#all worth it though for the love of my life

[aventurineswife]

Feeling romantic, eh? Well it has been a little while since I welcomed myself to your inbox and have returned with love. But not just that! A request as well. Rather than my series of flowers, I think it's time for music.

"The Legend Of The Blue Eyes" - Anaxa x Astrologist! Reader

This is a series that I think has music that may... inspire you. It will be your only prompt to go off of besides the reader being an Astrologist as well as an Astronomer. Fluff, Angst- It matters not. These will be targeted towards Anaxa, and he alone. Enjoy, ma amour. (This is totally not an idea I had but haven't had the confidence to write. So, you'll enjoy this dynamic I'm sure.)

“If the Gods Fall, Let the Stars Remember Me”

Summary: In a world governed by celestial fate and divine tyranny, you—a battle-scarred astrologist—find yourself slowly unraveling under the weight of your past and the growing pull of an eccentric scholar who dares to challenge the gods. As Anaxagoras pursues truth with reckless brilliance, and you shield your beloved ward with fierce devotion, an unlikely intimacy forms between you—one forged through shared loss, quiet defiance, and the fragile hope that love, too, might be written in the stars.

Tags: Anaxa x Reader, Vanitas-inspired, Jeanne based Reader, Fluff & Angst, Found Family, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Experimental Love, Tragic Romance, Still Life Symbolism, Emotionally Vulnerable Characters, Forbidden Knowledge, Protective Reader, Scholar x Warrior/Astrologist Dynamic.

Warnings: Past abuse and trauma (enslavement, coercion), Death and grief, Self-worth issues, Emotional breakdowns, Mentions of physical violence and manipulation, Existential themes (mortality, gods, divine rebellion), Bittersweet/ambiguous ending, Use of his full name (because I don't want him to leave me alone).

A/N: So, I guess... This is the start of a new series?

Tagslist: @sewoui

The first time you met Anaxagoras, it was beneath the shattered remains of the Starfall Observatory. The sky was blistered with constellations long since banned from worship, and you had blood on your hands—though not your own.

You had your blade pressed against a noble's throat. He had mocked your ward. Called the child a "pet." The noble didn’t get the chance to say another word before you silenced him with a wordless snarl.

That was when he spoke. Not the noble. Anaxagoras.

"I see your stars have teeth. Fascinating."

You turned, startled by the unexpected guest standing in the rubble. He looked... odd. Pale skin, spectral hair draped over his shoulder like seaweed through moonlight, and eye like broken galaxies—pale aqua seared with magenta. A golden-patterned eyepatch gleamed over his left eye, and his smile held the weight of both satire and tragedy.

The child behind you tugged at your cloak.

"They hurt me," the child whispered. You nodded, and without a word, left the noble's body to the collapsing stars.

The second time was different.

You had just mapped the soulburst trail of an extinct comet, and Anaxa was sitting cross-legged on the table of your study, flipping through your star maps like one might flip through a scandalous novel.

"The way you chart the cosmos is so... emotional. Like you're writing poetry to the gods."

"And you're desecrating divine cadavers to prove they're mortal."

He grinned, utterly delighted. "We make a fine pair."

You hated how fast your cheeks flushed.

The third time, he found you sobbing.

Not because you were weak, but because someone had tricked you. Lied about the child’s safety. You had surrendered to the enemy, let yourself be chained and humiliated—all because you'd believed your ward had died screaming.

When the truth was revealed, you wanted to tear the liar's throat out.

But instead, Anaxa held you.

He didn't speak. Just let you scream into his shoulder until your voice cracked like brittle moonlight.

"If truth is pain," he whispered finally, "then you're the most honest person I've ever met."

You clung to him, shaking. Not from grief. From relief.

It became a ritual. You, the once-ruthless protector, reading the stars. Him, the foolish scholar, trying to dethrone them.

When he showed you his soul-seeing eye, you didn’t flinch. You simply asked, "What do you see when you look at me?"

He hesitated.

"I see a constellation too beautiful to name."

That night, under a burning aurora shaped like a shattered crown, you kissed him.

But love, to you, was dangerous.

You had never been allowed it before. You feared it. It made you reckless, vulnerable. You wanted to own it, dominate it, like a caged starmare longing to outrun the night.

You whispered things you shouldn't. Held him too tightly when nightmares seized you. Touched him when you shouldn't have, and cried afterward, convinced you'd ruined something sacred.

But he never looked away.

He never stopped coming back.

One night, he laid out an arrangement of vanitas symbols—wilted flowers, broken instruments, gold tarnished with acid.

"This," he said, gesturing at the still life, "is how the world sees me. A failed scholar, a madman. Disposable."

You knelt beside him and placed your hand over the crimson tattoo on his right.

"Then they're blind. Because I see someone who made me believe I was more than a weapon."

He swallowed. You had never seen him look so... small.

"Don't go tomorrow," you said.

"I have to. The experiment must be finished."

"You don't have to prove anything. Not to them. Not to the gods."

He turned to you, tears forming like stardust in his remaining eye.

"I'm not doing it for them. I'm doing it for you. For a future where people like you aren’t born in chains."

You broke that night.

And he held you as if he was the fragile one.

They never recovered the body. But your ward found a final letter, hidden in a hollow telescope.

"If the gods fall, may the stars remember me. And if I fail, let my ashes guide you home."

You etched those words onto a monument of shattered astrolabes.

You still watch the stars.

And every time you see a flicker of pale aqua and magenta dancing across the night sky, you smile.

You whisper, "Truth never dies."

And somewhere, through the veil of dead gods and broken prophecies, you know Anaxagorus hears you.

[Navigation]

[cinnamon7girl7]

"THROUGH THE SILENCE, I WILL RETURN TO YOU ."

♡ — Summary: I thought I had it all — Satoru’s love, Megumi’s warmth, and Suguru’s trust. But even the strongest love can break when truth hides behind silence. One betrayal changes everything; pain drives them apart, yet memories and a love still alive won’t let them go. Now, Satoru fights for a second chance, and she must decide if, after all the hurt, love is still worth it. ♡ — Author's note: This is the first fanfic I’ve written, so I apologize if some things don’t make sense. My first language isn’t English, so I apologize if there are any spelling mistakes. This story consists of 5 chapters and several epilogues, which I can upload if you’d like, as only the first episode is available so far. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 1 — "Those Days We Swore Would Last Forever"

Sometimes I think that if I could trap time in a jar, I would take the days when everything was peace. Days like that one, when the sun poured through the window, and I listened to Megumi teasing Satoru while he burned the pancakes again.

—"Look, sweetheart! This time I didn't burn them!" —Satoru would say, proudly showing me a half-raw batter that I couldn’t help but smile at.

We lived in that bubble. Small. Intimate. Ours.

I remember when I made mochi for him for the first time. It was the middle of winter, and I just wanted him to try something that made me feel close to home. I made it clumsily, without the exact recipe, but Satoru tasted it with that silly, sweet smile of his.

—"It tastes like you," he said, resting his head on my shoulder. "A little sweet, a little warm... and absolutely perfect."

That day, it was snowing outside. But I was warm. I had him.

The story with Megumi was different, quieter. But just as intense. When he first came home, his eyes were filled with shadows. He kept his distance, as if he feared breaking something just by breathing.

It was weeks of patience. Until one night, I heard him murmur in his sleep:

—"Mom..."

I didn’t know if he was referring to me, or if it was just a coincidence. But the next day, when he woke up and found me softly stroking his hair without saying anything, he said it again.

—"Can I keep calling you that?" he asked, softly.

I didn’t answer. I just hugged him.

Since then, he was our son. Even though we didn’t say it out loud every day. Even though the documents didn’t confirm it. He was our child.

One night, Megumi had a nightmare. He ran to our room and crawled between us without saying a word. I hugged him on one side, Satoru on the other. We ended up all wrapped up in the same blanket, as if the cold couldn’t touch us like that.

—"We’ll always be with you," I whispered.

Satoru just kissed him on the head, as if it were the most natural thing in the world...

And then there was Suguru. He was the kind of friend who understood just by looking at you. He always told me that I was the spark that lit up the idiot Satoru. That without me, he would’ve stayed stuck in that arrogant loneliness he used as a shield.

Sometimes he would joke,

—"Sometimes I get jealous. But I’m glad it’s you. He needed someone to make him feel like his life mattered—even outside the battlefield."

We were inseparable, the four of us. A dysfunctional family, but a real one.

Until something started to feel… different.

It didn’t happen all at once. It came in small details.

First, Satoru’s absences. He said it was work—last-minute missions. But he came home late, exhausted, no longer full of excitement. He didn’t burn pancakes anymore. He didn’t ask for mochi.

Then came the sidelong glances. The half-conversations between him and Suguru. The uncomfortable silences when I entered the room.

One night, while fixing his hair, I asked him,

—"Is everything okay?"

—"Yeah, love. Everything’s perfect," he replied with a smile that never reached his eyes.

I wanted to believe him. But Megumi didn’t.

He grew quieter. More serious. One day I found him drawing something strange: a giant crack splitting a house in two. I got worried, but I didn’t push. I thought it was just imagination. Or fear.

Until that afternoon.

We were in the garden. Satoru had gone out again. Suguru had stopped by to drop off some books. And I was playing with Megumi, trying to catch butterflies with an old net.

He suddenly stopped, net still in the air, and looked at me.

—"Mom… is it true that Satoru is going to marry another woman?"

Everything stopped.

Even the wind.

