#and so i was higher than i mayhaps should have been from what i had because again hella baby

[domesticated-whores]

choked so hard swallowing my drink down the wrong way that I almost puked and I'm still kinda nauseous hours later, so lol. also, friend (the mutual work friend of me and my man that actually hangs out with him outside of work) witnessed and started saying something about how some people choke on things like that bad enough that it kinda spooks them from drinking and they get dehydrated out of paranoia (no idea if that's true, sounds fake but whatever, he's one of those people yk?) and my dumb ass, full of autism and pure thoughts only, said "damn, if that were a problem I wouldn't be able to put nothing in my mouth, my gag reflex is shit 😞😞" which has probably made it's way to my man. because I'm stupid and was really woozy from coughing til I almost vomited and totally didn't think of what I was saying.

[inblackwoods]

While I'm posting about my pathologic transcription, I'll make shorter posts about my takeaways. About the literal health of the environment around town, we get a couple people on day one to give context. The most obvious is Aspity, but to get an idea as to why things are as she says, you have to talk to a drunkard, called a Carouser, and a Tot.

The Tot mentions a "Rotten Field," and when asked what that is, he says:

"It’s where they bury the bulls’ bones. The place is covered with fur instead of grass, and it’s all bones bones bones underground. Bones and horns. Yeah."

Why are so many bones and horns and hides being thrown into a field instead of being used in some way? Either for jewelry, clothes, or for tradesmen's tools, these things have a variety of uses.

The Carouser, when asked about the Abattoir, says:

"Hundreds of bulls are being slaughtered there- what else is there to know? It is our humble town that provides the whole Northeastern region with beef! Or even the whole country mayhap."

It's because of the massive scale of the Bull Project that so much excess material is being produced and then thrown into the fields and rivers as waste products. Nothing is in higher demand than meat, nothing is needed as regularly, and perhaps the people in the Capital and in other towns are less interested in buying blood or bone. It's not profitable, the Olgimskys don't view it as anything but by products of more lucrative things.

Aspity says:

"All that water comes from the Steppe and it isn’t exactly clean. Yesterday I inspected all the springs in the area; there seems to be no more clean water around. That salty taste is everywhere, it’s reddish in colour, and there are disgusting clots in it."

And when Bachelor asks for more information, she says:

"The towsnfolk store water in home-made reservoirs. This modest supply should be enough to help us last a little while, but afterwards we’ll have to drink that bloody mixture."

Bachelor reacts to this with disgust, and can even insist she is lying, perhaps because he had been benefitting from this disgusting reality in his life in the Capital.

Aspity's whole point in starting this conversation is to make blatantly clear some of the side effects of the Steppe's occupation, which is that the waste material of the Abattoir is dumped into the river and land. This problem would be lessened in severity if the community was manufacturing meat not for the sake of providing for the entire country, but just for the local population and what's necessary to export in exchange for other essential imports. Obviously, this would be less lucrative for the Olgimskys (who don't care as long as they don't suffer any loss) but it would mean that the people who live here would better be able to care for themselves and the land with no need to think of supporting an entire country off the backs of one small community. The occupation of the Steppe, the running of the Bull Project, will not only destroy the Kin and lower classes, but will also eventually kill the town, the higher classes and even the Olgimskys as well. When the water runs out, it will run out for the lower classes first, but it will eventually run out for everyone.

More on Fat Vlad trying to talk about this all as if it were an inescapable, natural reality (and the Bachelor's fighting against this notion) later. Sort of how some people think that the way the world works, capitalism and such, are natural laws instead of constructed ideas (horrible fallacy).

[artists-who-rarely-draws]

My Aphverse Job Headcanons!!!

I shared this on stars discord but you all can have it now cause it was a hit there lmfao

Here are my job ideas for mystreet in my brain except it's still HEAVILY based off of mcd like my street should have been.

Feel free to ask for clarification id be happy to give.

Aphmau: Carpenter

Garroth: his job journey has been complicated (and hopefully the only one I'm gonna go this in detail on) because he spent his entire life not even having to consider what he was going to do because well... from birth he was set to take over Gartes position as soon as he decided to retire. Garte will just keep paying for his life until that point, and it's not until like... more than halfway through him working to get the necessary degrees for something he has no passion for and is learning that he kinda hates doing that he realizes he DOES NOT want to do that, the basically isolating hours and work that just frustrates him but he's in to deep.. he finishes his degrees but Garte ever the workaholic still has no plan to retire so garroth is just left coasting for a while but he's so social and everyone around him had full time jobs and he gets one literally to just have something to do cause he is going stir crazy, probably some kind of security detail for like big public events just waiting to be called away to take over his dad's company, of course he eventually learns that he's allowed to choose a job for himself but mostly through like... talking to his friends, and I can really see him experimenting for a while before he lands on *drum roll* firefighting! But he still hasn't told his dad he's not taking over the company, he's incredibly terrified of that conversation and is just hoping Garte will die before retiring zane would probably love to take it over anyway, so who Is garroth really hurting?

Laurence:controversial, mayhaps but I see him being a barista at like a genuine Italian mom and pop Cafe, he's probably the Rank just below owner to lmfaoo they want to give it to him when they retire lol.

Dante: probably a personal trainer lol.

Katelyn boxing instructor probably rivals with Nicole.

Nana: Probably runs and owns a bakery.

Zane: honestly probably unemployed. The only job he really wants is his dad's, he eventually becomes the vice president because his dad is still ceo but he gets REALLY moody about it for a while because his garroth is still the planned heir (he gets the job in the end when Garte probably forcefully is retired and garroth won't take up the mantle)

Vlayd: when he was backpacking around the world he probably was making vlogs and content about it, not really as a job but just because but he got popular so he made decent money. Now he's probably like a meditation teacher or smthn like that lol work he can do while going anywhere he wants.

Cadenza: Has her own fashion line that is wildly gaining popularity

Gene: Nightclub owner, he really only does well in position where he's in charge.

Zenix: Bar work / Security at the night club, he likes how there's constant stimulation, and how he gets a. Excuse to rough troublemakers up.

Sasha: Dj at the nightclub. She likes how she gets to control the mood in the club ans can see pretty much everything.

Travis: has a position in his fathers company. He hates it but like Garroth it's what he was raised to do and he was given a job in the company immeaditly instead of just waiting until he got to run it.

Zoey: was a very influential chemist, but was let go due to some corruption in the higher ups and her speaking against it. She works in childcare now mostly as a hobby.

Blaze: Same as Dante but he's wildly more popular

Aaron: would have been in a situation similar to Travis and Garroth, except he basically went off the grid as soon as he was old enough his parents couldn't stop him, he became a firewatcher (people in watch towers in national parks) that's how he met his wife, who sadly passes in childbirth (that's right single dad Aaron in this because I can and I said so. I said it was heavily based on not 100% accurate) he moved back into the city cause, well... the woods are no place to raise a baby. He probably does freelance remote computer work now

Daniel: I don't think he shows up in mcd so it's based on pdh lol, I have no reasoning for this but I love the idea of him as a daycare teacher. Apron and everything.

Jeffory: works in Gartes company. He's not that into it, but it pays well enough that he can basically work part time to spend more time with Abby and still have a fairly cushy life with her.

Dottie: probably one of Kayelyns employees lol.

Nicole: has her own Boxing business not in on the rivalry idea, thinks they should team up lmfao.

Lucinda: Owns a witchy shop lol, basic I know but come on. Crystals, tarot, incense, the whole nine yards. She's also a nepo baby lol, she does NOT have to run this shop her dad would pay for her whole life but Lucinda enjoys workings and being self sufficient.

Brendan: works for Aphmau as a Carpenter.

Emmalyn: Librarian. Yeah i... yeah lol

Kiki: Runs a animal sanctuary. For both exotic and typical animals, teams up with the bakery and Cafe to host mass adoption events for her rehabilitated animals.

(And that's all the people I can remember to add rn whoops)

[spectralscathath]

do you have any voice headcanons for Antares? how they talk, stuff like that?

Okay well here’s the characters that I think would keep the voices similar to what they have in show, because the performances given were excellent and really defined the character to me. The cadence, the tone, all that, these ones work well.

Winter, Ironwood, Tyrian, Watts, Salem, Hazel, Oscar, Ozpin, the Ace Ops are all solid, Robyn, Whitley, Sienna, Raven, Mercury, Vernal.

So here's the ones I'd mess with:

Ruby: I’d want to still have her sound light and innocent, but I’d definitely make her way less squeaky then she was in the show. A voice that can still have a bit of grit, if she needs it. I’m picturing something like Dani Phantom in Danny Phantom, or X-23 in x-men evolution (Andrea Libman’s version). Childish but able to get dangerous.

Weiss: definitely something posh but not necessarily snooty. She should have a very clear voice, one that’s clearly been through a million dictation lessons and speaks quite musically at that. Pick a soprano broadway singer, go from there.

Blake: I think she’d probably have the deepest voice of the main four girls? Not raspy, but resonant. Able to soften up, I picture something like Vi from Arcane or Korra from Legend of Korra.

