#YOU ARE SCARED OF ECLIPSE. YOU WILL NEVER GET YOUR CHILDHOOD BACK AND IN YOUR ATTEMPTS TO NEVER BE LIKE HIM-

[starheirxero]

I am back once more! :D Lunar and Earth finally talked, and by golly, it is everything and more! Watching them both go through their issues together, and realize their flaws is kind of…therapeutic? In a way??? There are also so many parallels! Between Lunar and Earth, between Lunar and Eclipse(which made me go feral), even between Earth and the Creator in some way!

The thing that really got me is the realization, that Lunar and Earth are opposites in almost every way, and looking at things through this perspective is so interesting!

Earth feels as though her feelings have no value, as though they don't matter! She always puts others before herself, even expressing guilt for her breakdown!

Lunar, on the other hand, has a habit of putting themself first. That itself isn't a bad thing, of course, but they made it a habit to force their emotions onto others, to the point where the people around them felt the need to walk on eggshells!

Where Earth is very down to earth, Lunar is always in the clouds. Where Lunar acts on impulse, both verbally and physically, Earth overthinks, to the point, that she forgets to act.

Even in their grief, they acted like polar opposites. One shut down, while the other screamed and shouted!

I am such a freak when it comes to psychology, so this is just- It's making me feral, it's turning me into a rabid animal-

Both reflect the places they come from as well.

Lunar is emotionally immature, due to the trauma they faced. They feel as though they are stuck being the kid they were originally created to be, never having the chance to grow, before another thing was thrown at them, causing a hold in their worldview, if that makes sense! They act out, and push their emotions on others, because Eclipse always disregarded them. He never took their feelings seriously, and even now keeps teasing them for it. So of course, they actively push them onto others, now that there are people who will listen!

Earth, on the other hand, was always created with a clear purpose. She was made to be the caretaker. She was made to be perfect. From the moment she first opened her eyes, the expectations of perfection were put on her shoulders.

It's really interesting to think about.

The Creator had too many expectations, and his positive relationship to Earth gave her the need to fulfill those expectations. Eclipse had no expectations. He never gave Lunar an objective to live up to, and would push them down, everytime they tried to look for one.

The Creator, despite his good relationship to Earth, never cared for her. He only kept her close, calling her his "dearest daughter" for his own benefit. There was never an ounce of care for her, to the point, where he simply dropped the mask and insulted her. Eclipse, despite his negative, and very unhealthy relationship to Lunar, did care for them in a strange way. However, he kept pushing them away, because he didn't understand love and care, probably afraid of it. He treated them like a tool and even took ownership of them by saying things like "you belong to me", because it was the only way to keep them close in his twisted mind.

Speaking of their "first person", both of them act different in that regard too!

Earth is nothing like her father.

Meanwhile, Lunar has been shown to share quite a few of traits with Eclipse. Even in this video alone, there's the way they used to act in anger. Like Eclipse, Lunar reacts with anger and violence, when something happens. Both bite and show off their claws. Ever since their death, they have been shown to act similar to Eclipse, though on a lesser scale! It is making me so unwell, these two will be the death of me/pos-

Though as it has already been pointed out, they are changing. They haven't acted like this in a while. They have become rather self-aware and calm very suddenly, which confuses even Lunar themself! Like Earth said, this could very well be due to their last emotional outbreak ending badly! Their brain might just be shutting down, as a way to keep them safe! I am definitely interested to see, where this goes-

One more thing to point out in all this, is Lunar's question! "Why do things keep happening to us?"

I just find their opinions on the matter really Intriguing!

Earth knew from the beginning, she wasn't in control. She is only in control of herself, but never the situation. She doesn't try to be. Lunar, on the other hand, feels a lack of control, both in their situation and in general, and desperately tries to keep a hold of it! It reminds me of a orange and black animatronic- Okay, I'll stop now-

ALSO, BOTH ADMITTING TO SEEING SOLAR AS A BROTHER FROM THE VERY BEGINNING!😭 BUT ONE WAS HELD BACK BY THEIR Trauma, AND THE OTHER WAS HELD BACK BY HER FEAR OF OVERSTEPPING BOUNDARIES-

-Stardust

STARDUST IM GNAWING ON YOU SO HARD OH MY GHODDDDDDD!!!!!! /POS

THE MESSAGES. THE THEMES. RHE OPPOSITES AND THE PARALLELS. AAUGGGHHHHH I DIDNT CONNECT SO MUCH OF THIS AT ALL HOLY SHIT.

I don't have productive thoughts I am just ABSORBING THIS SO HARD. Lunar who wanted to disconnect from Eclipse but adopted traits of him anyways, versus Earth who wanted to connect with the Creator as much as possible but ended up farther from him than ever.... MAN. AUGH. I can be normal about that (lie)

ALSO YEA OMG WHEN THEY WERE TALKING ABT THEY'VE BEEN DEALING WITH THEIR WHOLE..... EVERYTHING. I WAS LIKE. 👀 hey boy. awfully familiar words there HDJEHDJWHD

AND WITH SOLAR AUAHAVQHAGHHHH SONT EVEN WITH ME ILL BURST INTO TEARS ILL START CRYING RIGHT HERE RIGHT NOW AAUAGGGHHHHHHH

[idkfitememate]

I am CRYING. FURINA MY BABY YOUR TEAPOT LINES MAKE ME CRY. SHES SO INNOCENT BUT SHES BEEN SO TRAUMATIZED IT HURTS ME. WHY FOCALORS WHY.

😭😭 Furina asks us to dress up as a duo with her. And she said she’d even do our makeup. She’s trying to take back her stolen childhood. MY EYES ARE PUFFY FROM TEARS.

DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE ‘the more you let someone in the easier it is for them to hurt you’ LINE. SHES SCARED TO LET PPL IN AND IM WAILING.

I wanna give her all my love and affection!!! 😭

-🦌 anon, who is curled up on the floor crying

The Curtains Close

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Otter Reader x Furina & Neuvillette

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 1.1k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Angst to fluff, Furina is going through a breakdown, Neuvillette realizes he’s been distant

Forcing Furina on a bed wasn’t easy. The entire day was spent with and you having a “bonding day” and spend the day inside.

Makeup and clothes whirled past in a blur of blues and makeup was pressed into your fur. The entire day was fun, eating snacks and overall just having fun.

At least, it would be if you didn’t notice the sadness behind Furina’s eyes.

Every time she looked at you in your frilly little dress with a big blue bow around your waist and a smaller blue and gold bow around your head.

Now, you’d be a little ticked at being forced into an outfit, but seeing her on the verge of tears when you began to shake your head no - no matter how much she would deny it - you forced your pride down your throat and and put it on.

Her smile was worth it.

The entire day you could just feel her off-ness, and you’re pretty sure you know why. The events pertaining her curse and the death of that bi- I mean Foçalors had just passed and Furina was finally free.

Free to be human once more.

You, knowing the lore, knew that she had suffered with being alive - unchanging and never aging - for five-hundred-years. You knew that both Foçalors and Neuvillette understood that that would have and has had lasting effects on the poor girl.

But you knew they’d never understand. How could they? They were immortal. They had to get used to the passing of the ones they knew if they were mortal because they were literally built for it. Furina wasn’t. She never was.

And now that she was free, she was coming. Crashing down.

The curtain had fallen and the star of the show has fallen to her knees. Her tears stain the floor as the crowd leaves and her wails echo through the empty halls.

To be honest you haven’t seen much of Neuvillette around. You understood that he had new issues to attend to as the new overseer of the nation of Fontaine. But you barely see him in the halal’s anymore.

Your thoughts were immediately halted when you heard small sniffles coming from your friend.

Your head whipped in her direction only to see tears pouring down her face. You rushed over as fast as you could, wiping those tears away as you gently chittered at her, pulling her crumpled form up so she could face you. At your concerned expression, she only cried more.

“I-It’s just,” she started, “… Did she ever love me? Was I ever even worth anything to her? I played my part and danced till collapse and I didn’t even get a thank you! I don’t understand… I watched my friends die… I watched my f-family die… I outlived all of them! And I didn’t… even… get a thank you…” She broke down back into sobs, holding onto herself as she rocked back and forth.

You could only watch as she shattered in front of you. Pain and guilt rose in your stomachs as you stared. Huffing, you jumped off the bed, and grabbed your stuffed jellyfish, dragging it over and throwing it up before climbing up after her.

You gently nudged it towards her and made sure she grabbed on before jumping back down and racing through the halls.

You ran out the building as fast as your little legs could carry you, the winds of Teyvat boosting your form farther. You continued on until to made it to the Opera Eclipse and ran through there until you made it to Neuvillette’s office.

You didn’t even bother to knock before shoving to door open and rushing up to him. He stopped his writing and looked down, his eyes softening at you. He opened his mouth to speak before you grabbed his sleeve. You yanked and pulled and he finally stood up, allowing you to lead him.

Making it back home, you all but forced the man into Furina’s room, and forced him on the bed. She had stopped sobbing by this point, but silent tears still ran down her face.

She looked shocked at Neuvillette’s appearance and he looked shocked at her dishevelment. You shuffled up to her in the ridiculous dress you had on - you would later find out it perfectly match the dress Furina had on when she came into being, after being separated from Foçalors - and part her lips.

“Do you… wish for me to repeat myself?” She whispered, looking at the slightly panting Neuvillette with worry. But at your nod she sighed, realizing why you did this.

And if her Otter wanted something, who was she to deny them that.

When she parted her lips you leapt from the bed, and walked out of the room to give them privacy. You could tell she hesitated at your lack of presence, but hearing her start to speak after you closed the door, you wagged your little tail in relief.

Staring towards the kitchen, you planned on getting them both nice tall glasses of water.

And by the time you got back and managed to open the door, you were met with Neuvillette holding the girl close and shushing her, a light patter of rain outside.

“Of course we’re grateful. I’m grateful. I am so sorry my Lady that I had neglected you. I will say it until the stars and the moon itself command me to stop that you are appreciated. That I care. And though I cannot speak for her fully I can say that my Ar- … Foçalors did care for you. And she loved you. I love you. I care for you. I will never understand the trials of being human and I know that what she did is irreversible, but I do want to be there.” He continued to speak to the crying child in his arms, neither noticing you walking in while dragging the glasses of water in.

Making a small noise, the Sovereign looked down and smiled at you, though you could see the tears in his eyes. He picked you up then the glasses, handing one to Furina who was still clutching your plushy.

“And I can also say that our darling here loves you and cares.” Neuvillette mused, running a hand quickly through your fur.

You chuffed in response and licked the girls face causing a giggle to escape her throat.

Here she was wanted. Here she was needed. Here she was loved.

And you were going to do your damndest to make sure it stays that way.

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : Wanna hug her and hold her and give her kisses on the cheek and UGH- My baby໒꒰ྀི ╥﹏╥ ꒱ྀིა

I personally think she’s like… a teen. She looks like a teen. So imagine being in a mental state of an adult with the emotional state of a child and being forced to watch everyone you know and love die. I couldn’t do it she is so strong but I STILL WANNA HOLD HER MY BABY!!! ૮꒰ ˶꒦ິ꒳꒦ິ˶꒱ა

[steveskafte]

EVIDENCE IN YOURSELF It's so hard to admit you're passionate when you're shy. Too often in this culture, we believe that those who feel most deeply are the loudest ones about it. As a kid, being an introvert wasn't exactly a choice – I was just too awkward around people to be anything else. But I remember seeing examples of heartfelt humans, most in books or on the screen, and knowing that it was something meant for me. There's an emotional connection in observing who you'd like to be, a sudden and obvious awareness despite the evidence in yourself. I remember watching movies with a strong romantic element, an intense passion depicted between a man and a woman, and feeling like it was an ideal I could live up to. Turned out much harder in practice. When I was nineteen, I had a short-lived engagement to a girl (let's call her Celia) who was just as shy as me. Truth be told, I never felt much attraction for her. But she was a good friend, and I'd spent my teenage years single – slowly wondering if my childhood dreams of romance were childish after all. It only took a few months to see how the relationship was a chore. I never got excited about spending time together, didn't feel much when I looked in her eyes, and the thrill of conversation never seemed to materialize. In short, we weren't in love. You'd think that'd be easy to recognize, but when everyone in your life seems stuck in shallow attraction or locked in monogamist apathy, who's your example for falling in love? We broke up just before Christmas 2006, a little negative present to end the year. When I was single again, I thought back to fictional romance as an example. Even if those stories were all an illusion, I chose to chase that level of intensity, or remain alone indefinitely. So I spent the next few years trying to be a more genuine version of myself, aiming to get what was inside of me out. I started writing, and bought my first camera, then began this daily journal in the fall of 2007. My main resolution was to look at myself more honestly. What did I hate most? Self-portraits, my image in the mirror. So I made it a goal that at least one of my daily photos would feature me in some way. The hardest thing to overcome was disinterest in myself. In short, I was aiming at becoming the sort of person I'd admired on the male side of imaginary relationships. Now, I don't believe for a second that people are meant for each other. But it didn't take much time to recognize Susy when she showed up. We met through my poetry online, in the early days of 2009, and quickly started messaging daily. Our first phone conversations went so long and late than we'd had less than a dozen before they eclipsed the entirety of my verbal interaction with Celia. Every time she picked up the line, it felt like that buzzing you get just after your ears pop at altitude, light-headed and suddenly focused. Susy was outgoing, extroverted, and so full of heart that it almost scared me. The next year-and-a-half seemed like a build-up to the exact kind of hope a much younger and quieter version of me has once held close. Susy landed at the Halifax airport in the summer of 2010. Everything was electric with her on that first visit, from spinning in the darkness under starlight to climbing waterfalls in the blinding sun. Even though I'd seen her in photos and brief videos, the very last step in falling for her was visual. Sight and touch meant a lot, but her voice came first. All these years later, from our wedding here on through, I still feel that heavy hiccup of being next to the one I love the most. There's no fading novelty. She's the presence I imagined, but better in every sense. Not at all what I thought, nothing that I planned, like the puzzle piece discovered sideways and upside-down – still the perfect fit once you get it all straight. It's important for you to understand that Susy is why I'm still writing now. She made me brave by believing. If one dream can come true, why not another? October 31, 2023 Avonport, Nova Scotia Year 16, Day 5833 of my daily journal.

[bimboothefool]

Faint м℮м◎ґʝ℮﹩

Content Warning!! WEE WOO WEE WOO!! This contains talk/mentions of blood, neck licks/kisses and that's it! Enjoy!!

The question you'd ask yourself was why hasn't Shadow bitten you yet. He's been given every opportunity especially when you first became his servant. It felt like it was yesterday when it happened.

Your village as a whole decides your fate, to become his next meal, one he can do whatever he pleases until you draw your last breath. All to secure their salvation. Only for the time being.

During that time and until now. A lot has happened, he's fighting or warring with his brother Eclipse all because he said. “If my brother won't have you, then I'll happily make you mine…” Which took you by surprise. It definitely scared me when his brother had shown up out of the blue while you were tending to the garden. He was so close, his sharp claws and dagger-like fangs made my blood go cold. It was something you couldn't forget.

Shadow did push Eclipse back, but from then on just Shadow only calls for you to be with him for every waking moment. He even promoted you to be his personal servant.

Now it's possible another dangerous vampire from another country is roaming the streets. Obviously Shadow's on edge at this point, he's also been eating less and drinking more wine.

Even when you urged him to drink your blood, he still refuses and says. “I'll drink your blood when I feel like it.”

Unable to sit by and let something like that slip by, you decided to do some digging. Maybe his closest allies could help you.

~~

“That's weird he's never had a problem when it comes to feeding from his meals before. Still he takes care of them. But something like this is definitely…concerning.” Rogue ponders as she sips her red wine. Amy, another duchess chimes in. “Yeah I don't mean to jump to conclusions, but maybe he fell in love??” Her emerald eyes sparkled almost like the idea of Shadow falling for you was magical to her.

“Shadow in love…” You murmured under your breath, you felt your heart start to skip a beat or two. “Hmm now that you mentioned it, (Y/n) did say how every time they'd offer Shadow their blood. He'd refuse immediately. Him falling in love is certainly not a huge leap.” Rogue implied teasingly only fueling the ever growing warmth inside your heart.

“Oh my, looks like we've got a forbidden love story waiting to blossom.” Amy squeals with excitement at Rogue's comment. “You two have…a wild imagination.” You averted your eyes to your shoes.

'Shadow has treated me with such care and respect. Almost like I'm an equal to him and not a sacrifice… Then again he's always been that way ever since we were little. Then there was that promise he made to me. I have to wonder if he still remembers that..?’ As much as a part of you wants to shove those ideas away. Another part wants to be more than just his servant, a childhood friend. You want him to love you more than anything else.

~~

You knew while doing what you're about to do was dangerous, you just didn't want Shadow to destroy himself. But it was now or never. Shadow stands up to do something and you get in front of him. “(Y/n) what are you–?!” His voice gets stuck in his throat as you place a hand on the back of his head. Lightly pushing it, until you felt his nose against your neck.

“...(Y/n) you know this is dangerous right..?” Shadow questioned you, you simply nodded. “Mhm I know, but you don't look so good… I… I couldn't let you die for whatever restraints you have.” He soon became silent, his arms wrapped around you. Holding you closer as he started shivering, he knew he can't let himself give in especially, since he's practically starving. He could potentially kill you. “Especially since I'm back with you Shadow…” His eyes widened at this. “You remember me..?” Shadow asked quietly. You laughed airily. “How could I forget you? Especially since I've never seen anyone like you.”

“I'm not doing this as your servant, I'm doing this because you're the only one who can have my blood…and heart.” Shadow huffs out embarrassment. “I mean it, why else would I do this.” Shadow pulls away to look at you. “Are you sure you want to do this? Because if you agree to becoming mine it means you'll have to give up your mortality.” Shadow says, but once he looked to see if there's any hesitation. There was none, you were ready now more than ever.

“Of course, there's no one I'd rather spend the rest of eternity with other than you Shadow.” You said with a loving smile. “You did make that vow at that garden where we'd always meet up. You wanted me to be your beloved. I never gave a reply then, but I'm giving you my answer now.” You hold his hands within your own. “Please will you let me be your lover?”