Megumi’s question hung in the air, like the world refused to move forward until I answered. But I couldn’t. The words caught in my throat. Where had he heard that?

—"What did you say, sweetheart?" I asked, trying to smile and keep calm.

—"I heard it… I know it wasn’t meant for me. But they said it. Satoru… and Suguru. In the kitchen, when they thought I was asleep. They said they had to tell you… but they didn’t know how."

My heart was racing.

A few days earlier, I had noticed Suguru wasn’t coming by as much, and when he did, he seemed tense. He didn’t stay long. He talked fast, like he didn’t want me to ask anything.

—"Is everything okay with Satoru?" I asked him.

—"Yeah… yeah. Just stress. You know how he is."

And then he changed the subject.

I knelt in front of Megumi and took his little hands. They were cold.

—"My love, sometimes adults say things they don’t mean. Things that aren’t always true. Maybe you misunderstood, or didn’t hear it right. Don’t worry, okay?"

He just lowered his gaze.

—"But… you always tell me not to hide the truth."

I felt myself cracking inside. Because he was right.

One night, Megumi asked me,

—"Why does Satoru always smile even when he’s sad?"

—"Because he thinks it protects others," I answered.

—"And you?"

—"I… I prefer to cry if I need to. To show how I feel. Because I want you to know it’s okay to feel bad sometimes."

He hugged me tightly.

—"I love you, Mom."

I stayed seated in the garden while Megumi went back to chasing a butterfly. But he wasn’t playing anymore. He was just pretending.

Inside me, everything started to shake.

When Satoru came home that night, I greeted him with a smile. I didn’t ask anything. Not yet.

But I looked at him differently.

And he… he avoided my eyes.

—"Everything okay?" he asked.

—"Yeah. Perfect," I replied. Just like he had said to me before.

We hugged like always. But it felt different.

Because in my head, Megumi’s question kept echoing over and over again.

—"Is it true that Satoru is going to marry another woman?"

[multiheadcanons]

MY OWN PERSONALLY LONG AWAITED SEQUEL. MURDERING ASS MERCS.

scout: scout doesn’t put a body on his hands unless he’s asked to. he doesn’t mind, by any means, but he does prefer to just beat someone within an inch of their life and send them home as a warning. that’s his personal preferred method. usually the bodies he’s gaining are from him just… forgetting what he was doing, and realizing he’s mid-swing, and thinking “damn… i guess im killing this guy” and just continuing until they stop struggling. and they see he’s genuinely lost as to what he was doing, and they don’t realize that is not the time to try to plead their case. in fact, he’s more likely to finish the job if they start yapping. then he’s gotta deal with the body. this is much more where he’s suited. he can get a body across town without showing up on a CCTV or a single offhand witness statement. and he’s not bad with a butcher knife. he’s not scientific like the doctor is, nor particularly skilled at butchering, he’s just trying to get the body into the smallest pieces to toss in a bag and sink in the farthest body of water in the state. and the willis family has friends everywhere. he can get it somewhere to get it as compact as possible.

soldier: soldier doesn’t kill people. soldier just does his job. and sometimes that job is making every living thing in the room that did not travel there with him not live anymore, but that’s not killing. that’s him doing his job. though soldier is a verified violent and bloodthirsty man, he’s got some restraint to him. nobody dies by his hand unless he’s told specifically people have to die. once the magic words are uttered, get out of the way. he’s been known for friendly fire when he’s really involved. soldier also doesn’t have a give for his murders. they’re bloody and sometimes fast. sometimes the victims end up in pieces and he’s gotta pick up the pieces in plastic bags. normally, soldiers own body count goes under the radar in comparison to his teammates, who have more gruesome and defining murders. for soldier, if the body isn’t breathing then it’s a job well done. he might take some teeth, or some fingers, or an ear or both of them, but nothing he does can really hold a candle to his more morbid teammates. at least he’s kind enough to make it quick. sometimes.

pyro: the team definitely knows when pyro is in a mood and on a roll, for lack of better term. most people, in fact, who are aware of pyro’s existence will know because the news won’t stop talking about a string of arsons and fire related murders. and when the team looks at pyro and asks “pyro, Did You Do That?” pyro will absolutely get red hot pissed off. yes, they did do it, but holy shit, what happened to innocent until proven guilty around here? why is it okay for everyone else to kill and bludgeon people— hell, the doctor is straight up kidnapping people off the streets and selling the organs but the second pyro kills one measly person it’s a crime? there’s one charred body and now it’s a crime? all of a sudden setting things on fire is a crime? give them a fucking break. get off their tits, clit, dick and balls. are we not all criminals here? do we not all have a side hobby? god forbid pyro has a hobby. pyro is the only mercenary who doesn’t need a reason to add another body to the list. them waking up in a good mood is enough reason for them to go spread some cheer. funerals are fun if you plan them right.

demo: the first of three of the most passionate killers on the team, tavish is a man of action and commitment. he is fiery, and bright, and generally lovely to be around! however demo has a penchant for getting very carried away in the heat of a moment. this can go so well in so many ways (so many ways…) but this can also become a nightmare scenario if demo thinks you’re worth the trouble. sometimes he also cannot help himself. he just gets so mad. and before he knows it there’s blood on his hands and he can’t see very well and he feels… fuzzy. satisfied. exhausted, somewhat. demo also, arguably, has the bloodiest murders on his rap sheet. if he’s got death on his mind, he’s going to achieve it, and the harder the victims fight the worse it will be. and of course, nobody wants to die, and victims don’t realize that when he asks them not to struggle, that it just hurts them both more in the end, they don’t realize that’s genuine. he’ll just slit their throat and let them bleed out if they would let him do that. but they end up unidentifiable. he takes the teeth for that purpose specifically. gives them to the blu soldier. it’s a gift!

heavy: heavy will swear up and down he does not “have a passion for killing”. the team tells him to not make them laugh. the enemy team would just laugh. the second of the three most passionate killers on the team, heavy never realizes how much he savors the feeling of violence because he is mentally checked out. so only the team registers the way he chews at his bottom lip before battle. how he almost seems impatient, no, excited. they’re the ones who register the glint in his eyes when he’s given a new contract, and how he comes back with a bigger ego than when he left. hell, they see the way he treats his guns. the enemy team notices how, even with his hands around their neck, there’s a smile creeping its way on his face as they lose their life. nobody would ever want to be on heavy’s bad side. but heavy doesn’t target people who will be missed, either. nobody really knows what he’s done. he doesn’t find it particularly interesting to talk about in states of sobriety. but both teams are pretty aware as to what he’s willing to do. what he won’t add is that whatever they think he’s willing to do, he’s willing to take it further. on solo contracts, he brings sascha. if it’s just him, he doesn’t mind making a little more noise. he’s not quite competent again until he’s reloading. but he never feels guilty. in fact, he feels great. it’s what makes losing with the team on the field feel so horrid.

engineer: engineer’s criminal record is clean because he has friends in high places. so he’s less a convicted felon and more a cleared person of interest in many, many missing persons cases. many people want to see this specific conagher fry. and most of those people have been taken care of, as well. the third of the three most passionate killers on the team, dell used to be a real spitfire. he would get someone’s existence wiped clean from american records if he didn’t like how they looked at him. and with his more influential friends, he got away and still continues to get away with it. the conaghers have a chokehold on the bee cave and surrounding county politics. and every conagher uses it in their own way. as engineer has grown and matured, he feels a lot more regret about his actions. but they’ve already been done. and if you put him back there, he’d probably do it again. and he will continue to indulge the urge if he feels he has enough reason to. and none of the bodies will ever be found. but with the gravel war, and being on the front lines of it, he gets his fill of violence. he normally has no need to target others. he’s pleased with his share!

medic: the only people who call medic’s long list of egregious acts against humanity “crimes of passion” are people who are sexually attracted to him. and most of those people are promptly dismissed. this isn’t a passion, it’s his career. when business is good, this shit makes him so much money he doesn’t fucking care. the experiments are his passion (but he’s not going to get on the news to explain that). the man makes his money murdering and harvesting and occasionally butchering and selling and framing whoever he can for it. and the man is so big brained in his frame jobs, by the time anyone actually questions it he’s skipped town. he’s taken out so many academic rivals that way. murders are normally coined by the distinct lack of organs. something is always missing. it makes the victims’ families sick. their loved ones will never be whole again. and he doesn’t really give a shit either. firstly, it wasn’t like he autopsied them alive. they were dead before they experienced that, and frankly the drug concoction he gives is quite humane. secondly, the organ was used, or sold. they didn’t go to waste. but they wouldn’t get it. they never do. this is no longer something he has to do. if he harvests the corpses on the field fast enough, they don’t dematerialize. most of the time.

sniper: sniper is arguably the most normal man here when it comes to murdering. he’s not killing people out of a passion of any kind. as a matter of fact, his hands aren’t bloody unless money’s involved. it’s also why his rap sheet is arguably the cleanest, with only a few charges, and none of them are particularly serious. because he will also sell you out in a heartbeat to get a lesser sentence. sniper isn’t a murderer as much as he is a man willing to do anything to keep himself afloat. and he doesn’t think that’s a shameful thing to admit. his survival must come first. whether that’s an honest days of work stocking canned tomatoes or blasting heads, it’s about the money. and one of those, he is really good at and it pays… so well. he’s willing to sacrifice most morals depending on the figure of the check. and he’s clean with it. nobody suffers more than they have to. you could call him the nicest.

spy: there is no such thing as spy showing mercy. spy gets so many solo contracts through mann co, and some unrelated requests that there is never a day spy’s hands aren’t bloody. and most people know when the frenchman has struck. there will always be one clean stab, unless you fought him. then it’s a single stab and a clean bullet between the eyes. unless you really pissed him off. then he might just unload the entire clip. on those, he’s convinced authorities there’s a copycat killer out there, even though they haven’t caught the first one yet. spy is one of the few mercenaries who still kill recreationally. though it is very rare nowadays, when spy gets an itch, every county he steps in goes into martial law, because he doesn’t leave without a minimum of five bodies. and there are never survivors. then he goes back to the base and watches the news segments. the team will join him for this, since he rarely shows himself in the base. only a few have had the sense to ask whether he had something to do with it. he answers with another question: “did i?” the team finds the question off-putting. it never seems like spy gets pleasure from murder on the battlefield. so they don’t imagine him being the type. and they would be right, it’s not a joy he gleans from it. it’s just a form of control he exercises over others when he feels like he’s unable to control anything else.

