#also your uncanny ability to send things that have been looking at me from my ebay watchlist jsjsjsj

[thoughtfulfiction]

Social Media QB

Author’s note: reposting my old work on this side blog! Let me know if you’d like to read a specific one. Thank you for reading!

The reputation of the Chargers social media team was unmatched. They are known for being funny and up to date on all memes and pop culture references while also showcasing players’ personalities. That alone made you apply and this past year on the job had really been a once in a lifetime experience. Working with Megan and the crew was a daily adventure and you were becoming more and more comfortable calling the guys your friends. It even got to a point where you didn’t even call them by their names anymore.

Quentin was usually just “Q.” JK was always “J’Kaylin”, Derwin was “3” and your favorite nickname was definitely calling Justin “Sunshine.” At first it was a Remember the Titans reference but it became a lifestyle. Everything and everyone revolves around the sun and that’s exactly what it felt like when you were at work. All of the players were important and special but you could just feel the energy in the room shift when Justin was there. It was palpable, it almost took your breath away sometimes.

Off camera he was goofy, funny and had this uncanny ability to make the world stand still for a bit, even just for a few fleeting moments where it felt like you two were the only ones in the room. But then reality would hit and you were reminded that you work for the team and he’d never see you in that way, he was just nice to everyone he encountered. But on camera? It was all fun and games. There was a running joke, mostly based on his real feelings, that Justin hated cameras. He couldn’t stand being the center of attention or having people perceive him so he avoided the social media team altogether when phones were pointed in his direction. 

But sometimes, a rarity, you were able to get him on camera, even if it was just for a split second. The two of you reviewed the questions he was going to be asked before their Hot Ones appearance and there was ALWAYS a discussion, more like subtle begging if you all were going to have him participate in any content.

“We need Justin for this new segment we’re doing, so you’re gonna have to talk to him.” Megan sighs, grabbing her Stanley cup that was sitting on the counter. She’d just finished editing a video where she and her assistant put fart spray on the tiny mic and could still smell the rancid scent until she grabbed some Lysol spray to de-funk the place.

You were going through photos taken during practice earlier that morning and deciding which ones to post and without looking up you asked her, “why do I have to do it?”

Lorren and Allie giggle in the corner, shaking their heads. “You cannot be serious right now y/n,” Lorren gives you a pointed look.

“What?”

“We all know you and Justin have a thing for each other. Even if you won’t admit to us…or yourself. It’s pretty obvious.”

You finally raise your head up from your laptop, staring at them while also wracking your brain trying to figure out when your innocent crush had become so painfully obvious. If the girls knew, then Justin had probably somehow caught on and the thought of that made you want to dig a hole right outside on the practice field and never come out. “Is—am I that easy to read?”

“No one blames you,” Megan runs a loving hand on your shoulder. “And I’m sure you’ve been trying so hard to hide your feelings that you haven’t noticed that he’s doing an even worse job of hiding his massive crush on you.”

The look on your face sends the room into a fit of laughter. “We’re being serious. The way he looks at you and acts around you. Anyone can see he’s into you friend.”

You weren’t convinced, “I need an example.”

“Okay fine,” Lorren stands up to prepare a demonstration. “He wasn’t ready to put the mics on when he was mic’d up until you walked over and helped him get the mic in the perfect spot in his pads. And then he wore the friendship bracelet for six weeks because you handed it to him.”

Allie pipes up to put in her two cents. “And let’s not forget when he had you driving him around the golf tournament and kicked Zion to the curb. There’s no way all of those are just a coincidence.”

“Fine. I’ll go ask him if he’ll shoot the video for us but I’m not going to lose my job because of a meaningless crush on the starting quarterback.”

You waited around for the guys to leave treatment after practice and caught up with him on his way out. “Hey Sunshine, quick question for you.”

His cheeks turn a light shade of pink and he gives you a small tight-lipped smile. “What’s up?”

“I need you to do me a huge favor and be in this tik tok. It’s a short game and it’ll only take like 15 minutes.”

His deadpan face and disappointed dad sigh has you practically begging, saying “please” in your finest sing-song tone.

“Fine, I’ll do it.” You knew he’d crack, he always did. “On one condition. You also have to participate.”

You hold your hand out and he engulfs it with his much larger one. “You’ve got yourself a deal Herbert.”

“Okay the rules of the game are simple,” Megan begins from behind her phone screen before hitting record, “we’re going to give you these Canadian snacks and you’ll rate them on a scale from 1 to 10. One being it’s awful I’ll never touch that again and 10 being a solid snack that you’d eat everyday if given the opportunity.”

You and Justin nod, diving in on everything from the ketchup chips to the toffee. The video didn’t take long as promised and the quarterback went about the rest of his day with no further distractions.

In your office a few days later on the team’s off day, you were contemplating your life. Maybe you should take a step back from him so people don't get the wrong idea. Sure, your coworkers were convinced the crush was mutual but what if he was just being nice? He was always so focused on football and making the most out of every opportunity. Why in the world would he waste time flirting with a social media manager? It just made no sense. Instead of continuing to run a million imaginary scenarios in your mind you packed up your stuff and tried heading out to the parking lot. Even after all this time you still struggled to maneuver all the twists and turns of the building and somehow found yourself walking past the quarterback room. You intended to just keep walking but he was in there alone and called out your name when he saw you.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t think anyone would be in the building today.” His bright eyes staring down at you made your heart feel like it was beating out of your chest. You desperately needed to get it together.

“I came in to finish up a few things but I’m heading out now. What are you doing? I think you’ve watched enough film to last you a couple lifetimes.” That gets a light chuckle out of him and he shakes his head, the two of you knowing that his quest for perfection would never allow him to believe he’s watched enough film. “Thank you for shooting that video the other day. The fans are gonna love it, they’re always begging us to get you on camera.”

“No problem, anything for you.” He clears his throat after whispering the last part, desperately hoping that you didn’t hear it. Even though you definitely did. You should go home for the day and leave him alone in the office so he can get back to work. You should stop staring at his lips that look so soft and just begging to be kissed. He should turn around and get back to the playbook and the computer but here he is, standing still, right in front of you.

You’re just there, waiting for someone to rip the carpet out from under you, to fall on your face, for someone to tell you that this isn’t actually happening. The space between your bodies diminishes significantly, so much so that you can smell the Dr. Squatch Birchwood Breeze radiating off of him. It’s intoxicating and you swallow the fear in your gut and ignore all of the common sense thoughts plaguing your mind, allowing you to feel.

The kiss is tentative at first, he pulls back slightly, whispering if it’s okay to keep going as you feel his breath against your lips. You don’t respond but instead pull him in closer, hearing a satisfied husky moan from him as he allows your tongue access to his. His right palm rests against your cheek until he’s tilting your head up ever so slightly to deepen the embrace and he pulls you in even closer, holding on for dear life while closing and locking the door behind you. It was so much more than he imagined, these feelings that he’d been pushing aside were being confronted and magnified by the second. This innocent crush that you had on him were genuine, real feelings that created a deep ache in your bones, actively being soothed with his hands all over you as the two of you made out like helpless teenagers.

You didn’t think you’d have the strength to tear yourself away from him…until his phone rings. He ignores it the first time but it’s all you can think about by the fifth ring.

“Answer it,” you whisper breathlessly and you can feel him hesitating to pry himself away from you. The heat that was radiating off of his body that you felt being so close to him sends shivers down your spine at the sudden distance. A thousand unspoken apologies are painted on his face as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He keeps the call short and sweet but the look of devastation is clear when he hangs up. “You have to go don’t you?”

He nods. “I’m so sorry. We can—we need to talk about this I know. And I promise we will. I just—I need to take care of this.” He doesn’t want to leave, not like this. Even if he knows you understand. Justin presses a kiss to the side of your head and whispers another “I’m sorry” leaving you in the room to think about what just happened.

You walk around the empty parking lot until you reach your car, letting out a deep sigh at the thought of what the conversation with him is going to look like after this. You need to be mentally prepared for good news, bad news and everything in between.

He is the sun after all. And sometimes when you stand too close, you might get burned. And maybe, just maybe, you’d avoid the burn altogether and bask in the warmth as long as you can.

[faunandfloraas]

Look at all these boys Taylor @linoyes sent 🥹🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

Also how did you access my tumblr drafts 🔎

[faebaex]

author note: woohoo assignments are finished so i can write again! also my first Riddle fic! i found his character quite endearing recently, i don't know why. i wanted to pair him with a more carefree, chaotic reader who'll help loosen him up since his overblot. so have some Riddle who still takes himself a little too seriously, who also doesn't understand his feelings (*≧ω≦*) i think its cute!

characters: Riddle Rosehearts x GN!Reader

"Off with your head!!"

The familiar sound of clanging metal resounded through the air before you felt a heavy weight settle around your neck. You ran a finger along the cool metal lock as your Housewarden glared at you, cheeks red with anger.

A small laugh bubbled from your chest before you gave Riddle a huge, glee filled grin. "Thanks, Housewarden! I've always liked how the collar goes with my uniform!" With that, you spun on your heel and walked off with a skip in your step, leaving Riddle sputtering behind you.

"Y-y/n get back here! I expect a 3000 word apology essay and--"

Your good natured laugh was the only response he received, sending his face redder and redder.

Ever since his overblot incident, Riddle had been trying his best to change his ways. He tried his best to not react so violently when rules were broken, to keep cool headed when things sprung out from his control. To his credit, he had been doing quite well. Sure, he wasn't perfect, but he was able to overlook small rule breaks, and was getting better at approaching slightly more serious rule breaking offences with more composure. But there was one exception.

You.

Riddle believed you had some uncanny ability to get under his skin. At one point he even theorised that it was your unique magic. All Riddle knew was that every time he saw your carefree smile, his cheeks would flush and his stomach would twist and turn into knots.

He chalked it up to anxiety you caused him with your antics. Yes, that must be it. That was the reason that his palms would sweat every time you approached him, why his throat would tighten every time you gave him an excuse for your behaviour, why his cheeks would suddenly heat up every time he saw your cute, little smile--

Riddle startled as that rogue thought popped in his head, feeling blood rush to his cheeks at the subconscious omission. He shook his head fiercely, as if that would chase away his illicit thought. Where did that come from? Whatever, it mattered not. He was your Housewarden, and as a student of his dorm he would bring you into order.

It had been a week since he had collared you and tasked you with an apology essay, yet he had not received it. Clearly you intended to continue your unruly behaviour, and he would nip this in the bud before your actions encouraged your impressionable freshmen friends.

It did not take Riddle long to track you down. He found you in the Heartslabyul lounge, sitting on the floor with papers fanned out around you. Riddle cringed at the sight, even if you weren't breaking one of the Queen of Hearts' rules, you were certainly breaking basic dorm rules of keeping areas clean and tidy.

"Y/N."

You looked over your shoulder, a smile blooming across your face at the sight of your Housewarden standing over you. You dropped the papers in your hand, swiveling on the tile so your back was no longer to him. "Hello Housewarden! How are you today?"

"Ahem. You owe me an apology essay, Y/N. Why haven't I received it yet? May I also remind you that such mess is not permitted in the lounge area." Despite his cold response, your smile didn't shift and you reached behind you blindly, grabbing hold of the papers you were previously holding.

"Oh! I was just sorting all of my homework into order by deadline. Because I haven't been able to use magic in class, I've been assigned extra homework so I don't fall behind..." you explained, having the decency to look a bit sheepish before your smile suddenly turned a tad cheeky, "since you didn't give me an official deadline, it hasn't been a priority. Sorry!"

Riddle's previous severe expression morphed into shock. You had actually attended classes, even with the handicap of the collar? He had half assumed you'd follow Ace's lead and skip your classes in hopes of getting your collar off quicker some other way.

"See, I didn't forget!" Your voice interrupted his thoughts as you waved a piece of A4 paper, which indeed was titled "apology essay to Riddle". Riddle's eyes slid past your face to the papers in your hands, and the further papers scattered around you.

"... I'm impressed you still endeavored to attend classes," You beamed a smile at him and his cheeks flushed, "h-however, I am not willing to wait much longer for you essay. In consideration of your circumstances..." Riddle paused, his traitorous cheeks flushing further as you looked up at him with hopeful eyes, "I-i will give you one more week. By the end of that weekend, I expect your essay in my hands."

If your smile was bright before, it was absolutely dazzling now. Riddle cleared his throat and started to step backwards, planning his retreat before his thoughts betrayed him again and he risked embarrassing himself. "Of course, I trust you will manage your time effectively to ensure all homework is completed on time."

"Thank you, Housewarden! And don't worry, that's what caffeine is for!"

Riddle's step faltered and he felt affronted, quickly whipping his head around to scold you, "Do not forget that rule 153 states that only herbal tea may be drank in the evenings!" Your carefree giggle floated through the air and you sent a wink his way, and Riddle felt his ears burn. How did you manage to make him feel this way with such simple gestures? It was maddening. He quickly stormed out of the lounge before he embarrassed himself any further.

You had been working through most of the nights since your conversation with Riddle in the lounge, trying to get through your mounds of homework. Ace mocked you and Deuce sympathised, but you didn't mind so much. Sure, you didn't have any free time and you were barely getting any sleep, but you'd rather not deal with a detention from Trein, or worse - Crewel.

You had decided to set your workspace up in the library today, knowing you'd be able to get through a fair bit of your work as Ace wouldn't follow you in here, and Deuce had club activities. But there was one thing you didn't expect...

With the library being so warm, and so quiet, you weren't expecting to get so comfortable. You were fighting against your drooping eyes, constantly having to restart the line you were reading when you realised you hadn't been paying attention at all.

... Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad if you took a nap. Just a little nap. Like, five minutes... Before you had even finished fully convincing yourself, you had already pushed your book back and rested your head on your arm. Yeah... You'll just rest your eyes for five minutes...

As you slept peacefully, way over the five minutes you had allotted yourself, you were completely oblivious to the person who stopped beside you and the sigh that fell from their lips. Your exhaustion played its part, as you didn't wake at the soft sound of shuffling, and didn't even twitch as a school blazer was gently laid over your sleeping form, simply cuddling into its warmth, much to the fluster of the one who laid it upon you...

[fudgelling-away]

You are my favourite sans person, so i wanna ask you, what do you think his singing voice would sound like??? I don't know if it would be similar to his speech which I imagine is like a deeper baritone sort of thing, OR, he's one of those dudes who sounds drastically different depending on what he's doing.

he's sexy either way though🤫🤫

I've been thinking about this ask for the past several days 😳

That is such a sweet thing to say!!! Thank you for telling me this, I appreciate you reaching out so much!

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

To answer your question, I think Sans would be very skilled in modulating his voice.

I imagine him being an expert in communication - that means not only having an uncanny ability to read your face like an open book, but also being able to masterfully control his own expression and the message that his voice and his body language send.

(note: this has nothing to do with controlling emotions, that's a whole another topic)

That's also why his ability to lie is straight up scary. This man could sell you the most otherwordly ideas in a believable way and you would never know.

Sans is scary. The power he wields IS scary, and I do not mean piercing bones. He's one scary little cookie and I love him so much-

Also, isn't it amazing that he never uses those talents to abuse others? We as the Players commit atrocities and treat the in-game world like our playground. There are also all these other characters who misuse their strength and influence in a destructive, careless way. And on the other side there is Sans. Intelligent, powerful, both in battle and in soft skills.

He is so- ah, you know what I mean?! He could, but he doesn't! He's got all the abilities necessary to become the scariest predator ever seen, and he chooses not to.

But I digress.

HAVING SAID ALL THAT, I think he would be a very good singer in his natural vocal range.

As I have mentioned before, he can read you very well. That means he recognizes each tiny change in your voice. In the game we can also see the way his text speech changes, many times, in different ways. It, of course, is not THAT important - we are discussing headcanons anyway ♡ But I really like that about him, too.

I don't see anything stopping him from using all that knowledge and talent to sing well (if he wanted to).

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

I'd love to share with you who is my voice for Sans, but I can't. He actually is a singer. I have never seen him linked to Sans in any way whatsoever, so I really don't want to put his name out there.

But that's such a good voice... Oh man...

It's deep, of course, but with a totally unique timbre. I have never heard any voice similar to it, and it's so... It's so pleasant to my ears! It's smooth, and ahhh I can't explain it. It has got that special something... Those undertones that feel and taste like SANS. That relaxed, though positive and attentive manner of speech. Ah. I am obsessed with it.

And I have found it by a total accident. Several months ago I was driving, minding my own business, there was radio playing in the background, and at one point they started to play an old song from the 1980s.

30 seconds in and I'm like, oh shit. No.

1 minute in and I am starting to sweat.

No.

no

no no no-

YEEEEEESSS!

[IMAGINE: A STREAM OF HAPPY EXPLETIVES]

That was an epiphany.

The feeling was euphoric.

SANS

sans sans

ASDDASDASFSSASA

I have no memory of the rest of the drive, but THAT VOICE.

I came back home. I looked up the radio station on the internet. I checked what they played an hour earlier.

And I found out who it actually was.

Immediately I went searching for some recorded interviews and yesss, there they were, perfectly available on youtube...

I spend a couple of hours every week listening to those interviews while I am working or drawing. That voice is ingrained in my brain now. That's my Sans' voice.

I am so sorry I can't show it to you.

--------------------------- Let me know what YOU think! ♡

I love to read different headcanons and ideas.

[orionsstory]

that kind of devotion can't be ignored | anarcia (6)

yippie anetra backstory !! Sorry this took so long, it also ended up being like 1000 words more than usual teehee don't forget to check it out on ao3!

---

It had been two weeks since Anetra had seen Marcia, two weeks since their moment on the bridge, and two weeks of Anetra not being able to get the blonde out of her mind. Both of their busy schedules had kept them from seeing each other, something that frustrated Anetra to no end.

"You should just give her your number already, I can't keep playing messenger pigeon," Sasha spoke up, it was uncanny how she seemed to be able to read Anetra's mind.

She sighed, playing with her hands, "I don't know. What if-"

"What if she's a secret supervillain lying in wait? Neech, it's been like a month and you two have been alone together how many times? If she was evil, I think she would've done something by now."