Shadow smiles tenderly at you, nodding silently. “Of course (Y/n)...” He pulls you close, softly kissing your neck. Murmuring I love you's and licks your neck to soothe you. Finally his fangs plug themselves into your neck. Holding you close as he drinks your blood. As you blink in and out of consciousness, you see he's looking much better than before.

The last thing you heard was. “Hold on…”

~~

You groan feeling a soft light hit your eyes, you try to adjust yourself. But you quickly find out that Shadow's arms are wrapped around you, he starts to wake up. “Hello (Y/n)... How are you feeling..?” He asks with concern laced in voice. “Heheh.. A bit lightheaded, but I'm okay… How are you feeling..?” Shadow lets out a sigh of relief. “Better than ever, you're not a vampire quite yet. We'll have to wait until the next full moon.” You smiled, happy knowing he's feeling better. “Really now?” You questioned. “The whole getting bitten by a vampire makes you a vampire is merely a rumor. There's conditions.” You hummed knowing it was interesting to know that's how becoming a vampire works.

“I see, how interesting!” Shadow holds your hand and gently kisses the back of it. Looking up to meet your (e/c) eyes. “Indeed it is, but now I'll have to feed off of you for a while longer until I've found a better way to acquire more blood or until there's a full moon.” You laughed and said. “How meticulous you are, Lord Shadow…” You teased as he pushed you back and started showering your face with kisses.

You squealed happily and tried kissing him back. But you felt happy knowing that a future with him was worthwhile.

[daechwitatamic]

Don't Be Scared || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Complete Faith

POV Drabble #8: Don't Be Scared

WC: 2.6k

Warnings: angst, hospital visit, lots of MS talk, kissing, language

The Request:

@pamzn sorry for the delay on this one!!! I hope it delivers!

A/N: This is the second half of Chapter 10 :)

Sunday is a disaster - the worst Taehyung can remember since he was a teenager. His mother is incapacitated by the pain of her headaches, spending long hours clutching her head and crying. Not to mention that this attack - Taehyung is sure this is a full-scale MS attack, even though they don’t have the brain scans to prove it yet - has left her entire left side feeling weakened, her vision blurry.

His father had taken her to the hospital on Saturday night, but they’d treated her for the headache and sent them home again. Then on Sunday, the rest of the symptoms came on strong - the blurred, darkened vision, the weakening of her arm and leg on the left side. By Sunday night, she can barely move them at all.

He and his father beg to take her back to the hospital, but she remains stubborn, wanting to wait it out. 

“Jagiya,” Taehyung’s father says softly, voice quiet, just for her. “Let’s go, okay? We’ll get Dr. Khan to order a start to the steroids. There’s no point in suffering.”

Taehyung’s not sure why she resists - pride, maybe. But probably she just hates sitting for long hours while the IV steroids run at the out-patient section of the hospital, hates how the steroids make her too energized, to where she can’t sleep and will wake up and scrub the stovetop at three in the morning. Probably she hates how they give her a moon-face and make her act mean. (“Meanness” is literally listed as a side-effect, Taehyung looked it up when he was sixteen and thought she hated him for a few weeks.) 

On Monday morning, Taehyung’s father reluctantly gets ready for work. Taehyung hasn’t been home except to grab clean clothes since before his trip for Nikki’s birthday - he hasn’t even been able to think about all the things that happened with you since he stepped back into his childhood household, his mother’s misery eclipses everything else in his brain. 

“I’ll talk to my boss, try to get out early,” Taehyung’s father tells him. “See if you can get her to go. She listens to you.”

Taehyung lets his mother sleep as long as she’s able in the morning; when she wakes it’s clear that she’s lost all use of her left arm. This makes her cry, and that makes Taehyung’s stomach hurt. He starts calling her neurologist's office as soon as it opens; he gets put on hold and left there.

He just wants to ask an adult - a real adult - what he should do. 

Mid-morning, Taehyung decides he can’t take it anymore. “We’re going,” he tells her flatly. “I’m going to get you dressed, and we’ll leave. I’ll keep calling Dr. Khan on our way there.”

“I don’t want to just sit in the waiting room like this,” she protests. “If we wait for Dr. Khan then we can -.”

“No,” Taehyung says flatly. “At least they can give you something for the pain, even if we have to wait for the steroids.”

Behind him, from the living room, Taehyung thinks he hears his name being called. Then, once more, a little less timidly. He freezes. He knows that voice.

He rises, heads back to the living room. You look at him, bewildered, as if you can’t believe you’d just walked in uninvited. Honestly, he can’t believe it either. He’s sure you’re there to talk after everything that happened over the weekend, but he can’t right now, not when he’s deep in fix it mode with his mom. And why are you trying to talk to him during a weekday morning?

“Why are you in my house right now?” he asks. He’s already redialing Dr. Khan, ready to be put on hold until the call disconnects automatically for the fourth time that morning. “Never mind. Whatever this is, Y/N, I can’t do it right now. You need to go, now.” 

He’s not even looking at you, he’s looking at his phone. 

“Taehyung,” you say, and there’s something steely in your tone, something that tells him you’re taking no bullshit right now. “Let me help you.”

No. He almost says it. Behind him, his mother lets out a particularly pitiful sob before quieting again. The hold music on his phone starts to play. He needs to get his mother dressed and in the car. 

“Tae,” you say, whispering. “What’s going on? How can I help?”

You look scared, brows bunched together. You look like you’re about to reach out, to place gentle fingers on his shaking hands. 

“You can’t,” he snaps. He does not have the emotional capacity for this. You give him a look, crossing your arms over your chest and sticking out your chin. 

He always did love how stubborn you are.

He remembers you saying, on the day you’d left him, “when I needed you to be there and you stepped up, I let you.” Was that all he had done wrong? Was that all it would take to change fate?

Resigned, he says, “My dad got called in for a work emergency,” he tells you. “She can’t walk today. I’m trying to get her to the hospital.”

He watches your eyes widen in shock. “She can’t walk?” you parrot.

“She could yesterday, this hasn’t happened in years,” he explains. “I’m trying to get a hold of her neurologist to see if he can meet us at the hospital or-.”

“What else needs to happen?” you cut him off.

Taehyung gestures wildly. What needs to happen is a miracle, and he can’t exactly ask for that.  “I need to get her dressed and in the car. It’s hard when she can’t – her whole left side just doesn’t move when she wants it to.”

“I’ll do it,” you say, and honestly he’s never wanted to kiss you so much in his life. It’s not even a romantic thing, he’s just so damn relieved.  “Will she let me? I’ll get her ready, you call the people you need to call. Then we can get her in the car together.”

Taehyung nods, looking back at his phone, hanging up and dialing again. While you get her dressed, he walks through the kitchen and puts together the paperwork they need, finds his own wallet and keys. 

He carries his mother to the car, sets her gently in the passenger seat, helps her buckle in. You hover, holding the papers and his mother’s purse.

“I can take it from here,” he says. “Thank you for the help, but you should go back to work.”

Work. He realizes for the first time that he hadn’t remembered to call and say he was sick. 

You don’t answer him, just shake your head and climb in the backseat, buckling in and staring at him defiantly, challenging.

God, you’re so stubborn. It almost makes Taehyung smile. On a different day, it might have.

Taehyung rolls his eyes and gets into the driver’s seat. 

The rest of the afternoon is a blur. Taehyung remembers his mother getting whisked away to get imagining taken of her brain, so the hospital’s neurology team could confirm if she has an active lesion, judge the severity of it, make a decision. He remembers finally getting Dr. Khan on the phone, finally. He remembers his dad calling to say he was getting out of work within the hour and he’d come straight there.

He remembers you, listening intently as doctors spoke to him, holding his mother’s hand when they inserted an IV needle on the other hand, sitting beside him. Now and then you’d reach out and touch his shoulder gently, a nonverbal I’m here with you. You never left his side, not for a second.

“You can go home,” Taehyung tells you, once he knows his dad is on his way. “You can take my car - I'll just go home with my dad after he gets here.”

You frown at him like he’s said something offensive, and shake your head. “I’ll leave when you leave,” you say firmly. 

And who is Taehyung to argue? The next time you lean closer to his side, he reaches over and gives your shoulder a quick, thankful squeeze.

When his father arrives, the doctors fill him in. Mrs. Kim is sleeping, having received medication for the devastating headache and a round of IV steroids to calm the process that makes her limbs weak. When they release her, Taehyung helps his father get her back in the car. He watches as they drive away, and then turns to face you, feeling completely, utterly spent.

You look at him, your face softening with understanding and affection. Taehyung wonders absently when you’d started looking at him like that again. You used to, he remembers that expression well from their days at the lakehouse. After the break-up, you had barely looked at him at all, and never like this. 

“Let’s go back to your place,” you suggest. A little smile shows up on your face and you add, “You can shower and nap, I’ll order food.” It’s exactly what Taehyung had said to you, months ago, after the night your mother had gone missing, the day you’d fallen apart and he’d held you together, just like you’d done for him today. 

It was always mirrors with the two of you. Taehyung had noticed that from the start.

Taehyung feels like a robot, like he’s running on muscle-memory only. He gets you both back to his apartment, he showers, he collapses into bed. It doesn’t even occur to him to argue with you, to tell you to go home. Maybe he’s too drained to think about it. 

Maybe he likes that you’re there.

He wakes up some hours later feeling like a whole new person. He rolls onto his side, listening. He doesn’t hear any movement and wonders if you’ve gone home. He wouldn’t blame you - what’s the alternative, sitting alone in your ex’s living room while he napped behind a closed door? 

But to his surprise, he opens his bedroom door to find you sitting in the chair in the little nook he’d made for you, back when things were good between you. The fact that you’re there, specifically, and not over on the couch or something… Taehyung feels like he’s understanding something you’re saying silently. He smiles shyly, hoping he’s not wrong.

“Feel better?” you ask him, lowering your phone. “There’s take-out in the fridge.”

Taehyung realizes he hasn’t eaten today, and he’s definitely starving. But more pressing - you’re in his apartment, and you’re sitting in your nook that he made for you. 

“Amazing,” he says, and plops on the couch, his head on the arm, his legs stretched out. Despite napping, his body feels exhausted; he imagines it’s from all the adrenaline throughout the day. “What a fucking day,” he breathes.

“I’m glad it’s somewhat under control now,” you say seriously.

Taehyung snaps; he’d been holding on by the tiniest thread, and it’s over now. You’d shown up at his house unbidden, like your fucking Taehyung senses were tingling. You’d helped him through one of the hardest, scariest days he’s ever had. You’d stood by him all day, no matter how many times he told you to go home. 

And then you’d stayed, waited for him, and now you’re smiling at him so openly, like the wall you used to put up isn’t just down, it’s like it never even existed in the first place. 

He needs you in his arms now. He needs to hold you now or he’ll lose it.

“C’mere,” he murmurs. He doesn’t even have time to hope you listen before you’re up and moving. You perch lightly by his legs, looking at him expectantly. “Thank you for being there today,” he says, meaning this and so much more. Meaning this, and ‘thank you for saving me’. Meaning this, and ‘thank you for loving me, because I’m sure now that you do’. “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t shown up. That would have been a lot harder alone.”

“Taehyung,” you say, face pale. He can see your nerves - in the slight tremble of your fingers as they rest just above your thighs, in the breathiness as you say his name. “I have something I need to say to you.”

Taehyung pulls himself up so he’s not lying down anymore. He wants to look at you, wants to be fully participating in this conversation. “I’m all ears,” he tells you.

Don’t be scared, he thinks, something he should have told you fucking months ago. Maybe it would have saved you both some strife. 

He watches you gather your bravery, squaring your shoulders and looking him right in the eyes. “Tae,” you say, and he’s done right there, he doesn’t even need the rest. It’s all in your voice, it’s all in the way the one syllable falls from your mouth, alight, like it has wings of its own. “I want to apologize. I’m sorry for letting my fear be bigger than my trust.”

Taehyung fights the urge to shake his head at you. He doesn't need an apology from you. He doesn't need you to take the blame for the break-up. He doesn't need you to care for how he’d hurt in the time you were apart.

You huff out an anxious breath and continue. “But… I do trust you. I always did. I actually… fuck, I actually love you. I’ve loved you since the lake. I think I’ve loved you since you threw a water bottle at me after we fought.”

You pause, laughing at yourself, and Taehyung just stares, pulse racing in his ears, the noise of it roaring like his heart. It’s beyond what he wanted, beyond what he needed, leagues beyond what he deserves, and he honestly just wants you to come kiss him, but you’re still talking, voice trembling.

“I remember you telling me that no one ever fought for you - no one made you feel like you’re worth the fight.�� 

Taehyung remembers that, too, remembers clearly the first time he had found the words for the gnawing feeling inside him. He remembers how talking to you about it had felt like… like no one else spoke his language for his whole life, and then you walked up and spoke it fluently. 

“I’m fighting,” you say, your voice breaking, and Taehyung clenches his hands into fists to stop from reaching for you, from interrupting you. “I want to be with you. I want to choose to trust you every day. I want to choose to love you every day.”

Taehyung is sure that whatever you’re going to say next is amazing, which is a shame, because he’s pulling you by the wrist into his lap, reaching for your face, mouth finding yours as soon as it's close enough. You kiss him back eagerly, straddling his lap. His hands find your face and he knows - he knows - this is what he was waiting for all those years. 

He knows he has something special with you. He knows that it means something that you two fought through so much bullshit to get here. He knows it matters that you were there for him today, when you owed him literally nothing. He knows that it must have been terrifying for you to apologize, to throw down your walls and admit you love him. 

He knows his heart is soaring as you kiss him, knows that you’re feeling it too.

He knows he’s in love with you - fully, deeply, completely. He’s known all along.

Thank you for reading! You can find my full masterlist here :)

[therealvinelle]

What do you think of Jacob?

Jacob is, like almost every other character in the series (the exception being Mike Newton. I have no hot takes on Mike Newton), seen from the wrong angle. I could go into a whole thing about how Bella is an unreliable narrator, but this isn’t the post for that.

So, Jacob is supposed to be the easy-go-lucky, kind-hearted, and so very warm sun who brightens Bella’s life. And he is, at first. In Twilight and the first half of New Moon he is a sweetheart. He’s of course mortified by his father being so superstitious that he actually believes there’s a family of vampires attending high school in Forks, but otherwise life is good. Billy raised him well.

Then he turns into a giant wolf. He must now take up this mantle to protect the tribe he never even knew about, he’s a warrior whether he likes it or not. His life is not his own anymore, or at least it’s not the one he wanted. Anyone would be brought out of sorts by that.

More, he’s not allowed to talk to Bella anymore, and it turns out the Cullens were in fact demons this whole time. And Bella knew.

Take a moment to wonder what Bella’s entanglement with Edward is going to look like to anyone who knows what he is.

A beautiful young woman is seduced by a vampire. She believes they’re in love, and that blood-sucking demons are friendly people who care about her wellbeing. Billy tries to warn her, she tells him “I know exactly what I’m doing!” in a way that makes it very clear she has no idea what she’s doing. It would look like she was being groomed to become Dracula’s bride.

Even if they didn’t spell it out for Jacob, he had all the pieces he needed to jump to the worst, albeit reasonable, conclusions.

This is how we get the new and improved Jacob, who is angry, scared, and, when the Cullens come back, desperate to keep Bella away from them. (I won’t get into that here because I received another ask requesting that specifically.)

Now, I do think Jacob is very sympathetic. All the shapeshifters are, for obvious reasons, none of them deserved any of this.

However, I don’t think he’s a good person.

Take the infamous kiss.

Sexual assault is bad by itself, but what I find especially damning is his attitude afterwards. He’s not even remotely repentant. He laughs, he all but high-fives her dad, and he never does give Bella a proper apology. I don’t think he ever fully agreed to that qualifying as a sexual assault, as most assaulters won’t.

Later he blackmails Bella into kissing him by threatening to kill himself if she doesn’t. 

He is pressed into a corner, yes, and he is a minor in an awful situation as throughout Eclipse his childhood friend, his dad’s best friend’s only daughter, complains that he isn’t more supportive of her choice to become a bloodsucking demon. However, that doesn’t justify this level of disregard for Bella’s feelings. It seems to me that it became less about Bella as a person, and more about getting the girl.

His feelings for Bella started out as a crush, but by the time we get to Eclipse it’s not just about Bella anymore.

I find this bit from Breaking Dawn especially telling:

“If you think that imprinting could ever make sense of this insanity . . .” I struggled for words. “Do you really think that just because I might someday imprint on some stranger it would make this right?” I jabbed a finger toward her swollen body. “Tell me what the point was then, Bella! What was the point of me loving you? What was the point of you loving him? When you die”—the words were a snarl—“how is that ever right again? What’s the point to all the pain? Mine, yours, his! You’ll kill him, too, not that I care about that.” She flinched, but I kept going. “So what was the point of your twisted love story, in the end? If there is any sense, please show me, Bella, because I don’t see it.” Breaking Dawn, page 122

Bella is dying, and Jacob’s thought isn’t “Don’t you have things to live for?”, but “What was the point of me and Edward fighting over the girl if the girl is just gonna die anyway?”

It reveals a disregard for her as a person.

It’s not just Bella: when Leah joins his pack in Breaking Dawn, he tries to kick her out simply because it’s Leah and she sucks. He’s an ass to her, and it’s unwarranted. She has to bare her soul for him to realize she’s a person. It’s a startling contrast to how he acts around Bella, his dad, or Charlie.

I think Jake is a dick who shows pretty clear abusive tendencies, not at all the healthy sunshine he’s supposed to be. His frequent use of aggression and guilt-tripping to get Bella to do what he wants comes to mind. He only looks good because his competition is Edward, and I’m not going to give a guy props for being a better dating prospect than vampire Patrick Bateman.

Then there’s the truly damning moment, which is when he decides to kill Renesmée.

The killing of a child is a monstrous act on its own, but he fact that it’s Bella’s child makes it even worse. It’s the ultimate proof he doesn’t actually love her. She died to protect this child, and he’ll kill it.

Jacob is a very sympathetic character who was put through things no one should have to live at a very young age, I do feel bad for him. He’s put in an extreme situation. But he tried to kill a child, and there’s just no coming back from that for me.