Yang: Not as deep as Blake’s voice, but definitely with a bit of grit to it that gives her that tough vibe. Where Blake has resonance, Yang does have rasp. Sorta Ryuko Matoi-esque, or like Amethyst from Steven Universe.

Qrow: as much as I like Jason Liebrecht’s work I don’t think he works quite as well for Qrow, which is not anything against him just the voice doesn’t fit as much as I’d prefer. I’ve always felt Qrow should have a voice with a deeper register anyway, so I’d be picking a performance like Wolverine from X-Men Evolution, or Ghazan, Legend of Korra.

Sun: I really like Lego Monkie Kid and all the voice actors are great, I just can’t decide if Sun gets MK’s voice (younger, peppy, excited, also Sokka) or Monkey King’s (equally peppy, a little more deep, a bit tricksy, also Goku).

Ilia: I think Cherami Leigh’s voice acting is great (maybe she can be Blake?) but my Ilia is a bit younger and a lot softer so I’d want her to have more of a higher voice, to contrast Antares-Blake’s lower register. Something that still cracks, a bit like Luz from Owl House, mayhaps, or Marcy from Amphibia.

Summer: if any of you have watched Critical Role 3 Bells Hells and have listened to Ashley Johnson’s voice for Fearne, that’s it exactly. Really soft and breathy and gentle, really distinctive from the rest of the cast.

Tortuga: Tortuga had a very deep voice compared to the other Ace Ops, but not gravelly. Not quite on the levels of like, James Earl Jones, but more like Keith Davids in his Dr Facilier role, able to be quick but with gravitas.

Cinder: needs to be huskier, definitely able to have charisma behind it rather than risking sounding childish, or whiny. I picture something like Meg from Hades or Lust from FMA.

Jaune: I think he’d have one of the higher pitched voices of the male cast? Definitely a tenor, speaks fast and nervously, I picture kinda like Martin Blackwood’s voice from the Magnus Archives (I have no idea what anyone’s accents are and I don’t want to think about it), or Rocky from Lackadaisy.

Nora: super high pitched and nasally, but really sweet and cute nonetheless. I’d say kinda like, Molly from Epithet Erased, or Ivy, Lackadaisy again.

Pyrrha: I think she should have the most standard teenager voice? She deserves it, she deserves normal and not exceptional. I picture, like Gwen Stacy from Spiderverse, or Wendy from Gravity Falls?

Ren: a very subdued, almost monotone voice, its not necessarily particularly low or high, but could totally drop down to something very menacing if pushed. I’m thinking, like, a chilled out version of Percy from Vox Machina, with that same ability to go right down into a danger zone.

Emerald: what if we took Cherami Leigh's Ilia voice and just moved it here what then? Other options I think would suit her would be something like Miriam from Dragon Age (Kimberly Brooks is always a win)

Penny: If Nora was high pitched I think Penny should sound like a literal child, on account of Pietro really leaning into the 'innocent little girl' thing when he was downloading voice clips to make into her synthesizer- or, hear me out: Penny voiced by a vocaloid.

[akirakirxaa]

FFXIVWrite Day 5: Barbarous

Rating: M

Word Count: 1041

Warnings: Violence and torture

Summary: Emperor Solus deals with a rebel that made some...questionable choices.

Master Post

The Emperor stormed through the palace, and staff and military officials alike knew better than to call for his attention in this state. He stalked towards the dungeons, shoulders set, eyes alight with anger and snapping at anyone foolish enough to interrupt him.

But no matter how angry Solus appeared to be, beneath the skin, Emet-Selch was furious.

That rebels had been bold enough to steal into his home and steal away his wife was one thing. A really irritating thing to be sure, but a small inconvenience easily corrected and the rebel cell that had done so dealt with in the usual way, kept as prisoners of war until the territory could be brought to heel.

But one of them had dared lay hands on her. Burned her skin and broke her bones and the image of her shaking as she clung to him with her one good hand stoked the flames even higher.

It was foolish, Lahabrea was right, Valeria was not her and never would be and to grow so attached to but a shard of her was a dangerous game.

He stopped before the guard outside of the most secure cells, in the deepest part of the dungeon.

"You may go," he dismissed tersely. The guard hesitated for a moment, but upon seeing the look on the Emperor's face, gave a brisk nod and headed off to whatever his next duties were. Once he was fully out of sight, Emet-Selch slunk inside.

He found his prisoner, the massive hrothgar that had been acting as the resistance group's torturer, not only locked in a cell but also changed by his wrists to the floor, keeping him hunched on his knees. His fur was dull and matted, suggesting rougher than necessary treatment from the guards that had escorted him. The leg Emet-Selch had shot looked swollen and inflamed.

Good.

"You!" The hrothgar's lips pulled back in a snarl as he lunged forward, straining against his restraints as he began to hurl hatred and accusations at the Emperor.

"No no," Emet-Selch snapped, and though the prisoner's mouth and throat continued to work, he fell completely silent. "I'm not here to listen to you prattle on. The only sounds I'm interested in hearing are your screams." The hrothgar's eyes widened and made quiet choking noises as he tried desperately to make some kind of noise, realizing too late that this man was no mere Garlean.

"Ah yes, where are my manners," Emet-Selch's face split in a mad grin as he flashed his glyph at the prisoner. "Emet-Selch, Ascian." The hrothgar scrambled back; whether he knew what an Ascian was or not, he was realizing quite quickly that he may have picked a fight that he really shouldn't have.

"I like to think we treat our prisoners fairly. We keep them fed and whole and they'll get to return to their families once this whole messy war is over, assuming their families don't foolishly throw their lives away on a losing war," Emet-Selch wandered closer to the bars, cold fury creeping into his expression. "But you took a woman who knew nothing and tortured her only for the crime of being my wife. So I'm sure you'll understand when I say that I'll be...returning the favor, so to speak." The prisoner let out a wordless snarl, words still lost to him, and Emet-Selch gave a cold smirk.

"Where do you think I should start, Torturer? Mayhap I shall remove every finger from your body, or burn the fur from your skin, or pluck your eyes out and smash them under my boot," he delighted in the way the anger in his prisoner's eyes gave way to fear. "Maybe we start with breaking every bone in your body the way you broke her arm, hmm?"

He snapped his fingers, and the man's arms jerked with a crack into unnatural angles. The prisoner howled in agony.

The following hours brought naught but more screams until the dungeons fell silent once more.

~¤○¤~

After making sure the cell looked as if the prisoner's death was much more mundane than it was, Emet-Selch took a moment to put his persona back into place before heading to check on his wife. She had been taken directly to the medical wing from the airship to finish treating her wounds, but should have been returned to their chambers to rest by now. Sure enough, he found her dozing amongst liberal pillows and blankets, though not quite asleep. She sleepily reached for him with her right arm, the one now encased in a cast, and he had to swallow down the anger it brought to the surface.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" He settled on the edge of their bed, gingerly taking Valeria's hand in his.

"Better. They gave m'somethin for th' pain, but's making ev'rthing kinda fuzzy," her words were a bit slurred, but she was comfortable and that was what mattered, he told himself. The medicine, the cast, all things that would pass with time and she'd be back to normal. Maybe she saw the hurting in his eyes, maybe she simply wanted closeness, but either way she gave a pat to the space next to her and looked at him expectantly. He gave a small, rueful smile before settling in next to her. She turned so that they lay nose-to-nose.

"Where were you?" She asked, a little less slurred. Emet-Selch was quiet for a moment.

"That barbarous savage will never lay a finger on you again," he decided to answer. Valeria lay quiet, and he worried he'd upset her. He knew she had not the stomach for the kind of cruelty he sometimes had to be party to.

"He's dead?" She finally asked.

"Yes." More silence, and then:

"Good."

She tucked her head down into his chest, carefully settling her casted arm between them, and it wasn't long until her breathing became slow and even with sleep. Still unsettled from the last few days, Emet-Selch chose to instead look at her soul.

Damaged it may be, but it still shone the color of sunsets, of fire, all warmth and beauty in rest. He curled around her, clinging as if to a lifeline.

I miss you, Persephone.

[bruinescence]

@intothewildsea cont.

Usually, her morning walks along the shore were uneventful. No one came to that part of the beach, as it was a bit out of the way, but that suited Niamh just fine. It was easier to slip into her sealskin and swim whenever she liked when people weren't poking around, though this particular morning she hadn't brought her seal coat with her. When she spotted a figure on the beach, she hesitated for a moment. It took her a few minutes to recognize the creature - a kelpie - and she realized that it seemed to be in distress. She hurried over to it, hoping to help. She certainly hadn't expected the kelpie to shapeshift into an elf. She let out a bit of a startled noise, then realized she was being a little rude. She reached out to help him sit up. "Close enough," she said. "Are you all right?" She reached up and tugged off her shawl, moving to wrap it around his shoulders. "You'll catch cold. Here." The shawl was a bit small for him, but it was better than nothing, at least.

