Something he never was in this life. He saw how you looked at him, and he simply longed for you to realise just how much he cared.  

“You are,” Kylo whispered, finding his voice before you could turn away from him for good. You looked up at him, hearing him mumble under his breath. “You can be so powerful if you keep trying,” 

You shook your head, feeling as if this were the same thing you had heard time and time again, “Maybe it’s best if I just go home,”

That had his heart plummeting, “No, don’t-”

“I think that would be best for both of us. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time,” You turned to exit the training room, wondering how you would get back to your home planet. 

“Wait!” He tried calling, and with three simple strides he had caught up to you and grabbed a tight hold of your arm, willing you not to go, “Please,”

That was a shock. He had never used such a word in the time you’d known him. You eyes snapped to his to see him staring down at you like a vulnerable creature. 

“Kylo-”

“You can’t leave me, please,” He begged, pulling you closer, “I know I don’t tell you, I haven’t told you but you are already spectacular. You never needed me to be special,”

You frowned at him up at him, head drawing back in frustration. “Don’t take pity on me, Kylo. I don’t need it,”

“No, it’s true! It was never me that made you amazing,” Kylo said, drawing you into his embrace further, as if scared you would flee like a scared sand rat, “You were all that on your own,” He went quiet, as if debating whether to talk more before his eyes flicked to your sneering lips, “It’s one of the things I like most about you, actually,” 

Your chest stopped, mouth struggling to choose between hanging open and remaining clamped shut as you tried to formulate words. 

He liked you. He liked you, and he no doubt knew just from one touch alone you liked him. Of course he must know. Should you tell him how you feel despite that? He must know, you must make sure he knows its mutual-

“Just,” Kylo’s begging cut through the tangent your brain sent you into as it always did when you thought of him, “Please don’t leave. I don’t want to be alone again. You mean more to me than I know what to do with,” His voice was quiet now, each word breathing over your lips.

Anything. You would do anything for him if it meant he would keep looking at you like that, begging you like that. 

You didn’t need to read his mind to know he was being honest, to know you needed each other more than either of your had ever realised. 

[sotwk]

6th Day of Yule: “Six Geese A-Laying”

Prince Gelir Thranduilion x Reader

Third Age 614

Dant-en-Aras, Southern Greenwood

As you trudged through the heavily falling snow in the pitch-black hour right before dawn, from far off you were alerted to a presence in your cottage by the light flickering through the open window. You immediately hastened your steps, alarmed by the idea of an intruder, but would anyone of ill-intent give themselves away by lighting a fire? 

The concerned frown melted from your lips when your nose picked up two scents wafting through the chilly winter air: breakfast--eggs and sausage and tomatoes. Had one of those strange little folk from the Ningloron wandered into your home to seek refuge from the storm? 

The second scent replaced your frown with a sudden smile as recognition broke through your confusion. No other elf in Eryn Galen carried the fragrance of the woodlands quite like the Lord of Dant-en-Aras. 

At least, not in the manner that made your heart flutter with joy. 

You opened the cottage door and the warm air saturated with those enticing smells rushed forth to meet you. But he did not. He did not move from where he crouched by the hearth, poking at a laden skillet with a fork, his back fully turned to you and the doorway. 

You wiped all signs of bewilderment from your face as best as you could, determined not to grant him the satisfaction of falling for his teasing. You shut the door to the freezing wind and calmly relieved yourself of your burdens: hanging up your sentry cloak and stowing away your bow and quiver and knives, and finally sitting on a bench to doff your wet boots. Meanwhile, neither of you spoke a word, and only the crackle of the fire and sizzle of the hot pan saved the room from total silence. 

But finally, a grunt came from the prince squatting by the fire. “Sausage or eggs?”

You bit on your bottom lip to stifle a laugh. Gelir was stubborn, but impatience was his even stronger demon. Perhaps it was unkind of you to beat him at his own game, when he had clearly made some effort to set up this surprise for you. 

“Pray tell, why is my lord in my home, cooking breakfast, when he should be at the King’s palace with the rest of his family, as his father has summoned him?”

He rose slowly, and at his full height the Thranduilion always seemed too tall, too big inside your little cottage. “I recommend the eggs,” he said, stepping toward you with a plate of two large fried eggs, with yolks round and golden as the sun. Goose eggs--your favorite, as only he would remember. “Especially after I managed to carry them all the way from the King’s pantries.”

“Gelir…what is going on?” You sighed, for you wanted your questions answered, even with his compelling methods of distracting you, both with the food and with just him. Standing close to you, towering over you in a way that never felt menacing or intimidating, but rather made you feel safe and precious. Like nothing in the world could hurt you while he was around, so you did not have to be strong for yourself for a change. “Why are you back here? Yule has started; you should be with your family. ”

“I was with them,” he responded. “And not more than a day after I arrived, I went to my parents and told them I had to turn back, to collect something I left behind but desperately needed.”