[vodika-vibes]

🐚 if I may drop something in your requests for mermay🐚

I was thinking, like, Merman Wrecker x visually impaired fem reader, who’s recently been turned into a mermaid by her mate, but upon realizing the extent of her blindness, deciding that it makes her more of a burden than she’s worth he just, left her in the middle of the sea, and she’s hurt and lost and alone, and he Wrecker finds her.

Idk I just feel like you’d feel really safe with him holding you as he swims because he’s so strong. Plus apart from the obvious angst it would still be really sweet

Love Is A Choice

Summary: After your mate abandons you, after turning you into a mermaid and leaving you leagues from your new home, you think you’re SOL. Luckily, Wrecker finds you.

Pairing: Pre-TBB Wrecker x F!Reader

Word Count: 1741

Warnings: Reader is not in a very good situation at the beginning of the story.

A/N: So, there's not a whole lot of romance here, but I hope you like it anyway. I had too many ideas, lol

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

You were a child when you lost your eyesight, only 12 years old. Or, maybe you should say, already 12 years old.

It’s not like you were born blind.

One morning you woke up in pain, and your parents rushed you to the ER, where a doctor told you, and them, in cold and unfeeling medical jargon, that sometimes the human immune system stops recognizing your eyes and that you were going blind.

It was, quite possibly, the worst thing that ever happened to you and your family.

Your parents divorced, and your dad refused to have anything to do with you—something the judge was not happy about when she found out—though he still visited your siblings. You lost all of your friends, not all at once, but slowly. Over the period of six months they stopped inviting you to things, and then stopped talking to you, and you woke up one morning and realized that you no longer had any friends.

Sure, you eventually recovered.

Mom met a new guy who adopted you after your father surrendered his parental rights to you specifically. With his help, mom enrolled you in a private school for children like you, a school for the blind and deaf. And while there you made new friends. Better friends. Friends who became like siblings to you.

But the memory of how people abandoned you when you first got sick remains. To this day, the memory and the hurt remain.

Those memories made you a careful woman.

You never entered a relationship without making sure that the person you were dating knew just how blind you are and how difficult life can be for you.

Which is why you feel so stupid right now.

Your friends and your parents warned you. They all said the same thing to you when you introduced him to them. “There’s something not right with him.” They said, “He’s going to hurt you, I can tell.”

You wish you listened to them.

Because if you had, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

What is this situation? Oh, well you’re a blind mermaid. A newly minted mermaid, at that. And your mate, your husband, your partner, the merman you chose as your life partner, has abandoned you.

You have no idea where you are.

The water is a little warmer than you’re used to, which suggests that you’re farther from home than you originally thought.

But without being able to see or without having a guide, you have no way to return home. If you can even call that small village home anymore.

He made it very clear that he wasn’t interested in you anymore.

How cruel.

It’s not like he didn’t know you were blind, after all.

Carefully you slide your hand over the top of the flat-ish rock you’ve been sitting on, and as soon as you’re sure that you’re not in danger of falling off, you lay back, press your arms over your eyes, and take a deep breath.

Slowly, you breathe through the anxiety threatening to strangle you, and you relax on the rock.

Your situation is bad, but you aren’t completely helpless. It’s not like anyone can sneak up on you in water, swimming is surprisingly noisy after all. In fact, the biggest threat to you is running out of food.

In truth, you’re not sure how long you were laying there when you hear the sound of a merperson approaching. The way a merperson swims sounds differently than any other sea creature, due to the shape of their fins.

And the person approaching you sounds big.

Well, bigger than your ex, at least.

The sound of swimming stops, and you know the merperson saw you. “’lo there,” It’s a man, “What are you doing in the kelp forest?”

“Ah, well—” You pause, trying to think of a way to ask for help without being too honest, and then you give up, “I’m afraid I was abandoned here.”

“By who?” You hear him swim closer, and then there’s the sensation of him stopping close to you. Not so close as to be in your space, but close enough that you know he is there.

“My mate.” You shrug, as if you don’t care. “He wooed me, talked me into becoming a mermaid and then abandoned me because I’m too much work. Or something.”

“How long ago did you become a mermaid?” He asks.

“Oh, it’s been about a month, I think.” You pause, “I’m blind, you see—”

He’s silent for a moment, and then you feel him sit on the rock next to you, “Did you magically become blind when you transformed?”

“What? No!” You pause, “Wait, is that possible?”

“Nope. The only change is human biology turning into mer biology. My brother could explain it better than me, though.” He shifts slightly, “My point, though, is that he would have known that you were blind before you went through the transformation, right?”

“He knew, yeah.”

He clicks his tongue, “So he’s a fucker, you’re better off without him.”

“I mean, my parents and friends will likely agree. And I’ll get there eventually.” You make a face, “But I’m still blind, and I’m still lost, and I’m pretty sure going back to the house I’ve been living in for the last month is a bad idea.”

“Oh, yeah. If he’s okay with abandoning you here, he’d have no issues killing you. Probably.”

“...cheerful.”

“I mean, I don’t know him, obviously. But since he abandoned his mate after a month, I’m inclined to blame him for everything. Up to and including the Atlantean war.”

“Didn’t that end 50 years ago?”

“Yeah, and?”

A small laugh falls from you, “I’m sure I’ll get to a point where I can agree with that too.”

He bumps his shoulder against yours, “You alright?”

“I feel...stupid. I should have known he was too good to be true.”

“He conned you. That’s on him, not you.”

“Kinda feels like it’s on me. I feel like I should have known.”

“People like him, they know how to pick their targets. He probably didn’t see you so much as your disability, and he saw an easy target.”

“Ugh, but what’s the point?” You hold your hands to the side, “What does he get from tricking me into becoming a mermaid?”

“Well, if I had to guess, I’d say his plan was to leave you here for a day or two, and then return and act all apologetic to convince you to stay with him, and then turn you into some kind of slave.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“Yeah, it’s a con that’s happening more and more often in the small villages.”

Your hands curl into fists, “Oh. Okay. Okay. Now I’m angry.”

His large hand claps your shoulder, “That’s a step up from sad, don’t you think?” He squeezes your shoulder, “Now, as for what happens to you. How do you feel about relocating to Atlantis?”

“Um…”

“There’s a shelter for merpeople like you, people who were conned into becoming merfolk. Not to mention, the Royal Prosecutor is going to want details from you so she can throw the book at your former mate.”

You hesitate for a moment, “I’m scared,” You finally admit.

Strong arms wrap around you and your crushed against a, surprisingly, solid chest. “Don’t be. It’s easy to be afraid when you’re alone, but you’re not alone. You’re going to be surrounded by people who will understand the position your in, and the Royal Family already vowed to help people in your situation.”

Hesitantly you wrap your arms around his waist. He’s warm and, for the first time since becoming a mermaid, you feel safe. That must be his super-power.

“Besides, when you get to Atlantis, you’ll already have at least one friend!”

“I will?”

“Yeah, me!”

“I don’t even know your name…”

“I’m Wrecker, a member of the Atlantis Royal Guard.”

You huff out a breath and drop your forehead to his chest, “Nice to meet you.” You mumble, before you introduce yourself as well.

“Likewise.” His arms tighten around you, “So, what do you think? Wanna come to Atlantis?”

“Mm...can I still visit my parents?”

“Course! I’ll escort you personally.”

You hum thoughtfully, and then slowly nod. “It sounds like it’s probably a good idea, then.”

“That’s great news!” Wrecker sounds delighted, like a child on Christmas morning, “Now, how do you normally get guided around?”

“...my ex used to take my hand and drag me—” You admit.

“Wow, what a dick. So, I’m not doing that,” Wrecker pauses, “Alright, I have two options for you. A fast and a slow option.”

“What’s the fast option?”

“You wrap your arms around my neck and I carry you to Atlantis. My tail is longer and my fins are bigger than yours, so we’ll get back in about half an hour.”

“And the slow option?”

“You hook your arm with mine and we take our time to get to Atlantis. This will take about an hour and a half. Simply because you’re unfamiliar with the area.”

You purse your lips, “I suppose the fast option is the best one.”

“I think so, too. I can give you a proper tour later.” He finally releases you and takes your hands in his. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like he’s manhandling you, so much as guiding you to where you need to go.

He helps you wrap your arms around his neck and makes sure you’re secure, and then he takes off, causing you to yelp and bury your face in the back of his neck.

“Everything good?”

“It feels a little weird, but I’m okay.”