More, I think that the ugly things we see in post-phasing Jacob are perfectly reconcilable with the sweet-faced youth he was. People are complicated, we are one thing in one setting and another in a different setting. For a person who turns out to have abusive tendencies to be a perfectly lovely person on the surface is not exactly unheard of.

Jacob is a great guy up until the going gets tough. And when it does, his response is not good.

TL;DR: It was never Team Edward or Team Jacob, they’re both horrible.

EDIT because I forgot one of Jacob’s greatest hits that should absolutely be in this meta: When the Cullens want to leave Forks, move away (as the shapeshifters and Jacob’s father especially always wanted), Jacob realizes Renesmée will leave. Can’t have that. So he sends Charlie rushing to see his daughter. His newborn vampire daughter. It’s a complete miracle, and in no way thanks to Jacob, that Bella didn’t kill her own father.

Jacob has no excuse for that. None.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Sheltered By Memories

Summary: The night after the Promised Day, there’s a thunderstorm. 

Ed hates thunderstorms. 

He can’t exactly wake Al to keep him company through it, not when he’s only just able to sleep again.

But Hohenheim’s awake, and as the weather rages outside, Ed and his father begin to tentatively rebuild the bridge between them, starting with memories of a similar storm many years ago. 

Rated: G

Sheltered by Memories

One would have expected the night after an event as momentous as the Promised Day to be clear and still, with the stars shining brightly and a big full moon. Ed knows that he can’t hope for a full moon since it was an eclipse today, but he can still be utterly furious that he’s woken up in the middle of the night to find that it’s hammering down with rain and howling a gale, with lightning flashing across the sky every five seconds and thunder rolling loud enough to wake the dead.

Ed curls up, pulling the thin hospital blanket over this head in a futile attempt to block out the storm. Across the room, Al is sleeping peacefully, undisturbed by the weather outside. Ed feels a pang of something he can’t quite define. Al’s never been bothered by thunderstorms. Even when they were little kids, Al was always at ease with the weather, never flinching or cringing at the bangs and crashes and flashes. 

Al never normally sleeps through storms, though. Even back before the armour, he would always stay awake with Ed if there was a storm.

Ed can’t wake him now though. Not when he’s been unable to sleep for so long and now he finally can.

“Edward?”

Ed peers out of the blankets and as the next flash of lightning plunges the room into brightness again, he sees Hohenheim sitting in the chair at the foot of Al’s bed. 

“Hohenheim? How long have you been here?”

“I’ve been here the whole time, you just weren’t awake.”

“Oh.” Ed’s not exactly surprised. After the adrenaline of the final battle with Father and that final trip to the Gate to get Al back had worn off, he’d all but collapsed. He has a vague memory of Hohenheim catching him before he hit the ground, and the haziness of waking up in this bed a few times before the thunder started and woke him properly. He thinks he can be forgiven for not paying attention. 

Hohenheim gets up and comes across to perch on the edge of Ed’s bed. 

“Your mother hated storms too,” he says. “I remember the big storm of ‘02. Al slept right through it and the rest of us had a terrible night.”

It’s jarring to hear Hohenheim talk about events from Ed’s childhood that Ed himself can’t remember. He missed so much of their lives that it’s easy to think that he wasn’t paying any attention to any of it, and easy to forget that he was there until Ed was five, however much he might have stayed in the background. 

That said, now that he’s mentioned it, Ed does have a vague memory of being three years old on a night like this one, and tiptoeing into his parents’ bedroom because the light was on. He remembers Mom curled up tight against Dad (because he was still Dad back then, he hadn’t left yet and lost the right to that name), her fists pulling his undershirt out of shape and mangling it more with every flash of lightning. He remembers crawling into bed with them and Dad pulling him in close, one arm around Ed and one around Mom, keeping both of them safe from the storm. 

“I forgot Mom was scared of lightning.” He feels bad about it. How could he have forgotten something like that? He tries to reason with himself - it’s been ten years since she died, he was so young, Resembool so rarely gets thunderstorms like this one - but he still feels a gnawing guilt at having forgotten something about Mom.

“It’s all right. Trisha was always so brave and strong. It’s hard to believe she was ever scared of anything.”

The lightning flashes again, illuminating Hohenheim’s face. He’s off in the middle distance, deep in memories of Mom, but he’s there, and against all the odds, Ed feels safe. His heart is still leaping to his mouth with every roiling rumble of thunder, but he’s not alone, and Hohenheim doesn’t mock his fear. 

Strange. Just as he can’t really believe Mom was ever scared of anything, he can’t really imagine Hohenheim being scared of anything either. Maybe it’s because he was always so distant, always concentrating on something else. The only emotion Ed can remember on him from his childhood is frowning.

“What are you scared of?” he asks presently. 

Hohenheim doesn’t answer for a long time.

“My worst fear came true,” he says eventually. “So I don’t think I’m scared of anything now. I lost you and Al and your mother. I think that was always what I was most scared of.”

There’s a kind of catharsis in hearing him admit that. He and Ed and Al are all in the same room and all three of them are alive and comparatively well, but he still admits that he’s lost them, that he messed up royally when he left. Even though Ed now understands why he did it and why he didn’t really have another choice, that he would definitely have lost them all if he hadn’t done anything, it still soothes the sting of it all. 

“Did Mom know?” Ed asks. “About the souls, and Father, and the Promised Day and everything?”

Hohenheim nods. “Not all of it. She knew about the souls. I didn’t think it was entirely courteous to start a relationship without her knowing about the several thousand voices in my head. She knew I was immortal. That’s why we made that promise; that I’d find a way to get back to normal and she’d outlive me. She knew about Homunculus, because I’d told her the story of how I got this way. I didn’t tell her about the Promised Day and why I had to leave. She knew I had to do something that only I could do, but I didn’t want to worry her with the scope of it.”

“She always believed you were coming back. Even right at the end.”

“I always was coming back.” The lightning flashes, and Hohenheim’s eyes look old, every one of those four hundred odd years showing in his expression. “I didn’t realise I would be gone for so long, but I was always going to come back. I dared to hope that once it was all over, we could have a normal life and not need to worry about anything again.”

Outside, the storm continues to rage, and Hohenheim continues to watch it calmly, just taking it in.

“I think it’s fitting that it’s storming tonight,” he says. “Washing away the old, getting rid of it all in one big rumbling explosion. Nature’s last act of violence to drown out the violence of the old world and make way for something new and peaceful. There’s always sun after a storm.”

Ed huffs, pulling the blankets up again. “There’d better be.”

Hohenheim smiles. “There will be.”

Ed closes his eyes, the bright flashes and sudden cracks of thunder no longer making him shiver. Even as he’s drifting off, he can feel that Hohenheim’s still sitting on the bed, still watching the storm. 

Still there. 

X

The sky is bright blue and sunny without a cloud in it when Ed wakes up. The birds are singing and the dissonance from the previous night is almost mocking. Still, the storm is over, and the rest of their lives can now begin in calmness, just as Hohenheim said last night. 

Ed sits up, looking around. Al is still asleep, and Hohenheim is nowhere to be found, but Izumi is sitting in the chair. She gives him a tired smile. 

“Hey Ed.”

“Hi, Teacher. Where’d Hohenheim go?”

“The men’s room. And I think he’s probably searching for coffee as well.”

“Oh.” It’s such a mundane explanation for his absence and Ed has no idea why he was expecting something more weird and wonderful other than the fact his father seems to be a magnet for the weird and wonderful.

Ed is prevented from any further contemplation by the sound of Al yawning from the other bed. He scrunches his face up before he opens his eyes, and Ed’s missed that goofy expression so much. 

“Hey. Welcome back.”

“Hey.” Al looks over at Ed, and then at Izumi. “Hi Teacher.”

“Hey Al.”

“Was there a storm last night? I think I remember hearing thunder at one point.”

Ed laughs. “Yeah, it was ridiculous. I’m amazed you slept through it. Guess you really needed a nap, huh.”

“Yeah. I hadn’t realised how much I enjoy sleeping.” Al stretches out his thin arms and looks over at Ed again. “You could have woken me. I wouldn’t have minded.”

Ed shakes his head. “I think the nurses would probably have minded. You need all the sleep you can get to get your strength back. I was ok. Da-- Hohenheim was here.”

Al quirks an eyebrow at the slip but doesn’t say anything, and it’s another expression that Ed’s missed. He’s always known when Al’s making that face, even in the armour, there’s something in his silence that Ed knows equates to that little quirk, but at the same time, it’s so good to finally see it again. 

There’s a knock on the door and Sig and Hohenheim come in bearing coffee, handing off a mug each to Izumi and Ed. 

Hohenheim smiles on seeing Al awake. 

“Good morning Al. Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, thanks. Honestly just any sleep is amazing right now.”

“We did check with the nurses but no coffee for Al,” Sig adds. “It’s good to see you awake, kid.” 

“That’s ok.” Al waves the arm with the IV line in. “Probably for the best right now.”

Ed just sits quietly, sipping his coffee, watching them all. It’s going to be strange now; his life has been completely turned on its head, but he knows that no matter what, he’s got Al to see him through it, and it seems like Hohenheim’s going to stick around. Maybe before Ed wouldn’t have wanted him to; they’ve got this far without him, they don’t need him going forward. But this is a time for new beginnings, and maybe a time for his feelings finally beginning to thaw, now that he knows Hohenheim takes that responsibility that has so long lain on Ed’s shoulders, now that he’s taking back that burden that has been Ed’s to bear alone for so long. 

It doesn’t undo everything that’s already been done and suffered; those memories will always be there and will always be painful. 

But it’s a start, and that’s all they need.

[anika-ann]

For a Smile

Type: One-shot, Reader Insert               Word count: 5400

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader, OC x reader (brief)

Characters: Steve Rogers, Reader, OFC, OC

Summary: You see him run past every morning. So you smile, because he looks like a nice person. How could he not be when he smiles back and the world stops for a while to pay respect to such beauty?

And sometimes… sometimes this incredibly handsome man smiles first.

Warnings: mentions and hints of (psychically) abusive relaionship, suggestive themes, swearing, all the fluff in the world

A/N: I used to pass this guy near a café playing music every morning when I went to school and at some point, our eyes kinda met and we smiled at each other; then we did that every day. I kid you not, he’s got the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. It’s not a Hollywood-star smile, no – it’s a guy-next-door smile, heart-warming, with his eyes simply shining. He’s like a kid on Christmas Day… I could ramble on. Anyway, just so you knew what brought this on.

○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○ ♥ ○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○  

A smile costs less than electricity, and gives more light. (Scottish proverb)

Warm honey, sandstone and apricot orange melting into indigo, cerulean blue and stone-grey sky. Merigold playing with salmon and rose pink, teasing each other and making space to the warmer shades of orange.

You watched the beautiful colours of sunrise as you shifted your legs for a bit, causing the simple plank hanging on two tattered ropes sway, a smile tugging on your lips.

It was a little childish really, or it may appear so to anyone who would be passing by; but given what an early riser you were, just so you could watch this breath-taking game of colours, the little miracle of nature, no person could question you as you were dangling your feet off the old swing.

On your way to work, if the time allowed it, you would always make a stop on your favourite spot; a no-name park in upstate New York you were walking through every day, rather calm and drunks-free at the early hour.

Once upon a time, someone had placed a simple swing on one of the trees farther from the path. You sent a silent thank you every time you parked your behind there. You weren’t a monster; if a kid wanted to sit here, you would have gladly (...reluctantly) made space for them, but they seemed to always be more mesmerized by the playground with the actual swings, the chutes, the monkey bars and the sandpit. You couldn’t say you complained though, having the old-fashioned swing for yourself.

It was childish, perhaps; though your mother had once chosen that you should be going into accounting and so you had. Numbers and bills were things even adults hated, but that was what being old enough meant. You didn’t mind it too often, plunging into them for living, but… you needed to compensate, so you felt entitled.

Plus, the motion of the swing was soothing, as if magically transporting you back to your childhood indeed, with less worries, more ease and pure mind.

Yeah, sitting on the swing was your favouri-

Rapid staccato of feet hitting the ground in the distance, no doubt scaring off the birds chiming their morning songs, reached your ears and you had to admit you wouldn’t be completely honest with yourself if you said this was the favourite moment of your day only because of the aforementioned reasons.

There was one more.

It had strong long sweatpants-clad legs, broad shoulders in a sports t-shirt with seams crying for help, blond hair and-

Your heart melted along with your brain as your lips curled up in a genuine smile you sent in return.

-and the most beautiful smile in the whole universe.

You never spoke. Didn’t say hello. You never even nodded in mutual acknowledgement.

You just… smiled at each other.

And that was your favourite moment of the day crafted to perfection. A breath-taking sunrise, almost eclipsed by a mesmerizing display of the row of perfect white teeth framed by plush coral red lips and the twinkle in beautiful inviting eyes of a stranger.

You knew his name despite never exchanging a single word. Everyone knew his name. But Captain Rogers – Steven Grant Rogers – was a name that held no meaning. He didn’t know yours and probably never would; so strangers was who you were. A couple of strangers exchanging a smile every morning and lightening up (hopefully) each other’s day.

It always felt nice when you glanced at someone on the street, then just… somehow smiled and they smiled back, didn’t it? So what if you were an adult woman dealing with numbers for Stark Industries sitting on a swing and he was a deservedly treasured national icon?

It made no difference.

Just two people sharing a tiny piece of their day for a smile.

○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○ ♥ ○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○  

“You’re insane,” your colleague stated dryly as she walked into the office at seven thirty, already finding you with an empty coffee cup, your fingers flying over the keyboard.

“Huh?” you raised your eyes from the screen on autopilot, not really paying attention.

You still noticed Harry rolling her eyes; it was just that distinctive.

“I said that you’re insane, you crazy-ass lark. My brain isn’t even awake yet. To be fair, I’m ninety percent sure I met Captain Handsome in the hall along with our boss, so it’s hard to tell if I’m dreaming or not, having a vision like that.”

“Captain Handsome?” you frowned, your mind racing, desperately trying to remember who was Harriet’s newest crush. ‘Captain Handsome’ could be literally anyone.

“Our resident Star-Spangled Man, you dummy. You’re low on caffeine. Or sleep. That’s what you get, getting up in such an ungodly hour…” she hummed, crossing her arms on her chest as she looked at you sceptically, a drop of disappointment in her eyes.

Oh. Oh! That made sense; if the man was with Tony Stark, the range of options narrowed significantly, especially since your friend had called him a captain. Except it didn’t make any sense at all.

“What was he doing here? I mean… since when is he wandering in our department? It’s all across the compound here from the training area.”

“Well, look who’s actually awake and bright-minded…” It was your turn to roll your eyes at your friend. “My point exactly. No clue, but lemme tell you – seeing that ass? Definitely made my day,” she threw over her shoulder as she stalked to the coffee machine and you couldn’t but chuckle at her bluntness.

Your stranger had an amazing smile, that was true. But your gaze did slide elsewhere on occasion too; which was why you would never try to disprove Harry’s claim.

“We might have the Ironman for a boss, but, girl… I’d like to know what Rogers’ ass is made of then,” she added and you burst into another fit of giggles, your face feeling hot all of sudden when your mind unhelpfully supplied with ‘vibranium’.

What would it feel like?

Yeah, you definitely needed to go back to your numbers before your impure thoughts got the best of you.

○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○ ♥ ○◦○◦○◦○◦○◦○  

The first time you two met outside the park, you were in a bar.

You hadn’t seen him for almost a month, assuming he went on a long-drawn mission; one that had ended well, clearly, since he was out drinking. Just eyeing his companions and instantly noting his body language, you could tell he was suffering. Like, not literally suffering, but it was very much obvious he was not feeling comfortable.

His eyes were drifting all over the place, as Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes laughed loudly, patting his shoulders while a hint or red dusted his cheeks, and then they fell on you.

His face was screaming ‘save me!’; yet, his smile was still as warm and kind as ever, an impossible spark within his irises, visible even from the distance. That twinkle was always the biggest mystery to you, because logically, no person could have eyes so bright, but here he was, proving your claim wrong.

Your lips spread in a smile automatically and encouraged by your second drink, you considered adding a small silly wave.

Before you could execute the decision, the result of your two last braincells arguing whether it would be more silly or sweet, an arm sneaked around your shoulders and your smile widened on instinct at the sensation. You turned your head to Cade and met his lips halfway to yours.

You had been dating for almost a month now and this inconspicuous guy from logistic of a giant company that was surprisingly not Stark Industries was a dream coming true. He was showering you with so much attention you weren’t sure he was real. Late-night conversations via phonecalls or texts, good morning, good night, kisses that lasted long enough for you to forget that you in fact needed oxygen, touches that set you on fire. He was easy to fall in love with.

“Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout that got you smilin’ so wide, babe?” he whispered to your ear, grazing your earlobe with his teeth.

Gosh, you wanted him. The first sex hadn’t been so great, Cade chasing his own release, but hey, first times were always hard in a new relationship. The more were you excited about your second time and you were confident the second time would happen tonight.

“Nah, just smiling at strangers. You know that feeling, so nice, when you just toss a smile and they smile back?” your eyes found his, only to see him frown.

“I like it better when you smile for me, babe. What did some stranger do for you to deserve that?” he hummed discontentedly, pouting adorably as his hand slid lower to squeeze your hip possessively. It sent a spark through your body, a lightning striking right into your core.

“Just teasing you, Cade. I was thinking about how I lucked out,” you batted your eyelashes and a slow delicious smirk played with the corner of his mouth all of sudden, intensifying the heat inside of you.

“Wanna get out of here, pretty thing? Lemme show you how lucky you are?” he whispered, the pad of his thumb grazing your lower lip, pulling it down a fraction. “Or maybe… show me how much you think you lucked out, huh? How much you appreciate being mine?”

God, yes.

Judging by the glint in his eyes and the hungry kiss that lasted too short – but too long for such a public place – he didn’t need a verbal confirmation. He swung by the bar to pay for your drink and practically dragged you out of the rather crowded space. Your head was spinning a bit and you couldn’t tell whether it was excitement or alcohol. Either way, you really, really liked it.

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“You know that Cade was a dick right?” Harry noted nonchalantly while she handed you a cup of coffee and assessed (correctly) that you were sulking again, thinking back to that one particular night when you had noticed the first sign – or you would have if you hadn’t been such a goddamn idiotic goose of a woman, drunk on top of that.