“W-what?” Your heart gave a sudden leap in your chest, then proceeded to run at a wild pace, causing a furious blush to paint your cheeks. There was no sense in feigning ignorance of what he was trying to say. “But you said it is not yet the right time.”

“And I was wrong.” He had put the plate down, freeing his hands to cradle the sides of your face, and the glow that bloomed within you could have borne a blizzard ten times worse than the one outside. “I may say and do foolish things on occasion, but I try not to be a fool.”

He smiled and tapped the pad of his thumb on the single teardrop that had escaped your eye, to your own surprise and chagrin. You were not the sort to weep out your emotions, but these--your love for him--overwhelmed you like nothing ever had. 

“Will you come with me, meleth? And be properly introduced to my family?”

You could not recall what you said, or whether you even said anything, but you nodded vigorously and sank into his embrace, where he held you so tightly and for so long you started to giggle.

“Might not the eggs get cold?” you teased, voice muffled against his tunic. “We cannot let all your cooking go to waste.”

“That is true,” Gelir admitted, pulling away to glance at the table where he set down the plate. But he did not move further, so you gently extricated yourself and went over to the cook fire to save the sausages from being burnt. 

Just a few bites of the hot meal rejuvenated you after your long shift on border patrol. You looked across the table at your beloved, who had barely eaten anything and seemed content to merely watch you. “Shall we set out at once then, if your whole family is already waiting for us?”

“Oh, they can wait a while longer.” Gelir pushed back his chair and walked around to tug you up from yours. “Surely you noticed the blizzard outside? We cannot possibly travel such a long way in such frightful weather.”

“No, I think the worst of it has passed,” you said. “Once the sun rises--” The rest of the words dissolved into gasp as the prince's warm lips traced a soft line down the side of your neck. 

“Not. Just. Yet.” he murmured against your skin. Your gasps suddenly turned into a shriek of laughter when he lifted you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed in the corner of the cottage. 

Indeed, no need to rush off anywhere just yet. 

Yuletide Series MASTERLIST

Yule Event Tag List: @a-world-of-whimsy-5 @achromaticerebus @aduialel @asianbutnotjapanese @auttumnsayshi @blueberryrock @conversacomsmaug @elan-ho-detto-elan-15 @entishramblings @freshalmondpandadonut @fizzyxcustard @friendofthefellowshipsnerdblog @glassgulls @heilith @heranintomyknife23times @ladyweaslette @laneynoir @lathalea @lemonivall @LiliDurin @quickslvxrr @ratsys @spacecluster @scyllas-revenge @stormchaser819 @talkdifferently6 @tamryniel @tamurilofrivendell @acornsandoaktrees @warriormirkwood @emmanuellececchi @minaturefics @talesfuzzy

[adhd-merlin]

“Merlin… Does it even occur to you that what you just did is not mortal magic?”

“Of course, it’s mortal magic. I’m doing it.”

Carefully – slowly – Arthur told him, “I have read almost every book on magic in Geoffrey’s vaults over the past year, and not a single one of them mentioned what you just did. The only other time I saw that was in the cave of the disir. And I’m pretty sure that those senile women weren't the ones that did it.”

Merlin drew back on his feet. “What are you accusing me of?”

“I’m not accusing,” Arthur placated. “I’m…suggesting.”

“Suggesting,” Merlin sneered. “Suggesting what?”

Arthur realized too late, the conversation he’d led them into, but he couldn’t backtrack now. Merlin would only hound him, either verbally or with glares across rooms for the next fortnight, or for however long it took Arthur to capitulate. “You implied it before, yourself. At the wellspring. You don’t die mortal deaths. It took an enchanted blade to stop your heart. Dorocha can touch you, and not kill you. Mortal poisons didn’t kill you. You’re not even the only person who's said it. Even Hubert suggested it.”

Merlin’s face wasn’t really doing anything, and neither was the rest of him. He could have been blank parchment, or an unused wax tablet. “I’m not human? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur admitted. The cold nothing of Merlin’s voice disturbed him, but not as much as the glint in his eye that spoke of smothered storms and affront. Arthur felt as if saying the idea out loud were unwise, or perhaps it was only unkind. Forbidden words best left in the dark reaches of the mind where inconvenient suspicions lay fallow, unspoken for the good of all. “Are you?”

The only indication of something amiss was that Merlin tried to hide the amber glow of his eyes by lowering them and letting his hair obscure part of his face. Arthur blinked, felt a lightening-tinted brush of air past his ear, and then he was standing alone in an empty hall.

“What – Merlin?” Arthur went to uncross his arms, but they seemed stuck. When he fumbled his cuffs around, he found them buttoned together. “That…sneaky little – childish – Merlin!” He had every intention of pursuing Merlin through the castle somehow, never mind that he hadn’t the slightest idea where to start looking, but the moment he tried to take a step, he came to his second realization. He tripped and pitched forward, thankfully not near the stairs, caught himself on his tangled hands, and rolled up against the wall. “He tied my bootlaces together, the poxy – ”

“Sire?”