She softly chuckled, "How are you so good at this? Knowing what I'm going to say?"

"I'm your best friend, I just know you well." She shrugs, chuckling as she sipped on her coffee. "Plus, we've had this conversation about a hundred times."

"I just- I don't know."

"Neech, you're into her, right?" Anetra blushes at the statement, answering Sasha's question for her. "You should just give her your number. She doesn't even know your real name. You have literally no social media accounts, I really don't think this can backfire."

Anetra bit her lip, considering her words.

"I'll think about it."

Suddenly, a call from her communicator interrupts them. She excuses herself to her bedroom to answer the call.

"Lotus speaking."

"Hey Lotus, it's Detective Barnes here. Listen, I know it's your night off, but-"

"There's another crime scene?" She interrupted.

"Yeah. The jewelry store on Plymouth Street."

Jesus. It seemed like the past two weeks had been filled with nothing but crime scenes and more vaguely ominous notes. While it had once been scary, now Anetra was just sick of it.

Anetra sighed, "I'll be there in ten."

-

"Lotus!" Detective Barnes waves her over as she touches down, another hero standing by his side. "This is Babydoll, she was able to catch a glimpse of the perp." Anetra shook her hand, "Nice to meet you, I appreciate the help. Can you tell me what happened?"

"Sure. I was doing my nightly patrol when I heard this shrill sound. It was really high-pitched, so I came close to check it out. As I came closer, I saw all of the shattered glass, and then I saw a figure dart off in the other direction."

Anetra pursed her brow, "Do you know what they looked like?"

Babydoll shrugged, "Admittedly, it's not much. They were blonde and they had on a red suit with a cape. That's all I could make out from that far away."

Anetra nodded, taking a mental note of the information. "That's very helpful, thank you. We appreciate any help we can get." She smiles, making her way back over to Detective Barnes.

"Where's the note?"

Detective Barnes chuckled, pulling out an evidence bag and handing it over to her.

"Dear Lotus, blah blah blah vague threat, blah blah blah I hate you, blah blah blah." She rolls her eyes as she reads the note, handing it back to Barnes. "This is so annoying. I'm getting repetitive threats from someone who keeps breaking into jewelry stores? That's so lame." She scoffed,  "Why can't we just fight already? I want this to be over with." She groans, earning a chuckle from Barnes.

"I know. But, we've got a description now. That's progress. We'll send out an alert tomorrow asking people to keep their eyes open."

Anetra sighed, running her hands through her hair. She nodded towards Barnes, she supposed some progress was better than nothing at all. The only thing they were fairly sure of was that the perpetrator had the ability to either create or manipulate high frequencies that they used to shatter the glass and take out security cameras in the area.

She thanked Barnes and returned home, trying to enjoy the rest of her night.

-

"Woah!" Anetra barely ducks out of the way as a fist flies towards her face. She counters back with some of her own fire, eliminating the double. "Just give it up already!" She yells as she sends another blast of fire towards the original, who is just barely able to dodge out of the way.

It had been two days since the last note, and Anetra was back to her usual patrol when she had gotten a disturbance call. A woman with the power to duplicate herself was destroying the street- nothing too serious though, Anetra could tell she wasn't well-trained in her power. One good hit should get her down.

She sees her opportunity as the other woman taunts her, Anetra lunges towards her and readies a fake-out attack. The woman takes the bait and begins to block her upper body, just as Anetra ducks low and kicks the woman's feet out from under her, maneuvering herself to pin her down.

The civilians cheered as she secured the perp, Anetra blushing from the attention. She quickly wrapped up her statement with the police and handed the woman over to them. She turned to leave but was interrupted by a microphone being shoved in her face.

"Lotus! This is Channel Ten news, can we have an interview?"

Anetra's mind blanked for a moment, "Oh, uh, sure." She's never done an interview with the news channel before, she doesn't show it but she's nervous.

"You've been the lead hero working on the string of jewelry store robberies, is there any advice you can give to concerned citizens?"

"Well, rest assured the perpetrator isn't interested in harming anyone. If you encounter them, always prioritize your own safety. They don't seem to be violent, pretty much just robbing places and taking off as soon as they see a hero, but it's much better to be safe than sorry."

The reporter nodded, "I see. Do you have any information about the perpetrator?"

"What we've been able to gather so far is that they are blonde and wear a red suit with a cape. We also believe they have the power to either create or manipulate high frequencies. I recommend retreating if you encounter them, as their power can cause hearing damage."

"So, you've been a hero for about two years, is this the biggest case you've worked on?"

Anetra nodded, "Yeah. I'm not exactly a seasoned pro like a lot of heroes, realistically I'm still pretty new to the scene. I mostly stop petty crimes, this is my first ongoing case."

"Do you have any words in case the criminal is watching?"

Anetra lowly chuckled, "I see all the little notes you're leaving. They aren't cute, so quit hiding behind them and come face me yourself."

"Well, we're all wishing you luck with the case, thank you for your time! This has been Channel Ten news with Lotus, signing off." Anetra smiled at her as the camera cut, briefly chatting with some of the nearby civilians before she took back off into the sky toward her next call.

-

Anetra trudges through the door, kicking her shoes off and dumping her hoodie on the nearest counter. She saw Sasha lean backward on the couch from the living room, giving her a wave.

"Neech, you're on tv! I recorded it for 'ya!"

Anetra made her way into the living room, looking up at the television. It was her interview from earlier. She raised her eyebrows in slight surprise. "Huh. Didn't think I'd actually make it to air." She murmured, her eyes glued to the TV. The interview was short, cutting back to the newsroom shortly after.

"Look at you, making the news!" Sasha chuckled, "Looks like your case is getting more popular."

Anetra groaned, "I wish it wasn't. I hope it doesn't encourage them to be more frequent. I mean, it's not even that interesting. It's just a string of break-ins! Plus, I don't think I can be called out at 3 am again."

Sasha nodded, "That was a rough night, you looked like you were about to kill someone when you came back."

"I was. I literally came back and then had to go to work." She grumbled, running a hand through her hair. She stretched, groaning as the spandex suit stretched against her. "Okay. I'm changing into comfier clothes, I can't stay in these." 

She made her way back to her room, quickly putting on a tank top and some sweatpants. She made her way back to the living room, slumping onto the couch next to Sasha. "We should get pizza..." she suggested, her eyes shifting towards Sasha and smirking, "and get high."

Sasha chuckled, "You read my mind."

-

So there they were an hour later, a pizza box on the table in front of them and a joint in hand. Some movie they had haphazardly picked playing on the TV, one of the Friday the 13th movies, or something like that. Anetra took the joint from Sasha's hand, taking a puff before handing it back to her.

They talked about nothing in particular, like they always did. Sasha told her about planning her upcoming business trip to LA, the complicated details of it all flew over Anetra's head, but she nodded along anyway. She thought about how nice it'd be to go to the beach- but alas, she was stuck here. Stuck with some annoying villain. Stuck with Marcia. Well, on second thought maybe it wasn't so bad being stuck here.

"You know, Marcia messaged me earlier..." Sasha took a puff from the joint, "she wants to see you soon."

Anetra sighs, "I know. Fuck, I wish it was easier to work this out. I mean, I haven't seen her since August. I feel awful."

"You could always-"

"I can't Sasha. You know I can't."

Sasha sighed, handing the joint back to Anetra. "Why not? You told me about your identity pretty quickly, so you gotta stop using that excuse. Is this about what happened in Vegas?"

Anetra felt her breath hitch, her throat closing up at the mention of Vegas. She quickly took a hit, her fingers shaking as she lowered the joint.

"I...maybe, I mean..." she paused for a moment, groaning. "I think so. I don't- I don't know Sasha, all I know is that I feel...weird. Like, I like spending time with her and flirting with her, and I feel so good. But I can feel a part of myself holding back. And I don't want to. But- but I can't, you know?"

She took another hit, slowly exhaling the smoke. "I just...I don't want all...that...to happen again."

Sasha didn't speak for a moment, studying her carefully.

"Anetra, I think you need to let go."

Anetra stayed silent, her gaze glued to the ground.

"I understand it sounds scary but...Marcia isn't her. You know that. There's no reason why you both should have to suffer."

Anetra felt her shoulders fall, sighing as her body melted into the couch.

"It's been two years. You can't keep letting her control your life. You deserve to be happy."

Anetra sighed, running a hand through her hair.

"Just...think about it at least, okay? You deserve to be happy, without feeling the need to withdraw. Like I said, maybe think about giving her your number. Something small."

Anetra took another hit, "Yeah...maybe. I'll think about it."

Sasha smiled softly, taking the joint back from her.

"So, when should I tell her you're available?"

-

Anetra lay in her bed, staring up at her ceiling. The room around her was dark, the only light coming from the buildings across the street. She should sleep- she needed to sleep. But Sasha's words echoed in her mind. She was right, Anetra shouldn't let someone get in the way of her happiness. It wasn't fair to her.

Why couldn't she let it go? She wanted to.

She thought back to Vegas, feeling the anxiety building up in her stomach. God, it had been two years and she still couldn't think about that place without wanting to throw up.

It would be her luck that her first girlfriend would cheat on her.

Senior year of college. She and Olivia had been dating for three years, and Anetra thought their relationship was going well. Maybe not perfect, but good. They were planning on moving somewhere together after they graduated, a nice little apartment in Vegas. For once in her life, Anetra really felt like everything was going to be okay.

That was until she came home early one day.

Her class for that afternoon had been canceled, meaning she got to go back to the dorms an hour early. She hummed as she unlocked the door to their dorm, slinging her backpack off her shoulder.

"Hey Liv, I'm ba-"

She froze as her eyes registered the sight before her. Her girlfriend, topless and frozen in shock, was on top of some other girl. The other girl quickly dressed herself, practically bolting out the door as Anetra stood there, dumbfounded.

"Olivia, what the fuck?"

Anetra balled up her fist, her confusion quickly being replaced with anger.

"A-Anetra, it's not what it looks like-"

"Then what the fuck is it? Because I don't get how it could be anything else."

 Olivia put her shirt back on, "Uh..."

"How long has this been going on for?"

Olivia shifted her eyes away from Anetra, "...about a year."

"A year? Are you fucking kidding me?" Anetra ran her hand through her hair, "Are you serious? We've been dating for three fucking years and you...you just cheat on me?"

Olivia glared at her, seemingly flipping a switch in her mind and turning to anger. "Maybe I wouldn't need to find someone else if you weren't so fucking sad all the time. Constantly crying about how your mom abandoned you and how you miss your siblings, I'm fucking sick of it Anetra. Goddamn, you're so fucking needy."

Anetra's face shifted from one of anger to one of hurt.

"Don't give me that look. That's exactly what I'm talking about. I can't deal with your fucking mommy issues anymore, I can't keep reassuring you about every little thing."

"That's bullshit Olivia. I was there for you every time you were going through something, every time you didn't feel like you were enough. And I never complained. I never minded. Do you know why? Because I love you, and I hated seeing you feel down about yourself. Because I care about you and your well-being."

"Maybe I never really loved you then."

Anetra didn't cry often. She tried not to, at least. But she felt her eyes began to well up.

"Fuck you, Olivia." She spat out, taking her bag and slamming the door shut.

She stayed at her dad's house that night, and she cried. It had been a long time since she had cried, it felt almost overwhelming. She spent most of that night in her father's arms, choking back sobs as he comforted her.

"I don't think I can go back, Dad." She sniffled, burying her face in his chest.

"I know, baby, but it's only another month. You're strong, you can do it." He replied, rubbing circles into her back to calm her down.

"I don't...I don't think I can stay here anymore." She choked out, her voice weak from crying. "I-" She broke down again.

"Shh, it's okay. You don't have to. I understand." He hugged her tighter. "My poor girl."

She weakly wrapped her arms around him, tears still pouring out of her eyes. They stayed like that for a while before Anetra eventually fell asleep in his arms.

She spent the weekend there with him, dreading returning to their shared dorm. She hadn't heard from Olivia at all over the weekend, something she couldn't tell if she was thankful for or mad about. But, she had to return.

It was awkward, to say the least. The air was tense, and the two refused to talk to each other. A week since the incident had passed and Anetra spent most of her time looking for jobs across the country. She found a position in New York that looked promising, but she was hesitant about it. New York was expensive, and she wasn't sure if she could afford it.

"I don't know, Dad." She sighed into the phone, finally having the room to herself for once. "The job seems perfect, but I don't know if I can afford New York."

"Why don't you just become a superhero?" Anetra chuckled at his suggestion. "I'm being serious! You know how to fight and there's lots of crime in New York, why not put your powers to use? It won't hurt to have some extra cash in your pocket."

"You're just saying that because you've always wanted me to be a superhero."

"Sue me, I want to see my daughter kick ass. But I'm serious, just consider it, okay?"

And so, here she was two years later. Her dad was right, New York was the right fit for her. She missed him, of course, but she had finally felt free from the burden of Vegas. She shook the memories from her mind, falling asleep.

-

It's two days later, and Anetra is exhausted from her patrol. She had to deal with an arsonist, a petty thief, and a group of kids who were all determined to make her evening a living hell. She was getting called out more frequently now that she was getting more popular, she guessed that the TV interview reached more people than she thought. 

She checks the time- 9:09 pm, almost ten minutes late from when she told Marcia she would meet her. She groaned in frustration, the more cases she got called out on the busier she seemed. She picked up a pink rose from a florist nearby and quickly rushed over to Marcia's building.

She quietly touched down behind her, watching the blonde girl carefully. She was drawing something, her pencil quickly moved across the page. She leaned over her, finally able to get a good look at the page. Her eyes widened as she realized that the drawing was of her. There she was, her costume sketched in perfect detail. She felt a smile creep onto her face.

"I didn't know I was such a muse."

Marcia jumped in surprise, causing Anetra to laugh.

"Oh my God, you scared me!" 

"Sorry princess, bad habit. And I'm sorry about being late- but, I got you this."

She held out the pink rose, Marcia gasping and taking it from her.

"Lotus, it's beautiful...thank you, you didn't have to do that."

"But I wanted to. Now, can I see what you're drawing?"

Marcia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, blushing as Anetra took a seat next to her. She shifted slightly, allowing her a better look at her sketchbook.

"I saw you on TV, I uh, thought you looked really pretty so I wanted to sketch you."

Anetra blushed, her face lighting up. "That's really sweet, Marcia."

"Oh, it's nothing special. I don't even think it's that good..."

"It's quite literally the best thing I've ever seen. Here, you wanna see bad?"

Marcia giggled, handing Anetra her sketchpad and pencil.

"Okay, strike a pose."

Marcia held up a peace sign as Anetra started sketching. She carefully studied Marcia's features as she tried to translate them to the page. She quickly finished, adding some hearts around her. She looked at her work- it was bad, she had never claimed to be a good drawer, but it was probably her best work.

"Can I see now?" Marcia giggled, looking at the drawing as Anetra proudly handed over the sketchbook. She watched as she tried to stifle a laugh, taking the sketchbook in her hands.

"It's beautiful, Lotus."

"Don't lie, I just watched you try to not laugh at it."

Marcia laughed, "I'm sorry! I still really like it though, I mean that little bunny next to me is really cute!"

"That's your hand! You're supposed to be doing a peace sign!"

The two laughed as Marcia closed her sketchbook, "Well, I still like it."

Anetra shifted closer to her, "So, how's Broadway? Did your uh...tech week! That's it! How'd that go?"

"It went really well actually! We're set to open in two weeks, I'm really excited. Everyone's been putting in so much work, I can't wait to see it all come together."

"I can't wait to come see you, when do you think I should come?"

"Well, I'd recommend waiting until I get to play Elle. Uh, if you want to see me as her, that is. I start playing her in late October, I get to play Elle every Monday."

"I'll be there, then." Anetra smiled at her, watching as Marcia's face grew red.

"How's your case going? Is it keeping you busy?"

"God is it ever." Anetra groaned, "It's just annoying at this point. They scatter before anyone gets there and just seem dead set on being a thorn in my side. I mean, 10 stores and they don't even leave any evidence?"

Marcia frowned, scooting closer to Anetra, laying her hand over the other girls. "I'm sorry. I'm sure you'll get a break in the case soon, though. I just hope they aren't too dangerous."

"Aww, you're worried about me." Anetra laughed, taking Marcia's hand into hers. "But I'll be okay, I'm sure I can take 'em down."

Marcia softly smiled, "I can't help it. I don't get to talk to you often, so every time I hear about a hero getting injured I worry about you. It's stupid, I know, but I...care about you, so I have to worry."

Anetra was stunned for a moment, "I-uh, thank you." She stuttered out, a smile forming on her face.

Marcia glanced at her phone, checking the time. "Ugh, I should probably go to bed. Sorry, early morning tomorrow."

'Ask for her phone number.' Anetra's mind yelled at her. She wanted to, so badly. She wanted to talk with Marcia. Wanted to send her silly photos. She wanted more. But that anxious feeling came back, the pit in her stomach growing more intense as she tried to reply.

"Oh! Y-yeah, gotta rest up."

'Godamnit.'

She mentally yelled at herself as she bid Marcia farewell, watching the other girl disappear downstairs. She took off into the air, her head in her hands as she cursed herself for not asking. She could always go back and ask. Or would that be weird?

She paused in the air, Sasha's words echoing through her mind. She deserved to be happy.

"Fuck...fuck...okay." She muttered, turning back around.

-

She lightly knocked on the window that she prayed belonged to Marcia. Musical posters and pink trinkets covered the room, so she figured it was a solid guess. The window slowly slid open and there she was. Clad in her pajamas, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Anetra thought she was the cutest thing on the planet.

"Lotus? What are you doing here?"

"Can I have your number?" She blurted out, internally cringing at how desperate she sounded.

Marcia looked at her confused for a moment before the words registered. "Oh! Oh, of course! Here, come in."

Anetra flew into Marcia's room, gently touching down. The room was perfectly Marcia- posters for musicals, Ariana Grande records neatly displayed, and a sewing machine.

"I didn't know you sew," Anetra murmured, examining her machine, "I do too!"