While it wasn't his idea to spend much of the past day or more bobbing aimless and exhausted through the waves of the Baldurian sea, that had simply been the reality of his situation after the incident aboard the submarine in its flight from an imploding Iron Throne. His party- absent now, though hopefully back in the boarding area they'd set off from with their dwarven helmsman, had risked their lives to rescue the prisoners trapped several leagues under the sea and Enver Gortash's hold. It was only once the submerged ship began to take on water at a higher altitude did the druid not only offer, but force his way out into the cold of the sea to help patch the side of the submarine damaged by the abandoned prison's blast. Summoned vines stitched the breach he found quickly, and though his stab at a kelpie was still a work in progress- he'd wild shaped into one to avoid having to re-enter the vessel and risk it taking on more seawater.

Unfortunately for kelpies, they lacked the means to hold onto a speeding submarine. It didn't help they were so far down that he had to spend most of his energy making the journey to the surface without breaking concentration on the shape as well. By the time he'd surfaced, Halsin needed to bob around for a bit and rest. He couldn't have been but a few miles off the coast, but however far out he was- the sea eventually carried him back to shore some days later.

He supposed he ought be grateful the maiden found him over a patrolling guard since a bed in the local prison was the last thing he needed at the moment. Lucky she did not scream at the sight of him in such a precarious position either and attract a guard from elsewhere. Another little shake of his head accompanied the ball of his palm as he continued in vain to flush the sand out of his eyelashes with a grind or two. It was only after he felt the softness of a shawl much too small for him draped over what bits of his shoulders it could manage that he tilted his head back and regarded her with one open eye, the other- still crusted shut with salt and the like. A sheepish smile crept upon him, and he minded the position of his free arm where he'd tucked it somewhat in front of him to offer a meager hope at modesty.

"Never better. Mayhaps I'll even take up circle of the land druidry after this ordeal for it is good to feel it beneath me again." A soft grimace followed as he pressed his palm to the ground and pushed off, a shaky attempt at rising to his feet again delayed til now but well in order. "My, you are kind to care about an old druid catching cold. But I don't suppose you are as equipped as I to grow fur." Halsin nodded, glad for the momentary softness regardless. "Are you out for a morning walk? I thought that I might encounter a maiden of Umberlee closer to shore, but you are all I've come across. Rather you are all that's come across me, I should say."

[fatedevour]

♢  —    @bogachs​​​ asked: 🎶 → listening to music, catching their expression or movement

encounter my muse in a scenrio 🎶 → listening to music, catching their expression or movement

   Dottore doesn’t expect to hear the once-familiar sounds of the chang ring out in the streets beneath the murmuring of the crowd and shuffling of people and manage to float in through the restuarant’s window. To most, despite the CHANG’S unique sound from lack of further vibrations when plucked, it would likely not even be acknowledged. If it was, it probably barely register to their ears. But to one who was ONCE very familiar with the sound, he cannot help but immediately lock onto it, especially when it is so far from its home in the desert. How ODD.

   Red eyes flick towards Pantalone, but is unsurprising to see that he’s still droning on with some investors about some INSIPID plan of his for economic gains. In other words, nothing but discussions so boring he’d rather deal with trying to pluck teeth from a particularly vicious spinocrocodile than continue listening to these discussions of investments and economic fluctuations. Why had HE even been dragged to this? This was hardly his place among the demands of higher etiquette and fine dining that was ABSURDLY priced for what was often MEDIOCRE food at best, and in such small quantities. Perhaps it was fine for those who enjoyed those multiple courses, but he’d rather prefer one big meal.

   He watches as multiple servers arrive to deliver who knows what course, although since it was some rice dish by the looks of it, it was probably the fourth. And the fourth Dottore would not eat. Rather than sit around getting bored out of his mind and potentially jabbed under the table for ‘SCARING’ people as he got more visibly irritated with boredom, Dottore slips away in the flurry and sounds of drinks being refilled. It doesn’t take long for him to head outside the establishment and to follow the sounds of the chang’s unique song a short distance away to the streets.

   There’s a moment of smug delight when he sees the familiar instruments, the traditional drums and wind instruments paired with it, and the group that performs. THEY�� may have left the desert, but the desert never left THEM. It showed in how they moved, the quick reflexes from being ready to recover if sand should suddenly cave underfoot or rocks shatter apart, or to avoid a scorpion’s ambush. Much to Dottore’s delight, he notices the food cart with plenty of MEAT to sink his teeth into. He was here, might as well indulge without Pantalone’s disdainful stare or commentary. Food and music. It was an effective combination based on the crowd. Dottore thinks nothing in spending a few more to sink his teeth into much more tasty and filling food as he stands to the side at a distance, mask cast aside while he listens to the music and eats in peace.

   “  I take it your little SYMPOSIUM went well?  “  Dottore isn’t QUITE sure how long he’s stood leaning in the shade, red eyes fixated on the musicians still playing. The crowds had changed several times already. Fifteen, twenty minutes then? Mayhaps more. But he had felt when Pantalone’s gaze had turned in his direction and spotted him, watched the second listen to the performance with more attention than he typically allotted to performers other than some especially talented or flashy performers. What Pantalone sees though, Dottore doesn’t have a clue. It’s an easy excuse. he hasn’t heard the sound in a long time with the number of CHANG players dwindling. It will be longer still till he hears it again, IF he ever gets to hear it again.

  Finally Dottore turns away from the musician to look at Pantalone who still seems to be WATCHING. Was he surprised to see Dottore not causing chaos or somewhere he shouldn’t be? ...Probably. Last time he had gone somewhere unauthorized when Pantalone hadn’t been paying attention. Dottore clicks his tongue.  “  Are you done then? Can we go? Your POINTLESS insistence on me coming along wasted time I COULD  have used for my research you know.  “  He says, disregarding the fact he’d stayed right here the whole time as if it was nothing.

[rhaegxr]

𝐇𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊 the story of how the dragon prince and the wolf maid came to be. There was nay a day where she did not visit his thoughts, and to dwell on her memory was to unfailingly invite the ever creeping shadow of GUILT. Yet letting the tale so freely roll off his tongue ( which the man had done not before ) evoked a different kind of sentiment. Mayhaps it is merely the lifted weight of the SECRET held close to his heart for long years, but it must be more than just that… Because as he recounts the tale, it’s as if Lyanna herself is listening, and the gnawing remorse that accompanied her ghost was ( for the first time ) absent. Though as the story approaches its unresolved end, Jon’s demeanor transforms. 

It was of no surprise to hear the whispered denial nor the claims of DECEIT, for they were only expected. Rhaegar is a STRANGER, who travels to the home of the woman the world believes he stole away from her betrothed, to instead spin it as a tale of tragic lovers. But he knows that it’s the IMPLICATION upon his life, and who he truly is, that has so distressed the King in the North. But to the Targaryen, such offense can only be borne on doubt. Despite the hope that the thought sparks, however; he gives it no voice. More so when instead of demanding clearer answers, Jon stands from the table and bids him to leave. 

DREAD grips at his chest, indigo eyes wide and lips parting to give protest but only stunned silence falls, and the younger man storms out of the hall. He stands from the chair, the curious gazes of the few nearby fixating on the silver haired prince—Not that he realized as much. Indeed, all his mind could FATHOM was the truth of what everything entails. He came North to seek answers on what fate befell that unborn babe he left behind in the she-wolf’s womb… And now he has those answers. 

Feet were already moving, carrying the dragon across the hall and in the direction he saw the snow-furred direwolf follow. There was no hearing the whispers he walked past for only the DRUMMING of his heart echoed in his ears. The steps initially taken in haste slowed with the weight of dawning reality once his eyes land on Jon. Rhaegar’s breath shuddered, for it was like glimpsing through a window to the past… HIS past. The bookish boy wandering the halls alone, away from the veiled mockings, pondering with gloom on whether this is truly the life he was born to live. Like FATHER, like SON. 

       ❛ Lya… It’s him. That is our boy. ❜

Moisture threatened to well in his eyes but instead, the Targaryen inhales deeply to steady himself, coming to stand a short distance beside the King… His son. No words were spoken in the empty hall so for a moment, only the light shuffling of his cloak and boots was heard as he slowly lowered himself to the floor. Back leans against the wall, a knee bent higher upon which he rests an elbow. For a few moments, the older man grapples with his own thoughts, the idiom of wisdom and prudence forsaking him in the midst of so INTENSE emotions. Was there even anything he ought to say? There was no consolation he could offer, no insight to unravel the turmoil he must surely be plagued by. Should he enact the part of a father, despite having actually been one only in the first years of his daughter’s short life? To adopt that role now would leave him feeling an IMPOSTER … So it is truth that he chooses to finally voice. 

       ❝ Lord Eddard was your father, and in your heart, he shall always be. ❞ Rhaegar softly states, glancing towards Jon and then to the stonewall in front of them. ❝ I dare not presume his reasons but what I know is what she told me. That family was everything to him. ❞ Even the long years have not muffled the sound of PRAISE in Lyanna’s voice when she spoke of her brother, coaxing a SORROWFUL smile at the memory. ❝ There was none other she trusted more. ❞ And thus only Eddard would she trust to keep her son safe. 