Great. Yes. Witnesses to his embarrassment. That was all Arthur needed. He shoved himself to sit upright as two of his castle guards ran over to him in alarm, and grabbed at his boot laces. There were at least a dozen knots in them, which…yes. Wonderful. Point taken. 

— from The Dust of Hope, Chapter 5 by fourleggedfish

[plainlo-inthemorning]

Thranduil’s secret

Pairing: Tauriel x Kili Rating: 16+ Warnings: Mentions of violence, emotional hurt (but fear not …!) Words: 1.800 k.

Disclaimer: Canon what canon? This is for all the lovers out there.

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“They want to bury him”.

Snowflakes fall silently around them.

Nature attempting to softly smooth over the carnage.

“Yes”.

Her king remains standing a few feet from where she reclines on the frozen rock, hunched over the still-warm body of a future that has been so cruelly taken from her.

From both of them.

She could rage against Thranduil.

Blame his indecisiveness, his selfishness, for the death of the dwarf.

Had the king only dispatched his soldiers to the mountain, as both she and the wizard so implored him to do, trying to appeal to the heart he has forgotten how to use, much could have been different.

But grief has pushed the fight out of her. In its place is only hopelessness and a pain the like of which Tauriel has never felt before.

Legolas, her old friend, has left.

She did not notice when, or if he said something to her before turning away. At this moment, she has no space for him, either.

“If this is love, I do not want it”, she cries, hearing how desperate she sounds, as she looks to her king. “Please, take it from me”.

Thranduil does not move, but the icy unkindness from earlier has melted from his features. If Tauriel’s own eyes had not been filled with tears, she might have recognized her sadness mirrored in the king’s.

“Why does it hurt so much?” She cannot seem to stop herself, clutching Kili’s gloved hand in hers.

“Because it was real”.

Thranduil’s unwavering answer takes her aback.

She looks down upon the dwarf’s bloodstained face again. A single tear streak has painted a faint silver trail from the corner of one eye and down the side of his face.

She saw it fall when he died. When the orc’s blade pierced his chest.

Flecks of snow cling to his thick brown lashes. He is so beautiful to her, she thinks sorrow will tear her apart if she has to let go of him.

They just found each other. He gave his life defending hers.

Slowly, she bends her head and does what she has ached to do for days, what she should have done on the lakeshore when he pressed the rune stone into her hand.

She touches her lips to his.

They are still soft.

His are the first she has ever kissed.

If this were a children’s bedtime story, she would breathe life into him with her longing.

Only when Thranduil kneels on the other side of the body, does Tauriel remember the king is still there.

She thinks he will ask her to stand and come away, and is ready to protest, to cling to Kili. She will stay right here until his kin returns to claim him.

But Thranduil does not speak.

Instead, he does something very unexpected, his face suddenly a mask of concentration.

His strong brows have come together in a frown: He raises a hand and lets it hover over Kili’s head.

“What … what are you doing?” Tauriel has to swallow her sobs for the words to come out right.

The moment drags out.

The king lowers his palm to place it lightly on Kili’s chest.

Tauriel, wholly confused, idly wonders through her grief if this is the first time in all his many, many millennia that king Thranduil has touched a dwarf with anything but the pointy end of a sword.

“He is a fighter”, the king says quietly. There is wonder is his voice. “And he fights, still. So stubborn …”.

“W-what?!”

Thranduil looks up, meets her shocked eyes.

“His heart has stopped, yes. But his soul is still here. It is holding on …”.

Now it is Tauriel’s heart that nearly stops.

“How do you…how can you-”.

Her king’s attention has returned to Kili.

He answers Tauriel without looking at her.

“I have certain … gifts”.

In typical Thranduil fashion, the king does not elaborate, and his matter-of-fact tone does not invite questioning.

Yet for once, Tauriel is too gripped with emotion to be deterred.

“Can you bring him back?”, she blurts out. “Please, my king, please? If there is any chance … I … I would do anything. Please!”.

Bringing someone back from the dead is reserved for the most nightmarish, ancient evil magic.

Until recently, Tauriel had only heard nonsensical tales of the practise whispered, and even in those, the someones that were brought back, were dangerous, mindless shadow apparitions of their former selves.

But if what her king is saying about Kili’s soul is true …

Thranduil appears to hesitate before speaking but when he does, Tauriel feels as if he is reading her mind. She has sometimes suspected that that is indeed a secret gift of his. Another one.

“The kind of magic required to awaken the dead is not only forbidden, it is destructive to the natural order of the world. However, if the soul has not yet left the body-”

He pauses. Decides.

“It can be done, if done quickly. No matter the strength of the warrior, the soul will be forced to leave this plane soon after death has occurred. I do not know how this one is still here”.