You sighed and sipped your punishingly bitter dose of caffeine.

You were positively brooding and you didn’t care if it affected anyone else. The world apparently hated you and you couldn’t quite blame it.

Not even your precious strangers-exchanging-smile moments felt the same anymore. First, your stranger had started smiling less brightly after your encounter at the bar and then, even if it had changed, you wouldn’t be able to tell, because you were too wrapped in your own misery. Even the curve of his lips looked sad, which was a stupid thing to say, because he had no way of knowing about either Cade turning out to be an abuser-in-making or about you breaking things off with him and cracking your fragile heart in the process, while yelling at yourself mentally every morning and still longing for Cade’s arms around you since it always felt oh, oh so good to be held…

You recognized the signs early, but not soon enough. You let it escalate into him trying to control when you went out and with whom, him lashing out when you wouldn’t respond to his text in longer than five-minutes time, letting him yell at you when you missed his call… he loved you, after all, he just missed you and was afraid you were with someone else, and oh babe, come here, you can make it up to me…

Your sister had gone through something similar, for god’s sake. You should have noticed sooner. You should have known better. But no, you had allowed your body, your twat to be precise, to rule your brain and that had been stupid.

Cade had tried to get in touch several times after your break-up, even waiting in front of your apartment until you would go out once; you might have threatened him with a restraining order after that particular day and he had stopped quickly after that, only two of three attempts with a new e-mail address and number to get pass you blocking his previous ones.

Still. It made you miserable. And perhaps a bit self-hateful.

You deserved every bitter drop of Harry’s horrible coffee and more.

“I was being blind and stupid,” you opposed and returned to your figures, deciding your exchange was over. Figures were clear enough; they were easy to read and didn’t make your brain drunk on endorphins and other very specific hormones allowing you to act like a teenage girl, excited at her first boyfriend groping her. “Thanks for the coffee.”

A huff sounded above your head and suddenly your swivel chair was being yanked back and turned around, a pair of strict chocolate eyes boring into your soul with startling clarity. Harry’s fingers were wrapped around the armrests as she was leaning into your space.

You backed into your chair instinctively. She looked menacing.

“He was a charming bastard from what I heard and his type always knows how to manipulate people, letting them see what he wants them to see. It’s not your fault. You’re one badass of a woman, smart as hell for noticing before it escalated. You’re my hero. Mine and every other person’s who has ever been in or even heard of an abusive relationship. You can do better than him. It’s a funny coincidence they spelled his name wrong anyway.”

You blinked away your sudden tears, immensely grateful for her words that somehow wormed their way inside your very core (you blamed the intense stare that reminded of your mother’s when she was giving you the kind of talk that was too serious for you to handle) and yet you tilted your head in confusion, not understanding the meaning of her last statement.

“Huh? His… his name?” you stuttered, baffled.

Harry positioned your chair back to its place with a grin and went back to her own business.

“Clearly, they added an ‘E’ at the end. What a stupid typo…” she threw over her shoulder cheekily and when you caught up, understanding her point, you released the first honest laughter in what felt like a year.

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Your life had been set off to better course after that short conversation. You felt like you were healing every day, finding yourself lighter. Happier. Freer of the baggage Cade had tried to left you with. The sensation was indescribable and it radiated from you; some days more noticeably than others.

You found yourself indulging the blond stranger’s smiles once more, finally seeing the spark in his eyes again, the genuine curve of his lips warming your heart and starting off your day in the best way imaginable.

Naturally, life had a reliable means of showing you it could suck.

Right when you thought that you were fine, it delivered another blow; your favourite place in the world… ceased to exist.

Someone put the swing in the park down.

They just… erased it from existence.

Maybe they considered it dangerous. Maybe they were being dicks. Maybe they thought it was old and ugly. It didn’t quite matter.

You could weep, mourning your intimate inanimate friend.

You didn’t cry. But it was a damn close call as you shuffled towards the playground and eyed it sceptically. You knew it wouldn’t be the same and not just because the swings were in a plain sight, but they also looked too fancy, to actually child-like and— they weren’t your swing. Your sanctuary. Your private space. Your secret place you never told anyone about, not Cade or your previous boyfriends, not your family, not Harry or other friends, not to anyone.

You watched the sun rise on the horizon, ridiculously heavy feeling in your chest, ignorant to the rest of the world.

God, you hated Mondays. You already knew this week was about to be a disaster.

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“There’s a swing outside in the green area.”

“Huh?” you hummed distractedly, too deep into figures to register more than the sound of your friend’s voice. What was her name again? What was yours? What day was today? What was the time? Had you already had lunch? Had the lunch-time already passed…?

A chuckle followed by a to-be offended tone responded to your intelligent way of communicating.

“I’m starting to think ‘Huh’ is my name with how often you call me that,” Harry (aha!) remarked with a hint of sass, but repeated herself, because she knew she shouldn’t take it personal that you didn’t quite payed her any attention. You were a person who would get sucked into their own world, too focused on one task to acknowledge anything else. “A swing. In our compound park. It’s kinda cute, hidden from a plain sight though, a simple wooden thing.”

You slowly raised your eyes to hers, your pupils widening with surprise. Your pulse was roaring in your ears, your heartbeat no doubt shaking your whole frame.

Harry was telling you that there was… a swing. In the compound area. Hidden from everyone’s prying eyes, at least partly.

Why?

How?

You could only come up with one ridiculous theory which involved you, but that idea alone was laughable. Why would anyone do that for you? More importantly, how did anyone know-

“You think it’s an invitation for children? Like, is ‘bring your kids to work’ day happening any time soon? ‘cause, not to be rude and greedy, but one swing doesn’t seem like— hey!” Harry called after you, but you could barely hear her as you jumped to your feet, your heels be damned, and strode through the halls with zero regards to anyone in your way.

Not that there was a soul; people actually worked around here, too busy to wander the halls.

The thing was, that one theory about the swing didn’t just involve you. It involved one more person, but that person was a stranger to you and had no reason to even… acknowledge you. Besides the obvious part of your day that no longer existed – not in the way it used to. But the thought was simply laughable.

A different part of your brain raised a figurative sceptical eyebrow, argumenting that you had no better explanation for the phenomenon.

Because… you loved Harry. She knew about your traditional early morning watching the sunrise, but not about the swing. The swing was always a secret, no one knew, except… except one particular guy who always passed you on his morning run and exchanged a smile with you and just happened to work at the very same compound you did and technically had the power to pull the strings to make this happen.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you gasped for fresh air when you finally made it out of the building, your eyes searching for a calm spot, a tree in whose shades you could possibly find a prove of Harry not pulling your leg.

Your heart positively stopped when your eyes fell on the simple plank hanging on two ropes, indeed offering a safe space for anyone who decided to sit there in search for serenity.

You felt tears stinging in your eyes, your feet moving of their own will despite semi-high heels digging into the ground an inch with each step, bringing you closer to that little, yet breath-taking miracle. A chuckle escaped your lips when your trembling fingers brushed the grey ropes, more of your senses acknowledging that this was in fact happening.

Your hand followed the line of the rope, sliding to the plank, only to notice a rough sensation on your fingertips in the corner. A carving, you realized.

Tears of surprise actually welled up when you recognized they were initials. Your initials.

How-- how was that possible?

‘Sit down, you dummy!’ your consciousness cried out exasperatedly. ‘It’s clearly for you!’

“But why?” you asked it under your breath incredulously, thousands of questions ruminating, no answers on the horizon.

Regardless, you reluctantly lowered yourself, shocked when your feet dangled above the ground in precisely the same way they used to-- they used to in the park. It was even installed in the same height.

Reverently, you gave the swing a test-drive, just tiny motions of your feet to try it out.

It was perfect.

Your gaze fell on a sign on the tree trunk, small, subtle and harmonizing with the place without a fault.

Sanctuary of the kind ones. Do not disturb, it read.

You giggled breathlessly, lightheaded and with no care in the world.

That naturally changed when you spotted your very much expectant colleague in the distance, her arms crossed on her chest, figuratively tapping her foot and screaming questions without saying a single word.

The thing is, you thought, I have no idea how to answer.

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Perhaps it was naïve, a child-like trust and excitement, but the next day, you went to your new spot expecting to enjoy the sunrise there and not to be disturbed indeed.

You weren’t.

What you couldn’t quite prepare yourself for was the single daisy lying on the wood, starling you to no end. Hesitating all of sudden, you searched your surroundings, wondering if you interrupted someone else’s plan. Perhaps someone had the same initials as you and whoever made this happen had a different person in mind, doing it for them and the swing was just a funny coincidence.

But then in the middle of your mussing – on the swing, because, screw it, you might as well enjoy this since no one had kicked you out yet – a familiar figure ran past, gracing you with a beautiful smile, once again without a word and with a shy gaze falling to the ground after you met their eyes. With that, it… actually started to settle.

He had done this for you. For some incredible inexplicable reason… your smiling ‘stranger’ offered you a kindness of unseen measures.

And as if it wasn’t enough, you would find a different flower on the wood every day for the whole week. They weren’t even fancy flowers, which made it absolutely magical. Daisy. Tulip. Lilly. No red roses, only cute blossoms, matching the simplicity of the swing.

Harry was nearing the verge of insanity due to your goofy smiles and flowers in your hands; but you remained tight-lipped like an international spy during an interrogation, too afraid that if you said it out loud, sharing that ridiculous impression you were getting these days with anyone, your bubble would burst.

And surely enough, as if you jinxed it mentally, the next Wednesday, no flower waited for you.

It was ridiculous how your mood died instantly. It could have had hundreds of explanations including the one that he went for a mission, because he was Captain Freaking America, in case your stupid heart forgot, but nope, you would still feel the corners of your lips turn down.

You watched the shades of orange bleeding into blue and grey, lost in thought and with unsettling longing in your heart.

You suspected his steps sounded purposely loud when they came from behind you, where you wouldn’t expect them. You didn’t need to see the familiar Nikes on his feet to know it was him; you doubted anyone else would approach you, let alone at such early hour.

Yet you would lie saying your heart didn’t skip a beat when he stopped in his slow tracks by your side, steady feet next to your dangling ones, and you had his identity confirmed.

Your throat went dry and stiff, your voice dying before it could form.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he whispered reverently, not disturbing the peace of the indeed lovely scenery in front of you.

You didn’t dare to look away from the sunrise as your voice came out unfairly scratchy, a stark contrast to his deep and smooth one that felt like a caress on your skin.

“It is.”

Silence fell on your pair again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The birds sung their morning songs, waking up the world and you didn’t think words were needed. Except you owed him something, and you wanted to say it.

Reluctantly tearing your gaze away from the painting by the most amazing artist, the nature itself, you casted a glance at him.

You didn’t realize you had never seen him still; duh, you did know that, but what didn’t quite click in your brain was that you would be able to see him in all his glory, soft smile and an absent gaze framed by long eyelashes, shadows casted all over his face and body, playing games which gave him a surprisingly ethereal aura for a man of his built.  

Your stomach tied itself into a knot at the sight and the ‘thank you’ got once again stuck in your throat when his eyes turned to you as well, you breath stolen from your lungs, your lips parting uselessly and curling into a smile on instinct when his did.

Despite seeing the too startling sparkle up close, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the deep blue with a hint of green of his irises. It was just too captivating, locking you in a sweet cage you didn’t feel trapped in, but free and suddenly able to breathe in again.

“Thank you,” slipped from your lips unwittingly, shocking to your own ears.

The very same hint of scarlet you remembered from the infamous bar encounter dusted his cheeks, his smile softening as he turned a bashful gaze away, now fixated on the ground.

“Just wanted to see you smile again. Best part of my day,” he admitted, peeking at you from the insanely long and thick eyelashes and you could melt on spot, dizzying vertigo overcoming you at the sweet words. Good thing you were sitting.

You had no idea how to respond, your heartbeat thumping in your temples, your face feeling too hot and chest pleasantly warm at such admission. Your teeth went to chew on your lip and you abruptly stopped yourself. Bad, bad habit.

“Was… was that the only thing? Because the swing would be more than enough, let alone with my initials, and the flowers-“

“Maybe-“ he softly interrupted your lame attempt at flirting which had turned into a babble, but with same nerves coursing his voice unless your senses were playing tricks on you. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that he might be as nervous as you were-- the strangest thing in the world, wouldn’t it be? “Maybe I could tell you… over a coffee?”

A daffodil entered your field of vision, happy, bright and yet somehow shy in his big hand and you didn’t think twice before accepting it, your fingers brushing his skin in the process only half-accidentally. Passing you the flower, he offered you a hand so he could assist you in standing up.

Ah, as if he knew your knees felt wobbly and uncooperating with the overwhelming turn of events.

You didn’t hesitate to accept that either. You had a hunch that the manners of a forties’ man would be offended if you didn’t anyway.

“Thank you. Again.”

The twinkle in his eyes shone brighter at your words, his smile widening.

“My pleasure.”

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“If I trip over something, I’ll bully you into carrying me everywhere for the next month,” you threatened in a joking manner as your boyfriend of one year led you through his apartment with his huge palm sprawled over your eyes, while his other gently rested on your lower back, making sure you maintained some balance.

“I wouldn’t complain about that. Are you serious? Because I just might let you trip then…” he teased back and you could hear the grin in his voice, mesmerized by the happy note in it. You would roll your eyes at him fondly, but he wouldn’t see it, so there was no point.

“Don’t you dare…”

“Okay, let’s stop now,” he whispered in your ear, his hand shifting to your hip to squeeze lightly, causing you to shiver. You and Steve had taken your time when it came to physical aspect of your relationship (past certain bases anyway), so a touch like that still sent a delicious electrifying feeling through your whole body.

As if you weren’t excited enough ever since the moment he had told you he had had a surprise for you.

Chewing on your lower lip, you followed his gentle instruction and stopped in your tracks.

“Should I be afraid?” you asked for the fourth time in the past five minutes.

“Terrified,” he confirmed in a joking manner. “You ready?”

Not waiting for your answer, he uncovered your eyes and with a deep inhale, you snapped them open.

Only for your breath to hitch at the sight in front of you.

“Oh my god... it’s beautiful!” you exclaimed, a surprised chuckle escaping past your lips.

In the corner of the living room, soft marigold pillows laid in a circular hammock chair coloured in the indigo of an early sunrise, practically begging for you to jump in and nestle there with a book and relax.

Instantly reminded of how you met Steve in the first place, you couldn’t but spun on your heels and threw your arms around him, strong arms eagerly welcoming you as his chest shook with hushed chuckle.

“Glad you like it,” he murmured, hiding his face in your hair, raising you from the floor effortlessly. “Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! Happy anniversary, Steve. This truly is amazing. I love it!”

“But not more than me?”

It was your turn to chuckle as you retreated, placing a kiss on his nose and earning a pout that simply had to be kissed away.

“No, Steve, not even this amazing hammock compares to you. I’ll show you exactly how much I love you in a sec, I just have to test it out,” you promised.

He released you with no protest and watched with a fond smile as you climbed in with a child-like excitement, the corners of his eyes twinkling. He slowly made his way to you as the hammock swung gently with your weight and you sent him a delighted grin as he sat on his heels in front of you, his hands landing on the edges so he had the control over the movements.

“What’s the verdict?” he pried softly and you opened your mouth to respond with enough enthusiasm to power the state of New York for a year; but he continued. ”Is it comfy enough for you to… make you consider- that maybe-- you could… stay here more often?”

Your breath hitched, your throat swelling when you got a pretty good idea of what he was asking from his serious gaze. Yet, you needed to make sure, butterflies in your stomach flipping their wings wildly as you leaned forward, invisible magnets pulling you towards him.

“And by ‘more often’ you mean-“

“All the time,” he whispered, his eyes roaming your face nervously, trying to spy a reaction, read the answer in your expression alone.

You chuckled incredulously, ecstatic at such proposition, and placed your palms to both sides of Steve’s face, grateful for his grip on the hammock and trusting him not to let you faceplant on him with how hazardous the kiss you gave him was.

Your eyelids fluttered close, but you felt his smile as his lips engaged in a tender dance with yours, one of his hands sneaking to the side of your neck to pull you closer, tilting your head as his tongue teased your lips to part.

How could you deny him anything even when you felt like you were about to fall face-down any second? He would be under you when you landed anyway. What more could you wish for-

“I love you,” he breathed to your mouth as he broke the kiss for one damned second that felt like eternity; one second in which you forgot to suck more air in even when given the opportunity. Who needed oxygen anyway? You could breathe Steve in and live blissfully, it was what you were trying to do for the past minute and it was glorious- “That’s a yes, right?”

A chuckle escaped you as you dodged another kiss, his lips landing in your hair instead, the hammock swaying hazardously. Mm, seemed like your supersoldier was too distracted to watch your balance.

“Yes. The hammock totally convinced me,” you teased him lightly, an idea striking you when you said those words. Climbing down as he was still sitting in front of you on his heels, you lowered yourself on him, nestling in his lap and leaning to his ear and sharing your not necessarily filthy thought in a breathless whisper. “But I think I still like sitting right here much better.”