Lids close and his head tilts back against the wall, silently rallying every ounce of calm composure that he can muster. When they open again, it’s on his son that they focus, gleaming with dual sentiments of GRIEF and JOY. The tone of his voice when speaking again reflected them both, softened with warm fondness.

       ❝ She loved you. From the moment she became aware of you growing in her womb, she loved you, Jon.❞

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕶𝖓𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕿𝖗𝖊𝖊 was a name jon had heard only in passing. he had been UNFAMILIAR with the story , but surprise did not rear its head when the prince revealed that his aunt had donned the armor. he had learned of his aunt's wild streak , having been described as THE WOLF BLOOD by his late grandsire , from his lord father ; lyanna would have wielded a sword had their father allowed it , lord stark had said. not to mention , the man had often compared her personality to that of arya's. however , surprise does take him when the prince reveals their meetings in secret , the bond they had developed , and the OATH they had sworn to one another before the northern gods.

𝕻𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝕽𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖌𝖆𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖚𝖊𝖘 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖊 , the king in the north not DARING to interrupt. had his father known of the LOVE shared between his sister and the dragon prince ? had that been the reasoning behind lord stark's refusal to acknowledge the story of her kidnapping ?

𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖜 , 𝕽𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖌𝖆𝖗'𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘 are akin to a punch in the gut. to learn that his aunt had been with child , that his father had returned to winterfell not only with the body of his beloved sister , but a child , a SON . . . his head swims , and a bout of nausea takes hold. no. no. NO. this was but a lame attempt at burrowing beneath the northern man's skin , to infect his mind with DOUBT , a ploy at gaining the upper hand in their proposed allegiance. the words of the prince were nothing more than LIES , surely , for his father would have told him the truth behind his parentage . . . right ?

𝕵𝖔𝖓'𝖘 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖑 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖘 atop the table. " no , " he whispers , shaking his head. " no. you're LYING. my father returned with a son , aye ──── ME , a bastard sired on some woman who caught his eye during his travels. " for the prince's words to be true meant that the life jon had lived had been FABRICATED. not a bastard , but the trueborn son of a lady and a prince. not a bastard , but a PRINCE , himself , all this time. his father would never had subjected him to the life of an OUTCAST had he been trueborn.

𝕳𝖊 𝖕𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖊𝖘 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖎𝖗 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 the table , wooden legs screeching against the stone floor. he can feel the eyes of his and the prince's men on him. " i want you OUT of winterfell , " jon growls , keeping his volume low. " take your men and return to your sister. tell her that any chance of an allegiance between us has been SQUANDERED by her brother. " and though he makes no gesture to his men to escort the prince out of winterfell , jon storms out of the great hall with ghost on his heels.

𝕷𝖆𝖉𝖞 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖍𝖆𝖉 𝖔𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖒𝖚𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 how jon looked more like the son of eddard stark that any of his trueborn children , aside from arya. many had commented on how ALIKE he and arya had looked ; and lord stark had mentioned offhandedly how much arya resembled his late sister. had it been a clue all along ? had lyanna stark DIED birthing him , and eddard had had no choice but to claim the babe as his own , out of FEAR of what king robert would do had he known the truth ?

𝕵𝖔𝖓 𝖋𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖘 𝖍𝖎𝖒𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖎𝖓 𝖆 deserted hall , his breathing having grown ragged. he stops and leans back against the cool stone wall , fits clenching and unclenching at his sides. he slides down slowly until his backside hits the ground , and he is left staring at the wall ahead of him. ghost takes a seat beside him and whines , nudging jon's arm with his snout.

𝕬 𝖑𝖎𝖊. 𝕳𝖎𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖍𝖆𝖉 been a lie , and jon can only stare at the stones , his grey eyes void of emotion.

[cherriready]

zemo x reader where he says he loves them for the first time ? mayhaps🥺

Another life, another time

Pairing: Baron Helmut Zemo x GN!Reader

Summary: Zemo confesses his feelings for the first time.

Requests: Open!

A/N: English is not my maternal language, if this has any grammatical errors please let me know. There could be some OOC!Zemo, sorry about that. Also, I tried to make the reader as gender neutral as possible, if there is anything I should correct, please, let me know.

A/N: This story has been inspired by two songs, which are: Harry and Ginny by Alexandre Desplat and There's a place by Roo Panes. (I strongly recommend listening to the first one while reading the story!)

This story is SPOILER FREE!

Feedback is really appreciated. I really wanna know what you think about this! So please coment, reblog and like (?) 😊

It was barely midnight when the melancholic piano piece began to play in that apartment in Riga. It could be heard perfectly from the small back garden, where they were. The sweet but nostalgic song was coming from his room, on the upper floor of the apartment.

They looked up, and could see how a small light was on in that room, just as the window was open, making it possible to hear the melody perfectly. They closed momentarily their eyes and enjoyed the song, while simultaneously enjoying the scent of the flowers and the little sounds that some nocturnal animals made in that small backyard.

Then they realized that it was an invitation for them to come and see him.

It was a song from the one their favorite soundtrack, which they had on their playlist of movie soundtracks and which they also had once shown to Helmut on one of visits to the prison.

He didn't seem to think much of the song when they showed it to him that time. Not until now, at least.

He remembered the song, he even learned how to play it.

The melody repeated itself again, but now they couldn't hear it the same way they had from the outside. They tried not to make noise on their way upstairs, because the closest room to them was Sam's and they didn't want to wake him. As they made their way down the dark hallway, a light could be seeing coming through the half-closed door of the room they was headed for. Then, once in front of it, they could hear a soft sigh as the song finished playing for the second time.

They wanted to go in and talk to him, as they both used to do all those times they visited him in the prision of Berlin. But they knew that this might be the last time they would be able to enjoy his presence, alone, and without a huge pane of solid glass between them, preventing even the slightest contact. They was terrified at the thought that this was, indeed, the last time they would be able to experience such a moment with him. So in a way they didn't want to go inside either, thus preventing that dreaded last time from coming.

But he was calling them. He was looking for them through the melody.

They shook their head and sighed, before plucking up the courage and knocking softly on the door, receiving as an answer the repetition of the melody they loved so much.

It was an invitation, no doubt.

"Helmut." whispered the man's name.

He moved a little, thus making room for them both on the bench on which he was sitting. A few moments later they were sitting together in silence. They rested their head on his shoulder and sighed sadly.

They began to play the piano with him, using only one hand, as he did and knew how to do so. It seemed incredible that this was the first time they had played that majestic instrument together, because with the synchrony and affinity they had when doing it, it seemed that they had been doing it together for years.

It was a matter of hours, hopefully days, before Helmut would be arrested again and taken to prison, most likely to a higher security prison than the one in Berlin. He would probably end up on the Raft.

They would not be able to see him. Never.

Tears began to fall down their cheeks silently. The Sokovian took their hand, wordlessly, brought it to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back of the hand, and another on the palm, afterwards. They looked up, and with theit eyes burning with tears, watched him in detail.

He was the most beautiful thing their had ever seen.

The man looked at them and smiled sadly. Then, he took their face and began to kiss the areas where the tears had previously fallen. They could not help but sob at that gentle and intimate gesture. He could also not help it, but keep doing that.

Zemo leaned his forehead against theirs. "Thank you." Was what he said before kissing their forehead, then bringing both foreheads back together. They brought their hands to either side of his face, and caressed his cheeks. "Thank you for being the one constant thing in my life these past eight years. For coming to visit me and spending time with me, even... after I broke up your family."

"Helmut..." They searched his gaze and smiled sweetly at him when they made eye contact. Tears began to form in his eyes as well, something they had never imagined they would ever see. "Helmut..." They repeated his name as if it were a prayer.

Then he began to cry. "I fell in love with you." It was all the man managed to say in a small whisper before he broke away from them slightly. "I love you." He said again to them, who had remained static as they heard him say that, but as they heard him speak again, couldn't help but wrap their arms around the Baron's neck, causing him to wrap his arms around their waist and hide his face in their neck.

"I love you too." confessed to him, as they felt both of their hearts go wild. They could also feel Zemo's wet tears on their neck. "And that's why I can't let you go. I can't lose you now... and never see you again."

The Sokovian looked up and took their face, and did something that caught them by surprise. He kissed them for the first time, and as if it were the last time too. They momentarily separated from Zemo and stood up, so that they could stand in front of him and straddle his lap. Zemo couldn't help but smile before kissing them again and wrapping his arms around them in a tight embrace. They for their part took to caressing his still wet cheeks as they kissed softly and sweetly.

"M-Maybe... maybe there's a place. For you and I, right?" they asked hopefully as they looked into Helmut's eyes and played with his now slightly tousled hair.

He was silent for a few moments as he stroked their back affectionately, looking at them with a soft gaze. "We both know the fact that I'm going to be arrested sooner or later is inevitable." He replied bringing a hand to their cheek. "I don't think there is one here." He answered in a whisper with a slight tone of pain.

