#I still have the post I made when she died

[yamumsyadadd]

the forgotten girl (2)

posted originally on my old account. will be posting twice weekly :)

Amelia Scott-Higgins was a person a lot of people looked up too. The winner of the 2019 Ballon d’Or who was just 21 at the time. She was an inspiration on and off the field, so you can imagine everyone’s shock when she disappeared. Only a few know the gruesome details of her injuries, and those happen to be Barcelona players Lucy Bronze and Keira Walsh. Alexia Putellas had always admired her, as a person and a player. 

“Do you think we could convince her to join us? We need a striker and she is the best!” Jana excitedly said to Alexia, Mapi and Ingrid as they walked into the locker room. 

“No, she was the best. Past tense.” Ingrid said. 

“Ale you could totally convince her! You guys were friends no?” Jana’s words were loud through the quiet locker room. 

“Who are you convincing?” The English accent through the Spanish was still very clear to this day and unmistakably came from Lucy. 

“Amelia Scott-Higgins! She’s living in Barcelona and Ale used to be her friend! We need her Luce!” 

“No. Understand what I am about to say. No one here is to contact Milly and ask her to play. No one is to ask her to come to a game or to hang out. She has been through enough and you will all leave her the hell alone.” Keira spoke extremely firmly. No one has heard her talk like that before. 

“Kei, come on they don’t know.” 

“That’s exactly right Lucy. They don’t know. You all think she’s this amazing footballer and want her to play, but she went through some fucked up shit. She doesn’t want to play, she doesn’t want to watch. She wants to be left alone so that’s exactly what everyone is going to do: leave her alone.” The locker door slammed as Keira left. She would protect Amelia now, since she couldn’t before. 

Before it all happened, Keira, Leah and Amelia were inseparable. The group was formed at a football event the first year Amelia moved over to the UK, in 2014, at just 16 years old. Emily played with Man City, alongside Keira, Lucy and Georgia. Despite playing at different clubs, they always made time for each other. The unlikely friendship with Alexia Putellas started in 2017, after both signing with Nike and having to do a campaign. Both girls were socially awkward, they sat in silence for most the day until Alexia invited Amelia to dinner. From there on out, they were very close friends. 

Alexia struggled with the fame, Amelia did not. She was able to offer advice to Alexia, sharing ways to keep relationships private, or how to compartmentalise. Alexia didn’t even get a text off of Amelia when it all happened. She had flown to England to attend the funeral. A numb, bruised and bandaged shell of a friend stood before them all. 

“You knew Amelia?” Olga asked quietly over dinner the night after their run in. 

“Yeah. I knew both Amelia and Emily.” The sadness evident in Alexia’s voice. 

“Why’d she quit? I googled her. She won the Ballon d’Or and UEFAs best player. What happened?” 

“Her wife was murdered and she was hurt. I don’t even think I can begin to explain the type of player she was. She was easily the best player the world has ever seen. No matter what, she worked hard. She cared, if a person got hurt you’d know because Amelia was there first. After her opponents lost, she wouldn’t celebrate her win, she’d go around and tell them everything they did well, hug them and let them cry. I went to the funeral, she was just a shell. Covered in bruises and bandages, in a wheelchair. Then she just vanished. On the first anniversary of Emily’s death, she deleted every single social media she had, changed her number and quit football. I hadnt seen her since, apparently Keira and Lucy hadn’t either.” 

“that’s a lot for one person to go through. Where are her parents?” 

“Doesn’t have any. They died when she was little, from what she shared she was in foster care in Australia until they let her come to the UK”

“Maybe you should invite her for dinner? She could use a friend.”

“No. YOU should invite her. You’re someone who she doesn’t know and you two seemed to hit it off.” 

Olga didn’t tell Alexia, or anyone for that matter, but Amelia had followed her on instagram that night after they met. Seemingly on a private, almost anonymous account. Olga had no plans to force Amelia back into football or back into Alexia’s life, but the more she learnt the more she wanted to ensure she wasn’t alone in this world. 

Every morning, Alexia would run along the beach. It was usually quiet and calm since Spain generally didn’t wake up until later in the morning. Every morning, she would watch the same surfer. Scars scattered on her legs, one long scar from the back of her hip, across her torso. Alexia knew it was Amelia, but she never stopped to say hello, not until that morning. 

The morning that would change things. 

[beckyninja]

Duty

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Nothing much this time, just angst

Description: As further opposition to the alliance between their peoples is revealed, Guilliman's betrothed finally opens up about her past.

Whew! With all the holiday craziness, I didn't think I'd get this posted today. Anyway, I hope you guys don't mind some lore. This is a sequel to Worthy, and a continuation of my Guilliman/Reader story. You can find the other stories in this series on my Masterlist.