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S.R. masterlist

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart​

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Thank you for reading :-*

P.S. - Keep smiling; at the people you love whenever you can, at strangers and at the person you see in the mirror :))

[violetrose-art]

Sleeping Beauty Headcannons, Theories, and Ideas

This is just a list of the theories, headcannons, and ideas I came up with for Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. I might add more later on, so watch out

-Fairies like Maleficent, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather have much longer life spans than humans, basically immortal. But fairies aren’t gods by any means; they can still get sick and get hurt and die

-Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather are all sisters

-King Stefan and King Hubert have been best friends since their younger years. They first met at a royal ball when they were young princes; they were very bored and weren’t having a good time so they went off to explore the castle on their own and they immediately hit it off and became friends

-Merryweather may be the youngest out of her sisters, but she’s also the smartest and the toughest

-Prince Phillip’s mother was a wise and fair queen named Stella, but she passed away from a terrible sickness when Phillip was about three or four years old

-Hubert and Stella met and fell in love in their teen years and she fell in love with him for his big heart and funny nature

-Before she became the Mistress of All Evil, Maleficent was born to two other dark fairies. Her parents’ names were Lazarus Thornheart and Quintessa

-Maleficent grew up with her mother and father in an elegant house in the forest

-When she was younger, Maleficent used to be very close with her father, so she was something of a daddy’s girl and Lazarus loved his daughter with every fiber of his being… until the day he disappeared when she was rather young and she never saw him again

-As a young girl whenever Maleficent felt angry, sad, or scared, Lazarus would take his daughter into his embrace and they would dance and sing together until Maleficent was happy again

-Maleficent’s scepter can change its form depending on whoever holds it

-During the solar eclipse when Diablo was freed from his stone prison, he discovered Maleficent’s remains. He was devastated, but then he saw her scepter lying next to her. Thinking fast, he took it and with a wave of the scepter, Diablo was able to bring his mistress back from the grave

-When Maleficent came back, she turned everyone in the kingdom, except Princess Aurora, to stone

-After her family, friends, and everyone else the kingdom turned to stone, Aurora was heartbroken. But then she decided she wasn’t going to sit idly by anymore and she was finally going to do something about it. She decided to go to the Forbidden Mountain by herself and try to negotiate with Maleficent. Aurora offered her own life in exchange for the freedom of her people, but as much as she wanted to, Maleficent couldn’t turn her to stone. Because of the three Good Fairies casting a spell to protect the Princess when she was a baby, the Dark Fairy was unable to curse her now… but she could grant her a wish. So Aurora came up with a plan. She wished for Maleficent to place her in an eternal sleep and in exchange, she would set everybody in the kingdom free. Unaware of Aurora’s trick, Maleficent gladly granted the Princess’s wish… only to be thwarted by Prince Phillip once again

-When she was younger, Maleficent inherited her scepter from her father. After Lazarus died, he left his scepter, his old castle on the Forbidden Mountain, and his collection of numerous books and scrolls to his daughter… and Quintessa didn’t really like that

-Maleficent discovered Diablo as a fledgling alone in the forest. His mother and father had run afoul of one of King Stefan’s hunting parties and met their untimely demise. Maleficent took him under her protection, gave him the name Diablo, and cared for him until he was old enough to fly. The raven was so grateful towards her that he remained as her familiar and faithfully serves her to this day

-Around the time King Stefan and Queen Leah were about to be married, Merryweather was tasked to deliver a wedding an invitation to Maleficent. When she delivered the invitation to the castle, a couple of mischievous goons stole the invitation and scampered off with it

-When Maleficent was in her teen years, she wanted to go out and explore, but Quintessa wanted her daughter to stay in and study magic. Maleficent was bored, of course, but sometimes she would sneak out in the dead of night and run off with the one friend she had and they would go play jokes and tricks on humans

-Queen Stella died of a disease known as Specter Haze… a disease that Maleficent had created herself

-When she was around sixteen years old, Maleficent had fallen for a handsome troll named Grumio. He may have been good looking on the outside, but in reality, he was brutish, selfish, territorial, vain, arrogant, mean-spirited, manipulative, and boorish and he was only interested in Maleficent��s rare beauty, not for who she really was. He was able to forge a shallow relationship with Maleficent and she thought that relationship was full of love. But that was wishful thinking. Grumio was growing bored of Maleficent and he started seeing a beautiful female elf by the name of Lolita behind Maleficent’s back and when she found out… she was certainly not happy. When Maleficent told her mother what happened, Quintessa merely told her, “That’s what you get for pursuing love. Love is weakness and it’s about time you learn that.” Feeling even more betrayed than ever, she ran away into the forest with tears of anger and sadness in her eyes

-The Three Good Fairies knew Maleficent when they were younger, but because of her dark practices and interest in black magic, they refused to associate themselves with her

-Maleficent had one friend in her childhood: a fairy by the name of Henbane. Henbane always had an affinity for all different kinds of poison, especially in plants and minerals. When they were young, Henbane and Maleficent were almost inseparable… until they reached their late teens. Henbane grew jealous of not only Maleficent's magical capabilities, but also her relationship with Grumio. The two fairies had a falling out about it and they decided that they shouldn’t be friends anymore

-When Maleficent was all alone and at her lowest point, she decided that she wasn’t going to let anyone hurt her again. So she travelled to Bald Mountain and took an oath to the Black God, Chernabog, and that was how she became the Mistress of All Evil

-After she gained her dark powers and new title, Maleficent ventured back home to confront the ones who had betrayed her: Henbane, Quintessa, and Grumio

-When Maleficent found Henbane, she confronted her one last time and said to her, “You were never really my friend. You just wanted to keep me subdued so I wouldn’t be better than you. Well, you’ve been in my way long enough and I say it’s about time you were dealt with.” And with a wave of her scepter, Maleficent transformed her old friend into a henbane plant and she promptly squashed it underneath her feet

-Next, she confronted Grumio and Lolita; she found them kissing near a large pile of stones and boulders. She told him that he had lied to her and betrayed her and with a simple dismissive wave, Lolita and Grumio instantly turned to dust. But before he died, Grumio sneered at Maleficent and said, “I hate fairies”. And after the spell was cast, a gust of wind blew the piles of dust away

-And finally, Maleficent confronted her mother. Quintessa was shocked to see her daughter in such a way and she demanded to know what she was doing. Maleficent merely said, “You may be my mother, but you never really loved me. All you ever did was hurt me… and now you must pay for that.” She grabbed Quintessa by the hair, dragged her outside, conjured up a large wooden stake, a pile of sticks and dry leaves, and some rope, and tied her mother to the stake. And with that, Maleficent set the sticks and leaves under Quintessa on fire and Quintessa was immediately engulfed in flames, screaming and crying out in agony as she was burned to a crisp. Maleficent only watched with a calm smile on her face, ignoring her mother’s pleas for help

-Many years before Maleficent was born, Lazarus and Quintessa used to live on a magical island called the Isle of Avalon where fairies of all kinds lived in harmony and peace… until they were both banished along with the rest of the dark fairies by Queen Mab when she discovered they were planning to overthrow her, take over, and rebuild the Isle in their image

-Before the day Aurora was born, Stefan and Leah were visited by the Greek Goddess of the Dawn and she told the royal couple that their child will be destined for great things

This is all I’ve got so far, but feel free to tell me what you think and tell me which one is your favorite

[rosalies-rage]

folklore x Twilight: An Analysis

folklore's lyrics match Twilight uncannily well and here’s proof! 

my tears ricochet - Rosalie

We gather here, we line up, weepin' in a sunlit room And if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too Even on my worst day, did I deserve, babe All the hell you gave me? 'Cause I loved you, I swear I loved you 'Til my dying day I didn't have it in myself to go with grace And you're the hero flying around, saving face And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed Look at how my tears ricochet We gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean Some to throw, some to make a diamond ring You know I didn't want to have to haunt you But what a ghostly scene You wear the same jewels that I gave you As you bury me

And I can go anywhere I want Anywhere I want, just not home And you can aim for my heart, go for blood But you would still miss me in your bones And I still talk to you (When I'm screaming at the sky) And when you can't sleep at night (You hear my stolen lullabies)

Rosalie would sing this to her murderer/fiancé at her funeral as he goes around being the ‘hero’ and ‘saving face’. She’s ‘screaming at the sky’ because he has stolen the one thing she really wanted from her ‘anywhere I want, just not home’. Even though she loved him ‘til [her] dying day’, she can never forgive and has no choice but to haunt him.

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exile - Edward in New Moon

I think I’ve seen this film before And I didn’t like the ending You’re not my homeland anymore So what am I defending now? You were my town, now I’m in exile seein’ you out We always walked a very thin line You didn’t even hear me out (You didn’t even hear me out) You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) All this time I never learned to read your mind (Never learned to read my mind)

Edward leaves in New Moon because he believes he and his world are too dangerous for Bella, exiling himself indefinitely. They had ‘always walked a very thin line’ as he tried to be with her without harming her, and he literally ‘never learned to read [her] mind’. Now he’s left and can’t do what he wanted to do, i.e protect her (’what am I defending now?’).

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august - Jacob

Salt air, and the rust on your door I never needed anything more Whispers of “Are you sure?” “Never have I ever before”

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all Canceled plans just in case you'd call And say, "Meet me behind the mall" So much for summer love and saying "us" 'Cause you weren't mine to lose You weren't mine to lose, no

Your back beneath the sun Wishin' I could write my name on it Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinkin' I had you

Bella and Jacob start spending time together in the ‘salt air’ by La Push beach fixing beaten-up motorbikes (’rust’). Jacob knows Bella isn’t interested in him but lives in hope (’to live for the hope of it all’) and by the time the Cullens come back he’s convinced he could win Bella’s loyalties (’I remember thinkin’ I had you’). It doesn’t take place in summer, but it is a brief, intense fling that lifts Bella from her Edward-induced winter, and Bella calls Jacob her personal ‘sun’. In the end, though, Bella tells Jacob that there was never really a choice between him and Edward; it was always going to be Edward (’You weren’t mine to lose’). 

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invisible string - Alice & Jasper

And isn't it just so pretty to think All along there was some Invisible string Tying you to me?

Something wrapped all of my past mistakes in barbed wire Chains around my demons Wool to brave the seasons One single thread of gold Tied me to you

Alice woke up as a vampire with no memory of her past - all she had was her psychic abilities, which were an ‘invisible string’ leading her directly to Jasper. On Jasper’s side, he was living a brutal life training newborn armies until Alice found him and ‘wrapped all of [his] past mistakes in barbed wire’, putting ‘chains around his demons’ and leading him to a better life. You could also interpret it as his journey to chaining his inner monster that wants to kill humans when he goes to live with the Cullens.

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epiphany - Carlisle

Something med school did not cover Someone's daughter, someone's mother Holds your hand through plastic now "Doc, I think she's crashing out" And some things you just can't speak about

Only twenty minutes to sleep But you dream of some epiphany Just one single glimpse of relief To make some sense of what you've seen

This song describes the experience of medical staff during the COVID-19 pandemic, and Carlisle was a doctor during the last major pandemic (Spanish Flu in 1918), which is where he turned Edward. A religious man, he searches for an ‘epiphany’ from God while he grapples with the decision to consign another person to a life of vampirism and tries to understand whether or not he still has a soul.

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mad woman - Rosalie

Do you see my face in the neighbor's lawn? Does she smile? Or does she mouth, "Fuck you forever"? And there's nothing like a mad woman What a shame she went mad No one likes a mad woman You made her like that And you'll poke that bear 'til her claws come out And you find something to wrap your noose around

They say “move on” but you know I won’t

I'm taking my time, taking my time 'Cause you took everything from me

Rosalie is filled with anger and bitterness over her murder. She’s cast in a bad light particularly because she’s an angry, ‘mad woman’ but she explains that her murderers ‘made her like that’ when they ‘took everything from [her]’, and in return she ‘[took her] time’ when killing them to make sure they knew she was coming.

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cardigan - Bella on Jacob

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed  You put me on and said I was your favorite  You drew stars around my scars But now I’m bleedin’

Bella was destroyed after Edward left, feeling that he’d taken most of her with him and was just discarded like an unwanted toy (’I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed’). Then she started hanging out with Jacob and his friendship (’I was your favorite’) started to heal - or at least disguise - the hole in her chest (’You drew stars around my scars’). But then he left, too, when the werewolf transformation happened, which left her ‘bleeding’. It turned out she wasn’t really healed, she’d just been papering over the gap with Jacob’s love.

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illicit affairs - Edward & Bella as tragic fated lovers

Tell yourself you can always stop What started in beautiful rooms  Ends in meetings in parking lots It’s born from just one single glance but it dies and it dies and it dies A million little times 

Leave no trace behind, like they don’t even exist

When Edward first becomes enamored with Bella and wants to get closer to her, he convinces himself he can always stop - but he can’t. The more time he spends with her, the more doomed he is. When Bella gets hurt because of him, first in Twilight and then in New Moon, he disappears in hopes of keeping her safe and hides all the presents he gave her (’leave no trace behind’). 

And you wanna scream Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby" Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me You showed me colors you know I can't see with anyone else Don't call me "kid," don't call me "baby" Look at this idiotic fool that you made me You taught me a secret language I can't speak with anyone else

A dwindling mercurial high A drug that only worked the first few hundred times

And you know damn well For you, I would ruin myself A million little times

This part is Bella’s response. When he left, he took away this entire paranormal world he’d introduced her to (‘You taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else’), leaving her to think she’s gone insane because not only has she lost the love of her life, all traces of an entire extra world have disappeared. She wants him to stop patronising her by saying she’ll move on like mortals do (’Don’t call me kid, don’t call me baby, look at this godforsaken mess that you made me’). Desperate to get some sense that he’s still there, she starts doing risky stunts like motorbike racing and jumping off a cliff (’A dwindling mercurial high’). Like she told him in the meadow scene in the first book, she is willing to die for him, and we see in New Moon that he feels the same way (‘you know damn well / For you I would ruin myself, a million little times’). The only way for them to stay apart would’ve been to never meet in the first place.

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seven - Rosalie on her childhood friend Vera

Please picture me in the trees I hit my peak at seven Feet in the swing over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things? Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids like a pattern Love you to the Moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long

Before I learned civility I used to scream ferociously Any time I wanted

Rosalie fondly recalls her human life and her best friend Vera, who had the normal life she never got. This ‘love lasts so long’ even though Vera is dead by now because Rosalie still remembers her, even if her human memories are fuzzy and she can’t necessarily ‘recall [her] face’. Also, Rosalie was always valued only for her beauty, but maybe she ‘hit [her] peak at seven’ because her beauty hadn’t yet started overshadowing her personhood and she was still able to ‘scream ferociously’ at that age instead of being the girl and young woman who had to learn ‘civility’ and be married off to a rich man.

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hoax - Bella in New Moon

My only one My smoking gun My eclipsed sun This has broken me down My twisted knife My sleepless night My winless fight This has frozen my ground Stood on the cliffside screaming, "Give me a reason" Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in Don't want no other shade of blue but you No other sadness in the world would do  My best laid plan Your sleight of hand My barren land I am ash from your fire  You know I left a part of me back in New York You knew the hero died so what's the movie for? You knew it still hurts underneath my scars From when they pulled me apart

Bella’s ‘eclipsed sun’ has disappeared and left her ‘broken’, ‘sleepless’ and believing she has no way to win him back. She literally goes and stands on a ‘cliffside’ before jumping off just to see a hallucination of his face - Edward, a mythical creature, is the ‘only hoax she believes in’. Even though he’s hurt her and broken her heart, she ‘don’t want no other shade of blue but you’. He thinks he’s saving her from harm by leaving, but the scar from James still bothers her, i.e. his leaving cannot protect her as the damage has been done (’You know it still hurts underneath my scars’) and now Edward has just added emotional scars that ‘pulled [her] apart’ and left a gaping hole in her chest.

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peace - Edward & Bella in Breaking Dawn

I never had the courage of my convictions As long as danger is near And it’s just around the corner darlin Coz it lives in me No, I could never give you peace

Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Throughout the series, Edward has been afraid to get too close to Bella for fear of hurting her (’danger is near’, ‘it lives in me’). Now he finally has to accept that she’s not going anywhere and value her choice. Even after he’s no longer a threat to her directly, their life is full of challenges like the Volturi. It’s impossible to guarantee her safety, and she doesn’t want him to - she wants to be in his world as an equal. He comes to terms with the fact that it’s okay if he can ‘never give [her] peace’.

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[kaleidiope]

Novaturient

To heck with it, I'm going to give a in-a-nut-shell explanation of the stories I'm writing. I do have more in-depth versions in my story collection once I update it all and put it out again. But I have drawings I want to post and I kind of want to explain who the characters are before I do. So, I have a six part series I've been working on at random, on-and-off since some point in 2019. (Some of you will probably know, and remember, OUL fairly well.) The names have been questioned and moved about a few times but I think it's all finally been settled. The series has been dubbed, "Novaturient" Meaning: (All meanings copied from google, thanks google!) "Novaturient is desiring changes or alterations, usually in regards to one's life, behavior, or situation. The origin of novaturient comes from the Latin novāre (make new)" (Some of these will be familiar to many who were on MBM back in 2019 especially.) Also, there is mentions of black magic, and falling society below. In the actual stories there are many heavy-topics covered. I will not mention them here because it is a lot to tag. (And those aspects aren't even talked about here because it's just a rough, nut-shell explanation of the stories.)

So, without further-ado, I bring you to the first story. "Liberosis" meaning: "Liberosis is a longing for liberty, an ache to let things go. A recent addition, wytai, is an acronym for “When You Think About It,” and means the sudden realization of how absurd some aspect of modern life is." The story of a man has too much empathy to the point it brings him real physical pain seeing others unhappy. The idea that the world will always move on weather or not people are ready hurt him dearly. He wound up getting into black magic in an attempt to make his dreams come true. The dream of a "vacation" world where people could go to process the pain the world has forced them through. He summoned a "demon", who made the world he dreamed for. But, the man was so happy, he never checked the "terms and conditions." The world built on deceit, feeding off of pain, it was doomed to fall. And, any "OG's" way back from MBM (and even Quotev) will remember the early pitch that was "Klexos" Meaning: "There are ways of thinking about the past that aren't just nostalgia or regret. A kind of questioning that enriches an experience after the fact." The story of a very ill person exploring the house their parent forced them to live in with who was a practical stranger, years later. After getting a terminal diagnosis, and a mystery letter appearing on their hospital night-stand, with nothing but a key and address enclosed. Curiosity consumed them and they went to the house. Slowly exploring and slowly recalling their childhood, and finding out just how much they were cared for by someone they barely knew or remembered. All while also finding a way inside the empath-man's world. And then that brings us to the original story that made me want to make this a visual novel/kinetic novel series. "Monachopsis" Meaning: "The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home." Which is the story of a person grieving over the loss of someone close. And finding their way inside the empath-man's world as well. Getting the full experience, of slowed time, and easy life. Made perfect for the real would to melt away from one's mind. But, this person only has a rough estimate of two weeks to leave the world. As for, to enter the world, one must be in a coma. And without life support, one doesn't have long to wake up. They must recruit the help of one of the "non-human-demon-aliens" made specially to help others leave in order to go back home. Which brings us to the next, very-connected-to-Monachopsis, story. "Lachesism" Meaning: "The desire to be struck by disaster — to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire." Which in this story a person falls through a mirror within the house they recently moved into. Finding a "glitch entrance" to the empath-man's world. where they find the world slowly crumbling. The person then speaks with all they can find within the world, slowly understanding the problems it is facing. As well as why so many are now trapped there in a special-man-made-purgatory. And why they went into the world to begin with. Which brings us to the last story, "Exulansis" Meaning: "The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it-whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness- which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story." Which in this story, a person gets a letter telling them they were mentioned in a will, by someone they don't know. And that the deceased person left their house and whole estate to this person. Out of curiosity, they go to the house. Only to find many oddities, some which scare the person so bad into leaving and never coming back for long periods of time. But the hunger of confusion and wanting an answer always made the person return. The person soon finds missing

person notes, and many other alarming things. Showing them of "another world". After finding many more things, they come across a robot, who helps them break-through the glitched entrance of the empath-man's world. To find the world in a second-to-final stage before complete corruption and failure. Seeing the sky grow darker, and the inhabitance doing their best to prepare for the worst. Which then brings us to the final story, which actually wasn't meant to be connected at all to this series. OUL, or, "Out under the lights." Being it's code name, real name being, "Agathokakological" Meaning: "Composed of both good and evil." A story of a world trying to rebound from an eternal eclipse, all while having the life literally squeezed from it by a power-hungry corporation, who doesn't tolerate any form of competition. They found a way to make light from a water dwelling insect. A dearly needed bug for the ecosystem of the world. A young inventor builds a light that doesn't need a creature to work. She tries her best to leave the city where the corporations power is strongest in hopes to find others willing to support and help her with normalizing her creation, hoping to save what's left of the world the best she can. All while meeting others, all who have many problems, ideas, and beliefs of their own. Thank-you so, so much for reading!! And I hope you have a wonderful day!