He hated to think of the possibility of never being able to see them again in this lifetime, which he knew was most likely for both of them.

"Then... in another life, another time... there could be a place for you and I? For us?"

"There could be a place." Helmut said as he drew them back to him in an embrace. "I know. Definitely, there could be a place."

And so the two of them stood in silence, embracing and imagining what that place could be like.

How their place would be like.

Feedback is so appreciated, please let me know what you think. If you have any request send them my way! ❤️

[fapangel]

D+26 Update Part 2 @ 11:30 EST

google docs

Sitrep: Materiel/Logistics

A report that Ukrainians are using Uzhorod airbase to fly in western aid, and Russia cannot risk striking this airport because it literally touches the border of Slovakia, a NATO member.

I have not mentioned it, but there is a regular stream of evidence of both Russian and Ukrainian aircraft losses. Both sides are continuing to operate aircraft and take losses – obviously, Russia is launching more sorties and taking more losses.

Russia has had their most modern, sophisticated and powerful ground-based electronic warfare system fall into Ukrainian hands around Kyiv, likely due to the ongoing Ukrainian counteroffensives in the area.

Unverifiable scuttlebutt says that this system is already in Germany, it was only publicized well after Russia had no chance to deliver a missile strike against the system and deny the West an intact example of one of their crown jewels to study.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

Commentary from the ~anonymous defense officials~ as regards a higher-than-usual failure rate for Russian long-range PGMs.

Note this is not necessarily unusual. Even American weapons like the Tomahawk have a failure rate of 5% or so. These are complex weapons, and occasionally things go wrong. I have also been told by Engineers that a higher failure rate for nations that are not the United States is not unusual. The Tomahawk was built in the 80s and has undergone many upgrades and refinements over the decades to render it the advanced, state of the art weapon it is today, and has also been fired many times, and there’s 4,500 in inventory right now, not counting thousands fired in previous wars. Russia has not done these things, (as have most anyone who is not America,) so this is not a surprise.

This also makes it curious that people who would know these things are still commenting on it. Mayhaps their failure rates exceed what would be expected even with these concerns. Bigthink.png

A recent sighting of knocked-out Ukrainian T-72s at a roadblock near Chernihiv. **This may indicate commitment of Urkaine’s reserve tank brigades, as they are the only ones who operate T-72s. The 3rd and 5th reserve tank brigades operate T-72s exclusively.

These may have been thrown in as replacements (which is considered part of the point of the reserves) but it may also indicate a greater commitment. The 1st Tank brigade was deployed to the Kyiv/Chereniv region; committing the 3rd or 5th could free them up for offensive operations.

More anti-ship missiles fired against land targets fired right from the pier. Lol. LMAO.

I have been drinking

Russia has deployed the SA-17 “Grizzly” to Ukraine. This is the “M3” iteration of the Buk system. Given that prior incarnations of this system were given the NATO reporting names “SA-6” and “SA-11” it should give you some indication of how much more modern and advanced this missile system is. The SA-17 is honestly an impressive system; it’s modernized with an AESA radar and, like the SA-11 before it, has at least one TELAR per battery – a combination radar and missile launcher vehicle. It also has significantly longer range than its predecessor SA-11. The fact that it is only being publicly deployed to Ukraine now probably suggests they are available in very limited numbers, like a lot of more modernized Russian weapons. Russia released a propaganda video informing the world of its deployment to Ukraine.

AND THE UKIES HAVE ALREADY BLOWN ONE UP AHAHAHAHAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA BITCHES

Defenders of Mariupol demonstrated why ATGMs make littoral operations hard.

Another fucking T-72A. How many museums are they robbing holy shit

Having seen gory video of this same unit posted by the Azov battalion (warning!) I can confirm this ORBAT analysis is likely correct.

Sitrep: Operational

There has been a (possible?) shift of Russian tactics to targeting logistical line-of-communication hubs, some deep in Ukrainian territory. Specifically, rail yards. See this strike on Savyansk (geolocated,) Kharkiv (geolocated), and Pavlohrad. Note Pavlohrad is a key junction deep in Ukrainian territory on the way to the Donbas front, (requiring a cruise or ballistic missile to reach) and Slovyansk is jus tnorth of Kramatorsk; i.e. near the area between the Severodonetsk front and Izyum. I’ve seen Russian shelling of the railhead at Chereniv before but attention to rear-area rail junctions I have not noted before.

Given the importance of rail to Russian logistics and the general “blyatkrieg” attitude that characterized their early efforts before they were clearly stymied, this might (if the trend is real and not an artifact of sampling bias) indicate acceptance of a shift to a much more methodical and costly advance. Targeting forward area railheads makes sense; it doesn’t require precious long-range munitions and can easily hit unloading areas, destroying materiel without necessarily blocking rails by destroying rolling stock to the point it cannot, well, roll, (requiring more intensive clearing efforts involving heavy equipment.) To really jam up a line, you want to do that. Hitting rear areas implies Russia knows they’re not going to be blyatkrieg’ing up those rails deep into enemy territory anytime soon.=

Drone-captured footage of Russian troops looting civilian homes (geolocated to 50.562110, 30.271274, southeast Hostomel) serves as third-party confirmation of the reports in the Wall Street Journal story on the battle of Voznesnsk of similar behavior (not just stealing food, but valuables from locals.) An army that thieves and loots is highly unprofessional. I have lost track of how many battles in antiquity and even into the gunpowder age turned on a dime because victorious troops found a stash of booze during their sack of a city and got falling-down drunk, only to be unable to resist devoted counterattacks later on.

This may be overstating the operational impact, but do not overlook the emotional and morale one – the Russians are fucking animals, and the citizens of Ukraine are going to hate and loathe them accordingly.

Besides reminding everyone that the American M110 was a beautiful thing and should have never been divested from inventory, this video of Ukrainian 203mm SP guns going to work shows that they are operating in the standard Russian three-gun battery (if it matters.)

This video of an alleged Javelin missile engagement neatly illustrates the ranges at which a lot of combat seems to be taking place; i.e. easily within NLAW range. Note the BTR-82A using buildings to cover its flanks; good tactics.

I am seeing many videos involving drone-observed Ukrainian artillery fire on Russian rear echelon assets (not just counterbattery, but supply trucks.) Despite increasing use of natural cover, they keep taking losses even so. I cannot say if Russia is not applying lessons learned or if co-ordination issues are keeping them from moving supply dumps further back and making more frequent forward supply runs, or if the fuel supply situation precludes this, or if they have and it simply hasn’t helped.

Note the frequency with which these strikes are observed by quadcopters may indicate this forward observation is being done by SOF teams carrying drones into the field, but Ukraine’s prewar gamut of drones; including volunteer kitbashed ones that later entered serial production, could well include some larger and longer-ranged quad (or sexto, or octo) rotor designs. Nonetheless aggressive SOF recon elements/w backpack drones would be an extremely difficult combination to defeat.

Territorial Defense Forces are still actively operating. [1] [2] Note the last one is from Sumy. Whatever the Russians are doing to deal with the threat there, the locals are still making active sorties into the countryside to take the fight to the enemy.

A rare look at Ukrainian T-64s in battle, this time defending a wide boulevard in the north-northwest. So far, aside from the glimpse of a T-64 company deploying along a road in the SE near Kherson/Crimea in the opening day of the invasion, I have only ever seen Ukrainian tanks operating singly or in two’s. I am informed that Ukraine’s tank brigades had already switched to a Western style of organization by the time the war broke out (two-tank elements, four-tank platoons, three platoons to a company + a two-tank command element,) and the tank complement of mechanized brigades was still Soviet-style organization (three three-tank platoons and a single command tank.) The Ukrainian national guard is apparently independent of army organization, so we are possibly seeing a tank element of the 12th National Guard Brigade’s tank battalion fucking shit up. (Thanks to Butch R. Mann on the-sietch.com for this information.)

Russian strike efforts against Ukrainian airbases continue. Note that there are three impacts. This continues the trend of very small salvos involved in Russian attacks. Do not discount the cumulative impact of these strikes; Russia has done damage to Ukraine’s military infrastructure. But it has been very much spread out between a lot of targets. Remember, it can easily take 50+ weapons on a single airbase to properly put it out of action. Also, we know that the Russians have expended at least some of these weapons against 1. airframes that have been out of service for decades decorating a ramp and 2. tactical targets that should have been serviced by artillery. In short, Russia is doing too little damage across too many targets, and allowing Ukrainian forces too much time to repair or otherwise deal with the damage inflicted to their infrastructure.

Are these motherfuckers for real.

Both UMoD statements and actual video evidence show that Russian landing ships are now arriving at the port of Berdyansk. See also this statement from the Kyiv independent about Russian tugboats clearing the piers at Berdyansk. It would seem that, with a breakthrough over the Southern Bug river now impossible, Russia has conclusively given up on their breakthrough efforts, transferred their embarked Naval Infantry ashore as replacements (UMoD indicates mostly around Izyum) and are now using their amphibious ships to make supply ferry runs across the sea of Azov, as I predicted.