Love, thinks Tauriel. She does not know if it is actually true, or if it is her hope speaking. He is still here because of love.

Then the other elf gasps. Thranduil regards Kili’s face with disbelief.

“Of course …”, he whispers. His palm flattens on Kili’s pierced armour, fingers spread out. “Elvish blood runs in his line. Many years back …”

Tauriel stares at her love. Her mouth opens and closes.

His finely defined face, the shape of his cheekbones, so different from most of his kin.

Except for his brother’s, and the dwarf king’s …

Impossible. Yet suddenly it makes sense.

Did Kili know?

No, Tauriel does not think so.

As for Thorin …?

“Tauriel”, the elfking says. His voice is even but insistent. It commands her full attention. “If I succeed in bringing him back to you, you must never speak to anyone of what happened here. Not a word, do you understand? Not to his kin. Not to him. Certainly not to the wizard … And not to Legolas”.

Something flutters beneath the deep timbre of Thranduil’s voice. A bottomless despair struggling to surface, to be recognized.

And Tauriel remembers what Legolas told her at Mount Gundabad. About his mother’s death there.

She draws in a breath as she looks into Thranduil’s blue, blue eyes, but the king holds up a hand, reading her like a book.

“No”, he says simply but firmly, and it is a no that silences her. A warning.

No.

The king then touches Kili’s forehead and closes his eyes.

Tauriel is squeezing the dwarf’s hand so hard her knuckles are turning as white as the ground.

Stillness.

And then the air seems to shimmer and fizz around them, thick with swirling magic.

The snowfall has stopped. Or it can no longer touch them.

Thranduil is muttering words under his breath that Tauriel cannot make out. He leans forward, long blond hair falling around his set face. The tips pool on Kili’s shoulders like a veil of fine silk engulfing him.

Time stands still, and Tauriel forgets to breathe.

She has no idea how many moments go by.

And then Kili’s chest rises, and his lips part.

And the dwarf gasps for air!

His whole body shivers as his eyes fly open to the sky, wild, wide, alive.

He is alive!

“Kili!” Tauriel cries out and takes his face in her hands.

Their eyes meet.

He blinks rapidly, like he has been pulled out of deep water. “Tauriel…” Shakily, he raises his hands to her face as if seeing her for the first time.

“Are you okay?”, he asks. His voice is hoarse but urgent. “The orc, is … is he-”.

“He’s dead. It’s over. We’re safe, we’re both safe”. Tears are streaming down her face. “I thought I’d lost you!”.

“I thought so too …” Kili looks at her with utter wonder and bafflement. Then he grimaces and reaches for the wound in his chest. “Ugh, this one hurts, though …”.

“He needs tending to and fast”. Thranduil stands. A tiny droplet of sweat glistens on his brow. Or perhaps it is a snowflake. Are they falling again?

“Tauriel, I would advise you to take him far away from here, and never look back, but …”

He speaks as if Kili was not there.

“What is-”. Kili tries to focus on the tall figure towering over him, but is too stunned, and in too much pain, to fully register what is being said.

Tauriel shakes her head at the elf king.

“He will want to stay with his kin. They have suffered enough loss”.

She thinks of Thorin. The dwarf king is dead.

Thranduil sighs.

“Yes, I anticipate he will want to do that …”

“Tauriel…”. The dwarf winces. She looks back at him. She will never lose him from her sight again.

She brushes locks of soft hair from his forehead.

Does not notice her elf lord leaving. She will never see him again.

“I had a dream that you kissed me”, Kili whispers, his eyes searching hers. “A kiss of love …”.

She smiles through her tears.

“It wasn’t a dream … my love”.

Despite his agony, a smile spreads on his face. A bright, wonderful, boyish smile amidst the hurt and loss. He will face them later.

“…Love”. He grins, actually grins, and tries to sit up, but Tauriel gently puts a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Do not move too much. You are badly wounded. We have to call on the others to come help, and patch you up…”

“Then come down here to me”.

He shakes off a glove. Weaves his fingers through her hair.

She dips her face to his.

He gasps when she recaptures his mouth.

His lips are still soft, but now they move, as well. Melting into hers.

He pulls her closer, his other, gloved hand finding the curve of her waist, and she has to remind herself not to crush his wounded chest.

She wants to drown in his arms.

When their mouths part, they stay nose to nose.

“Never leave”, Kili whispers. His warm breath tickles her skin.

All of him is warmth.

Home.

“I won’t. Never”.

High in the sky above them, eagles cry triumphantly.

She takes his hand. Presses the smooth, oval shape back into his palm.

“It worked, Kili”, she whispers against his lips, before kissing him again.

Deeply, hungrily.

For the third time out of a million more kisses to come over their many, many years together.

“It worked”.

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Thank you for reading!