[aenwoedbeannaa]

Halfling || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

There is a startling lack of The Witcher fanfiction on this website, so I figured I might as well start writing some. 

Trigger Warning: Sexual Themes | Mentioned Sexual Assault | Mentioned Abuse

* * *

You didn’t remember falling asleep in Geralt’s bedroom, curled up on the small couch in front of the fireplace, the book you had been reading on the floor where it had tumbled after you’d dropped it.

You had been living at Kaer Moren for about two months now. After all of those years in Vizima, especially those last two years living with that gods-awful man in that gods-awful inn, a rotting shack in the woods would have felt like a palace. Whether for good or for bad, the ancient Witcher school had begun to feel like home alarmingly fast. You’d learned all of the secret passageways, all of the forgotten corridors, empty bedrooms, and unused rooms.

You tried your best to fight that feeling. You knew better than to trust the feeling of security. If the last few years of your short life had taught you anything, it was that everything was temporary—security could never last. Best to keep your guard up; it was the only way to keep from getting hurt. And yet, you were losing your internal battle. 

Despite your best efforts to treat your time behind the ancient walls as a job and nothing more, here you were—asleep in a man’s room. 

Not just any man–a Witcher. 

Those years at the Traveler’s Boot had hardened you. Hell, your entire life had hardened you. Apart from a few happy childhood memories, when the whole world still remembered Sodden and feared it, you had few happy memories. Your childhood ended at the age of three, when your mother abandoned you. Your father had abandoned you before you’d even been born. Those first few years, you were taken in by a kindly old human woman. Marta was unlike most of the humans she’d ever met. She hadn’t paid much attention to your elven features. She hadn’t treated you as some sort of monster. Unfortunately, Marta died when you were thirteen. Nobody else was kind as her; nobody else was kind at all.

In the war-torn North, your elven heritage was a target on your back. You were a worthless Halfling—a monster. You were eleven, and so the humans did not trust you. You were half human, and so the elves wanted nothing to do with you. No matter where you went, you were treated with contempt. You traveled from city to city, picking up jobs where you could, hunting and foraging when work was not available. But once the war started, the forest was no longer safe. The Squirrels would have shot you through with an arrow on sight. The humans would have done the same. And so, two years ago, you came to find yourself in Vizima, at Ikorak’s fine establishment. 

You’d sat in a dark corner of the bar, drinking away the last gold coins to your name. The watered-down ale tasted like dirty bath water, but it served its purpose. The pain that normally filled you was slowly eclipsed by numbness. Feeling nothing was the closest thing to feeling happy you got. Ikorak approached you after you had swallowed the third pint of ale, a fourth in hand. 

“You here alone, Miss?” he asked, arms braced on the old table. 

“Do I look like I need a chaperon?” You narrowed your eyes, still sharp even as the alcohol clouded her mind.

“Yes.” He had not hesitated to answer. He hadn’t even attempted to hide the lecherous look on his face, either. 

“Well,” you snapped, “You are mistaken.” 

“The cat has claws.” He smirked at her before turning and walking back to the bar.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, or perhaps it was the desperate need to find steady work, but by the end of the evening, you had agreed to come work for him. He had promised steady work as a barmaid—occasionally flirting with the clientele. It was supposed to be easy, honest work. He even offered a room in the inn. It was small and cold and cost half your wages, but it was safe. At least, you thought that it was.

Naturally, not long after you’d begun working there, you realized you were not there to serve rowdy men drinks and harmlessly flirt with them for tips. You were the entertainment. Your long dark hair and wide-doe eyes–elven, except for their deep brown color, were fascinating to the local clientele and travelers alike. You did what any other Halfling stuck in a rotting hell-hole of a world would do. You did your job. It was easy enough to numb yourself, to imagine entire other lives, to dream about things that would never happen. It was easy to lie to yourself and say that you would be able to save enough money to get out of there by the time the year was out. 

Then, the war heated up. 

As blood poured on the battlefields and entire cities burned, your elven beauty turned only hateful glances, eyes full of reproach from elf and human alike. You were not to be trusted. Never mind that you were neutral, and wanted nothing more than this war to be over—whoever ended up crowned King in the end, you were treated like a parasite. How could you be anything but? There were those who promised freedom to people like you–inspiring bands of Scoia’tel to start offing humans in the wilderness. 

Kings raised armies against one another in the timeless struggle for power. There were no “good” sides, as far as you were concerned. Each one wanted nothing more than to kill the other off with as much proficiency and brutality as possible. 

Soon, most of the men visiting [Brothel] wanted nothing to do with you. Ikorak threatened to throw you out on the street, citing a long list of charges that you could never hope to pay off without a steady stream of clients. 

The first time he struck you, you’d been too surprised to think much of it. You had spoken back, after all. You’d opened your mouth to defend yourself when you knew that you had no right to. 

After that, each night you failed to find a willing buyer, [Brothel Owner] had his way with you. Always violent, never gentle. You woke up nearly every day with fresh bruises. Even those night that you managed to find a client, he would treat you much the same way. Angry with… well anyone. They would take it out on you. 

Geralt had been different. You could still see the image perfectly in your head. He’d slammed a pouch of Novigrad gold on the bar. He’d gruffly grabbed you by the arm and pulled you up the stairs to his lodgings. You had expected, once the door slammed shut behind him, that he would be cruel, like the others. 

But he hadn���t. 

He made no move to touch you once you once the lock clicked into place. You hadn’t trusted him. You’d almost decided not to leave with him when he offered. At least with [Brothel Owner], you knew what to expect. The silver-haired man had been a mystery. He wore armor, had daggers and swords hanging about his body. He was a killing machine. 

And yet, you’d come. And he’d kept his word. He’d allowed you to stay on at Kaer Moren for the winter, performing various household tasks–mending clothing, cooking meals–they were all things that you had learned to do throughout your life. It was easy work, and you were highly overpaid. You were even given your very own room. You had a trunk at the foot of your bed, and a bookshelf slowly filling with books. 

Yes, this place was home. 

* * *

Geralt could tell by her steady breathing that you was asleep. The book tumbling to the ground was another indicator. In the warm glow of the last embers smoldering in the fireplace, her hair shone. 

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but decided not to carefully wipe away the smile, as he usually would. There was something about this woman, this little Halfling that he had felt such a strong urge to take from the horrible place back in Vizima, that he could not ignore. 

He realized after a moment that he was staring, probably too intently, at her small sleeping form. The blanket she had wrapped herself in was beginning to fall off the couch as well. It had been torn almost to shreds when she’d arrived–but she’d patched it up, and now it nearly resembled something soft and cozy again. 

Silent as a cat, he stood up and padded from his desk to the couch. He did not want to wake her, but he did not want her to wake up here, in his room, in the middle of the night, thinking the worst. He would take her back to her room, he decided. 

Gently, he hooked an arm under her knees, and the other round under her back, supporting her head so that she didn’t shock awake. What he had not expected was the way she seemed to melt into his arms, like she belonged there. A soft sigh escaped her lips, and he felt her settle against him, her cheek on his chest. 

“Geralt.” 

The utterance was so quiet, it would have been hard for anyone without his Witcher senses to hear it. She was still asleep, the utterance coming form somewhere in her subconscious. 

Feeling utterly powerless, he decided he would simply lay her in his bed–yes. So she would be more comfortable. He would sleep on the couch. It was an old, lumpy thing, but it was far more comfortable than the hard ground he often slept on during the warmer months outside of Kaer Moren.

Gingerly, he carried her to his bed and set her there, her head resting on one of the pillows. 

He was overcome with how much he wanted to reach out and stroke her hair; with how much he wanted to feel her soft skin beneath his calloused fingers. But… He could not. It would be breaking his promise. He might scare her. She was always so jumpy, peering around corners and hiding a flinch whenever someone accidentally snuck up behind her.

So, he set her down and stood up to go to his wardrobe and change into nightclothes–which was, rather unceremoniously the exact thing he wore under all his armor during the day. But with her staying here, he decided he would be much better if he slipped on one of the soft cotton shirts that usually remained folded in the bureau.  

As he slipped off his belt, tunic, and pants (making sure to remain craftily hidden behind the large door, he heard stirring from his bed.

He was in the middle of slipping a shirt on over his boxers when he heard that soft voice again.

“Geralt?” 

Geralt started, not having seen her eyes flutter as she awoke.

“I’m sorry, An Enid,” he began quickly, using the nickname Vizimir had given her when he walked into Kaer Moren with her that day. It dripped like honey from his lips—Little Daisy. “You’d fallen asleep, and I didn’t want you falling off of the–” She didn’t even seem to hear his explanation for how exactly she ended up in his bed. 

“Please don’t leave.” Her voice was still hazy with sleep, but those big, brown eyes were settled on him intently.

“I will not,” he found himself agreeing immediately. “I will be on the couch, right here,” promised. 

He saw hurt flash on her face for the briefest of moments, but she collected herself quickly. 

“There is more than enough room here, Witcher,” she said tentatively, like she was scared to even be speaking the words. But those were the only words he needed. These last few months–their interactions, conversations, the way that her arm occasionally brushed against his, sending a shiver down his spine. Perhaps, they had not been completely made up or meaningless. He crossed the room in a few large steps, laying down on the empty side of the bed. 

Her big doe-eyes were open once more, fixated on his mutant ones. He found himself unable to look away. And still, he made no move to touch her, not wanting to overstep some hidden boundary. His medallion lay on the bedside table, so the soft vibration he felt in his chest had nothing to do with magic. The pull he felt was no spell, but it may as well have been. 

Gently, he brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face, calloused fingers gently settling there, on the side of her face. 

“Geralt?” 

“Yes?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Touch me.”

She didn’t have to wait long. His hands were on her in a moment, one still in her hair, the other wrapping around her waist as he rolled on top of her, carefully distributing his weight so as not to crush her. 

Her lips were soft, but her kiss was eager. He did not rush the kiss. His lips moved against hers, eager but not forceful. Her lips parted as she sighed, and the Witcher took advantage of the moment to take control. She was intoxicating. The scent of lavender and cedarwood filled him with a desperate want. All of these months, he had told himself that he didn’t want her. He told himself that she didn’t want him. He told himself whatever he had to to keep his walls up. But with that one breath, with that pleading way she looked at him, with one kiss, the wall had crumbled. 

He groaned when he felt her small hand moving over his chest. Her hands were calloused like his own, but her touch was soft. He wanted to feel her hands all over him. As if she could read his mind, like the others, she continued to explore. She slid one hand up into his white hair, clutching him close to her. She broke the kiss, but only to move her lips down over his jaw and down to his neck, biting softly as she ran her tongue over his skin.

Geralt could already feel himself hardening, the whole length of him pressing against her thigh. And she could feel it, too, he realized, when she blinked up at him with a spark of mischief in her eyes. 

Gods, she might as well be an enchantress. 

Her hand slipped lower, tugging at the waistband of his boxers to stroke him. He moaned softly, lost in pleasure, before finally coming back to his senses. She was trying to, and succeeding in, pleasing him. But as wonderful as her skillful fingers felt, he wanted her to feel the same and more.

“Be still,” he said gruffly, taking her wrist and pushing it away to her side. His lips were on her neck now, teeth scraping over the soft skin there. He smirked when her breath caught in her throat and her grip on his hair slackened, her hand falling to her side, eyes closing listlessly. 

“Good girl.” 

He pushed himself up with one arm, free hand pulling at her shirt, tugging it up. She moved with him, shifting so he could pull the useless garment over her head. 

The Witcher sad back on his knees, cat-eyes dilating as they scanned over her bare chest—couldn’t say he minded that she wore no corset. He laced his fingers through her soft hair once more, leaning down to kiss her again. This time, his kiss was full of hunger, and she returned it with just as need. His free hand slipped lower, gently grazing over her breast. She whimpered—actually whimpered at that soft touch. 

‘Oh, Little Daisy, If my touch makes you whimper, just wait until you see what I can do with my mouth.’ 

He realized, of course, that she could not hear his thoughts the way that Yennifer could, but he was sure his eyes gave away exactly what he was thinking. In a millisecond, his mouth was on her left breast as he continued to knead her right. His calloused fingers pulling gently at her nipple as his tongue lapped at the other, drawing another moan from the half-elf. Her hands were balled into fists, clutching at the sheets like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. His lips closed over her taught nipple, sucking it into his mouth to continue lavishing it with his tongue. By now, she was writhing beneath him in pleasure. K Her breath hitched as he let his teeth scrape over the small bud, and he finally turned his attention to her other breast. He lavished it with equal attention, noticing the way she always sighed in pleasure as when his tongue flattened. He gave long, intentional licks as his no free hand traveled lower.

Her hips were already grinding against his, making it hard for him to concentrate on much more than his throbbing cock. He ached to be inside her, filling her completely as he thrust in and out until she screamed. But that could wait. A Witcher was always in control, and he had far more plans for her that night. He was so intoxicated with her—with her lavender and cedarwood scent, with her little moans and sighs, with the way her body moved under his and the way her small hands traced his shoulder blades and tangled in his hair—that he didn’t even remember ripping her skirt and underthings from her body. Neither of them minded. 

His large fingers found her core, already slick with her intoxicating juices. They danced over her clit, eliciting several moans from her beautiful lips. He was teasing her now—tracing feather-light circles around the little bud. 

Little circles, then back and forth, building up speed but refusing to press harder, enjoying watching her squirm. Her arms were almost flailing now, trying to grab at his hair, the sheets, or nothing at all. He didn’t need a mind-reader to tell him that she was not used to this kind of attention. He had no idea how any man could resist. He was almost worried he’d lose control just watching her pleasure-drunk eyes flicker open and closed. 

After he was sure she was thoroughly lost in a haze of nothing but pleasure, he finally slipped one large finger inside. 

“Fuck,” he half-grunted. She was so tight around his finger, her walls clenching around him. He couldn’t wait to bury his cock inside her. 

But still—not yet. 

He added another finger now, studying her face as he slowly drew them in and out, committing to memory each spot he touched that elicited the most reaction, and which ones made her head loll back on the pillow. 

He found exactly what he was looking for quite quickly, watching this utter satisfaction as her eyes rolled into the back of her head, his name leaving her over and over again as he curled his fingers back and forth over her g-spot. Her eyes were closed when he put his mouth on her, his tongue now playing with her hardened little nub. Over and over he worked her clit, starting ever so slowly, fingers still rubbing against her g-spot. Over and over he continued, slowly building the pace and increasing pressure. 

She was lifting her hips, trying to increase the pressure, urging him on faster and harder. He obliged without hesitation, listening to the wild thrum of her heartbeat. “G-geralt!” she gasped, voice breaking with the effort. “If you don’t… stop… I’m… going t—” 

He removed his tongue from her soft folds only to peer up at her from between her legs, a smirk on his lips. 

“Yes,” he said gruffly, “You are.” He used one hand to hold down her hips so she could not escape his fingers slamming into that same spot over and over. “You are going to be a good girl and cum for me.”

With that, his lips closed around her clit and he sucked it gently into his mouth, tongue dancing over the little nub as his fingers continued their assault. She screamed as she spasmed around his fingers, hips bucking wildly now as she rode out wave after wave of her orgasm. 

He helped coax her back down with slow, gentle thrusts of his fingers. His tongue flattened against her, subtle movements bringing her back down to Earth. 

* * * 

You lay, still adrift in a sea of pleasure. Soft aftershocks from your orgasm electric in your veins. It had been so long since you felt this way—so at peace, so safe. 

Geralt was up on his knees again, eyes fixated on you. He did not look at you with the harsh eyes full of contempt that you were so used to. He did not look at you as if you were a piece of silver. No, he did not look at you like you were his property, or like land he’d just conquered.

He looked at you like he wanted you. 

[To be continued?]

[randbwrite]

The Phoenix Queen

Just a teaser of something I’ve been working on for a long time. It’s the beginning of a dark fantasy novel. Enjoy. -R

Faster, she had to move faster. She knew, she could feel it, he was almost gone. Why did she have to sleep? It was just a nap and he promised he wouldn’t leave the throne room. Please…. Please…. Don’t be too late. 

She threw the heavy doors to the throne room open and gasped for air. Though there were only about twenty or so nobles present, the red liquid slowly seeping down the steps to the throne was quite visible. She took off in a run again, her shoes clattering hard against the solid and cold stone.

She shouted his name, yet she couldn’t hear her own voice as she ascended the steps. Her husband lay in front of her, blood slowly trickling down the steps from several stab wounds. She sank to her knees, tears forming in her eyes, her breath shaking as she pulled him into her arms. For the second time in her life, she held the one she loved most, as they lay dying in her arms. His beautiful blue eyes met her brilliant teal ones as she slightly shook her head. He mouthed the words “I love you” and then slowly closed his eyes. 