“Great! While I swim, allow me to tell you about some of the services you’re going to be getting due to your circumstances. Starting with the service Octopus you’re going to be gifted—”

As Wrecker rambles on about Atlantis and how you’re going to be much better off there than anywhere else, you can’t help but smile. After you were abandoned, you had been ready to give up hope. You likely would have accepted your ex back simply because you had no other choice.

You’re glad to be wrong, in this scenario.

You hope that Wrecker keeps his promise about being a friend. You could use a good friend. And if he turns into something more? Well, that’s a worry for later.

@heidnspeak

@justiceandwar98

@etod

@kiss-anon

@lonewolflupe

@silly-starfish

@msmeredithrose

@cdblake1565

@badbatch-bitch

@continous-mistakes

@falconfeather23435

@tiredbi-peach

@kimiheartblade

@clones-cyare

@cc--2224

@0revna0

@mira-loves-star-wars

@trixie2023

@rebell-ious

@padawancat97

@sweater-sloot

@bb8-99

@wax-birds

@adriennelenoir

@omegaprime18

@bad4amficideas

@dukeoftheblackstar

@yoitsjay

@liz-stat

@arctech-fox

@lokigirlszendaya

@sailorflora

@jetiimasterbekah

@six-1mpossiblethings

@clonetrooperjournals

@ct7567329

@thatforlornfeeling

@moose-ubi

@adamime

[russianspy24]

Of Warriors and Worlds Fic on AO3

Sooo. New fic. Yep. My attention span is fickle... I guess that's because I'm a sagittarius. When I become obsessed with something... SIGH

I've been struck by the movie Thunderbolts like many. I love the MCU. I also love the DCEU. I've always had a character that was the female version of Superman stuck in my mind (many many years). However, Lyra is edgier. Less apple pie. Seeing Thunderbolts finally solidified my resolve to write her and pair her with Bucky. Though this is a crossover, it will be set in the MCU.

It's a slow burn romance because I do those best, and I want to honor the canon characters. Because I knew I couldn't just jump into Thunderbolts without establishing a backstory for Lyra, this story begins in the middle of Falcon and the Winter Soldier and will then slide into the Thunderbolts timeline.

My chapters are long because I prefer to read long chapters in fics. So it'll take a few chapters to get to the Thunderbolts, but I promise it's worth it. This story will focus more on Bucky and Lyra. But Yelena and co. won't just be side characters. I love their little team.

So, if you're curious, give this story a chance! Thank you!

If you hate the concept, no problem. Just scroll on. The poster took me hours in photoshop, and I am quite proud of it.

Summary and preview of chapter 1 below:

Summary: There are worlds upon worlds, realities upon realities, each with its own heroes, struggles, and tales of love and loss. Some destinies are written in the stars, others forged through choices. This story bridges two Earths—not bound by fate but by the will to endure.

In one world, James Buchanan Barnes seeks redemption after lifetimes of war. Haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, he navigates life after the Blip, pulled into battles—both political and personal—as he reclaims his identity. In another, Lyra Jor-El, Superwoman, a warrior born of strength and loss, falls through a rift and becomes a stranger on a new Earth, fighting to belong while holding onto who she is.

Together, they face not just external threats but their own haunted pasts and fragile hopes. Bucky and Lyra find themselves at the heart of a new team—born not of trust, but of necessity. Even as they face the Void, they must confront their own battles and a love that could bridge two worlds.

This is a story of warriors and worlds, of love forged in conflict, and of choosing purpose when good and evil blur. Watch closely, for it’s not the world you come from that defines you. It’s the world you choose to fight for.

Preview:

I am the Watcher. I observe all that transpires across the multiverse, from the birth of worlds to their inevitable demise. My purpose is to witness, never to interfere. Yet, on occasion, the line between observation and intervention blurs, driven not by duty but by the pulse of fate itself.

This story begins with a rift—a tear in the fabric of realities. It did not form by chance, nor by mere happenstance. I opened it, there above the forest in Germany. On the other side was the warrior Lyra Jor-El—Superwoman to some, a fierce protector to all—slowly dying. Her strength was unparalleled, her resolve unbreakable, but even she could not withstand the poison coursing through her veins—kryptonite, a cruel weapon wielded by Alexandra Luthor.

Lyra had fought valiantly, even as her body betrayed her. The world around her blurred, each heartbeat fainter than the last. Had I done nothing, her story would have ended there, her light snuffed out by one who thrived on destruction. But fate whispered to me, a flicker of possibility threading through the cosmic weave. One life to save another. One Earth altered to preserve another.

I tore the veil between realities, guiding Lyra through the rift to a world where she would not merely survive but thrive. Where her path would intertwine with that of another lost soul, a soldier with a weary heart and a burden too heavy to bear. James Buchanan Barnes stood on the precipice of change, not yet knowing that fate would soon deliver a woman who would challenge his solitude and ignite something long thought buried within him.

I have seen countless stories unfold, but this one—this convergence of worlds, of souls—was meant to be. Not merely for the survival of one hero, but for the healing of two. I did not act lightly, nor without consequence. But I chose to believe that some battles are not fought with fists or power but with trust, love, and the courage to face the past.

This is their story. How worlds collided, and how, against the odds, they found something worth fighting for. I am the Watcher. And though I may not interfere, I will always remember the day I chose to change the course of destiny.

###

April, 2024

The sky split open at precisely 2:13 a.m.

Above the treeline outside of Berlin, reality itself seemed to fracture—a jagged tear in the air, like lightning with no storm to follow. It hung there, crackling and raw, a dark window into another sky. No thunderclap. No warning. Just silence. And then a whoosh sound of something breaking through. A body, hurled like a comet, crashing down through the darkness.

Then the rift sealed shut and left no trace that it had ever been there.

The locals would later swear they saw a woman fall from the night sky.

She hit the earth with a force that shook windows in nearby homes, setting off forgotten NATO motion sensors buried deep in the ground. Birds flew from the trees in frantic flocks, shrieking into the night. The ground itself seemed to shiver from the impact, and green shards of crystal scattered for miles around, glinting like emerald glass in the moonlight.

In the center of a smoking crater, sprawled amid broken soil and splintered roots, Lyra stirred, bleeding, half-conscious, and gasped for air. A faint, sickly green glow pulsed under the skin just above her ribs, where her black suit had been ripped open. The wound oozed red blood, human enough in color but far more precious.

Her black cape, charred at the edges and tattered, lay tangled beneath her like a fallen banner. Her right hand twitched, remembering the fight, and then went still.

Lyra Jor-El was dying, and behind her closed eyelids, the angry face of Alexandra Luthor—cold, calculating, wielding that gun loaded with kryptonite ammunition—burned in her mind. The memory stayed with her as consciousness slipped away and left nothing but darkness.

###

Country Road, Germany—2:45 a.m.

The night stretched out before them. Endless, quiet. The kind of silence that pressed in. The borrowed car rumbled steadily down the narrow, winding road, its headlights slicing through the dense darkness. Bucky kept his eyes ahead, his hands gripping the wheel, while Sam reclined in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone.

Suddenly, Sam’s phone buzzed with a phone call, and he quickly answered.

“You’re gonna want to see this,” came Torres’ voice, slightly crackling through the line. No pleasantries, just business.

Sam tapped the screen, and a grainy satellite image popped up—infrared, low-res, timestamped just half an hour ago. A faint glow pulsed on the screen like a heartbeat, painting a hazy red circle over a dark patch of forest.

“That’s nearby?” Sam asked, squinting.

“Outside of Berlin,” Torres confirmed. “And that energy signature? It doesn’t match anything we’ve seen before. I already asked Darcy Lewis to triple-check.” He hesitated, as if unsure whether to add the next part. “There’s… also some kind of radiation leak. Minor. But weird.”

Bucky, silent until now, glanced sideways without taking his hands off the wheel. “You think it’s Karli?”

Torres scoffed lightly. “Karli doesn’t fall out of the sky,” he replied. “Whatever this was… it wasn’t launched. There’s no propulsion trail. It just… showed up. Like someone dropped it through a hole in space.”

Sam exhaled as he tried to process that. “So, what? You think we’ve got another enhanced?”

Torres’ pause was telling. 

“I… don’t know what the hell we’ve got,” he admitted. “But someone’s already cleaned the footage from two nearby CCTV cams. Which means someone’s watching this.”

That sent a ripple of unease through the car. Sam and Bucky exchanged a look. Both of them had seen too many cover-ups to ignore a detail like that.

“Bucky. We divert,” Sam decided, his tone firm.

Bucky gave a slight nod, already reaching for the GPS on his own phone, which was mounted on the dash. “Fine. Let’s check it out. Send the coordinates, Torres.”

“Already on it,” Torres replied. Then his tone grew more serious. “Heads up, though—NATO picked up the radiation spike too. Expect company.”

Sam’s jaw tightened. “Got it. Appreciate the warning.”

“Stay safe out there, guys,” Torres said before the line cut out.

Silence filled the car again, thicker than before. Bucky adjusted his grip on the wheel, his metal fingers glinting faintly in the low light.

Sam looked over and caught he way Bucky’s eyes stayed hard and focused on the road. 

“Can’t wait to see what this is about,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and sardonic.

Sam huffed a breath, half a laugh, half a sigh. “Yeah. Let’s just hope it’s not another goddamn alien invasion.”

Bucky didn’t respond, but his jaw worked a little tighter, a flicker of past battles flashing in his mind. He pressed down a little harder on the gas, and the engine growled in response as they sped through the dark, chasing whatever had just fallen from the sky.