[idyllic-affections]

for your happiness, dearest one.

summary. if it were for their happiness, signora would gladly cleanse the world a hundred times over. trigger & content warnings. major character death (not the reader) & descriptions of grief. inazuma archon quest spoilers. tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. angst. la signora & younger sibling!reader. 2.7k words. they/them pronouns for reader. author's thoughts. pov signora but as a big sister!! idk i really like her, shes very neat in my opinion. yes i am a venti liker and yes i am also a signora liker! she kinda deserved to kick him. just a lil bit..... fun fact about this fic: [name] addresses ei as baal rather than beelzebul because they dont know about makoto. another fun fact: signora says she'll never truly abandon [name], and she didnt. that flame moth seems suspiciously attached to them, after all <3

       Rosalyne, commonly known as La Signora, was many things.

       She was the cold, calculated Eighth Fatui Harbinger who tended to use lethal force against all but one of her underlings. She was the Harbinger who, prior to joining the Fatui, nearly burned herself out within the scorching flames of her boundless fury. She was confident, cunning, and sadistic in certain ways.

       La Signora was many things, but few other than The Tsaritsa herself and some of the other Harbingers knew she was a big sister, and the only underling she was ever kind to was her younger sibling. She was a big sister and, to anyone's blatant surprise, a wonderful one. She was never cruel or unnecessarily harsh towards them, and extended what little remained of the patience and gentleness in her heart to them exclusively. It was a privilege only they possessed. There was not a single Fatuus—hell, not a single person in all of Teyvat that Signora favored more than her dear baby sibling.

       To the Eighth, they were everything. She wished to burn away Teyvat's ugliness—if not for her own sake, then for the sake of her precious little sibling, because they had suffered just as much as she had. It was her and her job alone to protect them from any more pain. They deserved the world, but Signora would not dare give it to them, for they did not deserve its cruelty. They deserved only the best, and the world was simply not on par with that. The world was unkind, disgusting, and utterly revolting. They deserved better than that.

       Perhaps that was why she spoiled them in the ways she did; if she could not give them the best version of the world, then she could take them on shopping sprees in Fontaine or to expensive restaurants in Liyue that left little to no impact on her savings. If they were to express interest in something, it was guarunteed to be on their bedside table the next morning. Spoiled as they were, they still never failed to express their gratitude to her. It was one of the things she adored about them. How could she have nurtured such a humble, gentle soul, when she was anything but?

       Truly, the Harbinger would do anything to distract them from the pain they had experienced. She knew deep down that there was no easing the agony. She knew that all too well, for even without all of the memories of her past, her bitterness and bias shone blatantly through when Mondstadt and its Archon was involved (and, despite not saying this aloud, they didn't completely blame her, as they had their own reservations about Barbatos).

       If it were for their happiness, Signora would gladly cleanse the world a hundred times over.

       "Will you take me to Inazuma with you, Rosalyne?" they wondered softly, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of their sister skillfully—albeit absentmindedly—massaging their scalp. "I hear it's a beautiful nation. I'd like to experience it with you, even if it's technically a buisness trip..."

       La Signora had long forgotten most of her past, courtesy of the Cryo Delusion gifted to her by the Tsaritsa herself. It was used to suppress her flames so that she did not burn away into nothing but ash. Even so, they never stopped calling her Rosalyne when they were alone together, for to them, she was still their same big sister from five hundred years ago. To them, it was like nothing had changed; they knew better, of course, for the amount of things that had changed since their days of living peacefully in Mondstadt were unfathomable. Even so, they still truly believed that their big sister was still there underneath the defensive layers of ice and fire. Wholeheartedly, they believed that Rosalyne-Kruzchka Lohefalter was still there.

       She found it... endearing.

       Despite everything, they still saw her as Rosalyne, not La Signora, not the Fair Lady, and certainly not the Crimson Witch of Flames nor Embers. Even if she could not recall her past, she did at least remember who she was.

       She was Rosalyne, their big sister.

       She would always be Rosalyne. Always.

       "...I will," she responded, though not before a long moment of serious contemplation. She agreed to take them to Mondstadt only because the Anemo Archon was notoriously weak (at least, that's what she believed; they knew better than that), and she took them to Liyue since a contract had already been established between Rex Lapis and the Tsaritsa, but the Electro Archon was a different case entirely. Even the ever-confident La Signora acknowledged that. "Inazuma is different than Mondstadt and Liyue. As such, you are to do as I say without question, understood?"

       "Of course. You know I would never do anything that you do not agree with." They peered up at her, lips curling up into a sweet smile. "I trust you."

       Her gaze, steely and cold, softened significantly. She leaned down, pressing a brief kiss to their forehead. "...Good. Now go. Return to your quarters and prepare a bag with whatever you deem necessary. We will leave in the morning."

              — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       Inazuma was breathtaking.

       Tenshukaku, however, was less so.

       "...Do we really have to go in?" they wondered softly, hands smoothing anxiously over their shirt. Their voice betrayed their stance and expression—both being cool and impassive, managing to wordlessly communicate the same confidence Signora always seemed to have.