Just, you know, like two weeks later than anyone with a realistic view of their chances of reaching Odessa would have.

See also this reference to a now-deleted image (from a good source) of their landing ships loading vehicles in Novorossiysk, on the Russian side of the Azov sea. If anyone finds a mirror of these images, please let me know.

[sunlessea]

in truth, he doesn't think the clarification on divinity's part even matters. it is incredibly selfish, of course, to think as much  :  however somber the facts of it, that is what he, isidorios, the elegiast, works so diligently to uphold.  "maybe it would've been for the best i was damned. my life wasn't worth remembering."  he realizes only after he says it, then, how terribly macabre that must be to hear. he closes his lips, eyes narrowing 'gainst the tears that sting them. he hadn't meant for it to sound that way.  "the truth is that i just didn't want to feel alone anymore. i don't know if i was really searching for deliverance or an excuse not to go through with it."  he recovers, albeit quietly, with no lack of tremble 'gainst his voice.  "t'would only be fitting that, in the end, i was the one who didn't notice you. i came to you praying for kindness when i killed myself, and in doing so blinded myself each time you attempted to reach out to me. i'm a fucking idiot."  they stare so very intently at his sleeve, head shifting to rest their cheek 'gainst his chest, now. they can hear his heartbeat. he smiles, solemnly. oh, but he is so very jealous of him, then.

he sighs, but knows there is no use trying to steady himself. so he doesn't. instead, he stays like this, allows his weight to fall into the god who yet steadies him, and oh, the irony of it all. he does fall silent, however, letting him speak rather than cutting in. he isn't sure what he'd expected  ...  mayhaps he had been waited for excuses, or lies, or further revelation. in that regard, he supposes he is to be disappointed, though he believes he finds comfort in it, the same he does the fingers that card through his hair, so messy from his run here, near untied from its ribbon. his expression softens, unsure, but attentive, and his fingers at last begin to loosen their grip 'pon the fabric of his suit. for the best is it  :  they'd begun to ache quite terribly.  "it wasn't for the sake of my comfort that i let you lie to me, or even accused you of being malkavian. i knew you weren't. we can smell other vampyr, douce colombe  ...  i was protecting you. i thought—... i thought you were kine. human."  it's embarrassing now, acknowledging it. but how was he supposed to know he had thought a god of the glory to be mortal man? at the time, the protection had felt warranted. now he feels stupid.

he does not veer into further discussion of it, however. the masquerade, for once, is so blissfully far from his mind. he can feel him looking at him, instinct that makes a self conscious chill rush 'long his spine. but he dutifully, stubbornly, refuses to look up at him, now boring a hole into his sleeve. he swallows, hard, but no amount of emotional preparation, joke that it is now, could have prepared him for the confession he imparts 'pon him now. fitting should it be he jolts himself up without intent to do so, eyes wide even as the elegiast's hands travel to their face. it is humiliating, the way they sputter, lips parting in blatant disbelief  :  already, his own voice is screaming in his mind that he must have misheard him!  "i—what—what—what do you mean you've never—?! a—are you making fu—"  he stops himself before he says it, the exclamation and situation far too familiar for his own taste  ...  but were it that his heart could thrum! so awkward are his hands in the space created between them now, not quite rested 'pon his chest any longer, but still held up in the air, and oh, they tremble. the very concept he could be anyone's first love, in that moment, it near enough to shatter him, and he is certain it shows in how emotionally he wilts.

however, he cannot bring himself to look away again. his hands are warm, even 'neath the gloves he wears, so lifeless is their own body.  "i feel as if i'm hearing a confession i don't deserve,"  he breathes, voice cracking as it hits higher than intended, and in the end, he is meant to bite 'pon his lip to keep from sobbing.  "i've not offered you anything to be gifted your heart so, i— dove, i am not a creature meant for such soft yearnings. holy or no, you are so much more than the tainted love—"  i have to give you. such emotions, choked in his throat, are not new. it stands to reason, perhaps, he had always thought so, and no divine revelation had changed that. but still he looks 'pon him as he always had, even with tears in his eyes  :  adoringly, afraid, shy, but longing, for something he does not think he should have. and when he releases him, then, although certainly confused, he is thankful for the opportunity to look elsewhere, take a moment to catch his gentle breaths.

he does not stop him from his fretting, not sure what in the world he could be searching for. it gives him a second, however brief, to rest his hand over his dead heart once more, furrow his brows 'gainst the feelings that war within him. he wholeheartedly believes what he says  :  he is not enough, not good enough, for someone like this. he knows what they are, an unholy amalgamation of a monster that had not lived in centuries, had not experienced emotion aside from reflection for just as long, and yet. he swallows, presses his lips thin against the ache in his chest, and glances to him as he grows more frantic. and yet, he loves him. it is not a holy love, not an innocent one. it cannot be, when sourced from a kindred, an insane malkavian. but he does, in a way he cannot rightly remember having ever felt, in spite of their kind's afflictions.

"you..."  he is forced out of his reverie, attention turning back to who, for all intents and purposes  ...  is his beloved. then, to the box he holds in his hands.  "a  ...  gift?"  he doesn't react at first, as he so oft tends not to, when people give him things. he's said it before  ...  how he dislikes receiving gifts, when he is in a position not to return a favor. but he doesn't scold him, only stares at it for a moment prior to reaching for it, when beckoned to do so. he holds it, tries to wipe his tears 'gainst the lace of his top by pressing his cheek into his shoulder. for all the good it does. he feels knots in his stomach, anxiety in his chest, but there's embarrassment throughout  :  he'd fall into himself, if he could. crawl away and disappear, if only because he doesn't know what to do when he's the center of his attention like this.  "don't look at me like that,"  he comments, shyly, but rather than lament it, he simply  ...  opens the gift. lucky is he, in all honesty, that he does not drop it. shock catches him the moment he sees what it is.

oh.

oh.

"this—"  bewildered is he, and so very thankful, in that moment, to be kindred. his legs, he thinks, would have given up 'neath the weight of the emotion that floods him, had he not been. it is so rightfully intense, it fools him, for far more than it should, into making him think that he is feeling it, in that moment.  "you  ...  you remembered—"  oh, how could he not, how oft they had lamented it, such is his job. but they tear their gaze away from the beauty of the flute that lay perfectly in that box then, stare at him now as if they are seeing him for the first time.

"this isn't fair..."  their voice breaks, half sob, half laugh, but they have to grip the box tightly, scared are they that they are going to end up falling. so literally, so metaphorically.  "how? how am i meant to stand against you? how am i meant to stand here and fight that i am a loveless creature, weather such gestures of blatant romanticism and pretend i have not myself dreamt of such things? i love you and it isn't fair! god, kine, kindred, is not even what ails me, do you understand?! colombe d'ivoire, i don't know anymore from where the reflection of my emotions originate! i don't know if i have ever felt this way, and i—!"  they do not know what to do with it. it scares them.  "you knew what i was, from the very beginning, despite omitting your own identity. how am i meant to stand here and tell you, then, that i am not meant to be yours when you had already decided? i wanted to be saved, knowing full well that whomsoever answered my prayers would be beyond what i deserved and yet—"  oh, he is falling apart. looking back to the flute, he takes it into his hand then, delicately, as he so rarely does.  "this is beautiful. you are beautiful and i deserve neither—and yet! and yet..."  he is dreadfully close to sniffling, and it disgusts him. so pathetic, then, is the giggle that he lets out, broken.  "une créature dépourvue de dieu, tombant amoureuse d'un dieu. je t'aime. je t'aime si profondément que je ne sais pas quoi faire. que voudrais-tu, colombe d'ivoire, me faire faire? savoir ce que je suis, qui je suis. tu as quand même choisi de m'avoir, peu importe, n'est-ce pas?"

he expects his solemn demeanor is likely not what is appropriate for such intimate confession, but truth, as he does expect they are both aware : is that he already knew. they were not the first to pray to him in hopes of not being forgotten, and they would also not be the first he would have spared, had they ... no, he won't think of that. " in part. " he clarifies, instead, tries in increasingly desperate earnest, to keep the sorrow that swims alongside his love from settling anywhere other than his heart. " i remember, simply. those the world does not, or rather does not wish to. both, and then more than that. i preserve their memory, their lives, so that they will never be forgotten. to my understanding, the world has taken it 'pon themselves to think it is loss, sacrifice, death that i revere. it is not— i think ... " he pulls his jaw tight, eyes narrowing as he looks 'pon them. perhaps it is a sad sort of existence, to some, but to himself ... he offers them the smallest, most sympathetic of smiles. " i think life is a terribly precious thing. and that every one person deserves to be remembered, to have their story told. to know, at the very least, someone is always looking out for them. " the way he speaks ... when he does, it feels as if it is directed far more personally. a promise of sorts, rather than a long-winded explanation of his own eternal life's work.

no part of him could have anticipated the reaction he would be met with, meanwhile : he could have scried, true, but it would not have been fair to him. to himself, as he was, and to his trust ... he had put his faith in him both man and divine, wicked would it have been to have stripped him of deciding his own fate. he'd anticipated a strong emotion, at the most, but that was hardly more than common sense; what, specifically, his disciple then could have felt ... remained a mystery. a talking point caught on birdsong, used to tease the ivory dove then over tea, but no more than rumor and intrigue, for no god had expected the dove to willfully spring from its roost, to spread its wings and discover more than what he witnessed nestled safe within his own confines. but no one was more shocked than the ivory dove, himself : both for the warmth that swelled in his heart, and the way his lover practically clings to him, weeping, wondering.