"Oh, really? You'll have to show me some of your sometime- I mostly just make my theatre costumes." Marcia made her way over to her, handing Anetra her phone. Anetra inputted her number, handing it back to her.

"Some other time- I should let you get back to sleep."

Anetra sat on Marcia's windowsill, her legs dangling out the side.

"I'll text you in the morning." Marcia yawned, gently holding onto Anetra's hand.

"Good." She tugged on Marcia's hand, bringing her closer. She leaned forward, cupping Marcia's cheek with her other hand and gently kissing her cheek.

"Goodnight, princess."

[aphroditestummyrolls]

Hi!

Your moodboards are so beautiful. Can you tell us more about the inspiration for the Wesper Fantasy AU? It's lovely. (Please say there is a fanfic for it or there might be one day soon.)

If you don't mind, could you also share how you make your moodboards, where you find your images and what program you use to organize them in the 3x3 format?

-Sixofcrowdaydreams

Hi!

Thank you so much 🥹❤️ they are so fun to make, and it’s been really helping me stay motivated with my stories, too.

I use LiveCollage for my 3x3 grid— they have lots of other options as well. The 3x3 is just my favourite. I get my pictures from Pinterest and sometimes from aesthetic blogs on tumblr. As for how I generally construct and organise them, I focus on the main beats of the story/the main characteristics of the character I’m playing with; make sure my pictures follow a general colour palette of 2-3 colours (for instance, the fantasy wesper one is teal green and an amber shade of orange); and I try to have them radiate out from the centre. The most important point is usually in the centre, but there are some exceptions. A lot of it just comes down to if it looks balanced/good.

The fantasy au wesper story is actually based on world building of an original fantasy world I started when I was 18 (omg almost a decade ago 🫠). It centers around a small hamlet built up on a ridge, just barely scraping above a deeply enchanted woodland that is supposedly full of big bad creatures— the hamlet is able to become a kingdom of huge influence through the export of the minerals in the ridge that they mine/export through the use of the tunnel system/the river under the ridge. It is extremely taboo to enter the forest without economically sound and governmentally sanctioned reason. The old superstitions of the beasts in the woods are still strong over the people.

Naturally, there is a huge illegal demand to smuggle people and goods in and out of the wood to the wider world on the other side of the mountains. It's a great place for clandestine things, meeting forbidden lovers, or doing illegal things.

Enter, Kaz Brekker and his Crows.

They are well known by anyone that needs to know as the best gang for anything having to do with the woodland— they've become almost as mythologised as the beasts and magic of the woods. And there are, naturally, warrants out for their arrest by order of King Jan. There always has been, it seems. They've become symbols of freedom and the breaking of the superstition that keeps everyone on the ridge. Jesper is one of the best at living in and getting through the woods— what he doesn't know is that this is because he's half sprite. After his sprite mother was hunted and murdered, his father went to a witch when Jesper was small and repressed his magic and his memories. He was trying to protect him from the prejudice against the woodland creatures/sprites like his mother.

But, things like that can’t stay repressed forever. They find a way out— for Jesper, they come out in his uncanny ability to navigate the forest, his immaculate aim, and… and strange dreams of a young man that he just doesn’t understand. All Jesper knows is that he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Enter Wylan.

Prince Wylan Van Eck was sequestered away from the public when he was a small child after his mother “died”, to be hidden away in shame for his defect of being an illiterate invalid.

He lives a life of luxury, but it's a prison. and the world of royalty knows him only as The Ghost Prince of Ketterdam. A young Prince hidden away until a mysterious “curse” could be lifted from him. King Jan has been subjecting his son to all sorts of "cures" since he was young. Torturing him. And, for a long time, he’s been sending knights out on illegal poaching missions to steal woodland sprites/magical objects from the enchanted woods, hoping to find something that will fix him. Wylan, though, shows no sign of improvement. He does have a very active imagination, though— he has the most incredible dreams. Of the most beautiful man.

That’s the basics of it! It’s not currently in the works, really, just an idea that I love in a world that I’m really proud to have built. And now it’s a world where I get to play with my blorbos! There’s other stories taking priority now, but eventually, I’ll at least write out a few oneshots/chapters for the fantasy au!

Thanks for asking! ❤️

[andrigyn]

A Swing in The Dark (Rewrite) Snippet

Ok so I’m posting this snippet to let everyone know that I am actually doing a rewrite lol <3

In Nesta’s former life as a human girl, she took advantage of every opportunity that being the daughter of a wealthy merchant afforded her. Invitations to lavish parties arrived by mail and ended up in a stack atop her mother’s desk, awaiting judgment. She took a keen interest in the social life of her first daughter, and began the search for her perfect match early. Before she fell ill, she knew best when it came to the who, what, and where of courting. To entertain too many suitors would have been disastrous for the family’s reputation, and the eldest child had the greatest duty towards protecting that reputation. Nesta’s time on the scene as a single lady would have also paved the way for Elain and Feyre, had things gone differently. 

Nesta never fussed much over the specifics, choosing instead to surrender to her mother’s well laid plans. But following the inner circle’s direction required an unnatural kind of submission. By their own design, she wasn’t a full member of their court. She was sometimes included in a half-assed way, if only to appease Feyre. Rhysand gritted his teeth and barely tolerated the eldest sister’s presence, which is why she was shocked to hear that the High Lord wished to meet with her. 

Cassian let her know over breakfast that morning training would have to be canceled so that she could go meet with Rhysand and Feyre in the river house. The male didn’t have an answer when she prodded him for more of an explanation. Azriel looked as puzzled as Nesta was, but if he was equally as curious to know what was going on, he didn’t utter a word about it. So after the trio finished eating, Cassian flew her down to the river house and led her through the winding corridors. 

“Well, here it is.” Cassian gestured to a dark wooden door. 

“If he plans on sending me back to the human lands after all, promise you’ll remember me fondly,” Nesta said. She twisted the brass knob and slipped inside before Cassian had a chance to respond, closing the door behind her. 

The room was quite large for a study, as was the desk that sat in its center. Light poured in through the tall windows to illuminate the space. Its walls were painted a shade of blue that resembled the night sky, but not much of the wall was visible behind the numerous paintings and bookshelves. She thought it looked awfully cluttered. Most unsettling of all was Rhysand seated there, with his gaze fixed on her. Those violet eyes were uncanny. Some may have thought them beautiful, but to Nesta it served as a reminder of how inhuman he was. 

“Sit,” he said. 

“Where is my sister? I thought she would be here.” 

“She is occupied. Some of us have responsibilities outside of playing soldier all day. Now, sit.” He waved his hand in front of the seat again, so she obliged. 

“I pretend to be a soldier, Feyre pretends to be a ruler. Have you decided yet which role Elain shall play?” 

“Keep my mate’s name out of your mouth. She and Elain are free to live as they please. You, however, haven’t earned that privilege. But that isn’t why I’ve called you here today.” 

“Get on with it then, what do you want from me?” Nesta asked. Her arms were crossed and she was making every effort to avoid eye contact with the male in front of her. She knew of his ability to shatter minds. That thought inspired a healthy level of fear, and suddenly the cluttered space started to feel more than just annoying. It was suffocating. 

“Eris Vanserra came to me, asking for help to kill his father so that he becomes High Lord. Our assassin cannot be just anybody, we must send someone who Beron wouldn’t perceive as a threat, someone he would allow to stay in his court,” Rhysand drawled, “Ideally a female who would travel to Autumn under the pretense of an engagement.”

“Why should I help you? I don’t care about your petty alliances.” 

Rhysand hunched over the desk and leaned in closer towards Nesta. She decided to meet his gaze, not wanting to appear as though she was backing down. 

This was a ridiculous plan that she wanted no part in. 

“Because someone must, Nesta. If you refuse, then my only other option is to send Elain, and do what should have been done a long time ago and banish you to the human lands.” 

Asshole. She wanted to punch that smug look right off of his face. She wanted to dangle him out of that window until he begged for mercy. The way he thought it appropriate to use Elain as a bargaining chip threatened to make her lose her cool. Everything that she gleaned about the Autumn Court indicated that it was a treacherous place, somewhere that was somehow more undeserving of her sister’s warmth and kindness than Velaris. 

“That will not be necessary. I will go, and once I return I want my freedom.”

Rhysand scoffed. “You’re in no position to make demands. Be grateful I don’t shatter your mind and tell your sisters that you ran away.” 

“Does Cassian know?” Nesta asked. 

“Of course he does.” His curt reply cut like a knife. Nesta considered briefly what it meant that Cassian knew of this plan, and chose not to warn her. She wasn’t sure why she expected his loyalty. It was naive of her, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. How meaningful could the handful of nights they shared together be to a male who was over five hundred years old? 

“Tell me what your plan is exactly, then,” Nesta said. 

“We will hold a ball in the Hewn City in a few days time, where the engagement will be announced. After that you’ll go to Autumn, and follow Eris’s orders,” Rhysand explained. Nesta only nodded in reply. 

“I am beyond grateful you’ve given me so much useful information, I’d hate to go into such a dangerous mission blindly,” she said flippantly. 

[bookofbolden]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Eleanor's Apartment PARTIES: Farah Bolden-Landry & Eleanor SUMMARY: Eleanor gets a surprise visit from her younger sister who's hellbent on getting her out of Wicked's Rest. WARNINGS: Mention of substance abuse, depression

Farah Bolden-Landry was a fierce woman who had never backed down from any fight and stood firmly upon what she believed in. She wasn’t easily influenced and she spoke her mind no matter how uncomfortable it might make everyone else. She was Eleanor’s biggest role model and best friend, having taken the older girl under her wing almost immediately after she’d been dumped on the Bolden’s doorstep. She’d gladly invited Eleanor to share her bedroom, had made sure that everyone in the intimidating private school all of the Bolden children attended didn’t hurt a hair on her newest sister’s head, and was the first person Eleanor had ever opened up to about her sexuality.

It wasn’t easy for Eleanor to hide how poorly she was doing whenever it came to Farah. It was simple to put on a cheerful voice whenever her parents called or to send a few smiling emojis whenever the rest of her siblings texted, but Farah was different and at times Eleanor wondered if her sister was also an empath because of her uncanny ability to always know when something wasn’t right. She wasn’t used to others being able to pinpoint her emotional state and it made her skin crawl, ironic since she’d been accused of the very same thing her entire life.

It was because of Farah’s immense emotional intelligence that her surprise visit shook Eleanor to the core - she hadn’t even had time to prepare an elaborate speech about how much she loved her new life in her new town.

“Farah?” Eleanor blinked away the last remnants of sleep and stared blankly at her sister. She’d been ripped from her dreamless slumber at the sound of someone banging on her front door, her cotton pajama set crooked and her hair a rat’s nest. She hadn’t even bothered with her glasses which was why the familiar face was somewhat distorted. “Do you know what time it is?”

“Noon, Elle. It’s noon.” Farah responded in her husky voice and took in the dark circles under her older sister’s eyes (which she’d been successful at hiding from everyone else thus far under a layer or two of concealer) and the poor state of the apartment behind her. It wasn't like Eleanor to let her living space become unmanageable, even as a kid she’d been a neat freak and had insisted that everything had a place. “Mom and Dad gave me a big story about how you’re loving it in this shitty town and you're moving on quickly. They said that your therapy appointments are going well, too. I knew it was all a crock of shit. You’re really pulling off the hot grandma look, by the way.” She motioned to Eleanor’s pajamas with a smirk.

Eleanor frowned up at her sister. “Why’re you here?”

“It’s good to see you too.” Farah pushed her way past Eleanor and took a look around the small apartment. “Are you sleeping on the couch?”

Eleanor sighed, closed the door, and turned to face her fate. She’d thought she would have a lot more time before any of her family thought it necessary to make a house call - she’d obviously been letting her mask slip.

Her eyes landed on the couch with its mountain of pillows and blankets. She couldn’t tell the truth that she was terrified of sleeping in her bed because sometimes it still smelled like Lily and other times she would roll over in the dead of night and swear her girlfriend was lying there next to her, softly snoring like she always did.

“It was just one night.” She busied herself with cleaning up the mess on the couch as a way to avoid looking Farah in the eye as she lied through her teeth. “What brings you to Wicked’s Rest? Shouldn’t you be in Canada with your husband?” Farah had married a Canadian businessman and they traveled back and forth often in order to keep in touch with both of their families. 

“He's busy and I wanted to come see my big sister.” The younger woman shared a smile.

“And to check up on me.”

Farah rolled her eyes and flopped down onto the newly tidied couch. “Can you blame me? You’ve been off the grid for a month now and the only things I’m hearing about you are coming from our parents. They’re easy to fool because they want to believe all the things you’re telling them. You know how gullible they are: they gave Dylan another loan two months ago because they still think he’s trying to start up a business even though every time they give him a big chunk of change the local plug gets a new Mercedes.”

Eleanor nodded slowly, her arms crossed over her chest. “So our brother is still struggling with addiction and you've chosen to come here and criticize me because I slept on the couch last night?”

“Not the point and you know it.” Farah responded in a condescending sing-song voice. “Where are all of these friends our parents say you’re making? Are they real or in your head?”

Eleanor scowled and turned to stomp into the kitchen. She needed to keep her hands busy so that she could think through her responses quickly - one wrong word and Farah would have her packed up and on a plane to Canada and there was absolutely nothing she’d be able to do about it.

But her friends were real, she just couldn’t give too much information about them unless she wanted to chance being placed in a padded room while at the same time being specific enough to ensure that her sister knew she wasn’t making anything up. What could she possibly say to Farah? Yeah, my friends are real! And guess what? One of them’s a vampire and the other another undead type. And there was even a water nymph, whatever the hell that is, and she threatened me with a knife before I unknowingly insulted her and she ran off. That wouldn’t go over too well. Her sister knew of her abilities, but she wouldn’t be so open to accepting more than that, even less so if the information was coming from her clinically depressed, recently traumatized sister.

“We’re all adults, they can’t just hang out at my place all day like we don’t have jobs.” Eleanor was surprised to find that her sister was correct about the time but still decided to start making herself breakfast. It was the first time in a week that she’d turned on the stove and let out a deep breath when it went over without a hitch despite being neglected in favor of takeout. “Um… there’s Metzli, we met when they offered to give me some inspiration for my book with their art. They’re an amazing artist, you should see some of their stuff. There’s Ariadne and she’s into ballet like me and she's really sweet.” She was also recently kidnapped, but apparently that’s just something that happens around here from time to time. “Teagan, uh,” although she tried to cover it with a cough the hesitation was noticeable, “Teagan’s here, too.”

“Those names sound made up. Except for Teagan, I kinda like that one. I’m gonna add it to the list.”

At the mention of Farah’s famed list Eleanor spun around and pounced on the opportunity to change the subject. “You two are still trying for a baby? How’re you ever gonna be able to pick a name if you keep adding to that damn list?”

As stern as she was, Farah was unable to stop herself from smiling in response to her sister’s enthusiasm. “Our efforts and the list are still going strong. Mom also offered to get me in touch with all the people they worked with just in case -”

“You’re gonna be able to have your own, sometimes it just takes a little bit of time.” Eleanor interjected when she felt the shift in her sister’s mood turn darker. “Don’t even think about that yet because it’ll just add stress.”

“But we also have to be realistic. And adoption isn’t bad at all, look at how we ended up because of it.” Farah looked over her sister again and Eleanor shifted uncomfortably at the pangs of guilt and pity that were directed towards her. She didn’t want either.

She turned back to the stove and a comfortable silence fell over the apartment, though she could feel that her sister was trying to find something to say that would convince Eleanor to leave with her. It would all be in vain, of course, but she would try as she had multiple times before.

“Elle…” Farah started and Eleanor looked over her shoulder, her jaw set and ready to protest, but she immediately melted when she saw the tired, concerned look on her sister’s face. “We’re worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” She transferred the finished eggs onto a serving plate before she moved to the small desk she’d tucked into the corner of the living room and picked up two large notebooks to show Farah. “I’m working and it’s taking everything out of me, but that’s good! I’m researching and getting out of my apartment and meeting people -”

“For work.” Farah held up her hand to stop Eleanor before she could continue on her rant. “You’re researching and leaving your apartment and talking to people for work. You need to have people over just for fun, or go out and do something that doesn’t involve getting information for your next project. Hell, just go and get some coffee.”

“I’m always getting coffee!” Eleanor felt the frustration bubble up and out of her before she could stop it and she threw the notebooks back onto the table. “I’m always trying but there’s no results so no one sees that, Farah! I leave my apartment and it feels like the entire world is gonna come crashing down on me. I meet someone new and I have to decide whether those feelings that I’m having are actually mine or if I’m just experiencing whatever they’re feeling. I go to get coffee and I have to fight the urge to just drop to the ground because it’s so… loud.” Tears that she hadn’t realized had built up in her eyes spilled over and she swiped angrily at them. “She’s not here to help me anymore. I don’t get to have her around and have her calm me whenever things get bad and I don’t think people understand how awful that is because she’s not just gone, I feel her every single day and she’s terrified and in pain constantly. She’s here, in my mind, but I can’t see her or talk to her, but she’s there just out of reach. Every day, from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep. I feel everything! And the only advice I can get is ‘get out of the house’ or ‘make some friends’. I can leave the house, but she won’t be out there, and I can make some friends, but they won’t be her.”

Farah seemed frozen for a moment until she was finally able to get to her feet and cross the room to her sister. She gently wiped the tears from Eleanor’s cheeks and tapped the tip of her nose like she would do when they were younger. 

“Not once have you said her name out loud - you can’t, can you?”

And there was no reason to argue because it was true. She could type Lily’s name while speaking with people online, but she couldn't bring the name to her lips. She thought life itself would end should she call out and receive no response.

“Come back with me, you’ll have your own side of the house with an actual office and everything, you won’t even have to see me and Daniel if you don’t want to. And when we have a kid… I’ll make sure to keep them away from you until they’re able to self-regulate their emotions. A baby would probably be a nightmare for you now that I’m thinking about it.” Farah straightened Eleanor's pajamas and quickly ran her fingers through the mess of hair atop her head, always the caretaker despite being the younger of the pair. “Everyone would be able to breathe a little bit better if they knew you were with us - or at the very least go home, Mom and Dad would probably die of happiness to have you back.”