###

Berlin, Rural Outskirts—3:41 a.m.

The woods were shrouded in darkness, which seemed to swallow sound. Bucky and Sam moved through the tangled brush with stealth, each of their steps muffled against the damp, frost-touched ground. The air was cold and wet, tinged with the metallic scent of ozone and the scorched tang of burnt soil. A crow cawed somewhere behind them, sharp and startled, then abruptly fell silent.

Bucky halted, one hand raised in a silent signal. Sam mirrored the motion, his eyes sweeping the terrain. They’d been moving cautiously for half a mile, dodging NATO patrols who were seting up a perimeter. Floodlights glared through the trees from the other side of the hill.

Sam adjusted the strap on his shoulder holster and craned his neck to peer through the underbrush. “You think they already took whatever fell?” he whispered.

Bucky shook his head, his eyes narrowed, his instincts sharp. “No. If they had, they wouldn’t still be here.”

The two crept forward until they crested the hill. There, just beyond the line of trees, lay the blast site. The ground had been torn open and had a blast radius at least fifty meters wide. The surrounding trees had been bent backward like half-broken matchsticks, their trunks splintered. Some still smoldered, thin tendrils of smoke curling upward. At the heart of it: a crater. Deep, blackened, and steaming at the edges as if the ground itself had been cauterized.

“Jesus,” Sam muttered, as he took in the devastation. “Whatever hit this hard didn’t come from a drone strike.”

Bucky moved ahead, his boots crunching softly on charred twigs. He squatted at the crater’s edge and brushed two fingers against the blackened dirt. “No impact debris. No metallic fragments. No tech. Just... force.” He looked up at Sam, his expression tense. “Like someone dropped a wrecking ball from orbit.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the sky. “But there’s no satellite record. Torres would’ve picked it up.”

Bucky straightened, his jaw tight. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

Sam shifted uneasily. 

Then, suddenly—movement.

“Contact. Ten o’clock, edge of the crater,” Sam whispered.

Both men raised their weapons, their muscles coiled and ready, but they didn’t fire. Not yet. Shadows flickered along the rim, and a shape moved, low and cautious. It wasn’t NATO. They were still clustered at the opposite end, yelling in German and setting up equipment.

Bucky took a slow, deliberate step forward, signaling Sam to hold position. His gaze tracked the figure’s movements, watching how it swayed, unsteady, almost like a wounded animal.

Sam glanced at him. “Think it’s one of theirs?”

Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on the shadow. “No. Too deliberate. Whoever that is, they’re trying not to be seen.”

The figure staggered again, silhouetted by the dim light of NATO’s floodlamps behind it. Bucky saw a flash of long dark hair, caught in the wind. Then the figure collapsed, half-hidden by a fallen tree.

Bucky lowered his weapon slightly and exchanged a look with Sam. “Stay here. Cover me,” he whispered.

Sam gave a tight nod and kept his stance ready, his eyes sweeping the area. Bucky moved with quiet precision and closed the distance in a low crouch. As he approached, he heard labored breathing—a rasping, uneven sound.

He rounded the fallen tree carefully and froze. A woman lay there, curled on her side, blood streaked across her torn clothing. Her skin was pale, almost luminescent under the moonlight, and a strange greenish glow pulsed faintly just below her rib cage. Her dark hair was tangled and matted with dirt.

Bucky glanced back at Sam, giving a quick hand signal: Found something. 

Sam moved in, keeping his gun lowered but ready. “Who is she?” he whispered.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. He crouched closer and studied the woman’s face. He did not recognize her. Then he noticed the symbol on her torn suit—a diamond-shaped crest on her chest, partially obscured by mud. It had the letter S on it.

“Who the hell are you?” Bucky muttered under his breath.

The woman stirred, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, her gaze was unfocused, then suddenly sharp. It was piercing blue and caught the moonlight. She opened her mouth, tried to speak, but only a faint, broken whisper came out:

“Don’t… let them take me…”

Bucky hesitated and glanced at Sam. “She’s not military. Not from here.”

Sam glanced back at the NATO patrols, who hadn’t yet noticed their position. “We gotta move. They’ll spot us any second.”

Bucky didn’t need convincing. He scooped the woman into his arms. She didn’t struggle. She barely weighed anything, despite her height. She was taller than average woman. And then he nodded toward the deeper woods. Sam led the way, keeping low, while Bucky followed, cradling the mysterious stranger close to his chest. They disappeared into the dark and left the crater and the NATO troops behind.

[yoursoulvisions]

Global soul missions of the zodiac signs

Fire signs

They are fast, passionate, dynamic, born to ignite and inspire. But all this fire can also be destructive if not channeled correctly.

They need to learn to direct their fiery impulse not only towards themselves but also towards other people. This means truly listening to others, offering them their support and energy without haste and egocentrism. By taming their impulsiveness and bringing structure to their fervor, they become not just burning, but shining beacons, lighting the way. My main inspirations are people with a Moon in a fire sign (though this is more relevant for those who have integrated this energy).

Earth signs

They are stable, reliable, practical. They understand the value of the material world and comfort. They can be relied upon.

It is important for them to learn to integrate their spiritual knowledge into practical life, using their stability and skills to help others. This process usually takes a lot of time, but it is definitely worth it. They are the ones who build houses, create reliable systems, care for the physical body and the earth, grow harvests (literally and metaphorically).

Air signs

They are fast, flexible, changeable. They possess a unique ability to see things from different angles and connect the seemingly incompatible. But this constant mental flow can lead to scatterbrainedness and burnout.

Their main task is to learn to focus their brilliant mind and use it to help others. Their mission is not just to think about life, but to convey their knowledge and ideas in a way that inspires, educates, and connects people. This is essentially what I am doing right now (my Sun is in Aquarius).

Water signs

They are intuitive, deep, emotional, and comforting. They sensitivity is a superpower, but it can also become a problem.

They need to learn to manage their powerful emotions and direct them into constructive channels. If they do not learn this, there will be a risk of harming themselves or others. Their mission is to learn to transform negativity and pain into compassion and use their empathy for deep healing and unconditional love – both for themselves and the world around them. I know that many water signs use their past negative experiences to help other people (excellent psychologists), and some transform their emotions into creativity, and this is all wonderful.

Let's all be kinder to each other, let's fill this world with cosmic love🤍

[zelda-of-hyrule-tloz]

Some thoughts on Link's mother in Ocarina of Time:

In Ocarina of Time, we're told very little about Link's mother. All we know in-game is that, to escape the civil war, she escaped with an infant Link to the Kokiri Forest, gave her baby to the Deku Tree, and presumably died soon after.

If anyone could ride in and take shelter in the Kokiri Forest, how come she was the only one? How come the woods, specifically all the way to the Deku Tree, was her first thought? I don't believe many NPCs in Ocarina of Time refer to spirits (besides poes) much. Maybe everyone who would've known died, either in the war or during the coup?

Well, I think I have a slight idea.

We know the Kokiri do not leave the forest because, if they do, they "die." This either refers to becoming Stalfos or Skull Kid if one is lost in Lost Woods, or the fact they start to age if they go anywhere else. The Deku Tree's magic is what keeps them children forever, isn't it?

So, what if Link's mother was one of the Kokiri who left? She left the woods, grew up, and married a Hylian knight. Perhaps she even became one herself. When the war was at its peak, the only safe place she knew of left was one where death was null... And she wanted a safe childhood for Link.

(Not to mention, I'm pretty sure Link's mother becomes a tree in one of the Nintendo Power comics...? The German one?)

She definitely wasn't the first Kokiri to leave the woods, but she may just have been the last. Link doesn't seem to have any recent memory of something like that actually happening. Really, I imagine none of the Kokiri really understood what the warning of death meant until Link's mother returned. They finally saw her again after all that time, and she was different. Not only was she different, but her time ran out at the Deku Tree's roots. Though her growing up proved she truly lived, it was still cut short in only a matter of moments. Was it worth it? Did she think it was worth it? Maybe that's why Saria seems to be the most bittersweet about Link leaving. She probably allowed herself to understand what it meant.

All of this considered— Maybe the reason the Deku Sprout says Link isn't a Kokiri, but Hylian, is because he doesn't possess all of the same connection to magic and the forest? Because his mother gave up that life in the woods to become Hylian?

Still, it's quite funny to think of how this affects Link. Hyrule Historia isn't a reliable source for the lore whatsoever, but if OoT Link really is the Hero's Shade (I like to imagine he is), the reason he didn't stop growing until he died could be a Kokiri thing. Perhaps the only part of him that is "Kokiri" by then. Aging Kokiri still once were children of the Deku Tree, so maybe they always grow like one too. (I'm loving the idea that his mom was super tall now).

SORRY FOR THE RAMBLE I JUST COULD NOT GET THIS OUT OF MY HEAD!!! I'm probably missing some details somewhere, I'm sure, but I think this is the headcanon I'll lean towards for now. :)

[igglemouse]

Week 1 ~ Introducing Magdalena ~ Tuesday

I start the day greeted by little energetic barks from my little guy Bruno. He's very happy to see me although I was just in the other room? I suppose I should move his bed to my room one day, I can't imagine being a little guy like he is and spending that much time alone.

Honestly, it was a selfish decision to adopt him. I didn't want to be here all alone all day long either so I suppose he wouldn't want that either but it looks like he won't hold a grudge against me as long as I give him his ball.