In the all but empty Communications Center, Guilliman stared at the holographic image of Captain Takahashi. His Admechs and the Captain’s technicians had finally managed to cobble together an interphase between the two ships’ communications systems. Still, the Captain’s image flickered and lagged as she spoke.

“...have rooted out two more conspirators, Lord Guilliman. A pair of sanitation specialists. They attempted to take control of my ship’s steering mechanism.”

Guilliman clenched his gauntleted fist. “That makes seven attempts to date.”

“All of which we have discovered and stopped.”

“To your credit, Captain.”

The woman nodded curtly. “All the same, I agree it remains too dangerous to allow the Lady Heir to return on a permanent basis. Though, she will still need to send the first message to our homeworld once we are in range.”

“In two standard days.”

“Yes.”

Guilliman shook his head in wonder. Even in the time of the Great Crusade, such long range communication, without the aid of Astropaths, was more fantasy than reality. He added it to his mental list of technologies to acquire once the treaty was formalized.

“You will be sending the conspirators over for interrogation.”

The Captain’s eyes turned icy. “I will. Though I expect it will be more of the same.”

Guilliman scowled. During each interrogation, an implant of some kind had activated a small electromagnetic pulse within the prisoners’ brains, eradicating all higher functions. Only the first, the former Lord O’Rourke, had managed to give them any information before his unexpected lobotomy.

“Captain, you promised to clarify a few details from the first interrogation when last we spoke.”

For the first time, Captain Takahashi looked uneasy. Her eyes flickered behind Guilliman.

He understood. “Sicarius, await me outside. And see that none enter.”

He heard Cato’s teeth grinding as he obeyed.

“Forgive my hesitance, Lord Guilliman.” The Captain frowned. “But what I am about to reveal would no doubt be considered treasonous by my superiors.”

“I am grateful for your trust, Captain.”

Her frown softened. “I have come to believe we both have the Lady Heir’s best interests at heart.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “You told me how O’Rourke mentioned his orders came from a ‘prince’, someone he believed to be the true heir to our world.”

Guilliman nodded. He had long suspected your home to be less peaceful than you implied. Your obvious discomfort whenever the topic arose, the way you dodged the subject with the skill of an Aeldari warrior, and, of course, the continued sabotage attempts by your entourage did little to persuade him otherwise.

His logical mind knew the value of this alliance and the technology it would bring to the Imperium. But, in his deepest soul, none of that mattered. Someone was trying to take you from him. You. 

Only centuries of practice hid his churning rage.

The Captain continued. “As you know, our world is led by the Matriarch. She had three children, all who have since died. My Lady is the only child of her eldest and, under our laws, the Heir. But she has two cousins, the two princes.”

Guilliman’s lips twisted sardonically. He’d dealt with enough Imperial nobility to be more than aware of the twists and turns of dynastic politics. Part of him felt saddened at the thought that you came from a family afflicted with such foolishness.

And yet, he bit back a bitter laugh, was my own “family” so different?

“Her Grace has made no secret of her preference for my Lady’s eldest cousin. He is a charismatic young man, currently riding high on the glory of military success.” The Captain paused, looked uncertain, then continued. “In my opinion, Lord Guilliman, the Matriarch purposely isolated my Lady so she could not compete with her cousin’s popularity.” 

A shrewd move. Guilliman had to admit. 

No one who had ever met you and experienced your thoughtfulness and compassion could doubt your potential for popularity with the masses. How quickly you’d won the adoration of his own serfs proved that. Not to mention the progress you’d made among the Ultramarines.

“You think he is the ‘prince’ who gave O’Rourke his orders.”

The Captain frowned. “Possibly. The other option is the younger cousin. He’s rumored to be quite intelligent, but the Matriarch destined him for holy orders. He’s been sequestered in one of our scholastic monasteries since he came of age.”

Guilliman narrowed his eyes. “If dealing with my own Ecclesiarchy has taught me anything, it is that the lust for power can infect even the holiest-seeming priest.”

“Indeed.”

Guilliman stared through the Captain’s image, mind working. Too many variables. Not enough data.

“What do you believe, Captain?”

The Captain looked him in the eye. “Whoever gave the orders is irrelevant. I believe this mission was supposed to fail. All of us, myself, my crew, and the Lady Heir were supposed to die at Imperial hands.”

Yet again, Guilliman found himself impressed by this tiny baseline woman’s strength of will. “Thus removing the only obstacle to a prince’s rise to power, and ensuring your world’s continued isolation.”

“Yes.” The Captain’s lips lifted into a slight smile. “But no one back home foresaw this particular turn of events.”

Guilliman huffed a laugh. “Nor did anyone here.” His mirth was short-lived. “Once my betrothed sends her message, however, the game changes.”

“And all Void will break loose. She needs to be made aware.”

Therein lay the crux of the problem. How much did he tell you? How much did you already suspect?