" omitted, yes, it was a necessary measure in the moment. i always intended to tell you, when the time was right. the rest ... " from cradling their chin to combing through their hair, it'd almost seem as if he were coddling were his expression not as equally tender as the tone of his voice. though the syllables scratch, ache, there is no denying the sweet lilt hanging off every word. " truthfully, the only lie i ever told was that of being kindred. and even that was not original intent, i hadn't the faintest idea what you asked, back when, but it seemed to excite you ... please understand, it has been quite some time since i've been participant in broader society, i had assumed the sense of familiarity would then comfort you, which is what i wished to do. " they may not meet his gaze, but that does not stop him from seeking it, his own kept half-lidded. his heart aches the same it does whenever he retells a tragedy, but it is not tragic to love, to admit to what little he deceived. but more than that, he thinks, he feels quite terrible sorry : their life has been filled with tragedies, both from what they had shared, and what he had seen. " i have lived and died a hundred thousand lives, mon cher. carried the memories through times where they would have otherwise been left forgotten. i do not know why i have, but i do know i was the same in each. the weight a little heavier, perhaps, more than a single quill can write in one night, but my heart has never changed. what i expressed ... what i feel, it is true. in those hundred thousand lives, never had i loved, nor thought to. and then i met you, and i was undone. "

he thinks there is a part of him fearful he is yet being too forward, touching him as if he might break—up both hands have traveled, space returned, to cradle his face in his palms, hold it where he speaks to him with an almost desperate urgency. " summer, mon amour, if there were but means to show you the inner workings of my heart, allow you witness to all it holds, i would show you just how deeply i love you, i would— " he stops himself rather abruptly, gloved hands trailing free from where he holds their head upright, a sort of slow dawning realization falling across his own features as his voice draws to whisper and then nothing at all. if i could show you ... " i can show you! ah— bear with me a moment, please, just a moment, i was saving this for—! "

the moment memory returns to him he pulls completely away from him, and instead, rustles with the inner pockets of his pristine ivory coat. he looks ... frantic, mostly, but also quite excited. whatever it was, it was something quite important indeed. he's rather lucky to not be all feathered still, for with all his ruffling the room would be filled with them flying 'round their heads. " ah, here it is! " it feels like an eternity of looking through pockets that should, by all accounts, not be able to hold the size of the box he'd just pulled out of it—there's a solid minute, at least, when he first holds out the long box with both hands, where there is a brilliant, wide grin to match the light dancing behind his eyes before he gets too shy and it softens instead, as embarrassment slowly, but surely, overcomes him. " a ... gift. please take it. "

[posallys]

i saw a post about percy and poseidon and i figured i'd drop this stupid little headcanon i have here (i also take stuff from this analysis, so go read that mayhaps)

Ya know how we’ve established i think that Percy’s fatal flaw should be control and not loyalty? And how I talked about the whole “Percy and Poseidon are quick to anger” thing in my analysis of them? And how it’s literally in their nature to want to be in control of everything around them?

okay, well, for whatever reason, percy is on olympus (maybe a solstice? maybe annabeth is talking about stuff for her rebuild? idk)

and a god somebody says something and it he gets pissed, and since his emotions are so closely linked with his powers, he accidentally triggers an earthquake

except, poseidon could obviously tell that there was going to be an earthquake bc he could feel it, so he just kind of pops in front of percy and grabs his wrists/hands and is like "that's an awfully big earthquake you almost caused, ya know."

And Percy’s kind of shaking because he could feel the way the anger took over and how he couldn’t stop the earthquake himself. He was trying so hard to restrain it, to hold it back, but he couldn’t.

He doesn’t really say anything to Poseidon, because he’s clenching his jaw to the point that it’s painful, but he looks up at Poseidon, and his eyes kind of give it away.

(and it may not have been obvious to anybody else, but it was obvious to poseidon because he can't even begin to count the amount of times that look has been on his own face)

So Poseidon takes a deep breath and closes his eyes and nods a little (meanwhile the rest of the gods are just like 👀 👀 because percy almost fucked a lot of shit up and poseidon is being very calm and also being a dad and trying to help his kid)

So he lets go of percy's wrists and is like "come with me"

And Percy kind of hesitates for a moment, but then Poseidon is like “It wasn’t a question” because he knows it’s probably the only thing that’ll help, so it’s Not A Question.

(and poseidon knows that he should have done it after the titan war. He should have helped Percy sooner, but he didn’t, so he has to do it now, and he’s going to do it, because he's not going to let percy keep walking blindly through the mess that is their powers)

Poseidon does some god shit and flashes them out to like. The middle of fucking nowhere. like just creates a little slab of land in the middle of the ocean. nothing around for hundreds of miles except open water

Percy just looks at him like wtf? "Dad, why are we in the middle of the ocean??"

And Poseidon just kind of chuckles and is like “yeah, actually, we are in the middle of the ocean. This is the point that’s as far from any land that you can get.”

“Uh? Why?”

“Because it gives me enough time to stop any damage before it happens.”

Percy’s like “???? what damage?? Pls explain”

“I should have done this after the titan war, Percy. I should have—well it doesn’t matter what I should have done. You have to learn how to let go, and I’m going to help you.”

And Percy doesn’t like the idea of that. He doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t trust himself not to hurt someone or cause destruction (after all, his name means to destroy).

He must be making a face because Poseidon looks at him sympathetically.

“I know it’s hard, Percy. Believe me, I know better than anyone.”

Poseidon pauses for a moment and then continues… “How do you survive a riptide?” he asks.

Percy answers immediately. “You have to let it pull you out. Eventually, it’ll let you go out the side or the back. You don’t want to fight it, though, because you’ll probably drown trying.”

Poseidon purses his lips and nods, and Percy’s looking at him confused for a moment, trying to figure out why his dad asked about a riptide (because Poseidon obviously knows how they work).

And then he Gets It. “You mean...I have to stop fighting…”

“You have to let go. You have to let yourself be carried out sometimes. The longer you fight, the more tired you get, and the worse it becomes. The sea doesn’t like to be restrained, Percy.”

“But I—” Percy’s voice cracks

“I know you don’t want to, but I promise you, it helps.”

Percy nods and lets Poseidon tell him what to do.

Poseidon tells him to scream. To really let everything out. “I know, I know, you’ll probably feel stupid doing it, but do it anyway. No restraints, no worries. let it flow out of you.”

And so he does. He screams the way he’s wanted to for what’s felt like forever at this point. And the ocean responds to him. It responds to his frustration and his anger and his pain. And the waves are rough and choppy and the sky is turning a shade of grey, and the ground is trembling, and then the waves are getting higher and higher and they’re building, building, building, and then they’re crashing onto the ground around him.

And it feels good, really. To let go. to not have to restrain himself

And Poseidon is there watching him (and he’d stop anything Percy may cause before it got to a place where it could cause harm (there’s a reason they’re in the middle of the ocean, after all)).

And Percy’s scream dies out, and he sits down and he breaths and he feels like the world has been lifted off of his shoulders again.

But he’s not done yet because Poseidon is coaching him through things, making Percy create earthquakes and hurricanes and tsunamis, helping him find the balance between controlling them and letting them control him.

And then poseidon teaches him how to release his anger. He walks Percy through the steps. Start with your hands; unclench your fists. Relax your arms, your shoulders. Roll them out, hold yourself up straight. Unclench your jaw, stretch your neck out. Don’t hold the anger back, but don’t let it consume you. You have to change it, you have to feel it. Let it move through you like water flowing down a river. Feel it in your arms and your fingers and your legs, but then push it out. Not aggressively—calm. It has to be calm. You have to let it carry you to a certain point, but you can’t struggle. It’s a riptide, Percy. Once you surrender to it, you can escape it. Once you surrender to it, you really have control.

And it works. Percy goes through the steps, slowly relaxing himself, letting it move through him until it’s no longer anger and he no longer feels like he’s being crushed.

“I caused a lot of destruction when I was a younger god, Percy. I didn’t have a good grip over my anger. It took me a long time to figure out that, while I may control the ocean, the ocean also controls me. Do you know why? Because I am the ocean, and so are you. The ocean is inside of you, and you must find the balance between controlling and being controlled.”

“How often do you do this?”

“Every few months. It’s easy to get caught in the cycle of control again. It’s in our nature to want to be in control, so conceding isn’t easy for us. So when I feel myself on edge, when I start angering quicker, I come here and I let go.”

So they make a habit out of it. They come out to the middle of the ocean every other month, or about as often as either of them needs it, and they let go, and Percy slowly gets better at becoming one with the ocean, better at finding the balance.