       Though they were never really like her in that respect, they had to at least pretend to be. Their behaviors would reflect their older sister as their teacher. She had a reputation to uphold. They were always careful not to damage it in the slightest.

       Adrenaline flooded their veins. Dread dug its fingers around their throat, making breathing suddenly seem more challenging. They didn't like this place. No, no, not at all. Tenshukaku, though admirable and elegant, had a terribly suffocating aura surrounding it. Perhaps it was merely the Shogun's elemental energy that made them uneasy, but something was putting them on edge. They truly couldn't be sure if it was their razor-sharp intuition or just the presence of a powerful God.

       It felt inexplicably as if, assuming they and their sister both were to step into that dreadful building, one or both of them might not come back out.

       The woman hummed, moving so that she was in front of them. Her hard gaze softened slightly. She straightened their collar, before delicately plucking off a stray hair off of their shoulder. "Yes. Walk in with your head held high. We are Snezhnayan diplomats. More importantly, you are my sibling. You are like me. You've handled these situations with confidence and grace up until now. I see no reason for you to suddenly change."

       They swallowed back their sudden wave of panic, giving her a firm nod. "Right. My bad."

       "You needn't speak to the Shogun. Only speak if you are spoken to. I will handle everything. If things go according to plan, she shouldn't spare you more than a glance."

       They exhaled through their nose, calming their rapidly pounding heart. "Alright."

              — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       It was in front of Mondstadt's cathedral that they and their elder sister would dance together to the lively songs played by bards—some who were familiar locals, others complete strangers that happened to be wandering Teyvat. A crowd would always gather. Regardless of who one was, from Mondstadt or anywhere else, none could deny that there were few things more endearing and uplifting than seeing those two dance together.

       Rosalyne raised a hand, twirling them around as they laughed delightedly. She pulled them back in, wrapping her arms lovingly around their neck with a contented sigh. They were quick to return the gesture, though instead their arms made their way around her waist. The woman raised one hand and stroked it over their hair. A soft hum rose from their throat.

       "I love you dearly. I'll be away for a while, but I promise, I swear on the Seven that I will never truly abandon you."

       "I know," they replied softly, gazing up at her with eyes full of unadulterated admiration. "I love you too."

       That memory—one among many of them and their sister from five centuries ago—was one they held oh-so dearly. She promised not to leave them. Rosalyne did not take her promises lightly, so how...

       How could it have possibly ended like this?

       They could already feel a deep, gaping hole forming in their chest with the absence of the one person that mattered in their life.

       A strangled sob left their throat. "No, no... oh, Gods..." They tried to grasp at what remained of their elder sister. The fine grains of ash merely slipped between their fingers, but that didn't seem to deter them. "No... Rosalyne, why? Why? You could've lived, you... why didn't you run? You were never supposed to abandon me, Rosalyne." 

       Their eyes burned with tears; whether they were tears of utter distress or anger, no-one could be sure. It seemed more likely that it was a dreadful mix of both, for as the Cryo Vision secured on their hip began to shimmer, the temperature in the room dropped immeasurably. With the transition from terror and despair to a blinding rage came the unforgiving, biting chill of Snezhnayan winters. A thin layer of frost descended upon all surfaces in the room.

       Signora may have nearly drowned in the flames of her anger, but unlike her, they would freeze in the impenetrable ice of their's. Their rage ran so hot that it was cold.

       Perhaps these behaviors simply ran in their family, for both they and Signora shared a tendency to be extremely passionate about all that they did. The issue was that that passion, when perpetuated by painful situations, became all-consuming and inevitably fatal if they were to fail to reign in their fury. 

       Signora's passion had once fueled her flames. Their passion now fueled their ice.

       The traveller and Paimon both shuddered, recoiling from the sudden temperature change.

       "You..." they murmured, eyes snapping up towards the Shogun. If looks could kill, she would have dropped dead the second their frigid gaze landed on her. Unfortunately, striking down a deity took quite a lot more than a simple glare. "How dare you? Who do you think you are to take her away from me like that? You— you..."

       The God of Eternity stood unfazed, unbothered by their emotional outburst. Their eyes flickered briefly to her blade. If they didnt know better, they'd raise their Anemo Delusion to her. They'd risk losing their mind or even dying due to the toll Delusions took on one's body. They'd risk it all just to avenge their fallen sister if they didn't know better.

       However, they did know better.

       Rosalyne was adamant on ensuring that they were wise and wouldn't put themselves in a situation that they couldn't emerge safely from. She did exactly what she warned them about. She wouldn't want them to follow her example, no. Rosalyne would want nothing more than to see them learn from her mistakes.

       A stray flame moth landed on their shoulder, only strengthening their frozen resolve.

       They had a feeling that the little being, radiating a soothing warmth that managed to melt away their ice and warm them both inside and out, would not part from their side anytime soon.