Could she leave? She wouldn't want to move back in with her parents because she would be smothered. Her parents had always been concerned about her, but Lily’s disappearance had really amped it up. Eleanor knew that she would never know peace should she return to the Bolden household. But she could live with her sister, without a doubt, and happily at that. Farah was good at giving people space because she required a lot of it herself and she wouldn’t feel the need to check in every hour on the hour, maybe once or twice a day if she’d noticed Eleanor hadn’t left her room for food. It had been extremely easy for the two to share a room when they were teenagers and even though Farah was a little messier than Eleanor liked, they compromised nicely and were able to coexist without driving each other insane.

“You won’t be alone anymore.” Farah added, mistaking the faraway look on Elenaor’s face as her trying to come up with some excuse as to why she should stay.

Eleanor shook her head. “I’m not alone.” She was lonely but not alone, and even that could be fixed with a simple message to either Metzli or Ariadne. She knew either one would be at her front door the moment she confessed she needed them. But that was the problem, she didn’t want to bother them.

“Right, your friends with the weird names.” Farah sighed and took a step back. “Just think about it for me? We could have you packed up and out of here before the end of the week, promise. Only the best for you and absolutely nothing less. I really think that you need to get away from everything that reminds you of what used to be - I mean, what're you even doing here?"

Although Eleanor would have loved to say that she hadn’t been swayed by Farah’s promises she had to admit that the woman had offered an appealing deal. What was she doing in Wicked’s Rest? She couldn’t find a missing person all on her own, especially not now that the police would be no help since they’d determined that Lily wasn’t missing at all but had instead just ran off.

She pulled Farah into a hug. "I'm going to stay, even if it's just a little while longer. I promise I'll be in touch more and be more honest about what I'm going through - with you, not our parents. They don't need to be anymore worried."

Farah let out a short sigh and hugged her back. "You have six months, if you haven't gotten better by then you're coming back with me. I'll have it court ordered and everything, don't make me cause a scene."

And if there was one thing Farah didn't joke about it was causing a scene. Eleanor immediately felt the pressure of the deadline: six months to turn her life around, at least enough to trick her incredibly intuitive sister... would she be able to do it?

She had no choice but to try.

[velvetporcelain]

My mind and I have been scandalously intimate for quite sometime now

Grand rising my beautiful, tenacious void. Again I get to see the sun rise and slowly light the blue sky. I always wonder what it looks like on the other side of the world at this time.

It’s absolutely incredible that people in the same world are already into the next day. I find time fascinating. The way it just always IS. I would love to study the origins of it more deeply. I’m sure it would keep my mind occupied and delighted.

The crows are extra loud this morning. It sounds quarreling. The gentle sounds of the highway play in the background and mix with the sounds of the cold air, reminding me that it is in fact morning.

Last night I had one of the most deepest conversations with my husband. It was interesting to see how his brain works. I didn’t back down and answered his questions with ease and confidence. I almost didn’t know where the fuck this information was coming from. I was indeed impressed with myself.

I believe emotions are frequencies. Women have the uncanny ability to maneuver through these frequencies gracefully. Men I think tend to be on this one constant frequency, and maneuvering through them tends to be a bit more difficult for them, but not impossible.

Just like women need a bit of protection maneuvering through the real world, men need a bit of nurturing to be able to move through their mind. This is NOT a weakness, it’s just the way they are built to withstand life.

We talked about the difference words make to the human thought process. What words you choose can have the potential to send someone down two very different thought paths.

Have you ever sat and wondered WHY there are thousands of words? Why there are so many synonyms? What would we need these for if we always chose one word to describe something that could be described ten, even twenty different ways? Ha. The government does!

I’ve always respected the difference between men and women. Men are built to provide safety and security while women are built to nurture that safety and security, allowing both to thrive, but only if they are working with each other not against each other.

An immature man applies his logic to almost anything. An immature woman applies her logic to almost anything. I also believe that men let their inner child die quickly in order to think that they are a man. Women keep theirs very much alive, it is why we are delicate beings. This clash can be devastating to a relationship.

So how do I teach him to maneuver through emotions without actually trying to “fix” him or “change” him. Well I believe woman can also provide some type of security for men emotionally. It’s just takes great understanding, time, patience, courage, nurture.

I do believe either gender can give themselves all these things. But it is quite exhausting and can easily lead to some type of emptiness. Hence why we spend most of our lives trying to mate.

It seems I have jumped down a hole this morning. But this is all rich, viable thought. I enjoy being able to apply my logic to the reality of the world.

Today I hope that you are able to take anything from my writing and think about it deeply. Use your power wisely and not against yourself.

-x

[pumpkincentaur]

WIP INTRODUCTION: THE LADY DRESSED IN BLOOD

In the Alabaster Imperium, all those cursed with magic are property of the Emperor.

They are his soldiers, his servants, his stalwart tools of reign and rule.

But a storm brews beneath the Pale Throne, and the scales have just been tipped.

An orphan raised in a remote mountain village on the borders of the formidable Alabaster Imperium, Sevka was born with the uncanny ability to mold the flesh and bone of living things. But this power is no gift—Sevka is an Astara, or star-witch, cursed by the actions of a being that left the world long ago. By imperial decree, she should be the Emperor’s personal property. By religious doctrine, her tainted soul will vanish into nothingness the moment she dies instead of returning to the stars. But a curse laid by her mother—an Astara herself— before her death prevents Sevka from leaving the mountains, so she hides under the guise of a mundane healer, keeping her secret lest the people of her village kill her for it.

The Gods do not love the star-witches, after all, and neither do their people.

When a military incursion from across the border destroys Sevka’s village and forces her to reveal the true nature of her abilities in order to survive, she’s discovered by another Astara and the imperial military and taken to the Snow Palace, where the Imperium’s most powerful Astari live at the Emperor’s whim. There, she is taught to embrace her power as a gift... but a gilded cage is still a cage, and the luxuries of the palace cannot hide the Emperor’s intent to use his Astari as weapons in his fight to expand the Imperium across the world and back again.

Caught between her status as one of the most powerful Astari the world has ever seen, and the dire warnings of the bastard prince who serves beside her as the realm’s foremost living weapon, Sevka must choose a side. A bloodstained life of luxury earned through unquestioning obeisance, or an even bloodier path to freedom that will tear everything she knows asunder?

Whatever Sevka chooses, the world will pay the price. It always does, doesn’t it? That’s how the story always goes.

WIP INFORMATION

Genre: dark fantasy/romance

Series or Standalone: book 1 of 3 in the Fleshwitch trilogy

Expected Word Count: 120,000ish upon completion

WIP Page: here (also linked in the title above)

WIP Tag: #ldb

Themes & Tropes: the narrative as a prison | they’ve been dead since the beginning | imperialism | tragic heroes | villain protagonists | corruption arcs | black and grey morality | maybe if we tell it again they’ll be okay this time | (we know they’re not going to be okay this time or any other time but we’ll tell it again anyway)

More information under the cut. If you’d like to be added to the taglist for The Lady Dressed in Blood, please let me know, either by responding to this post or sending me an ask!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND WE’RE BACK IN BUSINESS, BABE E!!!!!!!!

Yes, it is I, your number one hyperactive knucklehead writeblr, with yet another WIP. I promise I’m serious about this one... like, for real. It’s something special, I think.

“But Delaney, what about UHT????” UHT still exists, it’s not gone from the blog, as you can see. It’s just... taking a nap. I’ve really been through it this year and took a good hard look at UHT, and in doing so I realized that it’s not the WIP I should be working on right now. It needs some serious work on a conceptual level that probably requires a bit more experience on my end, and so LDB is here to fill the gap.

And, God, I LOVE this project. It’s a love letter to tragic literature as well as what many supposedly-YA romances could be (THIS IS NOT YA. I REPEAT LDB IS NOT YA). It’s a treatise on the way stories work and the way telling a story is really just committing a murder and dragging the corpses around on a stage. It’s a promise of so much more to come, and a small, small piece of a very big world. It’s not the first step, but the next step, and we all know that the next step is the most important one a man can take...

But, this is my project for NaNoWriMo 2022!! It is here and oh boy I hope y’all are ready for it.

TRIGGER WARNING: It kind of says it on the tin, but, uh, the main protagonist of this series is pretty much a fleshbender. This is a dark fantasy project, and it’s going to have some triggering stuff in it. Said stuff includes: body horror, blood, gore, murder, death, manipulation, emotional and physical abuse, imperialism, war, and more. There will also be NSFW scenes that proooobably aren’t going to make it to Tumblr, but I’m undecided on that as of yet. As per usual, I’m not going to let anybody go into engaging with this project without warning them about the big stuff first. Any triggering or NSFW content relating to this project will of course be tagged appropriately.

[cellydawn]

undertale meta deepdive: sans is not a good person (OR the sans theory masterpost pt. 1)

❤️ || Part 2 || Part 3

Sans is far from this valiant epitome of good that the fandom so often paints him as. He’s not a hero—hell, he might even be a bad, terrible person. At least in the past. My intention in this post isn’t to crush popular fandom interpretations of Sans in a bad faith argument, rather, it is to challenge preconceptions that have existed for years and to open up discussion on the dubious morality of this popular and loved character; I certainly love him a little more after doing this analysis. 

Section I - A Bad Person (The “What”)

Sans is certainly not opposed to leaving us little breadcrumbs for us in regards to his mysterious past. We get the idea that Sans is separated from his home, likely due to something he did. Something he had thought was important. Something that led him to take his home for granted.

So based off of the previous dialogue, this “type” that he intimately knows... he’s talking about himself. He was very “determined” to do whatever he did, which cost him his home, likely nearly everything he cared about given his angst.

So let’s say Sans used to be “determined”.

Sans is also aware of the SAVE function, meta knowledge that only the player and Flowey should know about because they have or have had this ability in the past.

“Take it from me”: accept that what I say is true, because I know or have experienced it. Sans should have quit when he had the chance. Never satisfied, too determined to bow out. But is he talking about the same thing we’ve been doing? 

When Sans threatens us with the infamous “bad time”, he is NOT referring to the fight... but what comes after, because only after he is struck down, he gives us one final piece of advice:

But HOW does he know that the world is going to be thrown into the “abyss”? Unless he has experienced this first-hand.

This is Papyrus confronting us in the genocide run antecedent to his fight…

…and this is him on Sans. An eerily mirrored piece of dialogue from Papyrus describing us and his brother. What do we know so far? Both Sans and the player need to be kept on “the straight and narrow”, both are “determined”, and both do irreparable damage to the world, possibly sending it to “the abyss”. 

Purgatory: a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven. Not to mention the suspicious usage of the word “abyss” by Papyrus.

From the evidence gathered, it seems that the reason why Sans isn’t able to return to his world is because he destroyed it in the same manner we destroyed Undertale in the genocide run. Why else would he say “take it from me”; he empirically knows what happens when the world is pushed to its very limits.

But which world could he have destroyed? What world did Sans come from?

(Continues under the cut because this gets really long.)

Section II - The Deltarune Connection (The “Where”)

If you’ve read some Deltarune theory posts, you know that Gaster is prominently featured in Deltarune. He addresses us at the beginning of the game and there are blatant references to him (the phone call in the Dark World, the strange bunker, etc). I’m going to try to prove that Sans will also play a large role in its story. Let’s take a look at the lyrics of the end credits, Don’t Forget. 

When the light is running low And the shadows start to grow And the places that you know Seem like fantasy There's a light inside your soul That's still shining in the cold With the truth The promise in our hearts Don't forget I'm with you in the dark

The truth: Sans says this to us before giving us access to his room, the entrance to which is suspiciously identical to the fast-travel doors that Darkners use. We also get access to his basement.

Promise: Sans has a history of promises. He is regretful of a promise he made in the past.

Don’t forget: Appears on a poorly drawn picture of three smiling people, in Sans’s basement. This phrase is also used in a description for "Memory” in the sheet music booklet from the Collector’s Edition. What do you know, it’s written in Comic Sans too. Go figure.

Now, let me introduce a character that is featured prominently in Deltarune, someone that is somehow related to Sans, someone who isn’t Gaster.

Ice-E is everywhere in Deltarune’s Hometown, but the only inkling we get of his existence is from Sans. The Ice-E word search that Sans gives us is interesting because the title itself is written in comic sans. 

In one of the hospital rooms, there’s a “1-to-10 pain scale using Ice-E as a model”. It’s an uncanny description of Sans. 

Ice-E is also characterized for its missuses of apostrophes. One might call it an “apostrophe-dog”.

Moving on.

Section III - Gaster (The “Who”)

Oh boy, this section is going to be absolutely massive. I’ll try my best to make the logical flow easy to understand. So we know that Sans did (will do) some pretty shady things in the world of Deltarune. To understand why, we have to examine how exactly Sans and Gaster are related. Let’s start with Ice-E since we know that he’s somehow associated with Sans.

The “Nightmare” variant of the Ice-E word search appears in fun values between 56 and 57. There is only one other snowman that appears in Undertale.

We are asked to take “a piece” of it. Let’s investigate where else this specific phrase is used. Following this trail of breadcrumbs reveals other phrases that Sans and Gaster-related things share.

Exhibit A: Gaster follower #2, “time and space”

The prophecy has something to do with Sans and Gaster. I’ll let the evidence speak for itself.

Exhibit B: Memoryheads, “be seeing you”

Memoryheads are the first amalgamate we encounter in the True Lab. Before their spare conditions are met, they are known as "      " (six blank spaces). Gaster is frequently associated with the number six. 

If we attack the Memoryheads, these statements flash by quickly in red text:

FAILURE

But it didn't work.

nope

Absorbed

Don't worry about it.

I'm lovin' it.

Occurs when the player tries to name themselves Sans.

We see the phrase “be seeing you” in only these instances. Below is the Sound Test Room that has a chance to appear if the fun value is set to 65. This is the only place that “Gaster’s theme” can be accessed in-game.

Exhibit C: The dump

“The abyss” makes an appearance again. It’s something to pay close attention to--it’s always somehow related to Gaster. So what does a piece of trash falling into the abyss mean? Well, we know that Gaster “fell” into his creation...

We know that Flowey refers to Sans as “Smiley Trashbag”. Papyrus states that Sans frequents Grillby’s, a “purgatory” and “hamburger abyss”.

(note: Papyrus is referring to a literal trash can here, but the implication that Sans is “trash-like” is here)

If it’s not clear what I’m getting to, then let me spell it out: Sans is a piece of Gaster, they are one and the same. Sans/Gaster took his “experiment” with Deltarune too far, possibly destroying the world and displacing him in Undertale. 

I’ll continue this in another post because it seems that tumblr is breaking.

❤️  || Part 2 || Part 3

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 294: A Half-Assed Escape

Previously on BnHA: Mirio was all “SURPRISE I’M BACK THANKS TO OUR RESIDENT SEVEN-YEAR-OLD WHO RECENTLY EARNED HER BACHELOR’S OF BEING A TOTAL BADASS.” Kacchan was all, “you know what, Dabi’s been trending long enough, time to remind the fandom what a real G looks like,” and he blasted his little bleeding body back into the fray and was all “FROM HERE ON OUT CALL ME DYNAMIGHT!!” Mirio was all, “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA... oh, you’re serious,” and Kacchan was all “!!”, and so that’s the story of how my son got murdered twice in one day. Meanwhile in the Todoroki Drama Zone, Deku was all “STOP MURDERING MY FRIEND” and Dabi was all “THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS” and fandom had a whole big debate about Whether Or Not Dabi Trying To Murder Deku’s Friends And Mentors Is Any Of Deku’s Business, which went exactly how you think it went. Anyway, so then Deku yelled at Dabi, and Endeavor was all moved by his manly words and randomly went to go uppercut Machia in the chin. And, seeing as how the Momoserum finally chose that exact moment to kick in, Machia is now down for the count.

Today on BnHA: The Miriosquad handles the Nearly High End Noumus, freeing up Jeanist to jasphyxiate (okay that one doesn’t really work so well) the rest of the League. Compress is all “TIME FOR THIS MILD-MANNERED SIDE CHARACTER VILLAIN TO SHINE”, except that by “shine” what he actually means is “use his quirk to punch a literal hole right through his own ass to free himself.” The rest of the chapter is basically just a back and forth between him and Jeanist, with Jeanist trying to recapture him, and Compress repeatedly thwarting him by chopping more holes out of himself because HE’S FRESH OUT OF FUCKS, AND THE ONES AT THE STORE ARE ALL SOLD OUT, MOTHERFUCKERS. Anyway, so with Compress basically dying and all, Horikoshi is all “you know what that means”, and delivers a freshly-baked villain flashback revealing that Compress is a descendant of Harima Ouji, a.k.a. the Peerless Thief, a.k.a. some famous guy whom Gentle mentioned this one time for like two seconds back in the day. The chapter ends with Compress finally demasking himself and dumping Tomura back onto the ground, a.k.a. The Worst Possible Place For Tomura To Be. ( •﹏•)

WHY IS CRUST HERE YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD

-- OH WAIT, SHIT. OH

AIZAWAAAA you’re alive and receiving medical help thank GOD. HOW MANY EYES DO YOU HAVE. AND MIRKO!! HOW MANY LIMBS DO YOU HAVE, OMG

so is this Aizawa dreaming about Crust’s final moments, then?? jesus. with All Due Respect to Crust’s memory, does Aizawa not already have enough misplaced guilt on his conscience as it is?? “nope, we’re gonna keep piling it on. that’s all he is now. three limbs, an indeterminate number of eyes, sexy hair, and Guilt” well shit

motherfucker y’all really out here placing an oxygen mask on Gran Torino’s corpse. fucking shounen characters. each one comes with a lifetime warranty

DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI WHY DO YOU KEEP SHOWING THESE CLOSE-UPS OF HAWKS’S UNCONSCIOUS FACE ALL WHUMPED OUT AND EXHAUSTED. HOW MUCH MORE OF THIS ARE WE GOING TO GET. ARE YOU PLANNING ON KILLING ME WITH THE UPCOMING CONVALESCENCE ARC, BECAUSE IF SO, AT LEAST HAVE THE DECENCY TO TELL ME AHEAD OF TIME SO I CAN MAKE A WILL

for a moment I considered going back and checking my previous recaps to count how many times I’ve already made a joke about Dabi’s fire incinerating Hawks’s wings but not touching so much as a hair on his five o’clock shadow, so that I could calculate whether or not I could possibly get away with making that same joke one more time. but then I realized I could just do it in this kind of roundabout way I’m doing right now instead. so there you have it

FFFFFFFMT LADY AND MIDNIGHT NOOOOO

PLEASE BE ALIVE. PLEASE RESPECT THE SIGN ON THE FRONT OF THE BUILDING. THE ONE THAT SAYS “NO LADY CHARACTERS ALLOWED TO DIE”, WITH THE FINE PRINT AT THE BOTTOM “AT LEAST NOT UNTIL HORIKOSHI GIVES US LIKE TWENTY-SIX MORE OF THEM FIRST IF THAT’S THE WAY HE WANTS TO PLAY IT.” IT’S A GOOD SIGN, PLEASE RESPECT ITS WISHES!!

so anyway though, Jeanist is giving a speech about how god knows how many people all worked together to bring Machia down. and now RHA is getting in on those fabric puns too, I see. “A SINGLE STRAND MAY BE THIN BUT TOGETHER THEY FORM A STRONG ROPE” oh so you think you guys are funny eh? I’m a frayed knot

MEANWHILE EXCUSE ME BUT WHY ARE YOU FUCKING CRYING BLOOD, HOLY SHIT

fffffff. so much for him taking over as the Number One once all this is over. so let’s just recap real quick, because Horikoshi has long since made it clear that one of his plot goals for this arc is to wipe out every single member of the Billboard Top Ten. so how we doin?