She let out a cry from the very depths of her being, a wail that sounded of a world-ending. Had her hair not already turned white from the events of her childhood, it would have done so now. The room grew cold and ice crystals began forming across the floor. The nobles glanced back and forth between one another, with several bolting for the open doors. The doors, as if making sure that none would escape justice, slammed closed, the nobles turning back to look upon their queen.

The light in the throne room began to dim, as outside, what appeared to be a solar eclipse suddenly and rapidly appeared in the sky. Hushed whispers of panicked voices arose in the room, all seeming to be some variation of “it can’t be”. The room plunged into total darkness and silence, save for a pair of glowing amethyst eyes near the throne.

Unearthly sounds could be heard from the windows followed by a beastly and deep growl. Small bursts of a purple-black fire ran along the walls, lighting the sconces along the wall with the strange magical fire. A deep, raspy voice echoed through the throne room, 

“My, my, my. What have we here? A murdered king in the throne room. Did none of you pay any attention in school? Or did you think it was all just an old legend meant to scare bureaucrats into not killing their rulers?”

As the room lit more and more, it revealed a man, or what looked like a man, with glowing red eyes standing near the throne. He was dressed oddly, wearing what appeared to be black dragon skin in the form of a long, tailored coat. He leaned against a cane, with a silver dragon head at the handle. His smile sent chills through the nobles who were present, especially when he ran his fingers through his black hair. He picked a piece of dust off the vest of his black suit, seemingly bored with the whole affair. 

A nobleman, still holding a knife drenched in crimson, spoke up, his voice trembling, “A-are you?”

“The one who appears whenever a Wizard monarch is murdered? Yes, that would be me. Please tell me you remember my name at least? One can’t go around bringing about prophecies and fulfilling old legends properly without the requisite knowledge of just who is smiting who, now can we?”

“Dracten? No…. it… it can’t be.” The noble shook his head in disbelief. 

“Ah, well, at least your schooling was good for something. Now, let’s see here. I count…. Five of you with blades, several more with magical residue. My, my, what did he do to deserve such a death?”

“He and his queen have yet to save us from the undead scourge that is threatening to take over the realms.” The noble replied.

The same beastly growl filled the room from before and the man dressed in black slowly walked towards the nobleman, looking quite annoyed. “If you mean to lie to a god, I suggest that you do a better job of it, mortal.”  Once Dracten was right in front of the noble, he tapped his cane on the ground, “Let’s try that again, shall we?”

“He’s only half wizard. Not fit for being a royal.”

Dracten’s eyebrow twitched and his expression grew stern. “THAT is why he was murdered? Not for power, revenge, personal vendetta, the throne? No, you all chose to kill someone, over THAT?”

“Without a pure-blooded heir, the Wizard kingdom would surely suffer a lack of power against the other races.”

Dracten inhaled a few times, seeming to start speaking before pressing his lips together, only to repeat the process over again. “You…. Are an idiot.” Dracten walked away, shaking his head, making his way to the grieving queen. He stretched out his hand to her, which she reluctantly took as he helped her stand. He looked her over and then sighed, “My, my. Being the one to fulfill the prophecy of reuniting the realms apparently was not enough, was it? As you know, I am here at your service, especially seeing as you are the last of the royal bloodline, are you not?”

Her eyes had grown puffy, and her tears had crystalized into ice along her cheeks. She nodded and then spoke in a hoarse voice. “I am.”

“What is your request then? Torment for all eternity? Death, destruction and chaos? Come now, I must have an answer.”

“Any of you who had nothing to do with my husband’s death, leave now.” Her expression grew distant as the doors to the throne room swung open. All but a few hurried out of the room. Just beyond the threshold of the door, several sets of eyes watched with great interest and relief, thankful that they were not caught in the ancient enchantments of the throne room. “Dracten, my wish, in part of my family’s agreement with you ages ago, is to borrow your power for a time.”

He grinned with a deep laugh, “Now THAT, is one I have never been asked for before. Very well, you will be granted my powers for a time. And in return?”

“You may do with their souls as you wish. This I grant you, not only as the queen of the Wizards, but as the rightful heir to the Angelic and Demonic thrones, unifier of the races and restorer of the realms.”

He hit his cane on the floor twice and laughed again, “Excellent! I do love a good show.” He hopped over to the throne and sat down as if getting ready to watch a highly anticipated play. 

The nobleman spoke up, now visibly trembling, “Your Majesty, please, understand what we did was for the good of the kingdom.” Her eyebrow quirked and her gaze met his, her eyes both glowing a deep blood red. “Please… there must be someone far better suited, that you would prefer.”

The ice that had initially formed across the floor now spread, coating every nook and cranny. Dracten watched and laughed, “I’m afraid that won’t do when she loved him dearly. Be a good mortal and die with dignity, or do you mean to grovel?” Dracten’s laughter filled the room. It was an unnerving laugh, one that only one who enjoyed death and destruction could produce. He hit his cane on the floor twice and his eyes glowed brilliantly, the amethyst hue pouring out of his eyes. Blackened smoke, with purple lightning, began to pour out from him, taking the shape of a serpent dragon. It surrounded the queen until she was completely enveloped. 

When the smoke cleared, she stood there in the room, one eye glowing red, the other purple. Dracten now held a goblet and took sips here and there as he made himself more comfortable on the throne. 

“Hear me now. I will never love another. There will be no heir and the royal line will die with me. Then this realm and all our underwater cities will lie in ruins, all for your intolerance of someone who was merely half. And while I will defeat the undead and necromancers that plague us, I will do so on my terms, the same with the remainder of my rule.” She spoke clearly, yet her voice shook, not with sorrow, but with rage. “Tell me. You know me as the Phoenix Queen, yet, have you ever seen a dark phoenix?”

“Erm… no, your Majesty.” He replied, afraid not to answer her. 

The same creepy smile that Dracten once displayed now took hold of her lips as a dark shadow grew from behind her. The fire on the sconces dimmed and the screech of a bird sounded. A great many screams were heard afterward, as retribution and an old bargain was once again fulfilled, the floors stained red, and the sky darkened.

In the days that followed, several funerals were held, the queen standing by at each, expression ice cold, her teal eyes hollow and devoid of emotions. She never cried publicly over the loss of her husband, but rather issued a decree stating what had happened that day, the surviving bureaucrats signing as witnesses. 

The kingdom mourned for their king and for their queen. But there was little time for such things, as there was a horde of undead that needed defeating.

[wreathedinscales]

Happy Father’s Day to Eldritch Din Djarin!

I listened to Halsey’s Control while writing this

()

Here is what Moff Gideon sees in an empty hallway:

Din Djarin reaches for his spear. His hand stops. His breath shortens, shakes.

"Surrendering already?" Gideon says, flexing his hand on the Darksaber's hilt. "I thought you were Mandalorian."

Breath turns to coughing. To hissing. To a...strange, snarling thing. And words.

"I don't...have time...for this."

Gideon's eyes have narrowed, spine tensed. "Oh really? And here I thought I was your goal."

Moff Gideon sees Din Djarin's head wrench to the side.

"You," the Mandalorian whispers, "you did this. You made me—I can't—"

More words. Words that are not, cannot be words.

"Ygnaiih..." Din Djarin's body jerks, doubled over. "Ygnaiih...thflthjh'ngha..."

He reaches for his helmet, but the movements are halting, as if Gideon's eyes can't quite register them in time.

"You go against your Creed?" he asks tightly. He has taken three cautious steps back.

The visor snaps up. It looks the same and completely different. As if...as if something else is there.

"Y'bthnk," Din Djarin—is this Din Djarin?—gurgles, "h'ehye...n'grkdl'lh..."

The Mandalorian removes his helmet.

()

Here is what Bo-Katan Kryze sees in a too-small camera feed:

A mass. An oppressive, enormous mass, stretching wall to wall, floor to ceiling. Eyes, too many to count, rolling independently of each other. Some irises have teeth. Some have the void. Some have things that no one should see.

It moves fast, this. Thing. Far faster than she'd expect for something so large. It uses dozens of oddly-bent legs and arms, scattered haphazardly along its body, to propel itself through the ship. That is how Bo-Katan knows it's playing with Gideon: compared to this Thing, the man is a helpless snail.

Here is what she hears:

Screaming. This is human, at least. But the roar that swallows it—there is nothing in the galaxy that can utter such a sound, grating and guttural. It's the kind of roar that devours planets.

Something primal shudders in Bo-Katan, forcing her to stagger away with tears in her eyes. She has not cried since childhood. It's as if her body is trying to expel the sight of the Thing and whatever its presence incites in her.

"What the hell was that?" Fennec demands.

Bo-Katan grabs her arm before she can take a look. "Don't."

Everyone turns to her with wide eyes.

"Bo?" Koska murmurs.

Bo-Katan can only shake her head and repeat, "Don't."

The roar again. Closer.

Cara slams her hand on the panel. The blast doors shut. Bo-Katan does not feel safe.

An eye slams against a camera, rolling, twitching. Bo-Katan knows, instinctually, that it can see her beating heart.

Gideon tries to use the Darksaber. It cuts, but the Creature only growls more not-words.

He runs to the Darktroopers' chamber. There is nothing there, but that means nothing. They will be back. If he can just hold out, they will be back.

In the meantime, there's only one option. It's a long shot. It's all that's left.

This is what Grogu sees, left in a cell:

His captor sprinting in, terrified. The Darksaber swinging, stopping just short of his tiny throat.

Then, his father, freed of his armor. Eyes, eyes that Grogu always knew were there, focusing on him. Mouths salivating for the flesh of his captor. Writhing limbs snapping to the walls, the floor, the ceiling, bending metal, ready to strike.

Here is what Grogu feels, facing an impossible Thing:

Safe.

Gideon fails to tame the fine tremor in his body. "One move, and I cut him to pieces."

Some of the eyelids are horizontal, some vertical, some diagonal, some absent altogether. Half roll to Gideon, the other still fixated on Grogu.

Grogu, who has felt the Force that his father is forced to manipulate, though he doubts he knows it's the Force. His father tries so, so hard to contain himself to one beating heart that supplies breakable bones and knowable flesh. He is human, to an extent, but there is a Gate under the skin he maintains—perhaps due to his own father being a Gatekeeper. Beskar's ability to block the Force provides a counterbalance, energies that constantly clash to keep his father on two legs.

He is human, to an extent. And so he has limits. Grogu has awakened something in him that he has never felt, and Grogu was taken. Din Djarin's flesh couldn't hold, and the Rest of him cried out for, and to, help.

The energy choking the ship and soothing Grogu is something beyond human concepts of Light and Dark, though it has both. It simply is. Gideon's human mind cannot comprehend it. But Gideon's sanity hardly matters now.

Father's eyes tilt, so slowly it takes a moment to realize they are sliding down. The mouths converge in their place, forming a maw with an eclipse for a tongue. Grogu watches as Gideon is devoured from flesh to essence.

Father retreats immediately, disappearing so fast he leaves black spots in Grogu's vision. Grogu blinks them away.

"Ah?" he calls.

Grinding sounds, like rusty machinery. Grogu feels the disturbance in the Force: his father cannot turn back.

It's a bit difficult with the cuffs, but Grogu manages to get down from the bench. He waddles as fast as he can to the door, cooing. What is his father scared of?

He turns the corner and shakes his arms. "Buh!"

Father recoils. The maw is once again small mouths, eyes narrowed in their previous spots.

Grogu pouts. "Mm?"

The eyes widen. Some blink, some don't.

Grogu approaches. Father continues to stare. There's something like fur, black as pitch, covering his Form, and Grogu finds out it's as soft as it looks. He snuggles close, wondering if he can climb all the way to the roots and sleep. He is very tired.

"Gr'uh," his father growls, "gr'uh...Grogu..."

"Buh," Grogu replies.

With a few crackling noises, a paw and something like a hand embrace him. They're followed by a rasping usually heard from the dying, but Grogu knows his father is just trying to express his joy, his relief.

The limbs retract. Unfortunately, the fur goes too.

Din Djarin forces his helmet on, and the Gate closes. He coughs wetly, getting black sludge on his breastplate he quickly uses his cape to wipe off. Maybe that's what his blood really looks like, or maybe it's just leftovers from his Form.

He breaks the cuffs, no longer hiding his strength. It makes Grogu happy. "You okay?"

"Patu," Grogu says.

A choked laugh. Grogu is lifted in human arms now. Grogu snuggles against his father's shoulder, patting the armor. His father holds him close.

"You're..." Father stops to take a shaky breath. "You're very special, kid."

"Mm."

Father sighs. "Guess I should take the laser sword. Looks like the Darksaber Bo-Katan wants."

He's just picking it up when something stomps down the hall.

"You gotta be kidding me," Father mutters. He huffs when Grogu pats his helmet eagerly. "No, that's done."

He looks at the Darksaber.

"Maybe we should see what this thing is capable of."

Father doesn't bother to hide his speed either. He cuts the droids down one-handed, Grogu laughing from his other arm as they spin and slide and slice.

Once done, Father starts walking. Grogu yawns, earning pets. They reach blast doors.

Father activates his comm. "It's me."

(There's a double-meaning for those on the bridge. It's me. It was me.)

The doors don't open. Grogu burbles in confusion. Can't they see everything's okay?

Father speaks again, but his voice is subdued. "I'll met you on the ship."

He still waits another moment. Then he sighs and turns.

The doors open.

"Djarin," Cara snaps, "What the fuck was that."

Grogu turns to look at her. Everyone is tense, fear so thick he can almost smell it. He frowns.

Cautiously, Father enters the room. "I was...more tired than I thought. Couldn't keep it together."

"'Keep it together?'"

"...my father—the father that I lost—wasn't biological. Just my mother. I don't know if you'd recognize the name of my blood father."

"That's it?" Fennec snaps, "A family trait?"

Father feels sad. Grogu burbles in distress, earning more pets.

"That's as close as I can get. It's. Hard to explain. But it's still me," he adds hastily. "With the beskar, I can handle it. Today was just an exception."

"You call that an exception?" Bo-Katan says. Grogu doesn't like her tone. It sounds like she wants to fight.

Father holds Grogu tighter. "Listen, we got what we came for. You don't have to see me again. Here." He holds out the Darksaber.

Bo-Katan's jaw works. "I can't take it." The words sound like they're yanked from her.

"Why not?" Father asks flatly.

"It must be won," Koska says.

"I yield. Take it."

"That's not how it works," Bo-Katan says, "It must be won."

"Come on," Father says lowly, "just take it."

"No."

This sigh goes through Father's whole body. "Fine. Find me when you're ready. But we got what we came for. Let's—"

Proximity alarms go off. Grogu raises his head.

He's here.

[winterromanov]

Maybe a childhood friends au? Maybe they grew up together and Bucky saw her as a little sister then they don’t see each other for a while and she comes home from college and is like.... woah. But she’s always had a crush on him??

pairing: bucky x reader

It’s hard to say how long you’ve been in love with James Buchanan Barnes. You want to say forever--you’re a bit prone to the dramatics--and maybe it has been, because you can’t remember a moment where you’ve not been absolutely, totally, completely enamoured by him. He’s smart and funny and attractive, goddammit, and he’d pushed Brock Rumlow over when he’d called you a stupid little girl and danced with you at your moms’ friend’s wedding, spinning you round and round aged nine until you were so dizzy you couldn’t stand.

He’s left you that dizzy ever since. 

But--and there’s always a but--he’s always looked at you with the soft eyes of an older brother, protective and loyal in the same way he is with Becca. He’s only two years older than you but it feels like an eternity. To him, you’re always going to be the little girl thrashing about in the pool with his baby sister every summer vacation. The girl who he ritually scared on Halloween by jumping out from behind the bush in your front yard in increasingly scary masks. And, the summer following his senior year, the girl who stood teary-eyed on his porch as you watched him pack up his dad’s minivan for Stanford.

He’d pressed a kiss on Becca’s forehead she sobbed near uncontrollably, the ache of missing him sharp in her chest even though he’d not even set off for the airport yet. Then he’d turned to you, smiling mischievously in a way that had made many a girl other than you crumble, and lifted your chin with his middle finger.

 “Look after Becs for me, yeah?” Then he’d winked, and you’d used every single inch of will power you had to not break down like Becca. You somehow managed a nod, your own smile tight. “Can always rely on you, (Y/N).”

You’d never wanted to hug him more. To grab his body close, squeeze the life out of it, to beg him not to go. But Bucky Barnes was not yours, never would be, never would look at you in the way you wanted him to.

You watch as his dad’s truck slowly drives away, chugging exhaust fumes, until it’s merely an orange speck heading for the freeway. You watch your whole world disappear from view--and you never told him how aged nine he shook you up like a snowglobe on the burnished wood floor of a church hall, your shoes squeaking and his laugh in your ears and your heart fluttering in your throat.

-

You didn’t know much about love, per say, so you’re uncertain on whether it’s more difficult to move on from somebody who once loved you back or someone who never loved you at all. Either way, it takes a hell of a long time for you to forget Becca Barnes’ older brother, if you ever truly forget him at all. You graduate high school and miraculously get onto the Yale literature program and somehow six years have passed since you last saw him, properly, your adoration for him haunting the back of your mind. You kiss boys and break up with boys but you arrive at Becca’s wedding ceremony without an arm linked to your own, in a pretty dress with no-one to admire it.

Madly, it doesn’t cross your mind that Bucky will be there, even though he’s Becca’s only sibling. Of course he’s going to be there. It’s just--you see him stood at the front of the venue, in a fancy suit and a shorter haircut, six years older and Jesus Christ. He’s not the teasing, handsome boy of eighteen who broke your heart without knowing anymore. He’s a proper grownup.

For half a second, his excited blue eyes meet yours over rows and rows of ribbon-decked chairs. He blinks, mouth slightly open like he’s on the edge of a sentence, and you’re suddenly sixteen again. Your cheeks flush as you quickly find a seat next to somebody you know from school.

Your frantically beating heart let’s you know the pretty fucking obvious. You never truly forgot him, did you?