Such a cute little fella! There will be no singing about how we won't talk about him in this house, no no no.

The relationship I have with my sister is what you might expect. One of love and loyalty...but, there is one catch. She's a little loca. Crazy in the head, no? Perhaps that's too harsh but she proudly runs with the wrong crowd and while I do love her, to death, I also try to keep a safe distance from whatever she's up to in fear that I might get pulled into it. Sometimes it feels like even phone calls might put me in danger.

It's nice to hear from her though?

I can't allow her to get in front of my dreams or ambitions and I will not allow being a little unfit to also get ahead of them. While I failed the last audition I am doing all I can to pass the next. Failure is just an obstacle, just a bit of challenge to leap over and I will clear each one put before me, eventually.

Can someone also tell me why it's so chilly outside as well? I guess it's one of those DSV things huh? Random weather?

But I do have some very good news, very very good news even. I got the part! Yep! The music video! In fact, it all happens today! I'll be heading out a little later for it and to prepare I've decided to listen to a lot of Marco's music to get a better feel for him and watch a few of his videos. I know it's just a music video and my part in it will be eye candy but I have to do my best for every opportunity I get because that alone could be my big break. You never know whose watching, after all.

As for Marco, I'm aware of him, casually, but I am finding that a lot of his music is so very romantically inclined. Just songs about love and passion and heartbreak and more love! He's a real crooner with a very smooth voice and whenever he sings in Selvadoradean it does make me feel a certain way...just a little bit!

I can't wait to tell papa about it and he's just about as excited about it as I am. He only hopes that the video is tasteful for me, reminding me that it might upset my mom if it isn't. I'm not sure why that matters? Mama is kind of a hater, my hater, as crazy as that sounds, but let's not dwell on her right now, yes?

I cannot go out without making sure everyone is fed though because how can you be at your best on an empty stomach? I do think Bruno is coming around to me but I suppose food helps a lot with that and it's so cute hearing him munch away happily but I will have to go and leave him alone for a bit, unfortunately. Maybe one day I can afford a sitter, right now that is not the case. Also, maybe one day I can afford bitter dinners than grilled cheese sandwiches. Could be worse, sure sure, but could be better, no?

It was a drive that had to be at least over an hour long because of course the wealthy live far far away from us regulars but arriving to the hills of DSV hit me hard. This is where I wanted to be, a house on the hills, looking down at the city beyond, living the good life. Perhaps this is my first step towards that moment?

The place before me was exactly as I expected, sleek, modern, and had to be worth close to a million simoleons? I could even imagine myself in it one day or in a place like it, ambling around comfortably and enjoying the result of my artistry on the big screen. Watching movies in my personal theater, working out in my personal gym, all before heading out for a lavish trip before I go off for my next big role. That, is what I imagined.

Unfortunately, my little day dreams are broken up by reality the moment I step through the doors.

The director, a man named Elijah Love, greets me with an imaginary smile and lets me know that this is all business and time is simoleons. Something I should always keep in mind moving forward.

So, I find myself in a bathroom again, posing and preening in front of a mirror. I am reminded of the question that Jaxton, the casting guy asked of us yesterday. Am I prepared for the world to see me in this way?

I turned this way and that, making sure that everything was covered. Despite the loose nature of the robe there were pasties over more sensitive areas just in case something slipped, so that wouldn't be an issue, but still, this video would be seen by millions? Was I ready for that?

I decided there was a line and that this wasn't it. I've seen Marco's videos, they were always classy and focused on romance, which sometimes focused on sensuality of love. There is nothing wrong with a little sexiness, no?

Besides, I look amazing!

It was then time for me to perform and I should add, improvise. Elijah gives me one simple direction. Be Alluring.

Easy enough. I settle on the piano, the top part of it? Not sure what that is called but it doesn't matter. I matter, that's where the lens are focused, I'm what the viewer will see.

I go for simplicity because my goal isn't to distract, it's to blend in to the video, it's to make sure that no one ever imagines this video with anyone but me. You might think it selfish but this is a selfish business.

The bigger the star the more the universe will rotate around it...

Speaking of gravity and physics, Marco Aparicio proved my point the moment he walked in. There was an aura about him, a man who was used to getting his way, a man who knew that one simple smile was all that was needed to disarm someone and a man, most importantly, that captured my attention immediately. My eyes locked onto his and instantly I felt something, a spark, maybe? A connection definitely. I hopped off of the piano to greet him, thinking this might be the start of something I could never expect and yet...

It was nothing. A simple nice to meet you with a courteous smile, I honestly don't think he looked at me for more than five seconds. Ouch.

I told myself I wouldn't be star struck and I wasn't. It was worse. I was in love. I think anyone seeing this video will say a few things and will comment on my performance but...this is no performance. The dance and small moments and the kiss, all of it was...well, you might as well have called me a method actress in this moment because I imagined it as real. I could imagine me and him, a couple, living in a place like this, a collision of stars that brightens the universe for the short time we exist within it...

Then I was back home, watching the cooking channel, and doing my best to forget it ever happened. It was a job and it was business. Marco certainly treated it as such. How many women have I seen in his videos today? Every video of his features one or another and each one bleeds passion through the screen and music. I was just another video girl in the end and here I am watching some old woman lecture her audience about the importance of a good thermometer for roasting turkey.

Still. I wonder if there was something more there...

Index ~ Next

[luvly-writer]

Aretia: My one and only

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The room in Riorson Estate’s war hall had long since emptied of strategy maps and rebellion plans for the night. Instead, the squad lingered in the quiet warmth of flickering lanterns and low voices, seated around mismatched chairs, mugs of caf or wine in hand. The war had slowed just enough to allow them this moment of breath. Of being.

Xaden leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, jaw tense like he’d been biting back a thought for days.

It was Garrick who broke the silence. “You look like you’re about to combust. Just say it.”

“I’m not combusting,” Xaden muttered.

Rhiannon raised a brow. “You kind of are. You’ve been brooding harder than usual. And that’s saying something.”

Even Violet chuckled, curled beside Brennan on one of the worn couches. Ridoc glanced up from his mug, one brow twitching with curiosity.

Xaden exhaled heavily. “I want to ask her to marry me.”

Silence fell like a dropped blade.

And then—chaos.

“Finally,” said Quinn, grinning. Imogen snorted. “Took you long enough.” Rhiannon actually clapped. “I knew that Tyrrish blouse thing meant something!”

“Shut up,” Xaden said flatly, though his ears turned a little red.

Sawyer leaned forward, earnest. “So what’s stopping you?”

Xaden’s fingers drummed against his arm. “Everything. The war. Her grief. The pressure. She’s only just started healing after losing her village. She’s rebuilding her life, her home. And she’s now a third-year rider, even if she acts like a general and a duchess. I don’t want to put another weight on her. Not when she’s given so much of herself already.”

There was a beat of quiet.

Then Ridoc, who hadn’t spoken, lifted his gaze. “My sister’s stronger than most commanders. And she’s happy with you. You’re not adding a weight—you’re offering her something safe. Something hers.”

“She’s already yours,” Violet added softly. “We all see it. And she knows it too.”

Brennan nodded. “You don’t need a perfect moment. They don’t exist, not in war. But love? Love gives people something to fight for. You know that better than anyone.”

Xaden looked down at the ring he’d been fidgeting with in his pocket all night—a smooth, black onyx band with a golden wave etched along its edge, like the beaches she’d grown up on.

“She makes things feel… lighter,” he admitted. “Even with everything falling apart, when she’s there, it feels like it won’t.”

Imogen smiled gently. “Then maybe it’s not about finding the right moment.”

“It’s about making it,” Garrick finished.

And for the first time in days, Xaden allowed himself a small smile.

Because maybe—just maybe—they were right.

Later that night, after the fire had died down and the group had begun to scatter toward their quarters, Garrick lingered behind with Xaden. The two were walking side by side down one of the quieter hallways of Riorson Estate, boots echoing softly on the stone floor.

“So,” Garrick said casually, shoving his hands into his pockets, “how many times have you rehearsed it?”

Xaden gave him a sharp look. “What?”

“The proposal.” Garrick smirked. “You’ve definitely practiced it. Probably in front of a mirror. Or to Sgaeyl.”

“I have not—” Xaden started, but then stopped, rubbing a hand over his face. “I hate you.”

“That’s not a denial,” Garrick singsonged.

Xaden growled under his breath. “I ran it once. Maybe twice. Doesn’t matter. It’s not even the right time.”

“Sure, sure. ‘Not the right time,’” Garrick repeated, exaggerated air quotes and all. “Meanwhile, you’re out here picking out rings with wave patterns and getting all misty-eyed when she braids your hair with Tyrrish ribbons.”

Xaden shot him a glare, but Garrick just laughed harder.

“Relax,” he said, clapping him on the back. “When you do it, she’s going to cry. Rhiannon’s going to cry. Hell, I’ll cry.”

“She’s not the only one who’s terrified,” Xaden admitted after a pause, quieter this time.

Garrick’s smirk softened into something more real. “That’s how you know it’s worth it.”

And Xaden just nodded, the image of Y/n smiling in his mind—sunlight on her skin, Tyrrish silks in her hair, Ceaelyan jewerly, eyes full of warmth and fire.

She was worth all the terrifying things in the world.

The sun was just beginning to dip low in the sky, painting the market in hues of gold and rose as Xaden and Y/n strolled between the stalls. The scents of baked sweetbread and spiced meats filled the air, mingling with the floral undertones of the wreaths some of the vendors were weaving. Y/n's hand was tucked easily into Xaden’s, her thumb drawing lazy circles over the back of his knuckles as she greeted vendors by name.