“I agree.”

The Captain must have seen something in his face. “You said once that she’s stronger than she looks, Lord Guilliman. I assure you, it’s true.”

Strong in some ways, yes. But so, so fragile in others.

***

“Fascinating, Brother Tarchus. Remind me which section of the Codex that is again?” You smiled up at the Ultramarine, stylus and dataslate in hand.

“Certainly, my Lady. Chapter 647, Section F, Subsection B-14, Paragraph 54….” 

You scribbled frantically. “Ah, yes. Thank you. I have it now.” I think. “And why would you say this is your favorite passage?”

The giant warrior actually looked excited. “The minutiae of supply lines, especially to besieged worlds, is an excellent example of the importance of efficiency and practicality in uncertain circumstances.”

There. Something you could grasp. “The creation of order in the midst of anarchy?”

“Precisely.” You swore the Ultramarine almost smiled.

“In times of uncertainty, the order brought by the Ultramarines must be a great comfort to Imperial citizens.”

Tarchus cocked his head to one side. “I suppose that is one of the outcomes.”

“A beneficial one, surely.” You continued. “A fearful population is vulnerable to manipulation, whereas a population confident in its protectors is steadfast and resilient.”

“I had not considered.”

“Something to think about, yes?”

The Ultramarine looked thoughtful. “Perhaps.”

“Well, I should not keep Lord Guilliman waiting. Thank you for taking the time to explain more of the Codex Astartes to me, Brother Tarchus. It was kind of you.”

He nodded. “I found the conversation stimulating, my Lady.”

“I should like to continue in the future, if we may.”

“I…am amenable to that suggestion.”

You gave him a final nod, smiled again, and stepped past him into Guilliman’s chambers. Once through, you couldn’t hold back a laugh of triumph. 

Your betrothed looked up at you from his place behind his desk. “And what has you so giddy this evening, my love?”

He stretched out a hand, and you hurried to his side. “I managed to engage Brother Tarchus in conversation just now!”

“Indeed? It was my understanding he was being particularly stubborn.”

“Ah, but I believe I’ve found the key to an Ultramarine’s hearts.” You smiled slyly up at him.

He chuckled. “Enlighten me.”

“I simply get them talking about the Codex Astartes. It seems to be their favorite topic.”

“Believe me, I am aware.” He lifted his eyes to the ceiling and gave a dramatic shake of his head. “You have swept all before you, my Lady. Are none of my sons safe from your wiles?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know at least one is.”

“Cato can be… difficult.”

To put it mildly. You pursed your lips.

Guilliman ran a finger along your jawline. “Do not fret. You cannot help but be beloved by all in time.”

You felt heat rush to your face. “What…what happened to your ‘no touching’ rule?”

A flash of mischief in his blue eyes was the only warning you received before you found yourself hoisted up and deposited in his lap. You gasped and caught yourself with outstretched hands against his massive chest.

“Roboute!”

An arm of steel wrapped about your shoulders, pinning you against him. “I thought depriving myself entirely of your touch would cool my ardor. Instead, it seemed to have the opposite effect.”

His head lowered, lips just shy of your own, as his voice dropped to the rumbling growl you loved. “Instead, I have decided to allow myself a few…small…indulgences….”

You melted into his arms when he kissed you, slowly and deeply.

An eternity, and yet not nearly long enough, later, he pulled away and smiled down at you. You rested your head against his chest and closed your eyes. 

This. If I could just have this, forever, I would be satisfied.

“My love, we need to talk.”

“Mmm?” 

The double beat of his hearts soothed you. You realized you could easily fall asleep like this, cradled in his arms, safe.

“It is time you told me more of your family.”

Your eyes snapped wide. “What?”

No. No no no. I’m not ready!

His arm tightened slightly around you, as if he feared you’d bolt. You considered doing exactly that.

“Captain Takahashi contacted me this morning.” Guilliman’s voice was kind, but firm. “There was another sabotage attempt.”

You jerked upright. “Was anyone hurt?”

“No. The Captain’s men-at-arms are skilled. But the fact remains,” he brought his other hand to your chin, holding it in place, “they were following orders from a prince of your house.”

Two faces appeared unbidden in your mind. One, fierce and angular, baring its teeth in a wide grin. The other, rounded and pale, eyes sullen. 

“Victor and Conrad….” You didn’t realize you’d spoken the names aloud until Guilliman reacted.

“Your cousins.”

You couldn’t turn your head away, but you dropped your eyes from his piercing gaze. “Yes. My cousins.”

You didn’t want to think about them. You didn’t want to think about…her. In desperation, you tried a new tactic. Slowly, you moved your hands up Guilliman’s chest, caressing the hard muscle beneath his tunic. 

“Can’t we talk about this later?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes, wetting your lips with your tongue.