Endeavor - was just figuratively eviscerated in front of the entire nation by his homicidal zombiepunk son. also burnt half to death and possibly down a lung. will almost certainly be forced to retire after this one way or the other

Hawks - lying prettily in a medical tent. wings status: gone. hair status: still perfect

Jeanist - WELL I THOUGHT HE WAS FINE BUT APPARENTLY HE’S OUT HERE DYING, JESUS CHRIST

Edgeshot - MIA, last seen fighting Re-Destro. I really want him to have kicked RD’s ass because fuck that guy, but realistically they probably fought to a draw at best

Mirko - alive but in critical condition and missing something like 1.5 limbs

Crust - dead, currently haunting Aizawa’s traumatized dreams. now he’s gonna be triggered the rest of his life by people giving him the thumbs up, THANKS A LOT

Kamui Woods - was set on fire which is His Weakness. thoughts and prayers

Wash - last seen floating hospital patients to safety as Tomura’s wave of decay descended towards him. probably dead ffff

Old Man Samurai - haven’t seen this fucker in a hot minute, who even knows where he’s wandered off to

Ryuukyuu - currently being treated for her wounds, looked pretty bad off. but it’s hard to tell how hurt she is since most of the injuries were acquired in her transformed state. SHE BETTER GET WELL SOON

anyways, so yeah. so much for the top ten. guess that’s another reason Horikoshi brought Mirio back now, huh

so there’s a big panel of everyone fighting the Noumu while Machia lies there all “blurgh.” good riddance my dude. it took like twenty chapters and a hundred people to stop this guy so I really fucking hope he stays down. you’ve had your fun

anyway so Jeanist is sending another steel thread towards Dabi! and he’s all “just a bit more!!” fklklj this is gonna go real well isn’t it

meanwhile Mirio’s fighting a Nearly High End with all of these weird rock formations jutting out of its skin. go on and kick his ass then, Mirio

“each of these guys is probably just as strong as the Noumu from Kyuushuu” hold on I thought Ujiko or Tomura or someone said that wasn’t the case? not that Mirio would know I suppose. anyways let’s just hope he’s wrong cuz if not these kids are probably screwed

kLSDKFHLSKHGLKLK OH MY GODDDD

IIDA FUCKING TENYA YOU’RE A PEACH. THINKS THE NAME IS OUTRAGEOUS, CHECK. USES IT ANYWAY, CHECK. “JUST BECAUSE I DON’T UNDERSTAND DOESN’T MEAN I CAN’T BE SUPPORTIVE.” WHAT A CLASS ACT

AND KACCHAN IS RESPONDING WITH AS MUCH DIGNITY AS HE CAN MUSTER

WOW, SON. IT’S ALMOST AS THOUGH YOU HAVE A HOLE IN YOUR TORSO, OR SOMETHING!! although listen up, real talk, the fact that Kacchan of all people can’t muster the energy to yell at someone questioning his ability to kick ass is HIGHKEY troubling and we may be in need of an intervention here soon :/

now Jeanist is finally turning his attention to the League! was... was it not already on the League. omg

ACTUAL SCREAMING AHHHHHH FUCK FUCKLK LK AHHLKHKFFFF

hey so um. what the actual fucked up hell. my soul left my body. imagine if you saw the reflection of this panel on your bedroom window. you would never sleep again

OKAY RHA TRANSLATORS ARE YOU HAVING YOURSELF A LAUGH AGAIN

THIS CANNOT BE WHAT HE’S ACTUALLY SAYING RIGHT. BUT IT’S RIGHT IN THAT UNCANNY VALLEY OF NOT BEING QUITE SURE, THOUGH... (　ﾟдﾟ)

(ETA: just a next-day clarification here, apparently my sleep-deprived ADHD word-skipping brain completely skipped right over the “a” in that last panel, so what I read was, “and Shigaraki’s limp noodle.” so yeah, the moral of this story is always read the speech bubble carefully before you start making running jokes throughout the rest of your post, folks.)

oh wow he’s really freaking out lmao

to be fair though, I’d argue that Dabi has gotten pre-tty close at this point :’) thrilled for him, really I am

but anyway, well then figure something out you big dramatic robot-armed fiend. didn’t you just say you could touch your own ass? can you not just Compress yourself to break free?? does it not work on you? or would you be stuck afterwards lol

(ETA: I was picturing him compressing his entire body at once, not just chunks of it. ghhhlkh.)

um

holy shit Jeanist. are you stupidly trying to cut off their air, or are you going for more of a sleeper hold (jleeper hold??) thing instead. the latter would be way smarter and faster and probably safer as well just saying

but unless Spinner is just being super dramatic, it sure looks like he’s fucking strangling them djslkjlk. this will certainly cement his popularity among the villain stans. good thing you’re not running for office any time soon bud

anyway so I have no idea what these guys are trying to do now. what is this

do you even have till the count of 5 at this rate. I mean

OH MY GOODNESS

HE’S REALLY FUCKING DOING IT!! HE’S COMPRESSING HIS BUTT!! OMFG. TOMURA HIDE YOUR NOODLE!!!

WHAT THE FUCK

DID YOU COMPRESS A PIECE OF YOUR OWN ASS. FUCKING WHAT. PUT THIS MAN’S PICTURE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO THE WORD “LOYALTY”, HOLY CRAP

HOLY SHIT COMPRESS

“HOLY SHIT DID THAT GUY JUST PUNCH A HOLE THROUGH HIS OWN ASS IN ORDER TO SAVE HIS VILLAIN PALS. FUCK IT, HE DESERVES TO ESCAPE”

jeez, talk about... A HALF-ASSED ESCAPE ATTEMPT :D :D :D hahaha. but real talk though, Horikoshi has clearly never tried to leap twelve feet straight up in the air multiple times in succession with only half his glutes though. everyone, I regret to inform you that this panel right here on the left may be slightly unrealistic

also where the hell is he going to go?? did you pack a jetpack away in one of those little marbles sir. and what about Dabi?? and Skeptic too, I guess, but we don’t really care about Skeptic

(ETA: at this point I had to stop reading for about two hours because I had to go out and take care of something; that’s also why this is being posted later than usual lol. anyways so where were we.)

oh my lord

the existence of a translator’s note here implies that the earlier line about Compress being able to reach Tomura’s junk was not, in fact, ad-libbed. hmm. hmmmmmmmm

anyway so now he’s grabbing Compress again because OF COURSE HE IS, so now we’re right back to square one! except now Tomura and Spinner are secured inside of little marbles, and presumably Compress is the only one who can release them

oh nevermind he’s just maiming himself again instead, SHEESH

Skeptic a man is dying please have some goddamn respect

so, uh. is he gonna die, though??

I really can’t tell wtf is going on here, this is the most confusing the art has been in a while. Horikoshi put all of his spoons into that creepyass close-up panel earlier, that bastard

OMG WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

DON’T FUCKING TELL ME THE “COMPRESS IS RELATED TO THIS THIEF GUY FROM OLDEN TIMES” THEORY IS ACTUALLY TRUE WHAAAAAAT. OH SHIT

so apparently Harima was a Robin Hood type guy who stole from... heroes?? wtf. are heroes the 1% in this scenario. y’all didn’t have any Fortune 500 CEOs to steal from?

THAT’S THE BLOOD THAT FLOWS THROUGH YOU, OH SHIT. and in a related oh shit, the fact that we are getting a Compress flashback now of all times doesn’t bode super well for him. ffff

MEANWHILE THE TODOROKIS ARE STILL TODOROKI-ING

listen here boy if you touch one freaking hair on Shouto’s candy cane head I swear to god --

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY!!!

SHOUTO NOOOOOO. WTF YOU’RE LITERALLY THE ONE GUY WHOSE WEAKNESS IS ABSOLUTELY NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FIRE. DABI YOU SHIT, YOU BETTER WATCH YOURSELF!! I’M PRINTING OUT A COPY OF THAT COMPRESS PANEL!!! KEEP AN EYE OUT ON THAT BEDROOM WINDOW YOU PUNK!!!

SO NOW POOR SHOUTO IS UNCONSCIOUS AND FALLING!! SOMEONE SAVE HIM!! WHO CATCHES THE CATCHER

COMPRESS LITERALLY HOW ARE YOU STILL ALIVE RIGHT NOW, WHAT IS HAPPENING

PLEASE DON’T CALL TOMURA LEADER OF THE “PLF” YOU KNOW I CAN’T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY WHEN YOU DO THAT. ARE YOU DYING. ARE YOU JUST A FUCKING HEAD NOW WTF

(ETA: “masks are removable, makeste” you know what it’s been a long day okay lmao. or I suppose Compress is really the one who is lmao.)

GASPPPPPP

okay. okay. looooool okay then

WHY WERE YOU COVERING THIS SEXY MOP OF HAIR UNDER THAT HOOD YOU TOOL. IT WOULD HAVE LOOKED SO GOOD WITH THE TOP HAT. I’M SO MAD AT YOU RIGHT NOW

as if it wasn’t enough for him to demask himself, he also had to get all shirtless and then do this weird attempt at a sexypose too huh

hard to say exactly how much of his torso is currently missing, but safe to say that’s proooooooobably not good. :///// fuck

on the other hand, Kacchan also has a torso hole and he’s still flying around like he just drank a dozen red bulls, so

this man lost his ass and he’s still out here monologuing like it’s the last two minutes of The Prestige. one might say he is monologuing his ass off

so he let Spinner and Tomura free, but is Dabi still trapped in his marble?? wasn’t he all on fire and stuff?? hopefully he can still turn off his quirk in there because if not that’s a pretty fucked up way to die. somewhere out there Snatch’s ghost is all “YEAH I’LL SAY.” oh how the turntables

last but not least, sooooooo. Tomura. back on the ground. that’s. um. ...shiiiiiiiit

[elisaphoenix13]

Consequences Of Pitching Practice

"Bah!"

"That's all well and good but you still haven't given me the screwdriver."

"Nnmmmnnn." Lucy answers while slobbering all over said screwdriver.

Tony huffs fondly. "Don't let your mom see that. I don't need another lecture about how unsanitary that is." He takes the screwdriver and chuckles when the baby glares at him. "It's also unsafe. I kind of like you."

Lucy babbles at him angrily as Tony wipes the screwdriver free of drool and he offers her one of her actual toys. It's not that he didn't offer her her own toys in the first place, it's just that Lucy had an uncanny ability to get her hands on whatever she wanted. Even when she was confined to a highchair or something. It wasn't anything magical, Tony and Stephen made sure of that, Lucy was just a typical, curious baby.

Tony had a feeling he may have been the same way as a baby.

"If you keep back talking me like that, you won't have lab time with me anymore." Tony says as he tightens a screw.

"Mmmfffbbb!" Lucy retorts and the engineer looks over at her to find that she had somehow gotten her hands on a different screwdriver. Which she was currently drooling on the rubber end of.

"Maybe I should take that as a clue that it's lunchtime for you." Tony says. "How about a bottle?"

Some happy beeps and whirs grab Tony's attention and he looks over at the kitchenette to find DUM-E excitedly starting a bottle. The first ingredient? Grease of some sort. Tony wasn't even sure when the robot grabbed that.

"No, no, no. Lulu can't have grease. You finish that for yourself!" Tony reprimands as he walks over to make a proper bottle. He partially ignores the sad noises DUM-E makes and takes the bottle over to Lucy. "Here you go dolcezza. How about something sanitary to put in your mouth?"

Lucy eyes the bottle her father holds out for her and Tony's eyes widen when she actually throws her screwdriver across the room and takes the bottle. He looks over to where the tool had landed when he hears a crash and finds a separate project emitting sparks from where it had been hit. Six months old and she had quite the arm.

"Maybe we should make a baseball team." Tony says calmly. "You can be our pitcher. Diana was kind of like that too but Cassie corrupted her."

For once, Tony doesn't get an answer from Lucy, but she was too busy with her lunch. Something he should probably be thinking about at the very least.

"Think your mom would make me a sandwich if I asked him nicely?"

A pointed look from the infant makes him chuckle.

"Probably not, huh? Not when I'm down here with you and tinkering for f--"

A low hum distracts Tony and he swivels around when it gets louder by the second. The machine Lucy had damaged with the screwdriver was spitting sparks like an angry cat, and it was glowing brighter and brighter. Tony barely had the mind to turn back and grab and cover Lucy just before the thing exploded. The force of the explosion sent them to the ground, but Tony made sure to keep Lucy secure in his arms. When he recovers and sits up, he winces as his ears ring and the first thing he hears is Lucy crying. Her poor ears were probably ringing too and he knew that Stephen was going to have a fit when the sorcerer undoubtedly came to investigate. Both Friday and Victor tended to snitch on him, especially when one of the kids was in the lab with him.

"I'm sorry dolcezza." Tony says to Lucy in an attempt to soothe her. "Daddy should have checked to make sure you didn't do so much damage."

He carefully gets back to his feet as a window opens to ventilate the smoke, and checks Lucy over to make sure she's unharmed, glad to see she wasn't and was already calming down. Her cries had already turned into whimpers and she had grabbed one of his fingers to stick into her mouth to help soothe her further. Tony coughs and waves away the smoke in the air, noting that DUM-E was actually in the process of putting out a small fire by the machine. It wasn't the only thing Tony noticed either. There were two extra bodies standing by the burning remains of his project, and when the smoke finally cleared away, Tony froze.

The two people that were also waving away the smoke and coughing were his parents.

Howard and Maria were standing ten feet away from him and all Tony could do was stand and stare.

That project was in no way a time travel machine, but clearly that's what had happened. His parents were somehow pulled from the past with a half finished machine that Lucy broke with a screwdriver, and Tony was floored. The last time he saw his mother was the night she died, and his father during the time heist.

"Tony!" The engineer blinks and looks over at the door with wide eyes as Stephen rushes in and over to him. "Friday told me there was an explosion. Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeah. We both are. Lulu was just a little spooked…"

"Tony?"

Howard's voice draws the attention of both men and Stephen's eyebrows fly up toward his hairline.

"What exactly were you working on?" Stephen asks Tony.

"Not a time machine."

=======

"She's so darling." Maria says as she takes Lucy from Tony. "What's her name?"

"Lucy." Tony mumbles and watches the interaction with fascination.

Once they had gotten over the initial shock, Tony managed to explain what happened before promising to find a way to send his parents back to where they belonged. For now though, they were stuck in the present time and Tony was already preparing for anything. Maria wasn't the problem...it was Howard. Tony had no idea how things would go when it came to his father.

"Who is her mother?" Howard asks.

There it is. That didn't take long, Tony thinks to himself. He then points to Stephen.

"Him. Meet my husband, Doctor Stephen Strange." Tony says.

"Did you adopt?" Maria asks.

"Yes...but not Lucy. Stephen is literally her mother. The girls were made with magic." Tony explains, and Maria brightens when he mentions the girls.

"There are more?" Maria asks while Howard simultaneously says, "Really, Anthony? Magic?"

Stephen was the one to answer Howard before Tony could open his mouth again. The doctor didn't even have to say anything. He simply displayed his magical abilities and Howard actually closed his mouth.

"How many children do you have?" Maria asks again.

Tony looks at her and genuinely smiles. "Seven."

"And a half." Stephen adds and Tony chuckles.

"That's a long story." Tony explains to his parents.

"Where are the others?" Howard asks.

"Somewhere." Tony says flippantly.

"Peter is out patrolling, Harley and Thomas are running an errand for me, Diana is downstairs with Cassie, and William is napping with Valerie." Stephen tells them. "Tea?"

"Yes, please." Maria says and Stephen walks into the kitchen.

Tony could only watch his mother play with Lucy. Even Howard seemed content to spend time with his granddaughter, so Tony joined Stephen in the kitchen and finally took a shuddering breath. Stephen looks over at him with concern and Tony waves him away.

"I'm alright."

"Wondering if it's all a dream?" Stephen asks.

"Maybe? It was nerve wracking just seeing my father during the time heist and now he's actually here. Sort of." Tony tries to explain.

"You have a chance to tell him what you want to." Stephen says. "And...I understand how you're feeling."

He reaches over and carefully grabs Tony's right arm, and looks at the scars traveling from the top of his hand and up his arm. They disappear briefly under his sleeve, but then reappear at the collar of his shirt and finally stop just below the right side of his jaw. Tony supposed Stephen had a point. Stephen probably felt that having Tony back was just a dream for a while. But Tony was here to stay.