       "Tch," they scoffed, rising to their feet with clenched fists. As if they hadn't broken down crying a few seconds ago, their gaze hardened, and their stance was as confident and firm as ever. They brushed the stray frost off of the shoulder that the moth had not settled on. "Her Majesty truly is the only Archon with the purest of goals. You disgust me," they spat, turning away with an elegant flick of their coat. "Goodbye, Baal. I no longer have any buisness here."

       As they departed, their steps left behind small patches of ice.

       Before they exited, they mused threateningly, "The Tsaritsa will hear of this... incident. Your blatant disregard for the safety Snezhnayan diplomats will not go unpunished, Inazuman laws be damned."

              — flower of the universe !! 🌸

       Upon being summoned to the Cryo Archon's throne room in the palace, their immediate assumption was that they would be punished. Perhaps they had spoken out of line to the Shogun. Did they displease their God? Archons, they hoped not. A pissed off Cryo user was one thing, but enraging the Cryo Archon herself? That was nothing short of a death sentence, surely. 

       Despite their natural fear for the deity, they barely seemed fazed as they treaded towards her throne room. All they could focus on was the heavy emptiness lingering in their chest. The flame moth had still failed to part from them. It seemed to bat its wings against their chilled skin in an attempt to soothe them. Its efforts were to no avail.

       'Why did you leave me here, Rosalyne?'

       They kept their gaze directed downwards as they entered the infamous throne room, lower-ranked Fatui shutting the doors behind them. Despite the unmistakable below-freezing temperatures of the room, sweat rolled down the side of their forehead at the echo of the doors closing. The floor seemed to sway underneath their unsteady feet. They weren't sure if they'd even have the strength to stand for much longer.

       Their mind was in utter shambles.

       Now, they were truly trapped in here—not that they would have dared to try and flee, but something about being officially trapped in the same room as the Tsaritsa herself ignited a primal terror buried in the depths of their mind. Rarely did they even pass by this room; they were not a Harbinger and so they did not report directly to their Goddess. They'd only ever met her once before, and that was... perhaps four or five centuries ago.

       They kneeled a few feet in front of her throne, clearing their dry throat. They willed their body to cease its shaking. "Good evening, Your Majesty."

       "Such a formal one you are. Rosalyne taught you well," she lilted softly. "You have earned my praise, [Name]."

       Their breath hitched slightly.

       "You have shown great discipline and elegance despite recent events. Your judgement was not clouded by confidence or rage. This is something your elder sister did not succeed at—may she rest in peace. I will ensure that the entire nation sufficiently mourns her loss. No sacrifice will have been in vain when we win the divine rebellion."

       They rapidly blinked in an attempt to rid their eyes of the tears threatening to spill over. Their voice cracked slightly as they murmured barely above the volume of a whisper, "Of course. I will never forget that. Your goal is of such purity, Your Highness... I will do anything to help you succeed."

       The woman hummed thoughtfully. "Anything, you say?"

       "Anything, especially in light of recent events. I have nothing but my life left to lose. I would gladly give it up in your honor, should that be your will." A stray tear rolled down their cheek. "I have nothing left to lose."

       "In that case," she mused, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on the bridge they created, "inherit La Signora's position. Become the Eighth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers."

       Wide-eyed, they snapped their gaze up towards her, only to frantically look back down at the floor. Perhaps they wouldn't be punished for looking at her directly, but the shooting chills her gaze sent tingling across their skin was enough for them to not want to regardless. "Y... your highness, surely I am not strong enough to—"

       "Nonesense. I have seen you best Tartaglia effortlessly—you barely even broke a sweat, while he expended his strength in full. As such, I have no doubt that you are fit to fill the vacant Eighth position."

       Silence.

       "In..." Their voice came out embarrassingly meek and timid on their first attempt, so they took a breath and tried again. "In that case, if you truly feel that way about me, I graciously accept your kind offer."

       Her lips twitched upwards, forming the ghost of a barely noticable smile. "Wonderful. Welcome to our ranks, Scappino."

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[moondarina]

hand in unlovable hand,

a soukoku playlist

╰┈➤ + some lyrics that remind me of them

I'm your man - Mitski

"You're an angel, I'm a dog

Or you're a dog and I'm your man

You believe me like a God

I destroy you like I am"

Cold Love - Rainbow Kitten Surprise

"It's second nature to love you, it's first to die

And we were killed upon waking, killed upon waking to the life

We weren't prepared to live but rebelled to realize

We were killed upon the pavement, Bonnie we're immortalized in"

If You Can't Live Without Me, Why Aren't You Dead Yet? - Mayday Parade

"When you hear this chorus

Do you miss the way the world was spinning for us?

Do you hurt the way that I do?