His breath stuttered, his eyes going dark and hungry.

You continued exploring his chest with your fingers, feeling rather proud of yourself… until he released your chin and captured both wrists in an iron grip.

“A good attempt.” One side of his mouth tilted upward. “But I will not be distracted.”

Struggling only emphasized your utter helplessness. “Roboute, please.”

“What are you so afraid of, my love?”

Something snapped inside. You snarled at the man you loved.

“I’m afraid of her! My grandmother, the Matriarch, the heartless bitch.” A hysterical laugh burst through your lips. “You think one of my cousins is behind all this? Whoever the saboteurs assumed their orders came from, I guarantee she is the one pulling the strings. She wants me dead.”

You stopped, panting. Guilliman stared down at you. It frightened you how little emotion you saw behind his regal mask.

“Why?”

Why indeed? Why stop now? Let’s air all the family’s dirty laundry.

“She hated my mother first. My mother, her eldest, her legacy. My mother, who threw everything away to sail the stars. My mother, who returned years later, pregnant with an unknown man’s child.” 

You couldn’t have stopped even if you wanted to. The words poured forth like blood from a wound.

“Grandmother banished my mother to an isolated Abbey in the highlands. I was born there, among the Holy Sisters.” You smiled at the memory of happier days. “Mother became their huntress, bringing in game for the larders. During her absences, I learned alongside the novitiates. History, theology, but also botany and bioengineering. I spent hours in their gardens and greenhouses. The Sisters are famed for engineering new forms of plantlife, medicines and textiles as well as food.”

You didn’t see Guilliman anymore. You saw the kindly, wizened Mother Superior, cradling a new strain of vitamin-infused apple in her weathered hands. You saw rows of pungent medicinal herbs swaying in the greenhouses. You saw Mother, laughing, hands outstretched to welcome you into her arms.

“When I was twelve, Mother died on a hunt. I grieved. But I wasn’t alone. The Sisters were my family.” You felt tears coming as you dropped your voice to a whisper. “Then, one night….”

Screams. You jerked awake in your room amongst the other novitiates, all of you bleary-eyed and confused. Light poured through the windows. You heard the hard tramp of boots. The door burst open and Sister Helena fell into the room, shoved from behind. 

“Which one is she?” A harsh voice boomed. 

The man it belonged to stood in the doorway, covered head to toe in tactical armor, brandishing a pistol.

He shouted your name. Sister Helena crouched on the floor, but said nothing. The man snarled and aimed his weapon at her.

“Wait!” You screamed, scrambling out of bed. “It’s me! I’m the one you’re looking for!”

You had no idea why they wanted you. But you weren’t going to let them hurt your family.

The rest of the night was a blur of grasping hands, roaring engines, and bitter cold. They hadn’t let you change out of your nightdress. They hadn’t let you say goodbye.

“The soldiers took me to the Matriarch, my grandmother, who said a plague that had devastated our cities the year prior had killed my two uncles. I was now the heir. Lessons followed. Endless lessons as she tried to force me into the model princess. At first, I resisted. But the consequences….” You shuddered. “I learned to keep quiet. I learned to obey. I learned to fear.”

You felt Guilliman’s hand on your lower back, rubbing circles. Slowly, your surroundings came back into focus.

“Breathe, my love.” His deep voice dispelled the haze of terror. “Just breathe.”

You buried your face in his chest, but words kept coming. “She didn’t want me. Not really. In time, I realized she was using me as a threat to my eldest cousin, Victor. By naming me heir, but promising the position to him if he behaved, she kept him on a tight leash. I was safe for a time. But if I hadn’t proposed this diplomatic mission, my death would have come at her hands sooner or later.”

“You must have known this envoy might have gotten you killed, with or without your family’s interference.” 

“I knew.” You wondered if you sounded as desperate as you felt. “But it was a chance. A way out! I couldn’t stay in that palace anymore, with her and her spies always watching.” 

Another hysterical laugh. “You know Grandmother once refused me meals for an entire week in a fit of rage? I would have starved to death if not for the kindness of the servants. I-I just…I had to…oh, Light help me.”

You wept, clinging to Guilliman, the only solid point in the maelstrom tearing through you. “Don’t let me go, Roboute. Please. Don’t let me go.”

His huge arms tightened further around you. “Never.”

***

Guilliman held you as you sobbed, held you close, and seethed. 

I could raze her planet. I could smother it in steel, snuffing out the lives of everyone who ever hurt her. 

He wouldn’t, though. The cost in innocents would be too high. You’d never forgive him. But still….

“Damn the alliance.” He growled. “Damn the treaty. Let your Matriarch think you dead. Let her think the barbarians of the Imperium slaughtered your entire entourage.”

Your sobs quieted and you looked up at him with wide eyes.