Howard and Maria had to go back.

"You've made it very clear that I'm only allowed to die of old age or caffeine overdose." Tony chuckles and Stephen looks at him flatly.

"Preferably the former."

"That's the plan. Where's Athena?" Tony asks as Stephen gently drops his arm and turns back to the tea.

"Upstairs with William and Valerie. Tibbs is sleeping in his cat tower."

"The chaos will start up any second now regardless." Tony huffs and Stephen picks up the tea he finishes and takes it back into the living room.

Tony follows him, finding Lucy surprisingly with his father, and giving Maria a chance to drink the tea Stephen offers her. The chaos truly did erupt after that as he expected. Maria was only halfway through her tea when the kids that were out and about came home, Cassie and Diana came upstairs, and William and Valerie shuffled out of the little girl's room. Harley and Peter had expressions on their faces that made Tony think that they knew who exactly their visitors were, but they didn't say anything.

"Here's the rest of the brood." Tony announces. "Brood and a half." He says motioning to Cassie.

"I'm sure it's always exciting here." Maria says with a smile.

Stephen snorts. "If it's not the kids, it's our friends. Sometimes it's both."

"But it's our life. I don't think any of us would trade it for anything." Tony says.

Not even for one more day with his parents like he might have wished for once upon a time. He got his wish anyway, just not the way he thought he would. Because Lucy liked to throw things.

Tony told himself that he wanted to say things to his dad if he ever got the chance to, but just like the time heist, he couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't want to see his parents off with another bad memory, and he didn't want to do that to any of his kids. They deserved a good memory with their grandparents...and Howard was being pretty decent so far. He could be civil too.

=====

To Tony and Stephen's surprise, Howard and Maria enjoyed spending every moment with the kids. Stephen at first kept an eye on them to make sure they didn't force any of their beliefs on them (or try to parent them in their own way), but he was able to relax after a little while. The older couple were content to spend time with the kids as grandparents usually did. Watching movies, playing games, cooking, and sharing each kid's hobbies.

Tony unfortunately couldn't spend much time with his parents because he had to fix the project Lucy had thrown the screwdriver at. He had to find a way to return his parents to their own time since he knew they didn't belong here. No matter how much he might have wanted them to stay and see how his life turned out.

Maybe they would go back to his seventeen-year-old self and tell him everything would work out okay. Even back then, Tony probably wouldn't listen to them, so he could see their attempt to reassure him being ignored.

It only took Tony a couple of days to fix the machine so that he could send his parents home. He let them, Stephen, and the kids know...and spent the rest of the night and up until the next afternoon with his parents. When it came time to take them back downstairs, they all went to say their final goodbyes.

"Do they have to go?" Diana pouts and Maria smiles as she pats her head.

"I know dear. It's unfair, but I'm glad we got to see you and your brothers and sisters." She says softly. "You be good for your mom and dad."

"I will."

Maria and Howard were quick to accept Stephen's role as the kids' mother once they explained how it started. How it started as a bit of a joke but overtime became serious...and then true when Diana was born. Of course they weren't used to it since their time was almost forty years prior, but even they knew anything could happen that far in the future. That things and people were becoming more open-minded.

"Thanks for teaching us some more of your recipes." Harley says, making Maria smile.

"Of course. I'm glad to see you enjoy cooking."

He shrugs. "Sometimes."

"Make sure you surpass your father." Howard says and Peter grins.

"We will."

After the kids finish saying their goodbyes -- and of course Lucy throws her teething ring at them -- Howard pulls Tony aside. Stephen watches with a raised eyebrow, but Tony subtly waves away his concern and the sorcerer turns his attention back to Maria and the kids.

"I'm glad to see you've done well for yourself." Howard says.

"For the company?" Tony asks.

His father sighs. "No. I'm glad to see that you have a family. A good one. Your children are all amazing and I'm not even talking about their potential." Tony looks at him in surprise but doesn't interrupt as Howard continues. "Your spouse...I don't know how things are in this time...but he's good for you. I…" he sighs. "I'm not good at this…"

"It's okay. I think I know what you're trying to say." Tony reassures. "I love him. I love my kids...and I would do anything to keep them safe. I have and I always will."

"I'm proud of you." Howard says softly. "I know our relationship wasn't the greatest, but I wanted to make sure you knew that. I doubt you need to know that or if you care--"

"Thank you." Tony says. "It means a lot."

"I'm glad we got to see you happy."

Tony felt just a tiny bit lighter after that when they rejoined the others. He hugged both of his parents goodbye, watched as his kids and Stephen did the same, and then booted up the machine that would send his parents back. Tony made sure Lucy didn't have anything that she could throw and make a mess of the machine again, and then finally hit the button. He looked at his parents as the machine hummed loudly, and returned the smile they gave him before they disappeared from sight and the machine powered down.

Stephen walks over to Tony as the kids head back upstairs, and wraps his arms around his neck. "Any regrets?"

"No."

Not at all.

[porcelain-blue]

Stray Dogs Seem to Follow

What if Cangse Sanren and Wei Changze did not die? What if they, along with Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, start their dream sect where no bloodlines matter, only skill and hard work?

The all-star trained-by-an-immortal cast is honestly reason enough for random rogue cultivators to start to flock to them, but the truth is the reputations that draw people are not one of battle prowess, but of human decency, humility, and a penchant for treating people equally between farmers and gentry. 

YilingWei is a small but growing power in the cultivation world, and through Wei Changze has an alliance with the Jiang Clan, and through Cangze Sanren, has an alliance with GusuLan. Many of the other sects dislike this very much, because nobody likes to see the idea that noble blood actually doesn’t really matter be proven so soundly.  Wei Wuxian has an uncanny ability for picking up strays. 

Stray #1: Wei Wuxian is ambling around Yueyang, let loose with uncle Song Lan at a good pace watching him, when he sees a kid get beaten up for asking for a reward of a snack. He darts forward, catching a fist and stepping to the side so the man is twisted under his knee in one smooth motion. Training had been going well, and he thinks mama would be proud.  The man sputters, face red, and makes all sorts of demands, puffing and going on and on about the YueyangChang. 

Wei Wuxian, professional brat and heir to YilingWei, lets the man go with a light shove that sends him kneeling into the dirt, and speaks, heaping on extra insolence just for fun.

“Ah, well. Sorry, gongzi, I’m not from here, so I don’t know who is who around these parts,” he sing-songs, moving to help the very battered kid up from the ground. He looks like he’s about his age. He beams at him, although the kid is looking at him warily. “But my mama tells me you can’t make promises you can’t keep, and a rich gongzi like you surely can buy some candy to pay for your errands, can’t you?” 

“Who the fuck are you, brat? You think you can speak to me like this?” The man seems to be reaching forward, ready to strike, and Wei Wuxian is ready to throw down, but his uncle Song Lan steps smoothly between them, bows with grace to the man and asks softly what the matter is. 

“Has our young master Wei gotten himself into trouble again?” Song Lan asks, all civil and gentlemanly and terrifying. The Distant Snow and Cold Frost is recognisable to most, and Wei Wuxian watches as the man puts two and two together. That said, YilingWei isn’t that prestigious a clan to warrant that much respect, but the man clearly knows he is outclassed. He turns in a bad temper, stomping away.  Song Lan turns to him, raises an eyebrow, and then bends down to speak to the kid who is fidgeting behind Wei Wuxian.  “Haizi, don’t worry, we mean no harm. Will you tell gege your name?” The kid looks at the two of them warily, eyeing their simple clothing, their lack of ornament. “Xue Yang,” he mutters.  “Alright, A-Yang, A-Ying, will you tell gege what happened?” Wei Wuxian sticks his tongue out at his uncle. “That guy was being an ass! Yang-di did something for him for a snack and he got all mad!” He huffs, annoyed. “We should have beat him up.”  Song Lan waits to see if Xue Yang will dispute the story, and when the kid just looks at his feet, angry tears in his eyes, he sighs. Grabs Wei Wuxian by the scruff of his robes and puts a gentle hand on Xue Yang’s head.  “Come on, gege was getting hungry anyways. I was going to get some food. I’m sure A-Ying will want too many snacks, but if there’s two of you, you can share, hm?” He starts walking away.  Wei Wuxian grins. “Uncle is really a pushover, c’mon, I want some tanghulu. Do you have any family? Our sect is great, we don’t care who or where you’re from. You wanna come see?”  Xue Yang blinks at him, lets his wrist get grabbed and towed away, buoyed by the promise of tanghulu and snacks. Maybe this time it won’t end in suffering.  ----------

Stray #2:  It’s the third day of the discussion conference in Lanling, and while Wei Wuxian had been dragged by his parents to attend and bow and get his everything commented, he had finally bargained the day off, cheeks sore from getting pinched by random and well-meaning older aunties. He grabs Xue Yang and uncle Xingchen, badgering them into going to town with him. He wants to try Lanling street food! He’s heard the baozi are really good! It’s about lunchtime when they wander into a food stall that smells amazing, but before they can order there’s a commotion.  “Stay away from us, you son of a whore!” A scuffle, and there, a kid is being pushed down, his baozi thrown onto the floor.  “Yeah, I bet you’re full of disease, just like your mother!” another kid, bigger and meaner, spits on the ground. Gross. The kid on the floor looks incensed at this, eyes flashing, but before he can do anything his hair is being yanked and he’s gasping in pain.  Wei Wuxian has really got to stop meeting peers like this. He slants a look at Xue Yang, who has gone still and tense. Xue Yang hates these kinds of people the most. They step into the stall together, and while he’s tempted to really mess around with these guys, he probably shouldn’t make a fuss during a discussion conference, or mama will make them do drills for hours.  So he nudges Xue Yang forward, and his shidi grips the hand holding the boy’s hair hard enough that the bones creak, until the bully is gasping in pain and wrenching back, letting go of the younger boy. Wei Wuxian helps the kid up, makes sure he’s alright.  “Who the fuck are you guys?” the kids say, and Wei Wuxian notices that they’re in Jin gold. Gross. It occurs to him then that they probably also cannot make a fuss during LanlingJin’s discussion conference, so Wei Wuxian just grins his most diplomatic smile, throws an exaggerated bow and says, “Wei Wuxian, heir to YilingWei, at your service! This is my shidi Xue Chengmei! We compliment LanlingJin for hosting our sect. LanlingJin must be very rich, if minor disciples can afford to waste food like this!” He waves an airy hand at the remains of the boy’s baozi scattered across the floor. One of the Jin boys sneer, “We don’t have to care about commoners and trash like that,” he spits, but is clearly not willing to challenge a sect heir outright. Xue Yang is still pissed, so he puts a hand on the sword at his hip, and narrows his eyes at them.  “YilingWei strongly discourages actions and words like that,” he says. And the threat is very, very much implied.  Eventally, Uncle Xingchen appears, smoothes things over, and sends the Jins on their way. Wei Wuxian turns round to the kid who is looking at them with wide doe eyes, half afraid, half in awe.  “This Meng Yao thanks the two honored cultivators for their assistance,” he murmurs, polite and formal, but the hands folded in front of his bow are trembling.  Wei Wuxian scrunches his nose as Xue Yang ambles off to buy three baozi from the lady at the front of the stall. It’s kind of nice, Wei Wuxian thinks absently, that Xue Yang gets to feed other kids, now. 

“Aw, none of that,” Wei Wuxian says, pulling the kid’s hands apart and lifting him back upright. “We’re all common folk here, aren’t we, Yang-di!”  “Aren’t you the heir of the Wei Sect, gongzi?” Meng Yao asks.  “Well, yeah, but my dad was born a servant. Anyways our sect doesn’t care about that sort of stuff. You want a baozi? I’m sorry yours got thrown.”  Meng Yao accepts a baozi and eats it with more elegance than Wei Wuxian has ever seen. He doesn’t finish, though, even though he’s obviously still hungry.  “Saving it for later?” Xue Yang asks, eyeing him.

Meng Yao shakes his head gently. “My mother, ah. She works at a brothel, as I’m sure you heard earlier. They don’t... they don’t feed her much if she doesn’t work enough.”  They sit there for a moment, three kids digesting the weight of the world. The moment passes, though, and Wei Wuxian darts back to the front of the store to get another baozi, and some other snacks wrapped up in paper to go. He gestures at them to come out, and the trail after him.  “C’mon, I got some extra food for your mom. Can you take us to her?”  Meng Yao blanches for a moment, obviously torn. He nods, after a moment, and they walk a ways to the establishment where Meng Shi works. Meng Yao fidgets for a moment, but gestures them in through a side door. They meet Meng Yao’s mother, who looks a lot like him, She thanks them graciously for the food, and asks them questions about their sword, and the cultivation world in general. They’re not there for long before Wei Wuxian’s yaopei glows softly, and he winces.  At the two pairs of delicately raised eyebrows, he answers, “Mama’s using her tracking talisman.”  Meng Shi laughs, then, a clear, high sound. She slaps a delicate hand on the table in mirth. “Oh, I wish I had one of those for my boy here! Your mother would make a killing if she sold those!”  Before he can reply, he hears a scuffle, a few shouts of “Excuse me, You can’t be here!” before his mother thows the doors open and stomps in, stopping before them to stare her son and disciple down. “Well boys, aren’t you two a little young to be in a place like this?” she says archly.  Meng Shi rises gracefully, bowing low. “Ah, we beg your forgiveness, your boys were helping my son with some trouble, and were kind enough to bring me some food. Please let me repay you for their troubles.”  Meng Yao looks alarmed at that, but he doesn’t say anything. Cangse Sanren looks at the whole scene, narrows her eyes at her son before waving her hands at the other woman. She pushes her son and Xue Yang’s heads down roughly, making them bow.  “No, no, thank you for keeping my boys out of trouble!” she says, and the two women stare at each other for a beat, before they both smile and sit down at the table in unison.  “Psst. Mama, can we bring them back? “ Wei Wuxian asks, tugging on her sleeve. She sighs at him, and then directs her question to Meng Shi. “Well, Meng-guniang. It looks like my boys have made friends with your son here, and to be honest, we’d like some more young disciples. Would you want to come with us?” 

Meng Shi looks taken aback. She thinks of Jin Guangshan and his many empty promises. She thinks of her son, and wonders if he will make a good cultivator in Yiling black and white instead of Jin gold. She knows, that of the two sects, only one has been kind to her son so far. But still. “I’m a prostitute. What use could YilingWei have for a woman like me?”  Cangse Sanren looks straight at her. “You can read?”  She nods. It is her one pride. “I can sing, and play erhu. I can sew” The othe woman nods. “You can teach my boys manners, too, it seems. We will take you, if you come with us. You would have to work your debt off, but, we wouldn’t ask you to do it like this. There are other girls, who come from your line of work. They help us with accounts and sewing and whatever else they are deft at.”  Meng Shi looks at her son, notes the way his eyes are wide and guileless. He has yet to learn how to lie and scheme and seduce his way into power. He looks at the two other boys, who look away at the scantily dressed women who walk by and smile at them, who are young and strong and seem to not care about her sons birth.  She stands, and bows deeply. “We humbly request a place in YilingWei.”  Cangse Sanren smiles, and leads the way, three boys trotting along at her heels as she goes off in search of her husband. It’s time to go home. 

[ot7always]

Forget-me-not

Word Count: 7.4k

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Village!AU. Angst. Seriously, it hurts.

Warnings: Mentions of war. Death, grief.

Rating: PG-15

Summary: As much as this had always been a possibility, you never thought that one day your best friend would actually be stolen from you. 

A/N: This fic is part of my 1k Milestone Requests that was picked randomly out of the pool of requests I got!! Thank you to the lovely @jinpanman​ for sending such an interesting request in!! When I started writing this I had just come off of writing so much fluff, so I thought: I guess it’s time to write ANGST and this physically hurt me fhkfldhgf 

--

“Y/N!” a voice called out loudly from downstairs, startling you enough to drop your sewing needle into the mess of fabric on your lap. Your sister had once again managed to tear one of her dresses running around doing whatever it was she did with the neighbour’s youngest son. Not that you could have boasted any more appropriate behaviour when you were her age.

“Just a moment, mother!” you responded, eyeing the damage. Truly, it wasn’t as bad as she made it sound when she came to you in a panic, dirt on her hands and tears on her cheeks. Surely it couldn’t take you more than a few minutes to fix.

“Come now, love! There’s a messenger from the capital outside!”

That had your brows furrowing instantly. A messenger? Here? Surely your relatively small, riverside village was of nearly no importance to the capital aside from paying the annual taxes.

“Coming!” you shouted, rising quickly and tossing the garment onto the chair behind you. The sewing could certainly wait, whereas the capital did not wait for anyone. It was possible the messenger had already started his spiel, and you were much too nosy a person to sit at home while something interesting was happening.

You slipped into your shoes quickly before rushing downstairs and out the door, hoping you still appeared as put together as you had that morning. Perhaps you should have thanked your mother before running full-speed toward the village’s centre, but it was much too late for that now.

When you arrived, a well-dressed man was already standing in the centre of a crowd, luckily only seeming to have just begun speaking.

“-sends his regards from the capital, but also his deepest apologies.”

Before you could ponder his words much, a sudden towering presence beside you stole your concentration for a moment.

Dark brown hair unruly, coat hastily done up, boots unlaced – how Kim Namjoon managed to make looking like a total mess a fashionable statement, you could never understand. But according to the whispers you heard as you went about your day, his unkempt, boyish manliness had stolen many ladies’ hearts in your little village. You would almost be annoyed, if not for the fact that he was so oblivious.

He shot a quick, dimpled smile your way, returned by one of your own before you both concentrated on the man’s speech once again.

“-army had taken a massive hit after the last war. As you know, that was only one year ago, and we have yet to recover properly after the close victory. And it appears that Reina is looking to take advantage of this.”

Reina. A country nearly 2 weeks away by horse, one who recently allied with Xenia through marriage, who your Kingdom’s army had barely defeated last year.

Unease settled over the crowd immediately. You grabbed for Namjoon’s arm instinctively, his hand raising to cover your own only a second later. This couldn’t possibly be what you thought it was, right?