After all this time you leave me broken

This song is every word I left unspoken

When you hear this, girl, I'm hoping that you think of us

That you think of us"

Every You Every Me - Placebo

"Like the naked leads the blind

I know I'm selfish, I'm unkind

Sucker love I always find

Someone to bruise and leave behind

All alone in space and time

There's nothing here but what here's mine

Something borrowed, something blue

Every me and every you"

Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want - Deftones

"Haven't had a dream in a long time

See, the life I've had

Can make a good man bad

So for once in my life

Let me get what I want

Lord knows, it would be the first time"

Out Of The Black - Royal Blood

"You made a fool out of me

And took the skin off my back running

So don't breathe when I talk

'Cause you haven't been spoken to

I got a gun for my mouth

And a bullet with your name on it

But a trigger for a heart

Bleeding blood from an empty pocket"

Black Sheep - Metric

"Hello again, friend of a friend, I knew you when

Our common goal was waiting for the world to end

Now that the truth is just a rule that you can bend

You crack the whip, shape-shift and trick the past again"

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

"And if you don't love me now

You will never love me again

I can still hear you saying

You would never break the chain"

Francesa - Hozier

"My life was a storm, since I was born

How could I fear any hurricane?

If someone asked me at the end

I'll tell them put me back in it

Darling, I would do it again, ah, ah

If I could hold you for a minute

Darling, I'd go through it again,"

Kiss With a Fist - Florence + The Machine

"I broke your jaw once before

I spilled your blood upon the floor

You broke my leg in return

So sit back and watch the bed burn

Love sticks, sweat drips

Break the lock if it don't fit"

Tongues & Teeth - The Crane Wives

"I've grown a mouth so sharp and cruel

It's all that I can give to you, my dear

And when you come in quick to steal a kiss

My teeth will only cut your lips, my dear"

Night Shift - Lucy Dacus

"Am I a masochist, resisting urges to punch you in the teeth

Call you a bitch and leave?

Why did I come here? To sit and watch you stare at your feet?

What was the plan? Absolve your guilt and shake hands?

I feel no need to forgive but I might as well

But let me kiss your lips so I know how it felt

Pay for my coffee and leave before the sun goes down

Walk for hours in the dark feeling all hell"

Decode - Paramore

"The truth is hiding in your eyes

And it's hanging on your tongue

Just boiling in my blood

But you think that I can't see

What kind of man that you are

If you're a man at all

Well, I will figure this one out on my own"

Landfill - Daughter

"Well this is torturous

Electricity between both of us

And this is dangerous

'Cause I want you so much

But I hate your guts"

Romantic Homicide - d4vd

"In the back of my mind

You died

And I didn't even cry

No, not a single tear

And I'm sick of waiting patiently for someone that won't even arrive"

You Get Me So High - The Neighbourhood

"If you can just let me know if it's okay

To call you when I'm lonely"

Snap Out Of It - Arctic Monkeys

"Forever isn't for everyone

Is forever for you?"

The Other Side of Paradise - Glass Animals

"Bye bye baby blue

I wish you could see the wicked truth

Caught up in a rush, it's killing you

Screaming at the sun, you blow into

Curled up in a grip when we were us

Fingers in a fist like you might run

I settle for a ghost I never knew

Superparadise I held on to

But I settle for a ghost"

$TING - The Neighbourhood

"If you were human

If you were who I assumed you were

You wouldn't have done this"

Eventually - Tame Impala

"Wish I could turn you back into a stranger

'Cause if I was never in your life

You wouldn't have to change it"

Do Me a Favour - Arctic Monkeys

"It's the beginning of the end

The car went up the hill and disappeared around the bend

Ask anyone, they'll tell you

That it's these times that it tends

To start to break in half, to start to fall apart

Hold on to your heart"

505 - Arctic Monkeys

"But I crumble completely when you cry

It seems like once again you've had to greet me with goodbye

I'm always just about to go and spoil the surprise

Take my hands off of your eyes too soon"

I Only Lie When I Love You - Royal Blood

"I only lie when I love you

I only crawl when I hit the ground

You only cry when I love you

I only lie when I make a sound"

Vampire Empire - Big Thief

"Well, I walked into your dagger for the last time

It's like trying to start a fire with matches in the snow

Where you can't seem to hold me, can't seem to let me go

So I can't find surrender and I can't keep control"

Neon Roses - The Technicolors

"But I still can't find a malice

It's a thrill slow shot reaction

But I never knew you at all"

Vampire - Olivia Rodrigo

"I've made some real big mistakes

But you make the worst one look fine

I should've known it was strange

You only come out at night

I used to think I was smart

But you've made me look so naive

The way you sold me for parts

As you sunk your teeth into me,"

Youngblood - 5 Seconds of Summer

"You push and you push and I'm pulling away

Pulling away from you

I give and I give and I give and you take

Give and you take"

Do I Wanna Know - Arctic Monkeys

"Crawling back to you

Ever thought of calling when you've had a few?

'Cause I always do

Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new"