He cupped your face in his palm. “Marry me, return with me to Ultramar, and let me care for you. You need never set foot upon your homeworld again.”

“It would be so easy,” you murmured, closing your eyes, “to just say yes. To stay safely in your shadow and forget everything else.”

“Then say yes.”

A long moment passed in silence. He heard the muted voices outside his office, the omnipresent hum of the great ship, and your beating heart. Then, you opened your reddened eyes.

“I can’t, Roboute.” You seemed calmer now. “I may have originated this plan as an escape from my home, but all the other reasons I gave, I believe in them too. My people need the rest of humanity, and the rest of humanity needs us.”

A mixture of disappointment and sheer awe filled him. How, in the vastness and cruelty of the universe, had he found a woman so perfectly matched to himself?

“I used to dream of running away.” He muttered, only half aware he spoke aloud. “I dreamed of cutting free of the Imperium, of becoming a farmer. An honest, simple life.”

“It sounds lovely.” You smiled sadly. “But we can’t cast duty aside so easily, you and I. We care too much. All we can hope for,” you placed your hand against his cheek, mirroring him, “is to find someone to share that duty with us. Someone to stand beside us. Someone to love.”

“I love you.” Throne, my hearts feel about to burst with it.

“And I you.”

He kissed you again. Soft and gentle and so, so sweet. When he pulled himself away, you tucked yourself back against his chest.

“Forgive me for hiding all this from you, Roboute. I was afraid. I’ve been afraid for so long.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“When we reach my homeworld, my family will stand against us.”

Ferocity welled within him. Lifting you in his arms, he carried you to the great viewport and looked out upon the passing stars. Logically, he knew the star your world circled was not among them. 

Still, he issued a challenge.“I am Roboute Guilliman, Lord of Ultramar, Lord Regent of the Imperium, Primarch.” He held you close. “Let them try.”

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[rhiannonsknife]

Imagine that when the cabin burns down, Shauna is so busy trying to grab her journals and Jackie's doomcoming dress that she doesn't even notice that we aren't with her until it's too late. Maybe us dying/getting burned in the cabin fire? Also, i love your writing so so much

— warnings: major character death (reader dies). angst. hurt/no comfort. why do you guys love to see me suffer.

— a/n: i can’t believe i forgot to post this?? this has been in my drafts for a hot minute guys…

it’s the smell of smoke that hits shauna first, faint but insistent, seeping through the cracks of the cabin. instantly, her alerted eyes snap open, the moonlit cabin barely visible beneath a strange orange haze that seems to dance across the walls that surround her.

her journal.

the thought comes to her sharp and sudden, slicing through the slow realization of what’s happeing.

jackie. the dress.

she scrambles to her feet, shoving the tattered blanket aside. jackie’s dress is hanging on the far wall, its soft fabric tinged with the flicker of approaching flames. it’s all she that’s left of the girl she once knew. this, and the words she’s written in her journals, her only way of keeping jackie’s voice, her movements, the memories that still weigh heavy on her chest. the only way she has to remember her at all, whenever the memories begin to fade, to blur like everything else seems to for as long as she’s out here.

the smoke thickens, curling around her throat. shauna coughs as she stumbles toward the wall. her fingers close around the fabric, yanking it free. the dress slips through her hands like silk, unmarked by the heat now. protected and safe.

she turns toward her bunk, pulling out the little journal with frantic movements. her hands shake as she gathers it up, clutching it tightly to her chest.

your lungs burn first.

the smoke clings to the inside of your throat, thick and clawing. you wake choking on it, hands scrabbling for the edge of your bunk as the heat presses closer. you can hear the fire. the snapping of wood. the low growl of it devouring everything in its path. it’s everywhere.

“get up!” shauna screams as she stumbles toward the door. her voice breaks against the crackling roar of the flames as her fingers fumble with the latch until it gives, spilling her into the freezing air of the night.

the cold slams into her, finally allowing her to breathe. shauna blindly stumbles into the snow, wheeling back toward the cabin once she’s caught her breath. “fire!” she shouts, her voice ragged. “wake up! the cabin’s on fire!”

at last, figures emerge in the shadows, their movements sluggish at first, then frantic as they realize what’s happening. lottie is the first to scream, the sound high and piercing. someone, perhaps tai, is dragging van out by the arm, half-carrying her as the others stumble into the clearing and join shauna out in the freezing cold.

the fire is everywhere now, flames racing up the walls and across the roof. shauna’s chest heaves as she stands in the snow, clutching jackie’s dress and her journals.

at least she has saved her this time. at least she kept her safe.

your feet hit the floor. the cabin is too hot, your vision swimming in orange and red. everything is too hot, burning to the touch. you stagger toward the door, but the fire has already reached it, eating through the wooden frame. there’s no way out, you realize.

there’s no way out.

you scream for help, but the smoke catches the sound in your throat, reducing it to a broken cough. the heat presses closer. everything burns.

shauna’s gaze sweeps across the huddled figures that have made it to safety. they’re coughing and shouting, their faces streaked with panic. there’s a headcount she’s doing without even realizing it.

nat. tai. van. misty. lottie. and-

where are you?

the thought hits her like a punch to the gut, scattering the pieces of her relief into jagged fragments of panic. she turns back toward the cabin, flames licking at the roof that’s already collapsing inward.