“War appears to be imminent, and it can only be so much longer before tensions snap. We cannot let the Kingdom fall without a fight, and we are calling on all of our allies for assistance. But it is not enough.”

You sucked in a breath.

“The capital has decreed for all able-bodied man over 20 years of age to report for training and assignment. Women may volunteer to join the forces.”

Whispers and hushed cries of disbelief rang out through the crowd, but were quickly quieted by the continued announcements.

“You are expected to be in the capital within one weeks’ time. You may report to me for additional details. That is all.”

You turned to Namjoon with a helpless expression colouring your face, but the one on his was already one of resignation. Every man knew this could always be a possibility – hell, the same thing had happened only years ago for similar reasons, though that that time, your best friend had been too young to be conscripted.

But not this time.

“Namjoon-”

“It’ll be fine,” he cut in quickly, trying to quell the steadily rising despair taking over your features.

It seemed that the other men in the crowd felt the same sort of sad acceptance, hushing their daughters, wives, and friends in the same way.

As much as you might as joked to anyone who asked that Namjoon was nothing more than a nuisance, you hardly went a day without seeing him. His family home was only down the street – a fact you’d learned only days after you grew old enough to play with the other children on your own.

His tiny body had come barreling into your smaller one in a rush, sending your 6-year-old figure straight into a nearby bush. And as any young girl would do after having torn the new dress gifted to you only weeks earlier, to no fault of her own, you recalled throwing quite the tantrum.

You only saw more and more of him after he brought you to his home in a hurry, pushing you towards his mother in a wordless plea to fix whatever problem he caused. And so she mended your dress, urged you to return for tea the next day, and thus began your odd relationship with the clumsy boy.

You were not quite fast friends, your friendship with his mother developing much more quickly than any relationship with him. The younger you was quite adept at holding a grudge, and you didn’t dare forget that this was the boy that almost ruined your birthday present.

But, as children did, you got over it before long, especially after learning that you would be attending the same classes that same year. While a year older than you, an unfortunate illness had befallen him two years prior, holding him back several months.

After weeks of taking the exact same walk to and from school, you’d warmed up to the boy quite a bit. He liked to show you his strange collection of rocks, and in exchange you showed him your collection of fabrics you’d collected from old clothing and blankets over the years. The fact that you’d acted interested in each other's odd habits must have been a testament to your strengthening bond.

Spending your days with him became second nature over time, right up until he’d grown at least a head taller than you and become more man than boy.

You’d seen each other through almost all of life’s troubles; studying together in a harried panic, hurriedly throwing together gifts for birthdays you’d forgotten, and eventually cheering each other on in finding an occupation for yourself.

It must have been a surprise to the other villagefolk that it was you who had become the teacher, and not Namjoon, because it was him dazzling your teachers with grand speeches and uncanny wisdom for his age. Though they could not be surprised long, for it was Namjoon who spent many months of the year in neighbouring villages, and sometimes even the capital, studying to be a doctor.

There were few people in your village with the capabilities to study such a profession, but Namjoon excelled. He preferred not to boast of his abilities, but you heard frequently from your mother that many travellers sung his praises. Your best friend was a rare gem whose future appeared to span far beyond the tiny walls of your village.

Which was why you could not simply accept that he would go off to war, possibly never to be seen again.

“How can you be okay with this? How are you not panicking? Namjoon, I-”

You were unaware of your rising volume until steady hands settled on your shoulders, moving to shield you from the curious eyes now pointed in your direction. How could he possibly take care for your reputation when the country was asking him to give up his life?

“We always knew this might happen some day, Y/N. You know it as well as I do.” His words were firm, but his eyes spoke different words, pained words. Words that he could not say here, for to publicly voice his displeasure would not be taken well. Especially not when so many of the men around you had already gone to war and returned.

He was right that you knew this could happen – you would be a fool not to realize such a thing. Even your father had been lost to war when you were only a child, as is the reality for many children in your village. But did that make this any easier to bear? No person could say that preparing for a possible goodbye made the event any less gut wrenching.

“I’m worried for you,” you eventually whispered, head tipping back to stare into those eyes that had become a constant in your daily life, eyes that, one week from now, you might never see again. That thought sent a new wave of dread through your very being, a hole opening in your chest at the thought of Namjoon riding off, never to be seen again.

“Y/N,” he said, squeezing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you out of your head and back into this moment with him. “I need to speak with the messenger. Will you wait for me by the pond?”

You could only nod mutely, afraid that if you were to open your mouth, the only thing that would come out would be more words of displeasure.

“I’ll come as soon as I can okay?” he asked gently, voice filled with compassion. A part of you was ashamed that he was here comforting you when it was his life on the line.

When you didn’t make to move on your own, the hands still on your shoulders nudged you to turn around, further words of assurance falling from his lips.

It was as though you had been possessed. Your mind felt suddenly blank, your chest empty, your movements not your own. You hadn’t even realized you were approaching the pond near your home until the water was glistening right in front of you.

You stood as close to the water as one would dare, what with the notoriously slippery rocks at your feet. You stared at your reflection in the crystal-clear shallows before you, as though she could tell you how to deal with this situation. And as you watched your skirts sway gently in the spring breeze, you wondered if your eyes appeared as empty as your soul felt in this moment.

Being here only spurred up more shared memories. Summers spent playing in the water, digging up insects, even chasing each other over the wet rocks, much to the disdain of your mother.

Not only that – this place felt safe. It was where you came when you were upset, where you always were when Namjoon came looking for you to make things better. It was where you found him when he was contemplating whether he was fit to be a doctor, where you assured him that he was the most intelligent person you knew of.

Without even realizing it, you had begun digging up every good memory you had with Namjoon, as though to mourn them before you’ve even lost him.

It seemed that a part of you had already accepted the possibility of losing him forever, already accepted that as many memories as you had together, you might never have the chance to make any more.

But rather than sadness, sorrow – all you felt was a gaping emptiness within you as you stared, unblinking, unseeing, into the water before you.

Was something wrong with you, not to feel? Someone akin to family was about to be ripped away from you, yet your eyes were dry. Shouldn’t you be screaming, sobbing? Didn’t he deserve at least that?

“Y/N.”

You didn’t have the slightest idea how much time had passed before Namjoon was calling your name, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned slowly before meeting his eyes, the distance between you unusually large. He appeared as though he didn’t know what to do with himself, as though you hadn’t spent over 15 years at each other’s side. He looked to be brimming with words he wanted to say to you, but his eyes remained fixed on you, his mouth shut.

“So?” you managed to force out, voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

He only gave you a pained smile in response, closing the space between you and eventually sitting next to the place you stood. When he patted the ground at your feet, you joined him.

Minutes went by with both of you silent, gazes staring blankly across the water, as though failing to address the subject at hand would render it nonexistent.

However, patience was never your strong suit, and you could not hold your tongue any longer, even if you would only receive bad news in return. Though, it appeared Namjoon had the same idea.

“What-”

“I-”

As quickly as you had both opened your mouths, you had stopped talking. A slight smile finally cracked your stony expression as you met Namjoon’s eye, his expression sheepish, as though he could have known he was going to cut you off.

“You first,” you chuckled, tension seemingly broken as you watched Namjoon collect his thoughts.

“I spoke to the messenger...” he started, taking another breath as you acknowledged him with a low hum. “He told me I would be able to work with the doctors there.”

You perked up immediately at his words, hope blooming in your chest. “So you won’t have to fight?”

But the troubled expression on his face told you it wasn’t that simple.

“Not on the front-lines, but I’ll have to be close by. Wherever they decide to send me.”

“You’ll be in the camps.”

“Right.”

That coiling feeling in your gut returned. “And the camps get raided often.”

“Right,” he murmured. “I could...”

“You could die.” You cut him off with a whisper, turning your head away to hide your furrowed brows, nails digging into your forearm as though the physical pain could ease the burden in your heart. “How are you not more upset?”

“Part of me always expected for this day to come,” he sighed, hand drawing senseless patterns into the rocks at his feet. “As a man in a country at war, it’s like I was born just to die.”

“Don’t say that. Why do you accept your death so easily?” you forced out through gritted teeth, burying the sorrow in your chest that was creeping up your throat, threatening to burst at the seams. Did he value himself so lowly that it was so easy to throw his life away for his country?

“There’s nothing I can do about this, you know that,” he said lowly.

“I know,” you replied simply. You did. But that didn’t mean you could accept it so easily. You should have been more like him, should have expected that this might eventually happen to the two of you, but too much of you didn’t want to think about a reality without your best friend in it. Perhaps it was naïve and foolish of you, but you were happier thinking that the time you had with Namjoon was not defined by an hourglass that tipped at the notion of war.

The silence that followed was heavy, the emotions that laid between you more than words could express.

To think that his hulking presence in this place you grew up together – when he visited you in the classroom with treats for the children, when he ran through the village streets with your sister on his back – to think that one week from now, those might just be memories, never to be seen before you again. Was it selfish to mourn how lonely you would be without him?

You thought you could hold yourself together until you returned home, but it was the arm circling around your shoulders and the words that came next from his lips that broke you.

“Will you remember me well?”

It was as though the single thread holding you together snapped, sorrow rearing its ugly head as tears spilled from your eyes. You kept your face from him, but no matter how quietly you cried, the heaving of your shoulders, gave you away.

Namjoon didn’t comment, only pulling you closer so that your head could rest on his shoulder.

“You’re so stupid,” you sobbed, voice strained as you angrily wiped at the tears on your face. “I hate you.”

You swore you heard Namjoon snort at that. After all, he heard that phrase from you at least 5 times per week.

“I know, I know.”

You finally turned towards him, but before he could get a good look at you, you buried your face in his chest and wrapped your arms around him. When you realized that this could be one of the last times you held him close like this, another strangled cry was wrenched from your throat.

He didn’t dare comment on how tightly you were holding him, nor how wet the front of his shirt was becoming.

Another comment on how well he was keeping himself together was on the tip of your tongue before you felt the shuddering of his body beneath you.

Namjoon was a silent crier if you’d ever seen one, and if not for the breath catching in his throat, it would have been hard for anyone to tell without seeing him.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that, half-sprawled across his body, tears falling until there was nothing more for your body to give. Namjoon’s hands trembled in their place on your back, and you wished more than anything that you could make this easier on him somehow. It was his life on the line, after all, and not yours.

“Y/N,” he whispered, the sound wrought with emotion.

You pulled from him enough to meet his eyes, the pain you found there a reflection of your own. His hand rose to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks before moving to lace his fingers with your own.

“Take care of my mother for me. Please.”

You nodded gravely, reaching for his other hand as well. “Of course,” you replied, breaking eye contact lest you fall apart all over again. “Only until you get back.”

“Only until I get back.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noted the setting sun above the tall trees surrounding you, though you still had no grasp on how long you had been here together. Everything felt to be a blur of fear and despair.

“When do you leave?” you asked.

“In five days.”

You nodded. Five days left with your best friend before you had to send him off to a war he might not return from. You were certain those days would be spent busy right from dawn until dusk, but you would steal whatever moments with him you could.

You eventually returned to your original position sitting beside him, facing the water as a slight breeze sent a shiver through you.

“We should head back soon,” he said, but he didn’t sound to want to leave very much. “It’s getting dark.”

“Stay with me a while longer,” you murmured, reaching for his hand.

So he did.

--

The days following passed in a whirlwind. Despite your dedication to spending as much time with Namjoon as possible before his departure, it proved difficult with the preparations he had to make. Writing letters to his colleagues, saying goodbye to old teachers, securing a horse, packing his belongings – there was unfortunately not much time left for the two of you to simply spend with each other, though you stole what moments you could.

It was almost surreal, what you felt in that time. You couldn’t help the tears that came that night after the pond when your mother held you. Since then, it had almost been an endless cycle of sorrow followed by emptiness, over and over and over.

But the morning before Namjoon would set out on his own, you were determined not to break down again. You were determined that you would send him off with a smile, no matter how difficult it would be to manifest one. He deserved to leave on a good note, not having to comfort you yet again right before he left. You should be the one making him feel better, not the other way around. You would support him as best you could, and momentarily put aside the worst-case scenarios that had been circling through your head ever since the words came from that messenger’s mouth.

“Were you waiting long?” came a voice from behind you.

Turning around, you smiled as you met Namjoon’s eyes, his body already clad in a riding outfit and sturdy boots. It looked good on him.

“Not at all.”

The two of you had decided to spend the last of his time in the village together at the pond. It felt fitting – it was a place ever-present in your childhood memories together, a place you felt a strong emotional attachment to. Not only that, it was peaceful here. Quiet. Perfect.

“Sit with me,” you said, settling yourself in the grass beside a basket you brought with you.

“Is that what I think it is?” he questioned, clearly trying to keep the childish excitement from his voice, though failing.

When you removed the cloth covering what laid within, you had to keep yourself from laughing at Namjoon’s sudden intake of breath.

“Apple pie, fresh from the oven about... an hour ago?” you hummed nonchalantly, not bothering to hide your grin at his excitement. “It’s not exactly breakfast, but I thought you would appreciate it. You can take what’s left with you.”

“You really know how to cheer up a guy, don’t you?” he breathed, sending a reverent ‘thank you’ as you handed it over to him.

As he distracted himself with the pie, you took the chance to study him.

You quickly dispelled the thought that you had to memorize his face now, burn the picture into your memory while you could.

What startled you was that he looked... happy. Well – as happy as he could be considering the situation, but truly, he looked content. As though accepting his fate was no difficult thing, as though he wasn’t leaving his family behind within hours.

Perhaps you should not have been so surprised, though, as Namjoon had always been someone who adapted well to change and thrived wherever he went. All you could do now was have faith that that would hold true now.

“Something on my face?” he teased, snapping you out of your thoughts before darting a slightly embarrassed glance his way.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much I’m going to miss you.”

A flash of pain went through his gaze before he snapped his head down to hide it. A pang of guilt shot through you at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” you hastened. “I promised myself not to be negative today, I just...”

“Can’t stop thinking about it, right?” he mumbled.

“Yes,” you whispered, reaching for his hand as you pushed the leftovers of the pie out of your way. “But it’s okay. You’re so stubborn I know you’ll come back.”

Your words had their intended effect, those dimples you’d come to grow and love making their appearance again as he exhaled a laugh. The momentary joy you saw there, though, was quickly put away and replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone sounding unsure and entirely unlike him. A furrow worked its way between your brows immediately and you were about to comment on his apparent nervousness, but he spoke up before you could. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hm?” you responded, caught off guard. “Okay, sure. What is it?”

“I... This is – Well...” he stuttered, taking you off guard even more. Anything that rendered Namjoon an ineloquent speaker must have been weighing heavily on his mind.

“Namjoon?” you prodded, tone laced with concern. You had never been one to mince words with each other, and so his inability to come out with what he was thinking was unusual.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you right now,” he blurted out in what must have been half a breath. “But I don’t want to leave here with any regrets, you know? In case... well, you know...”

“You’re scaring me,” you said, your heartbeat increasing already just from watching him fumble around with his words.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he breathed. “But before I go, I just have to tell you that I...”

He took a long pause then, several moments passing as he gathered himself. Just as you were about to cut in again, he said the words all at once, almost too fast for you to process.

“I love you.”

You spent a moment staring at him blankly as you registered what he said.

But once you did, you were left no less confused than you were before.

“I love you too, Joon, you should know that-”

“No,” he interrupted loudly, wincing slightly in apology when you jumped in surprise. “That’s... that’s not what I meant.”

That’s not what he meant? What else could he have possibly-

Wait.

Namjoon spotted the exact moment you realized exactly what he meant by his words, confusion, realization, then confusion again flashing in your eyes.

It was silent for several moments as you simply stared at him, no part of you knowing what to do with this knowledge.

“What?” was what you settled on, and you inwardly cursed yourself for not having anything better to say.

He gave a bit of a self-deprecating laugh then, and something in your gut wrenched knowing you were the cause of that sound. He broke eye contact, bravery seemingly used up, instead staring blankly into the water.

“I know it’s unfair to tell you this now, and honestly,” he paused as his lips upturned in a mirthless grin. “I don’t really know why I did. It doesn’t change anything.”

You wanted so badly to be able to comfort him, but you couldn’t tell whether your touch would just make it worse.

“I-I don’t know what to say, I never-”

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I just had to get it off my chest since...”

He let his words trail off, both of you already knowing what he was referring to. There was no use saying the same thing again and again.

“I never thought about it,” you whispered, glancing over at Namjoon in a new light. In love with you? You couldn’t say there was never a moment where you thought you and him could be together like that – you'd spent much of your life together, after all. But it was never something you’d entertained seriously, never something you allowed to linger in your brain.

“I know,” he said, and you ignored the way his voice cracked at the end of the phrase. “I just didn’t think our story would end like this, you know?”

“Namjoon...”

“I thought I’d have time to muster up the courage, time to make you fall in love with me too,” he continued. “You always told me I was naïve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have said something earlier, stopped hiding, stopped pretending...” He sighed. “There’s no use dwelling on it now. Find someone who makes you happy, okay?”

It was as though all of the words had been stolen from your body. You didn’t know what you could possibly say to him, how you could possibly ease his pain. And despite not having known, you couldn’t help the guilt that washed over you. You were the one causing him this pain, you were the one somehow too oblivious to see something in the man you claimed to know everything about. And at the same time, you wished he said something before, because now was too late – whether you could have been happy together didn’t matter now. Fate was cruel with her strings.

“Y/N.” His stern tone broke you free from your thoughts. “It doesn’t bother me now, okay? I just... couldn’t leave with secrets.”

“I understand,” you responded, though you could not stop thinking on the notion. What you might have been together had he not been called to war, had he had time to enact his grand plan to win your heart.

But none of that mattered now.

After several minutes of heavy silence, his voice startled you out of your melancholy.

“I need to say goodbye to my mother.” He stood, offering you a hand to join him.

“I’ll walk you,” you offered quietly, not letting go of his hand. He didn’t comment on it.

You felt almost dazed after his confession, the two of you arriving at Namjoon’s family home within what felt like seconds.

When you looked up at him he was staring at you quizzically, and you quickly removed your hand from his own.