-

Becca’s wedding is beautiful. She marries a girl she met on her first day of fashion school and they wear gowns they both designed themselves. As you follow the rest of the guests out of the hotel and into the courtyard for pictures, you find yourself becoming swept up in the delirium of the day, throwing rose petals on your sobbing childhood friend as she clutches the hand of the love of her life.

“(Y/N).”

His voice sounds the same--more mature maybe, but mostly the same. When you turn round he’s stood with his hands in the pocket of his grey suit, rose petals caught in his hair. 

(His smile is also identical. You’d be heartbroken, even more so, if that ever changed.)

“Bucky,” you say, smiling, in a frankly shit attempt at being nonchalant. “You look really well.”

He shrugs, before gesturing at you. “And you--Jesus, (Y/N), you grew up.”

“Of course I did! And Becca, too.” The sun sharply comes out from behind the clouds so you shield your eyes, seeing him better. “I always knew her wedding day would be beautiful. You must be so happy and proud of her.”

“I am. Always. In everything she does. But you always knew that.”

He’s right about that. You’d never meet a more supportive brother than Bucky. His mouth opens as he looks at you intensely, on the verge of saying something, before a hand curls round his shoulder asking him to join in with the photographs.

“In a second,” he says, before turning and pointing at you. “You’ll be at the reception, yeah? I’d really like to catch up.”

“As if I’d miss it!” you chirp, and he grins as he’s swallowed by another crowd.

It’s like your heart hurts preemptively. Watching Bucky Barnes whirlwind back into your life for a moment before disappearing again, melting like snow on your winter boots.

-

The Barnes’ a so popular than their reception is understandingly full to the rafters, family and friends and a never-ending list of others besides, meaning every single dinner table is full and James is sat all the way at the front at the top. You talk idly to old school friends about how their lives have gone. An old neighbour with a man-bun writes his number on a napkin and tucks it into the front of your dress, like you’d find that sexy. Champagne is drunk and Becca cries even more and you figure that Bucky has forgotten you again as the evening eclipses into the night. The live band plays beautiful folk covers--Becca and Josie have their first dance to Bon Iver’s Skinny Love, clinging onto each other like the world is ending around them--but you don’t feel like dancing.

The whole day has been perfect. You can’t describe it any other way. But then why do you feel so empty? 

You grab another glass of champagne and weave between half-drunk revellers out onto the veranda, where the air is cooler and the music is muted, blurred. White fairy lights stretch out across the lawn and you see a couple kissing under a marquee. Taking a deep breath, you sit on the steps, the stone cold against the bare skin of your legs.

“Room for an old friend?”

You look up, even though you know who it is. You shuffle along so he can slide in beside you, shivering as the warmth of his thigh presses against yours.

“I meant to grab you sooner, but y’know.” He laughs, looking down at his legs. “Big family, big wedding. Think everybody wanted a piece of me.”

“It’s okay.” You shiver more noticeably, and like a reflex, Bucky has rested his glass on the border and wrapping his suit jacket around your shoulders. You try to profess, insist you’re fine, but he’s having none of it. 

Jesus, if your sixteen year old self could see you now. You pull it tighter round yourself, the material soft, the woody scent of his cologne clinging to the fabric.

“I don’t know how the years passed, (Y/N). I kept meaning to... but suddenly I was graduating, and Becca told me you’d got into Yale--good on you, by the way--and now I’ve got this job in the city, and it just...” He looks at you, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like he’s looking at a little girl anymore. “Happened. And now my baby sister is married. Fucking hell.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Me and Becs used to talk about getting married when we were kids. She always said she wanted to marry Julia Roberts and she’d make their dresses, which come to think of it was probably a sign she wasn’t going to marry a man in the end.”

“Yeah. Certainly sounds like it.” He laughs and fuck, it takes you back, to lying on the grass in the dark and Bucky would point out constellations he’d learnt at school. Just you, and him, because Becca thought space was boring and would rather drink hot chocolate in the house instead. With a grin, he nudges your shoulder with his. “And what about you, huh? Who were you going to marry?”

It’s a good job it’s dark otherwise he’d see how bright your cheeks burned. “Oh. I, uh--I don’t remember. Probably Orlando Bloom. Or something.”

“Orlando Bloom. Right. Good choice.”

His eyes flicker over you again and you fight the urge to meet his gaze, not quite wanting to read it. You allow the quiet to wash over you, tinged by the slow, chilling lull of a Hozier track in the main ballroom.

“I left it too long, didn’t I?” Bucky says, eyes flicking onto the middle distance, “You know...I always wanted to, (Y/N).”

Your brows furrow. “Wanted what?”

“To tell you. Because you’ve always been there, and you didn’t have to be, but you were. When Ma died, you were there. When I left for college, you were there.” He half-smiles, blinking slowly. “I thought I’d tell you then, but Becca was crying and she needed you more than I did.”

“James.” You say his real name softly, your heart about to burst out your rib cage. Because it’s been six years. Six years. You have spent six years desperately trying to get over this boy-who-is-now-a-man and now he’s... It’s on the edge of his tongue, words you’ve always wanted to hear.

Words he’s apparently always wanted to say.

“(Y/N), fuckin’ hell, I’ve been in love with you for so long I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t. And I’m a dumbass for not saying anything sooner, and I want you to know that you don’t owe me anything. I just had to--I felt like if I didn’t tell you now, I’d drag it to the grave with me. Becca’s been moaning at me for almost as long just to...”

You cut off his declarations with your lips, silencing his mouth with a kiss a whole fucking childhood in the making. His hands curl round your face, tugging you closer, fireworks exploding in your gut. You’d probably kiss for a whole lot longer if one of Bucky’s cousins didn’t choose that moment to come out for a cigarette, giving James a whoop and slapping him on the shoulder.

“Okay...” Bucky says, drawing away, “I’m taking that as a sign that my feelings aren’t completely onesided.”

“Dear God, Bucky,” you fight the urge to roll your eyes, “We are both the most oblivious people you could ever meet.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again. Until he stands, running a hand down your arm until it meets your hand.

“It sounds like we both might owe each other a dance.”

-

The dancefloor is mostly empty by the time Bucky drags you there, high on your own heartbeat and the champagne in the stomach. Instead of wrapping his hands round your waist and pulling you close, he winks and grabs your hands, spinning you round and round and round until you’re so dizzy you can barely stand.

Bucky Barnes has been making you dizzy for most of your existence. You don’t see him stopping anytime soon.

send me a request

[zeravmeta]

fuck it. soma cruz fgo servant profile bc i make my own content

Servant: / Servant Class: Soma Cruz / Alter Ego

Origin: / Region: Castlevania Series / Japan, 2035

Alignment: Lawful Neutral(?) “Yeah, not sure how I classify as Lawful given my past life, but whatever.”

Aliases: The Dark Lord, Dracula, Soma Cruz

Parameters: STR (B) / END (A+) / AGL (B+) / MP (EX) / LUK (A) / NP (???) 

Class Skills: Authority of Beasts (Fake), Core of Chaos (A), One Who Severs Fate (A)

Character Info: “In order for God to be perfectly Good, there must always exist an embodiment of Chaos, a Dark Lord to emerge from the evil of humanity’s hearts.”

For one thousand years, the Belmont bloodline had opposed the terrible night that Count Dracula would bring with his powers. After generations of suffering, the Belmont’s latest mantle bearer, Julius Belmont, along with their generational allies, the Belnades clan and a nameless soldier, had managed to permanently defeat Dracula with the help of the Hakuba Clan’s shrine magics. Severing his connection to his power and sealing Castlevania, the embodiment of his power, within a solar eclipse, Dracula had finally faced his demise in 1999, prophesied by Nostradamus one millennium ago. Thus, the strongest Dark Lord had fallen, his throne empty and awaiting a new master.

In 2035, Soma Cruz had visited the Hakuba Shrine to meet with his childhood friend Mina, unaware of the birthright he would claim.

Skills:

Chaos Ring A: An extremely powerful construct that channels the very essence of Chaos. It can only be found by the one who can traverse and control the Chaos Realm, the Dark Lords personal right. Wearing it grants the unlimited magical power of the Chaos Realm, but actual output depends on the user. If the Demon King’s Ring is the symbol of Dracula and his reign, then the Chaos Ring could be considered the symbol of Soma and his new beginning.

Thematic narratives aside, it’s a very convenient tool for Soma.

“It’s weird, but it feels like…it was made for me. Almost like a welcome gift.”

[5->3 Turns] [Charge NP (20%->30%), Increase NP Gain (10%->25%) (3 Turns), Gain a Delayed buff 1 turn after skill use (Unremovable): [Charge NP (20->30%)]

Armament Master D: Soma is extremely proficient at using any and all forms of weaponry. Due to Dracula’s vast reach, Soma has a vast number of different modern and mythical weapons and gear at his disposal, notable weapons including Excalibur (sealed in the stone), Hrunting, Caladbolg, Mjolnir, and even a Positron Rifle, to name a few. However, one weapon unique to Soma is the Claimh Solais, an Irish sword of light mentioned in many legends and defining the archetype of “Sword of Light.” It provides a great boost to parameters and is surprisingly light weight despite its size. Another unique weapon he wields is the Valmanway, the “Blessed Wind” that is always ‘cutting’ even when still.

(The rank is D because despite his proficiency, Soma has never had any formal training.)

“I mean, it’s just a sword, right? How complex is it? You can just swing it and things die. Though…considering I have ol’ Drac’s memories…sorta, maybe I’m just remembering it?”

[8->6 Turns] [Increase Atk (10%->20%) (3 Turns), Gain Critical Stars (5->15), Increase Critical Star Absorption (3000%) (3 Turns), Increase Critical Damage (10%->20%) (3 Turns), Apply Special Attack against Sky, Star and Beast attribute enemies (20%->40%) (3 Turns)]

Power of Dominance (EX): Soma’s inheritance from Dracula, or more fittingly, the Chaos Entity opposite to God. The Power of Dominance is a unique ability that grants a complete mastery over the abilities of any and all souls Soma can acquire from the enemies he defeats. All the monsters that Dracula unleashed in his crusade against humanity are the countless souls under his domain, even that of Death itself, and their powers rightly belong to him.

Soma can differentiate between the types of Soul Arts he uses, and this reflects accordingly in his Noble Phantasm.

“I never wanted this power, but I guess I’m stuck with it. I’ll always carry the target on my back, but at least I can look awesome as hell while doing it, I suppose.”

[5->3 Turns] [Decrease Enemy Charge by 1 (20%->50%), Select own NP Command Card’s type between Quick, Arts or Buster for 3 Turns. Effect of NP changes depending on which Command Card Type is selected. This skill is immune to debuff effects (such as Skill Seal)]

Noble Phantasm:

Advent of Sorrow – He Who Severed His Fate Against Chaos and God / Anti-Divine, Anti-Self / Rank (???)

A manifestation of Soma’s power truly made his own, separate from the title of Dark Lord and Dracula. Having defeated the Chaos Entity, he managed to sever its connection to his soul, and be saved from his Fate. Even so, he carries the Power of Dominance with him always, and the countless souls and followers of Chaos always wait and offer themselves unto Soma to lead and command them. In his own imperfect way, neither holy nor demonic.

After all, he’s only human.

(Note: If used by the true Count Dracula, this would be considered an Anti-Humanity NP)

[Type: Buster] – [Deals massive damage to a single enemy (1200%->2400%), Chance to Decrease Charge by 1 (80%->100%). Overcharge: Increases own Buster Card Effectiveness (20%) (1 Turn) and NP Damage (1 Turn) (20%) (Activates First)]

[Type: Arts] – [Deals heavy damage to all enemies (400%->800%), Chance to decrease Atk (15%->25%) and Critical Chance (20%->30%). Overcharge: Inflict Curse (5 Turns).]

[Type: Quick] – [Apply Debuff Immune (1 Time), and Restore HP each turn for self (3 Turns) (1000->1500), and Increase NP Gauge each turn for self (3 Turns) (5%). Overcharge: Apply Def Up for all allies (3 Turns) (25%->50%).]

Bond Lines: 

Bond 1: “Heh, thanks for having me! I’m still not too sure about how all this stuff works here, but if you need a monster taken down, I’m your guy.”

Bond 2: “So the rest of those dudes call you ‘Master’? Kind of awkward, but I guess they’re magical familiars at the end of the day. What? So am I? Sorry but, vampiric powers aside, I’m just a normal guy. I was even in University before I got dragged here. I’ll just call you [name] for now.”

Bond 3: “Do you like curry? Arikado said I shouldn’t be using these monster souls for dumb stuff, but they don’t mind. They always talk to me and really want to help me out wherever I am. Except Death, that guy sucks. He’s always breaking into my home and trying to convince me to become the next Dark Lord and to ‘accept my throne’ and stuff.”

Bond 4: “…It scares me, sometimes. Knowing not only what I am, but what I’m very capable of.”

Bond 5: “Y’know…you could always come back with me to my world, if you want to escape. I’ll take you to meet Mina, and Hammer and Yoko and Julius and Arikado and…Hm. Sorry. I know you can’t abandon this world, it’s where you grew up. There’s…a lot of people here who love you. You should always remember that and hold it close. It saved my life when I thought I couldn’t go on, and I know it will also save yours.”

Voice Lines:

(1): “I’m glad this place is a lot simpler than the castle. That place had so many hidden rooms and puzzles that I felt like I was going insane…No, as a matter of fact, DON’T tell me about all the secret workshops here.”

(2): “Hm? What’s up? I’m just relaxing here. Sorry if I’m taking up space. It’s nice to just take a moment.”

(3): “No, no, don’t worry. Even if I could, I’m not the type of guy to just go around stealing souls. I only do that to monsters, and even then, they become complacent once they return to me. I could show you some of the fun ones, like the Skeleton Gardener, if you’d like.”

Likes: “What I like? Curry! Oh, and Mina. She’s been with me for my whole life. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

Dislikes: “This is gonna sound cliché, but garlic. It just tastes bad.”

Event: “Whoa, a party! Let’s go, I’m super bored cooped up in here.”

About The Holy Grail: “Wish granting? No thanks, I’ve read a ton of comics and things always go wrong. What? Of course, it’s a valuable source!”

Summon Quote: “Yo! My name is Soma Cruz. I’m just a regular high school student. Um…Where am I, exactly?”

Happy Birthday: “Happy Birthday, [name]! I’m so gonna throw you the coolest party ever! I’ll even invite Mina…If, uh, if that’s cool with you?”

(King Hassan): “D-Death!? Why are you…Oh. Uh, sorry about that. You reminded me of...someone. I’m sure you’re a cool guy underneath all that armor.”

(Vlad/Vlad III (EXTRA)): “Huh. So, in this world, the legend of Dracula is just that? A legend? Well, that’s a huge relief. I’m not exactly the kingly type.”

(Gilgamesh/Gilgamesh (Caster)): “Hey [name], could you give me a hand? This gold idiot keeps saying I stole his weapons, but they’re mine! …Hey! Stay back with those portal things! Someone, help!!!”

(Scathach): “Jeez, I bet Arikado will get along with that slave driver. Seriously, Arikado’s method of teaching me my powers amounted to locking me in a room with monsters and a pocketknife. Huh? She’s stomping over here!? [name], help me!”

(Marie Antionette): “I don’t know why, but…Looking at you makes me sad. I’m sorry.”

(Sessyoin Kiara): “Master, this lady is coming onto me WAY too hard. She keeps telling me to ‘embrace what I am’ and junk. I already get enough of that crap from cultists back home.”

(Sakata Kintoki/Astolfo/Romulus/Romulus-Quirinus/Ashwatthama): “Hey, you’re a pretty cool dude, huh? Finally, someone with some style!”

(Amakusa Shirou): “Ugh, you remind me of Fortner. And stop using rosaries around me, I’m not Satan, you jerk!”

(Mephistopheles): “Please, leave me alone. I’m not evil, nor will I ever be the Dark Lord. Just because I have those powers doesn’t mean I’m defined by them. Also, the alarm clock you gave me exploded, so I don’t think you’re all that trustworthy anyways.”

(Beni Enma): “Aww, you’re so cute...Wait, from the Underworld? A yokai? Guess you’re one of mine, then. If you want, I can loan you some Skeleton Waiters for your chain.”

(Any Avenger-Class Servant): “Hey, you guys are kinda like me! Everyone says you’re evil, but you’re actually really nice!”

(Arcueid Brunestud): “Master, that girl is shooting me some pretty weird looks....Huh? Reincarnating vampire? Oh, I guess I’d look pretty weird in that case. That’s not her fault, though. Maybe I’ll go say hi.”

QQABB Deck:

Buster Card: 2 Hit / -Soma raises Excalibur (still in the stone) and smashes it into the enemy-

Quick Card: 5 Hit / -Soma holds Valmanway in front of him, turns around, and multiple slashes envelop the enemy-

Art Card: 3 Hit / -Soma does two horizontal strikes, then a third overhead strike with Claimh Solais-

Extra Card: 6 Hit / -Soma punches twice, does a spin-attack with Claimh Solais, then jumps back and fires his Positron Rifle-

Level Up: “Whew…I feel so powerful.”

Ascension 1: “Whoo! Good job, [name].” 

Ascension 2: “This…This is just like then…[name], maybe don’t do this anymore.”

Ascension 3: “Please…stop. I don’t know if I can pull myself back this time…”

Ascension 4: “I see. Well…as long as you’re by my side, I’ll never succumb. So please…don’t die.”

Battle Start ½: “Just how many monsters out there!? In any case, let’s do this thing!” / “I’ll carry the mantle and defeat this terrible night!”

Skill ½: “Bullet, set…Enchanted, set…Guardian, set…” / “How about some of this!”

Attack Selection ½/3: “Hmm.” / “Seriously!?” / “Nice.”

Attack ½/3: “Hraagh!” / “Take this!” / “You’re going down!”

Extra Attack: “Let’s see you handle THIS!”

Noble Phantasm Selection ½: “Are…Are you sure?” / “I’ll trust you on this.”

Noble Phantasm: “I will never be the Dark Lord…You, God, and The World will just have to deal with it!”

Noble Phantasm Damage: “I won’t…Submit...!”

Regular Damage: “Gah!”

Defeated ½: “Mina….” / “Julius…our promise…”

Battle Finish ½: “That was a close one…” / “Anyone need some healing? I have some spare spoiled milk…Oh wait, none of you have a Ghoul soul, huh?”