“where’s…” she chokes on your name, the sound catching in her throat. “guys- where’s-“

you hands reach for the bunk again, fingers brushing the worn edges of the wood. you can barely see anything at all now. you want to scream, but there’s nothing left in your lungs.

“where’s shauna going?” nat shouts. she’s the first to notice her panic.

“shauna!” misty grabs her by the arm, but she pulls away, stumbling forward. the heat of the flames instantly forces her back, her face stinging with its intensity.

that’s when they realize.

“you’re not…she’s gone, shauna! you can’t-“

“she’s not gone!” shauna’s scream tears through the clearing. you’re not. you can’t be.

your legs give out beneath you. the heat presses against your back, your chest, your hands, and everything blurs.

you swear you can hear jackie’s voice. soft, distant, calling your name like she used to, back when everything was simple, before the crash, before the cold, before the fire. it’s enough to still your panic, at least, to pull you toward something like peace, even as the smoke closes in.

“you’re okay,” it whispers. you think you see her too, just barely, her figure shimmering at the edge of your vision, her arms reaching out as if to hold you. you can almost feel her touch, her hand brushing your cheek.

the heat doesn’t hurt anymore. everything feels warm.

everything fades to black.

the roof caves in with a deafening crash, sending a plume of sparks into the night sky. the sound silences everyone at a once. for a long moment, there’s only the sound of the fire and the crackle of collapsing wood.

shauna’s knees hit the snow, cold against her skin, burning in its own way. jackie’s dress slips from her fingers, landing in the frost beside her as her breath leaves her in short, broken sobs.

“i didn’t know,” she cries. “i didn’t- i thought you were outside. i thought you were safe”

the others don’t respond. there’s nothing left in the fire’s wake but silence and ash.

everything feels hollow.

the fire has long since died out. shauna hasn’t moved.

you find her there, curled in the snow at the edge of the wreckage, jackie’s dress clutched tightly in her hands. her breaths come in bursts. her shoulders tremble with each broken sob that escapes her throat.

you want to hold her. you want to tell her that it’s not her fault. that you don’t blame her for running. but the space between you is vast, no matter how close you try to get.

you kneel beside her anyway. you don’t feel the cold anymore. your fingers brush the frozen edges of her hair, though she doesn’t feel it. she never will.

“shauna,” you whisper, the sound barely more than the wind threading through the trees that surround you.

her sobs hitch. for a brief moment, you think she’s heard you. but then she curls tighter into herself, her fingers twisting into the fabric of the dress as if it’s the only thing anchoring her to earth.

you lie down beside her in the snow. you wish you could wrap yourself around her the way you used to on nights when the cold seeped through the walls of the cabin. your hand hovers over hers, aching to touch, but there’s nothing to touch anymore. nothing but air and memory it’s all that you are now.

she keeps saying your name, over and over, like a prayer to someone who isn’t listening.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. maybe it’s the only thing that will reach her now. “i’m so sorry”

the night drags on. you can’t leave her. you won’t. so you stay, curling yourself against her as the frost edges closer.

you press your lips to her temple, knowing she’ll never feel it, and still, you stay.

[purgeindeath]

I didn’t say vi didn’t matter to her, i asked why her happiness matters when the entire crux of the s1 finale is jinx leaving vi behind. how do we see jinx’s life coming back to her? because she plays a game with isha and says to her that she made things clear, despite isha having no personality? I understand what isha was meant to do in the story, they kinda hit you over the head with it. But how am i supposed to believe that isha made jinx empathetic and loving again when i don’t know anything about her? you cannot seriously tell me you felt anything when that bland little girl died. they made her bland so you WOULDNT feel anything.