They passed a stand where one of the older bakers, a man with kind eyes and a flour-dusted apron, grinned broadly at the pair.

“Well, if it isn’t our furture duchess and her brooding shadow,” he teased. “You two better not elope without letting us throw a proper celebration.”

Before Xaden could even respond, another voice chimed in—one of the elder women who had taken a shine to Y/n the very first day. “We’d string up lights, get the band from over the ridge, bring out the gold-trimmed silk for her! It’d be the brightest day this war has seen in years.”

There were chuckles of agreement from the neighboring stalls, and even the children nearby began humming what sounded suspiciously like a wedding tune.

Y/n just laughed, her cheeks flushed but her eyes sparkling. “One day,” she said easily, the softness in her voice causing Xaden’s heart to trip. “I think I’d like that very much.”

She turned to look up at him, squeezing his hand with casual affection, unaware of the storm she’d just stirred inside him.

Because in that moment, as the villagers teased and toasted with imaginary cups, Xaden heard something else behind their words—hope. Hope they hadn’t dared to hold for so long. And all of it tied to her.

She smiled again and tugged him along to a stand selling silk ribbons dyed with sea-glass pigments, completely unaware that he was no longer just thinking about proposing.

He was planning it.

It would be soon.

Because it wasn’t just about what he felt anymore.

It was what she had given all of them. What she was.

Light.

A few nights later...

The stars scattered above them like spilled silver, the night quiet except for the gentle rustle of wind through the tall Tyrrish grass and the soft crackle of the fire Xaden had built by hand. They were tucked away behind the Riorson estate, near a secluded cliff that overlooked the moonlit valley. No guards. No war. No squad. Just the two of them and the sound of crickets echoing softly in the distance.

Y/n leaned against his chest, their blanket wrapped around both of them, the Tyrrish silk from the village tied loosely in her hair. She was relaxed in a way she hadn’t been in weeks—bare-faced, barefoot, and glowing with the kind of peace only he knew how to give her.

“This was a good idea,” she murmured, tilting her head up to look at him.

He kissed her temple. “You needed a night to just breathe.”

“We did,” she admitted. “And this is just that.”

He watched the flames reflect in her eyes for a moment longer, then stood slowly, holding out his hand. “Dance with me?” Just like she had done a few years ago under the rain. When she was just a first year and he was just her wingleader.

She laughed. “There’s no music.”

“There’s you. That’s more than enough.”

He pulled her into the soft grass, and they moved slowly together, swaying under the stars. Her laugh was breathy and quiet, her head eventually coming to rest on his shoulder again. And he knew—this was the moment.

Xaden stepped back gently, one hand still holding hers, and reached into his jacket with the other. Her brows furrowed in curiosity—until he dropped to one knee.

Y/n froze.

He looked up at her, his expression vulnerable, sure, but full of love.

“I’ve watched you grow into this fierce, kind, radiant force that people look up to—not just because you fight, but because you care. You’ve held my heart since the moment you dared to wink at me as you fixed your lipstick with a dagger as a mirror. You were fire and warmth and sunshine and steel all at once, and you’ve only become more. In every dark moment of me, you have shone light. In every cold corner, gifted me warmth. Loving you, Y/n Gamlyn, has been the easiest thing I have ever done and… I want to keep doing it for the rest of my life. I want to be your partner. In this war. In peace. In rebuilding what was lost. In every single moment that there is air in my lungs. I want a future with you. If you'll have me…”

He opened the small box. Inside was a ring crafted of rare black steel and ocean-blue stones—Tyrrish and Ceaelyan, both worlds woven into one.

She didn’t speak at first. Her eyes filled. Her lips trembled.

“You're serious?” she whispered.

Xaden gave a soft laugh. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life, my love."

She sank to her knees in front of him, tears slipping down her cheeks as she nodded, and whispered, “Yes.”

He cupped her face with reverence, kissing her with all the devotion and quiet passion he had stored up over years of loving her. And under the stars, on a quiet night carved just for them, Xaden Riorson asked Y/n Gamlyn to be his wife—and she said yes.

The next morning, the Squad gathered in their usual training courtyard, weapons lazily slung over shoulders, post-breakfast sluggishness still clinging to most of them. Garrick and Quinn were mock-sparring, Imogen sat cross-legged stretching, and Rhiannon was attempting to braid Bodhi’s hair as he muttered about losing a bet. Violet and sawyer quietly talked as she wrapped her knee.

Xaden and Y/n strolled in hand-in-hand, and it took only a moment for Rhiannon to notice the subtle glint of a ring on Y/n’s finger.

Her gasp was loud and immediate. “No. You didn’t—?”

Y/n bit her lip, grinning as she held up her hand. “We did.”

The reaction was instant.

Rhiannon and Violet practically tackled her with a squeal, followed by a chorus of whoops, exclamations, and a loud “About time!” from Imogen. Garrick pulled Xaden into one of those rough, brotherly hugs that involved a few slaps on the back, and Bodhi looked genuinely misty-eyed as he muttered something about “finally, some good news.”

Then came Ridoc.

He burst through the crowd, dramatically pushing past Imogen, Sawyer, and Quinn as if the moment required a grand stage entrance.

“I—I need a moment,” he declared, placing a hand to his chest like he’d been winded by the announcement. “My twin—my fierce, dagger-wielding, heartbreakingly stunning twin—is getting married. To the broodiest man in the continent.”

“Ridoc…” Y/n warned through a laugh.

“No, no, don’t stop me, this is important,” he continued, wiping a fake tear. “I’ve known this day would come since the moment Xaden looked at her like she hung the stars. And now, dear squad, I insist on a toast!”

“We don’t have drinks,” said Bodhi.

Ridoc held up two canteens from his bag. “I planned ahead.”

He passed them around, and with overexaggerated flair, climbed onto the bench.

“To Y/n and Xaden,” he declared, raising his canteen like a goblet, “for giving us something bright to look forward to amidst the darkest of days. May your love be as fierce as your tempers, and your wedding not be interrupted by Venin.”

The squad laughed and echoed his toast, clinking metal canteens together, the courtyard echoing with warmth and joy.

And in that rare moment of peace, surrounded by laughter, teasing, and the people they trusted most, Y/n and Xaden felt the weight of the world grow just a little lighter.

Later that day, word of Y/n and Xaden’s engagement spread through like wildfire, not just in Aretia, but in Ceaelyn too. When they had gone to do the weekly check up in Ceaelyn, they were pleasantly surprised. The people of the town, many of whom had seen her grow, both as a child and as a woman, began planning a small but heartfelt celebration to honor their union. Though the threat of war still loomed, there was a lightness to the day, a sense of community that had been rare in recent times.

The villagers—men and women, young and old—set up makeshift stalls with colorful ribbons, Tyrrish silks, and baskets of fruits. The scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats filled the air, mingling with the sound of children laughing and the rhythmic clatter of utensils as the local cooks prepared their food.

Y/n and Xaden stood at the center of it all, surrounded by the familiar faces of the townspeople who had fought so hard to keep this place alive. The elder women who had once fawned over Y/n now beamed with pride as they offered her Tyrrish delicacies and handmade trinkets, as if to show their approval of the woman who would marry their heir.

“Congratulations, my dear,” an elderly woman said, clasping Y/n’s hands between her own. “We’ve all been waiting for this.”

Y/n laughed, feeling both shy and honored by the attention. “Thank you, it means the world to me.”

Xaden stood by her side, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist, though he, too, smiled at the warmth surrounding them. He had never felt quite so at home in a place. Y/n’s village, even after all they’d been through, had something special—something that made him feel, for the first time in his life, like he could belong here too.

As the evening went on, music played, and people danced, some performing Ceaelym folk dances while others simply joined in the joy. Y/n and Xaden were surrounded by laughter, joy, and hope—a stark contrast to the war that raged beyond their walls.

At one point, the village’s leader made a speech, raising a glass of wine in honor of the couple. “May you be the light that guides us through the darkness ahead. Together, you give us a reason to hope.”

The crowd cheered, and the celebration continued long into the night.

As the village celebration wound down, Y/n slipped away for a moment of peace, finding her twin leaning against a tree just outside the festivities. Ridoc’s arms were crossed, a small but knowing smile on his face as he saw her approach.

“Need a break?” he asked, his voice warm with familiarity.

Y/n nodded, sinking down beside him. For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just listened to the distant hum of the celebration and the quiet rustle of the trees in the breeze.

“You know,” Ridoc said after a long pause, his tone light but carrying an undertone of something more serious, “I never thought I’d see the day. You, a duchess.”

Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes but grinning. “Don’t start.”

“No, seriously,” Ridoc continued, his voice softening. “I’m proud of you. I know this isn’t easy. But you’ve always had that fire in you—ever since we were kids.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, suddenly feeling the weight of everything, the love, the loss, and the hope she was trying to hold onto. “I didn’t think I’d end up here, you know?” she admitted quietly. “Some days, it feels so surreal. But with Xaden... everything feels right.”

Ridoc’s smile softened. “Good. You deserve it, Y/n. You and Xaden both. I know I’ve given him hell, but... I’ve seen how much he cares for you. You’ve both come a long way.”

Y/n chuckled. “That’s an understatement.”

“You two,” Ridoc added with a mock dramatic sigh, “are the perfect pair.”