“Will you meet me at the gates in a half hour?”

The gates. The place where you would say goodbye to your best friend, not knowing if or when you would hear from or see him again. You pushed down the dread once again, determined to show a brave face.

“Of course,” you replied weakly, sending him a smile that surely didn’t meet your eyes.

Before he could express his worry at your behaviour, you patted him on the back as you set out for the gates.

--

The entrance to your village was a beautiful place – surely the most beautiful in the entire area. One of the village teachers had a special gift for horticulture, tending to the hedges and flowers almost every day. You had tried your best to help him when you were young, though it was quickly proven that despite your love for flowers, you lacked the ability to care for them properly.

The primroses were in full bloom, the array of colours surrounding you from where you sat in the grass. The butterflies were rampant this time of year, enough that some of the grumpier citizens likened them to pests. But you had always admired their beauty, silken wings of white, yellow, and orange fluttering gently through the warm breeze.

Perhaps such painful goodbyes could be made slightly easier in scenery such as this.

The grass was soft where you sat waiting, nothing like the thick, pointed blades near the pond. You allowed your fingers to trail through the greenery on either side of you, closing your eyes and tipping your head back to greet the warmth of the sun, only having just taken its place in the morning sky.

You didn’t move even as you heard the clacking of hooves on cobblestone, as footsteps approached and arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind.

He was warm, and safe, and alive, and you would give anything and everything to keep him that way.

But sheer will and sacrifice could not win a war, no matter what the folk tales claimed.

You allowed yourself to relax into his hold, despite the awkward position of Namjoon hovering above you.

You didn’t remember doing it, but at some point, you must have pulled him down with you. Because the next thing you knew you were in his lap, face hidden away in his chest as you trembled, holding back tears.  

The hands on your back and on your head almost hurt in the way they were crushing you to him, but you didn’t dare complain, not when you were doing the same to him. Not when this one moment needed to last you until you could see him again.

If you could see him again.

But now was not the time to explore that train of thought once again.

Pull yourself together and be strong. For him.

Forcing yourself to take several deep breaths, you eventually pulled away from him enough to look into his eyes for the first time since he walked up.

You didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that the deep brown of his eyes held only a resigned acceptance, lips upturned in a smile that looked more self-deprecating than anything.

Neither of you dared to break the silence, and it dawned on you then that to anyone else, you might have looked like lovers, wrapped together amongst the flowers, gazes locked.

Yes, fate was cruel with her strings.

The bell from the clocktower several blocks away was what broke you free of the moment, your heart dropping in your chest when you processed what you’d heard.

The seventh hour.

He had to leave now.

You stood up wordlessly, almost as though you were in a trance. You couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head up, staring intently at your feet.

“Y/N.” His voice came with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to keep you from hiding any longer. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

“Okay,” you whispered, covering his hand with both of your own.

A moment passed before you led him to where his horse was waiting. You managed to crack a smile at the sight of the remnants of your pie bagged and tied messily to the saddle. With a knot like that, you were dubious that it would make it to the capital in one piece without being left behind.

You clung to his bicep the entire time you walked the horse past the gates, your fingers digging into the flesh as though you had the power to keep him there.

His hands moved to cup beneath your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes one last time before he left.

You didn’t even blink as his gaze darted across every inch of your face, memorizing it as if he didn’t see you in his dreams every night already.

“I guess this is it,” he murmured, allowing his thumb to stroke mindlessly along the soft skin of your jaw.

It wasn’t often that he got to touch you like this, and he would make this one moment last a lifetime if you would let him.

He gave you a smile then that was small but as genuine as you’d ever seen it, and your face was lighting up in return before you even gave it any thought.

You only nodded, afraid in that moment of what would leave your lips if you dared to part them.

His hands left you slowly, leaving warmth in their wake. When he turned his back to you, about to climb atop his horse, you didn’t know what came over you then. The warmth, the pain, emotion you couldn’t put into words – something in you snapped.

You saw the breath leave him in a sigh, and right as his leg begun to raise from the ground-

“Wait!” you yelled, yanking his arm to turn him back around, a yelp leaving him as he almost lost his balance.

His eyes were wide with alarm, but you didn’t give him the chance to ask what you were doing before you threw yourself at him.

When your lips met, sparks didn’t fly, nor did time slow to a pause.

But something within you blossomed at the touch, a hand raising to rest against the nape of his neck even as he stood frozen with shock. His hands hovered in the air as his mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process the fact that you were kissing him.

Just as you were about to spring away from him, concerned by his utter lack of reaction, he groaned into your mouth, arms circling around your waist.

You’d clearly awoken something in him, his lips responding to your own with vengeance, pulling your body as close to his as possible. Your neck ached fiercely at the harsh angle, but that was the last thing on your mind.

You couldn’t pinpoint what this feeling was – you only knew that you didn’t want to let it go. This warmth, this safety, this moment with the sun warming your skin, his hands clutching you, his lips soft, patient against your own.

What started out hurried and desperate soon became slow and calm, but your heart was pounding in your chest regardless.

It was the horse’s whinny at your side that broke you from your daze, your lips separating as you looked at him wide-eyed.

“Y/N-”

“Come home safe,” you cut him off, finally disentangling yourself from him and stepping back.

He looked like he had so much he wanted to say to you, and you shared the sentiment.

But there was no time if he wanted to reach the capital before sundown.

He would just need to come back.

With a sombre nod and a quick touch of his fingers to his lips in disbelief, he turned to finally mount his horse.

You locked eyes once more, forcing your mouth up into a smile as you weakly waved farewell.

But your heart hurt, your eyes stinging.

All he could do was try his best to return it.

And with one last tilt of the head from both of you, he set off.

Come home safe.

Please.

--

It was a long and grueling six months.

You were beside yourself once Namjoon left that morning. It must have been days before you felt well enough to leave your bed, but time was a blur then. Your sister did her best to comfort you, cuddling her much smaller body into your side until you both fell asleep.

But you could not spend all of your days moping. Not when you had your own responsibilities in your home and with your students. Not when that would be the last thing Namjoon wanted, either.

Each time a letter arrived from Namjoon, your hope renewed. They came every few weeks, one for you and one for his mother.

You always ran excitedly to her house when a letter came for you, eager to share what words he was able to put down in a rush at the camp.

He was clearly a busy and well-needed man, stationed at one of the more populated camps on the edge of the battlefield, tending to the wounded at every hour of the day.

Despite his short letters and scribbled words, he always included petals or pressed flowers in his letters to you.

It made you giggle when you opened the first one to find a badly-crushed hyacinth stuffed into the sheets.

It was no secret that you went through a phase in your adolescence in which you loved to collect flowers in notebooks. You’d had many short-lived passions, but this one lasted for years. Books and books of dried, pressed flowers, enough that your poor sister sneezed whenever she entered your room.

It became routine to find flower after flower in his letters to you, and you had to admit that your heart fluttered each time, excited to see what he included for you that time.

The flowers on the other side of the country were much different from your own, and it was no small thrill to see what beauty was in store for you with each letter.

--

Stretching your arms far above your head, you sat up in bed, having been woken by the sunlight streaming in despite your closed curtains. Perhaps you would soon need to invest in buying some heavier, darker fabrics.

Hopping out of bed quickly and tossing on your skirts and apron, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror before heading out to wash up and make breakfast.

You were often the first one up, your mother much preferring reading or knitting until late at night, lit only by lanternlight. Your sister, on the other hand, slept early and woke up late. The girl got an obscene amount of sleep, though you supposed her growing body must have needed it.

You didn’t mind the quiet, your hushed footsteps and soft humming only ever interrupted by birdsong and crickets chirping.

You were in a particularly good mood as of late, constantly receiving news of battles gone well and your country’s forcing advancing. The village elders had told you that with the way things were going, the men should be back in about a month or two, perhaps even sooner should your opponents surrender.

The thought of seeing Namjoon again in only a month had a soft smile spreading across your face before you had realized it.

You didn’t know what you were feeling for Namjoon, didn’t know if it was love, but you knew that with every letter, he wrapped himself around your heart even more.

Reaching the kitchen, you reached for a hair bandana before turning in search of flour. Perhaps you could make pastries before your family woke up?

But as you turned, a flash of white in your peripheral caught your eye. Spotting an envelope on the near the front door, the bandana fell forgotten to the floor, feet racing across the room.

Scooping the envelope from the floor, you hurried over to the table, setting yourself down into a wooden chair in preparation for another of Namjoon’s letters.

But when you examined the letter closer, you frowned.

It was addressed to you, but the handwriting wasn’t one that you recognized. Who else ever sent you letters? Who could you possibly not recognize despite them knowing where you lived?

Doubt and dread rose in your gut, but when you turned the envelope around, you could have sworn your heart stopped.

A military seal.

Bright red, and clear as day.

With trembling hands, you reached for a nearby knife to cut the envelope open.

Pulling the paper from inside, you had to muffle a cry when you unfolded the letter, a flower falling into your waiting hand, Namjoon’s writing covering the page.

Unlike his normal, scribbled, rushed handwriting, this was meticulous. Neat.

It made you feel sick.

Already feeling like you were sinking, you begun to read.

My dearest Y/N,

I pray to anyone who may be listening that your eyes never see the words written on this page, that I return to you a stronger man, prepared to do anything to have you kiss me again.

In the event that you are reading this, I’m sorry.

I asked my commander to send you a letter in the event that I do not make it out of this war alive.

It pains me to write this, and I fear staining the paper with my tears as I do. There is nothing I want less than to leave you alone, than to leave you behind as I leave this plane.

There was something you said to me once when we were perhaps 11 or 12, I’m not sure if you remember it. It was after we got into one of our silly, petty fights, and I ignored you for a several days.

When we met again, I remember that you were crying. Your eyes were wet and red, and my heart hurt then. You told me, “Never leave me alone again.” I told you I wouldn’t, and I never did something like that again. From then on, I promised myself that I would never leave you. I would stay by your side in whatever capacity you let me.

I'm sorry. I’m sorry I broke my promise, and I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to come back to you.

I love you more than words can say, and I’m sorry.

I never want to cause you pain, and it kills me knowing that if you ever have to read this, I won’t be there to ease the hurt.

I want you so badly to be happy no matter what, and I want nothing more than for you to look back on our moments together with joy. Please don’t let my death take that beautiful smile from your face forever.

I’m sorry.

With all my love,

Your Namjoon

You didn’t know when you had started crying, but fat teardrops covered your hands, splashing against the ink on the page.

Why?

Why?

Why did your story have to end here?

You tried to quiet your sobs, but it was no use. You were lost to sorrow, overcome with pain, your vision blurry with tears.

As you balled up your fists in rage and agony, you felt something poke into your palm.

The flower.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you looked down into the palm of your hand, and another gut-wrenching cry was pulled from your throat.

Because there laid a browning, wilted, crushed, forget-me-not.

--

Tagging: @jinpanman​ @ezralia-writes​ @wwilloww​

[grimoireoffolkloreandfairytales]

Balkan Bestiary: Zduhac

This creature is exceedingly popular in Balkans, and stories of it ( in various forms and spellings) can be found all across Montenegro, Albania, Serbia, Croatia, Macedonia, Bulgaria and Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Their defining characteristic is that zduhac is a human being whose soul has ability to leave their body and ascend in sky, where they either fight malicious spirits causing storms and  elemental catastrophes, or  they themselves go out to combat and harm their rivals and neighbours. The soul is usually invisible, but it can assume form of some bug- such as moth- or even dragon.

They usually look like ordinary people, though some traditions attribute them ‘’tells’’ that can vary from being little more hairy, over having superhuman strength, to going through life in dreamy and mournful fashion. When zduhac notices trouble approaching, either by gathering of dark clouds or sensing other spirits, they will go away somewhere, or barricade themselves in their home, and not come out until storm is over and winner is decided.

There are many, many names for this creature/ type of magical ability, as it is extremely widespread, and in some cases names vary from region to region. While this can apply to many creatures, in this case it is very prominent, whether due to lore being prevalent and popular among populace, or interest of folklorists.

Zmajevit: This term means ‘’dragonlike’’ and refers to spiritual and sometimes blood conenction these people have with dragons. Aside from this, there is general use of term as epithet to describe great, courageous and strong heroes.

Alovit: This term means ‘’ala-like’’ and it’s origins are covered in this post about creatures in question.

Zduhać: The root of this word is ‘’duh’’, which is word meaning spirit.

Stihija: This word can mean unfortunate situation or calamity, but it’s original meaning seems to have been a great storm or weather catastrophe. It may be derived from Greek stihio or Albanian stuha, and above mentioned zduhac may have been derived from it.

Vjedogonja: Is bit archaic, but I believe that it means something like ‘’dhrouded in air’’ or ‘’one who pursues winds’’

Vjetrovnjak: A folk term that means something along lines of ,,the windling.’’

Oblačar: Could be translated as ‘’the cloudy one.’’

Gradobranitelj: Means quite simply ‘’defender (from) hail.’’

Vremenjak:  Could probably be translated as ‘’weatherling’.’

Vilovit: While this term in general use is archaic dialectic way of calling somebody mad, in this context it means ‘’fairylike, fey-touched’’. Those two are connected, as vilas ( fairies) sometimes have ugly habit of driving people mad.

When zduhac’s soul exits their body, it does so through trance. The body will lay down, and be still, as if zduhac is in deep sleep or nearly dead, but it will still twitch, and every wound earned in battle shall be transferred to it. Some traditions claim that if body is interfered with in any way, even something minor like turning it over, soul won’t be able to return. Some descriptions of trance resemble epilepsy seizure, and indeed legends may have been based upon it.

Zduhac’s ability to astrally project themselves, their sometimes attributed abilities of healing, prophecy and cursing cattle and crop, alongside with fact that they often fulfilled same function as folk healers and magicians ( to use english term that’s very popular, cunning folk) has led some anthropologists to believe belief in zduhaci is remnant of  prechristian shamanistic traditions, and compare them to similar people in other cultures, such as say, Italian benandenti. While this theory holds water, it is important to note that there isn’t much concrete evidence for it, and that European anthropologists are sometimes very quick to use word shamanistic improperly ( not all of them, of course, especially ones who come from cultures and regions where such living spiritual traditions still thrive, and often gets misinterpreted).

Anybody could be zduhac ( according to some claims, even animals!) but generally it is a strong man, in peak of his prowess, or a respected elder. Fact that zduhac’s enemy is traditionally feminine ala, and that they are sometimes contrasted with witches ( who traditionally attack their own closest kin and friends first), leads to some interesting ponderings.

Historically, we have many, many records of named and famous zduhaci across various regions. This is result s combination of dedicated research by folklorists, people generally knowing who is who three villages over and keeping that alive in folk memory, and fact that in certain places and times it was more or less social function of village. Some famous and beloved rulers were said to be zduhaci, but I feel safe saying this is unlikely, and probably propaganda, especially as those claims generally arose after their deaths, and were way of honouring leaders people found important and heroic.

How they are accepted by community is pretty interesting thing to me. Generally, zduhac is respected and honoured, as they fulfill extremely important function, and are guardians of their community and adore it whole heartedly. However, they can be described as strange, eccentric and uncanny, which may be partially due to fear of retaliation if one offends zduhac, but also because they can sometimes be sort of tolerated social outcasts; hermits, men who never married, thoughtful and private people, people too smart or opinionated for their close community, people with epilepsy...

Zduhac is primarily positive figure, however that too depends on your relation with them, like with people. If you anger zduhac it may retaliate, either by letting hail take down your vineyard, or sending pox upon your livestock. Also, traditionally zduhac attacks and threatens surrounding villages, particularly ones that have fed with their own, to point that some legends claim that all storms are result of rival zduhaci wrestling for dominance.

How person becomes zduhac depends on several sources:

It may be a sort of trade, the magical knowledge and practice that is passed from one to another, with several tales depicting  elderly zduhac seeking out replacement, usually a close relative like brother’s son or such. This fits with historical and folkloric records of how folk magicians and healers operated.

In certain traditions, zduhac is connected to angels and saints, and may even be counted among them, and their ability can be seen as divine blessing. Connection with sky, is of course, obvious.

In others, zduhac gains their abilities through mystical initiation performed by the Devil. It’s important to remember that this isn’t Satan of megachurch evangelism, but rural, folkloric Devil. So while powers are sinister and zduhaci can be capricious, they do serve good purpose.

It can be a natural, inborn gift. There are several explanations for how to detect newborn that will grow up to be zduhac, from birth at particular day to other notions, but most famous one and common one is baby being born with whole placenta, which is either red or white. During life zduhac will keep placenta as talisman, and needs to hide it from enemies and prying eyes.

Famously, zduhaci can be children of humans ( usually women) and dragons, which is where name zmajeviti comes from. Dragons are fond of sleeping with human women, especially royal ones, and thus their children grow up to be great heroes, brave and fierce in battle, handsome and strong, skilled warriors ( this belief of extraordinary heritage of nobility can probably be seen as distant cousin to legends of demigod descent and divine right of kings). Sometimes these men may be recognized by feathery winds they keep hidden underneath armpits.

Another connection with supernatural comes from ala, which i previously covered, and which is why they are called aloviti. Ala is traditionally enemy of zduhac, as spirit which causes storms and hail, but sometimes it is source of their powers. Ala may have been parent of zduhac ( usually fathering them), they or their parents may have been it’s victims                 ( encountered it in flesh and survived, or been possesed), or all zduhaci and alas are same beings, and whether they are evil or good depends on which village you hail from.

Zduhac may also derive their powers from the fairies, who are sometimes known to protect, associate with, or mentor humans, usually in healing arts, but they also may bless them in more spiritual manner, and zduhac’s power over natural forces may come from vila, who embody them. Zduhac in those stories may have vila for foster-mother or godmother ( or, like with dragonlike heroes, she breastfed them at young age), may be her oath sworn blood brother, done her favour or attracted her intrigue enough to make him her student. Sometimes they are said to be men who were loved by vilas- seemingly consensually, without traditional ‘’steal her veil and force her to be my spirit bride’’ story, implying that zduhac is one who had affair with vila of her own choosing, and was blessed and abandoned once she tired of her mortal lover.