‘actions speak louder than words’ what were the actions?

bruh the problem i have with jinx isn’t even her redemption arc it’s the rushed ass way they did it, and the way she’s a completely different character from s1 despite the s1 finale being her accepting that she’s a ‘jinx’

also dear god give me a break on the media literacy. i don’t need to be a genius to understand marvel level writing, I’ll stick to actually good complex shows thanks 🫶

you’re also still avoiding the point of jinx saying that she didn’t know caitlyn’s mother was in there, when we all know she wouldn’t of given a single fuck if she was. the writers were retroactively changing jinx’s empathy in season 1, they weren’t saying that she changed, they were saying she was always like this. read my follow up post ab the point of s1 jinx, and you’ll understand why i don’t like them making her so much more palatable to caitlyn and the audience.

arcane pretending like jinx would’ve given a fuck about caitlyn’s mother is the funniest thing so far in the season. there’s an entire scene in s1 dedicated to vi realising her sister is a stone cold murderer + she HATES caitlyn

[lunalikestowriteanddraw]

What if…Frost had a younger sister…that he didn’t know about…and ends up meeting by chance…bc she decided to go to Carnivale Lecroux one day…

Okay, so I made up this character a couple of months ago actually, but I can’t draw tigers so I don’t have any visuals for her, BUT

Her name is Morning Sun On The Horizon (yes I did do my research in Tabaxi naming culture, how did you know), but in a similar fashion to Frost, it has been shortened to Sun/Sunny. She is 13 years younger than Frost (so, for the sake of it, let’s say Frost is about 38 by this point and Sunny is 25), and is a white bengal tiger (and I like to imagine she is the spitting image of their father, while Frost is the spitting image of their mother).

Their parents died when Sunny was a cub, so a tabaxi named Rushing Like The River (or River) adopted her, and moved to a different town for plot reasons, idk.

Only reason why the two siblings meet is because Sunny decided to visit Carnivale Lecroux (post-canon) with her adoptive mother and her (Sunny’s) twin girls (Morning Dew On The Grass—aka Dew/Dewdrop/Dewey—and Refreshing Morning Mist—aka Mist/Misty). River recognized Frost, confirmed who he was, and introduced the two siblings.

Sunny has no powers, and is fairly outgoing, unlike Frost. She is still quite intelligent, though, and is a teacher at the local school. The two actually have a lot in common, and get along swimmingly.

Gricko is excited to meet Frost’s extended family, and absolutely adores the twins (who I imagine are somewhere about 5-8 years old). Kremy outwardly complains about the extra mouths and noise, but he does quietly give them a family discount. The twins absolutely love Gideon and Torbek, and you bet your ass those two give the girls all the piggyback rides a child could want.

[silverjirachi]

saw a post on here that i dont want to be negative on and detract from but it made me realize that yeah. my parents would choose their faith over their child. and have. neither of them said i love you or goodbye the day i came out, after i wrote a big long letter to them explaining more about my gender and bisexuality, in which i compared being trans to the stress of being a moth when everyone expects you to be a butterfly, my father told me i had “better be celibate or else i’d not only be a moth but a dirty one too.”

and it is hard to look past the hurt of this sometimes and realize that it is just cruelty. they are so rigid about god they would rather bring the hammer on their own suffering child than examine their own belief system and admit maybe they were wrong. or at the very least, learn something.

but my mother told me once she was “too old to learn something new” and my father has been very consistent and open about the order of priorities in his life, which he has constantly repeated are “#1 God, #2 Family, #3 Self” but it is of my opinion in being this way to his own child he has actually chosen to put Self before all, because he would rather not violate his own invented priorities than extend empathy for his child. Because in his set of priorities, to do so would violate #1, and to violate this set of priorities harms no one but himself.

but why do I call such priorities invented? Isn’t that the rule we are taught in our faith? Well in my faith I learned that God is imminent within everything. So this hierarchical priority list sets a false expectation of reality that simply doesn’t exist. Why must every situation in life default to this hierarchy? Why must your expression of love be tiered? Why would you rather conform to this tiered and hierarchical structure that suppresses those you love underneath others than understand that each gives equal and unique value and is shifting priority at different times? Not only that, but to venture out of this constructed hierarchy for two seconds to examine other aspects of our faith that say that God is in our words and our actions, and thus by merely holding the intention in your heart with words you say and actions you do you can actually still prioritize him at all times without subjugating others beneath him.

But what do I know? I wasn’t raised by these same staunch Christians or anything. I certainly don’t know that hierarchies of power thrive on fear and that in fact these actions of cruelty to your family and children, in this model, are actually expressions of love. Because if you don’t conform to God’s expectations, then you don’t get into heaven, so anyone who tries to quash any sense of nonconformity out of you is actually looking out for the best interest of your soul. It is hard to explain to someone who has built an entire lifetime on fear of being punished that their actions of cruelty are not expressions of love.

When my parents hit me as a child, this was not an expression of love. This was an expression of power and fear. I had done something wrong that I didn’t know better and from their worldview the only way to “teach” me correctly would be to make me suffer a corporeal punishment. This did nothing but make me fear and distrust them. This did nothing but drive extreme distance between us, and yet my parents would call these expressions of love. Because I was learning the proper way to behave. And not only this, but this understanding of discipline is indeed false, because I work with young children every summer and never once have had to even think about raising a hand to them to get them to understand. These priorities are the same.