Y/n playfully punched him in the arm, and Ridoc laughed, giving her a knowing look. “But seriously, it’s not just about the wedding. It’s what you’ve done for this place, for all of us. You’re the light in the darkness, Y/n. Never forget that.”

She smiled, feeling her heart swell with both pride and gratitude. “I’m glad you’re still here, Ridoc. You’ve always been my anchor.”

“And you’re mine,” he replied with a quiet smile, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Now, let’s go back before the village gets too carried away. They might start planning the wedding tomorrow.”

Y/n laughed, standing up with him, and the two made their way back to the celebration, where laughter, love, and the promise of a bright future awaited.

That night...

The candlelight flickered softly, casting gentle shadows across the room as Y/n and Xaden sat on the bed, a quiet moment of peace between them. The festivities outside had died down, and the noise from the village celebration had given way to a comforting silence. The weight of the day was finally lifting, and they were left alone, basking in the stillness of their shared space.

Xaden leaned back, his head resting against the headboard, his eyes on Y/n, who was still glowing with the joy of the evening. She met his gaze, her smile as radiant as it had been since he proposed, and for a moment, everything else faded away. It was just the two of them, wrapped in a moment of happiness they had both longed for.

Y/n’s fingers absently played with the edge of her sleeve as she looked at him, a grin spreading across her face. “You know, it still doesn’t feel real,” she said, her voice light and teasing.

Xaden raised an eyebrow, shifting closer. “What doesn’t feel real?”

“This,” she gestured between them, the air charged with the weight of the moment. “Us. Being engaged. You’re my fiancé now.”

His eyes twinkled, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I can’t believe it either,” he admitted, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re my fiancée... and we're actually getting married.”

The two of them exchanged a wide-eyed look, and then, in an instant, the reality of it all hit them both. They burst into laughter, the sound ringing out through the room, genuine and full of joy. The kind of laughter that felt like freedom, like they could finally exhale after everything they’d been through.

Xaden leaned forward, grinning as he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing over her skin. “You’re actually going to marry me. How the hell did I get so lucky?”

Y/n’s laughter died down, but her smile only grew wider, if possible. “I was about to ask you the same thing,” she teased, leaning into his touch. “We’re getting married, Xaden. It’s crazy.”

He shook his head, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone, as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “I never imagined this would happen. But now that it’s here... I don’t want to waste a single moment. I want every second with you.”

Y/n’s heart fluttered, her hand finding his, holding it tightly. “We’re in this together. Every step of the way.”

He laughed again, this time quieter, his expression softening. “It’s still surreal. But I know one thing for sure... I’m never letting you go.”

She leaned in, brushing her lips against his, a kiss filled with all the love they had built together over the years, all the laughter and the joy they had shared.

As they pulled away, Y/n couldn’t stop herself from giggling, still in awe of the situation. “You know... we’re engaged,” she repeated, a silly grin spreading across her face.

Xaden chuckled, wrapping his arms around her as he pulled her close. “Oh I know. And it feels like the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

They sat there in the stillness, laughing together, the future ahead of them wide open and full of promise.

Author's note: This takes a year later after last chapter. The Basgaith saga is Y/n's first year. The Aretia saga is her second year and this chapter is continuing to her third.

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosyfire @shadowhuntyi @bubble300 @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks @optimisticsoulstarfish @locatinginspo @lxnvmvrzx @im-a-weirdo-for-life @profoundpizzasong @laterria201 @bestillmystuckyheart @casiiopea2

[catgirl-for-hire]

Girlfriend Ianthe Headcanons

There seemed to be a need for this and it was in my head so here ya go. Toxic girlfriend Ianthe, just beware

--------------------------------------------------------------------

 I’m not going to pretend any of this will be nice, so just be prepared

(but we don’t love Ianthe bc she’s nice, we love her bc she’s awful. So have fun you fucking freaks <3 )

Obviously I can’t imagine Ianthe ever having any sort of remotely healthy romantic relationship, for a myriad of reasons, but primarily because you will always be second to Coronabeth

No seriously, every tiny mistake you make would be compared to Corona. You trip, Ianthe snaps that Corona had better balance than that when she was a toddler. You cook something mediocre, Ianthe insists Corona’s spit tastes better than this. Even if you try and get dressed up nice for her, Ianthe only muses on and on about how Corona’s hair is shinier, figure fuller, style more tasteful. 

She’d never get over this habit even if you begged

But she doesn’t drag on and on about Corona all the time. No, Ianthe always has plenty of breath left to remind you how lucky you are to have her. 

Lover of strange pet names, as we know. Like “Harry” is such a downgrade from “Harrowhark” it's obvious that Ianthe just spits out whatever she thinks of as a nickname. Gonad, anyone?

There's standard ones like “babygirl” and “pet” which are diminutive but not outright bizarre. But if there’s any way to abbreviate your name she will, no matter how odd it sounds. Or like with Gideon, she will replace your name with any other word that starts with the same letter. Bonus points if it can double as a degradation for when she’s pissed. 

Loves sharing a bed. It’s one of the softer things about her, and you really have to squint to see it, but she takes great pleasure in having someone sleep next to her. It’s probably a subconscious need and loneliness being filled, but she’ll insist it’s because it keeps her from sinking into the center of the mattress and making a permanent dent. 

Not much of a cuddler. She’d absolutely have a quiet obsession with you clinging to her, though. 

This kinda goes for the whole relationship, actually. Like she’s not one to offer up much in the way of affection but if, for any reason, you stopped prompting it, she’d get all weird. Probably would very aggressively pester you asking what’s wrong, and if you do tell her, she just wouldn’t say anything and walk off again. 

Assuming she actually does care, though, she would fix problems for you without saying a word about it. And if you notice and bring it up, she’d tell you that the stress was giving you wrinkles and she can’t walk around with a wrinkly partner so she just cut it off at its source. This is in fact true to her, even if she also did it because she cares. Two things can be true at once. 

She’s just an attention whore at her core <3

Ianthe is actually very insistent about maintaining your appearance. She’s very materialistic, so if she feels like your wardrobe has gotten boring or your skin is dull, she’ll go out and buy you new things or ship you off for a spa day. She’s never nice about it, it’s always as if it's some moral failing on your par. But it’s almost worth it to have her fawn over you and dress you up. 

When she’s pleased with you, though, she can be a real delight. Attentive, touchy, she knows exactly how to push your buttons and get you comfortable quickly. It’s a skill she reserves for when she feels it’s truly merited. Every affection in her life always had to be earned despite her being born into apparent privilege and absurd wealth. So why would she be any different with you?

[ekletia]

@mxboxlocks I actually know what you're talking about. (Yes, besides the drug problem, my family also had alcohol problems. The only thing that motivates me is not drinking a bottle of whiskey every single day that could kill me.) I see myself in Wilson. I'm like, I can't cry anymore, just laughing, because Everything hurts too much, if my physical health with so many allergies wasn't enough. There's a medicine that if I took two in an hour, the hearse would take me.(It's not a joke this is a real world.) I always have an allergy medication on my backpack. (The list is complex and long.)

I just didn't understand why you wanted to examine it. (Sorry, I need to develop socially.) I'm sorry if I've offended you, but maybe I'm upset because, despite all the problems, life can be very beautiful. Yes, I'm saying that my whole life was just suffering. Maybe it came down to me being okay., but no. I'm not okay. I have mental, physical and family problems. And I say that life is full of joy, and you have to get out of it, even if it's hard. Unfortunately, there is no problem I have not yet encountered.

I have a panic attack because of my parents. I can't talk to them so I don't crash. I was always to blame for everything and a lot of fighting. I walk a lot in nature and it’s beautiful (Despite my allergies.), Laughing with people or eating a delicious meal that doesn't want to kill me or drink a very nice warm coffee or watch a good movie or series or Creating something wonderful.

Life is full of little miracles that make it worth living. I think a lot about how much I want to create and how much my own life depends on my own knowledge. You are not alone. Everyone is struggling with something, and maybe we could use the internet to fight for things together. Maybe that's why I could make a joke out of everything negative, because I've met everything. Yes, even from death.

Everyone feels sorry for my life, but I don’t have to. Because if I hadn't lived through every negative thing, I wouldn't be able to say right now that I know what you're talking about, and I know how hard it is. No need to apologize, just stay positive about your life. See the happy little moments you love in your daily life. If I can see the positive side of my life in spite of my own shit, I hope someone else can see it and appreciate their own life a little more, even though you now see that there is no way out of it. There is always a way out, only small moments are important.

Can we get more bonkers Wilson? Seeing him insane makes me want to cry but also observe him like a bug

day 83!

[kagehiradaily]

day two - voice clip wednesday 🎬

uhahghfhh tumblr effects r so fun o swear ..

my mika badges arrived tday!! these arent official just custom made but theyre so good quality.. (i am NTO going kverseas to go to animate.. never again)

anyways here we are (if u even care)

actually theyre 10 per design meaning 10 acanthe card badges and 10 new years card badges :33 next time ill show my enstars shrine (old picture since i renovated my room and its in the process of looking better)

yayu bye thanks for your time :3

[chalkrub]

some scrimbles for @bowelfly as part of a trade <:^) the wickedly talented brother gregor and trungo

[moeblob]

I love them! So much!

[babybells123]

I’m obsessed with them already

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

I'm not even 15 minutes into rewatching Interstellar and I think there is a chance my imagination is running wild again . . .

I have at least half a loose fic plot already hELP.