Their actions were cruelty. It’s as simple as that. They were disrespectful and unkind, and they drove the final wedge that made me understand that they would rather hang tightly on in fear to the expectations of their own faith than share joy with me at my hypothetical gay wedding. And why would I do them the disservice of inviting them to such an event, an event that may ask them to compromise their own values, when I already know what path they have chosen? Perhaps the expression of love to them, then, is keeping them away. But I do wonder if they’d still feel this way if they weren’t invited to my wedding.

When I was 18 and going into college my mom told me that “my beliefs were very strong, and to never do anything that compromised my values.” And I never have. I never have.

[nerdwithabrush2]

the state of J

This is more of a word womit and a vent than anything else I guess. Maybe I'll typ it out and get it out of my brain and it'll be better.

I just sort of realized what's been bringing me so down lately, I mean other than a few other things that are constant.

Today is my mom's birthday, but it's also my only close uncle's birthday. I have 2 uncles-one we don't really talk to at all. This one unfortunately was tasked with picking up the slack because my father wasn't there. And it's his first birthday since he passed away last summer.

It just hit me today. And it's dawning on my just how very very low I am.

And I knew April/May was going to be rough anyway because gram passed away last april 29.

This is affecting everything in my life apparently. And coincidentally JJ has a bunch of trauma anniversaries happening this month.

I feel like I'm in an angst cycle here and it's not fun. She should be happy. She's got a wonderful family, friends, a wedding coming up.

But she's frustrating the ever-living hell out of me. I hate that I've dumped my trauma on her and I feel like I'm pushing EVERYONE away on here, on discord and irl. Part of me knows it's not true-that everyone's busy and dealing with their own stuff. I just am feeling needy and I also hate that.

So I don't know what I'm going to do, but at this very moment I just want to cry on someone's shoulder, but I'm alone. And I feel like I'm constantly talking into a void.

@agentjjkelly

[autisticrosewilson]

So do you guys actually think that Jason's entire story, relationship to the others, and philosophy amounts to him being a rebellious teen who wants his dad's attention? Like are you 100% serious? I thought you were joking about that but too many of you are saying it with your whole chest.

And what the fuck is this "Bruce antagonizing Jason is fanon!" Shit I've been seeing? You guys are aware that a parent can love their kid and still be a shit parent right? I know you guys don't want to fathom the thought that maybe your blorbo might also occasionally have to face responsibility for consistently endangering children but let's not start being delusional now.

Bruce does love his kids, that doesn't mean that he hasn't hurt them. And I'd also argue that for the most part he feels in the right for it, and he's said multiple times that he believes it's for their own good, so you can't even argue that he's sorry about it. It's okay for you guys to admit that your PERSONAL INTERPRETATION of the character wouldn't do that but don't sit here and pretend that it's not a facet of the source.

[totheidiot]

"i am gay" "i am straight" okay??? i'll bring the rain??? i'll bring the wind??? i'm the mighty hurricane???

[dapperrokyuu]

Needing a Sua perspective from the ALNST auditions to Round 1. I never put much thought into what happens to the cast post-Anakt Garden graduation (do they immediately go to the auditions? Is there a period of time where they dont see each other until they recognize each other at the audition? Theres a considerable amount of time between the auditions and their Alien Stage season, did they see each other often between then or...? etc.), but regardless, imagine being her and having to choose between sabotaging your own audition so you dont have to go the the Sing, Win, or Die Show or putting your in your all in hopes of winning and spending just a bit more time with this girl you love because you know itll likely be the last time you see her. Imagine...

[thedrotter]

as a little treat i am sharing with you little Aya doodles I've done over the last few days to unwind ww just little expressions based on lines in-game because those are always fun to draw. nothing too special just biscuit

it's Aya because upon doing bizarrely throughout playthroughs of the game for still unspecified project purposes I've gained a soft spot for her she's my daughter now my mental tier list on my favorite characters is so confusing right now

[maxgicalgirl]

I’m not going to lie I’m like really stuck and don’t know what to do with my feelings about All Of This. I dont have therapy until next week and they don’t have space to move me up and I dont really have anyone else to talk through how I feel ? I dont know what to do.

[nostalgia-tblr]

loki/william rufus fic, where bill explains that as the second son he has inherited england while big brother bob only got the duchy of normandy, ha ha ha.

[stinkrascal]

when life gets hard my cope is making paladins in bg3 and now ive made 3 new paladins in the span of a day i simply cannot be stopped

[arolesbianism]

Harold tell your son to post some selfies I need to draw him stat

[iamthepulta]

I put the clothes in the washer on a whim and now I don't want to rotate them. I'm in bed with cat :( :( I have tea and I sent my last email for the night and now I want to hide and die.

I'm supposed to host a board game night tomorrow and that is like- the last thing I want to do.