(and then they go to this diner in Montauk that Poseidon has a weird obsession with….)

And when Estelle is older, the three of them take the trip out to the middle of the ocean together, and they teach Estelle how to find balance. And she’s younger than Percy was, so her anger hasn’t had time to peak.

Unlike Percy, whose anger is silent, sneaky, creeping up out of nowhere (the way he’s smiling one moment and lashing out the next) Estelle’s anger was a storm you could see coming a hundred miles away. Her anger brews on the horizon, building and building, slowly getting bigger until there's nothing left but for it to shatter. Which makes it easier, really. She’s better at letting go than Percy is—she has time to let it dissipate before it reaches her.

[milfbenkenobi]

Star Wars Fic Rec List Part 1

I’ve been looking for fic recs for Star Wars for so long, and I’ve finally folded and made my own!! All of these works will be complete, but I may rec a few that are part of an incomplete series.

Dust Ribbons by Deniigiq

First part of a 7 work complete series. Word count: 6876 Chapter count: 1

“So you’re not stealing my ship?” Mando said.

“What do I want with your ship?” Luke demanded.

“I don’t know. I don’t usually ask,” Mando said.

(Luke tries to help his student stay focused on his studies by helping his student's father. It's harder than it looks.)

Luke and Din get into Darksaber shenanigans post Mandolorian season 2. Both an amazing fic and series, and the author has a separate series based in the same universe for those like me who want even more.

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black runs the space between the stars by EssayOfThoughts

Word count: 1463 Chapter count: 1

It welcomes her when she twists her hand at her side as though to caress the great invisible shadow that follows her footsteps. She welcomes it as it nips at her ankles and guides her down this path and that until she finds new people to meet and new places to hide.

It sings in her head, too, strange songs no ear can hear, and the maids of the court think her strange as she tilts her head to follow the strange slow song that rings her round.

The Force is an eldrich power that sticks with Leia through her life.

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Second Hope by bornofstars

First work in a 2 work incomplete series Word count: 3812 Chapter count: 1

In his eagerness, the Padawan almost falls over himself, bursting into their chambers. Anakin and Obi-Wan share a look of confusion at the child’s sudden appearance.

“Apologies, Masters,” He says, panting for breath. “But I thought you should know - There’s a Sith in the Room of A Thousand Fountains.”

“I beg your pardon, Padawan?”

Sith Leia! Time travel! What more could you want?!!

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the dark of death, the light of life by EssayOfThoughts

Word count: 1679 Chapter count: 1

Padmé thinks she is not entirely Padmé any more. Her hands are light and shadow, her feet trail to nothingness. Her hair is long and dark as the stretch between stars, and is as speckled with them. When she swims by a sun, her hair fades off into wispy void, like wind or like ribbons of silk gone tattered at the ends.

She does not think she is a Force Ghost: the Force had never touched her in life, and she had felt it seep away from her with her life. Whatever she is now, recreated from the body left behind, the wound of her death, the purpose she had to save the Republic, to save her children, is something much else.

Padmé turns into a Force…. something and says hello to her children

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Soft Wars by Project0506

Series with 165 works, word count: 293338

This is a softer universe than the one you know.

In this space shall be gen, romance, hu

mor, family, all sorts of soft things. Mayhap in a time or two there will be a sprinkling of hurt or angst, but it shall only ever be a dusting to make the comfort all the sweeter.

You are safe here, my child, I swear it. No one wounds, no one dies.

Dear god. This series is so good. It’s the Clone Wars without any angst. There’s a happy ending and further. Don’t let the word count put you off, it’s all interconnected oneshots that can be read in any order. Super recommend for any clone wars fan

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Cold, Hard House of Gold by LovesFrogs

Word count: 9998 Chapter count: 3

Ahsoka didn't mean to activate her and Anakin's unfinished project early, but it just kind of happened. It shoots her off to... the Jedi Council? And is that Anakin sitting in one of those chairs?

Inspired by the aforementioned Soft Wars series. A dimension travel fic where Soft Wars Ashoka travels to the canon Clone Wars dimension, is horrified by how sad everyone is, fixes everything, and then goes home. Queen shit.

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Capacitance by Jessepinwheel

Word count: 8581 Chapter count: 1

"Oh, Cody," General Kenobi says softly, in a tone of voice that makes Cody cold with dread. "Since this war started, I have never not been in pain."

Or: The story where Obi-Wan takes on other people's pain because he's that kind of a person.

Exactly what it says in the summary

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How to Scrap Battledroids by meridianpony

Word count: 2758 Chapter count: 1

...basically Anakin and The Boys make a skillshare about how to scrap battledroids but about halfway through Tup makes a hair routine class, then other troopers post their hobbies and basically thats how they win the public over to support the clones.

Social media war as all the companies try to prove that their Jedi is the best Jedi ever while engaging in minor (ha) property damage

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Once I Called You Brother by redacted_thescribbler

Word count: 20060 Chapter count: 5/5

Rex can't leave his brothers alone to serve the Empire after Order 66, so he goes with them and pretends to be under the control of the chip so he can help them escape. Dealing with what's left of his brothers and his General turns out to be the hardest part.

Ooooooooh boy this one’s sad gang. Rex goes back and infiltrates the Empire to save as many clones as he can and may or may not bump into Darth Vader along the way

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These Things Happen by writehandman

Word count: 38369 Chapter count: 14

Obi-wan Kenobi keeps promoting Cody. The promotion gets out of hand, and suddenly the balance of the universe shifts into the palm of a very competent, caffeinated man.

Tfw you accidentally promote your bestie into a position higher than the High Chancellor and he accidentally ends the war.

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PART TWO

Please reblog if you liked any of the fics on the list!!

[twentytarot]

hi everyone! let’s find out what is getting in the way of you and your next love story. pick the image that sets your thoughts off and scroll down to your respective pile for your reading! 💘

PILE ONE: BAKER

patience and your expectations are what’s getting in your way. it’s... not that you’re particularly impatient of a person, but you lead very heavily with emotions and first impressions, so you don’t always have the patience to see a person through until they can show you their best side. you might be a pisces or have pisces-like tendencies when it comes to love— you’re looking for a fairytale person, someone you can idolise, someone you can fall headfirst into and never hit the ground. you want someone where you take one look at that person and you just know. love at first sight, basically.

the thing is, if anything less than a disney prince character is not good enough for you, then, well, no one is going to be good enough for you. so maybe your one true love will not be drop dead gorgeous. and maybe they live in a room that doesn’t even have an ensuite bathroom, much less a castle. and maybe you’re trying your best not to be superficial but you’re just a tad disappointed to hear that. that’s okay, but do remember that the one that’s meant for you is not the person that will love you at first sight, but at last sight. the person that will never intentionally hurt you, and will build a home with you. don’t jump in with a someone that won’t love you just to miss the timing for someone truly good for you to enter your life. i hope this person will be able to make you happy with just a little time!

PILE TWO: DANCER

trust and insecurity are getting between you and love. i believe there was a close call of sorts that scared you into retreating from romance. maybe you just decided the vibes with this person were off and never went completely official with them, just to find out later on that they were “seeing” your friends as well this whole time. you deemed that encounter enough excitement for the next year and didn’t bother trying to go out on dates anymore. this close call might even have blown up to a point where you had to cut off a whole lot of people.

darling, i used to think that the right community will always find you so long as you keep living your life and being your best, authentic self. but, especially with covid, this isn’t the case at all. you can be all alone for so, so long, with absolutely no remorse from your higher power. so, if you want love to come in, you can’t keep your head down and your sword in your hand the whole time. you need to believe in others, believe that whatever happened is not the norm but an exception and believe in yourself, believe that if you put yourself out there people will look and listen. so let your guard down, if only for a second, and see what the world has to offer. once you take off the barbed wiring, you’ll realise that there has always been people willing to come in, but love will not jump across your fence if it will get hurt along the way.

PILE THREE: GUITARIST

hello my fellow pile three-ians, let’s start with the bad news. what you are lacking right now is maturity in the way you love. now, let me preface what i will say next that for most of you, this is not your fault. love was simply not a priority or issue until it was, and even when it was, i doubt there were many positive teaching examples around for you to learn from anyway. you think about love mostly in terms of attention and affection, you will never understand why people tell white lies. you’ll argue with someone in a bad mood if the topic comes up and it has to be done. you’re not sure how your love in return will help the other person, but you imagine it’ll just work itself out since it seems to for everyone. you either take yourself too seriously, or you ‘mayhaps’ your way through life, or you seesaw between both depending on your mood. love will not come in until you have fully mastered the idea of love, not just the romantic parts, but the parts where you make changes to yourself and your life without hesitation or grudges so that your love will help your lover bloom, just like theirs will for you.

alright, i’m done unloading the bad news. the good news is that you will grow and transform into someone with so much more purpose in the way you love. it’s going to take a while: 6 months to 2 years, and you’re going to feel like you’re losing out while you’re still working on yourself and everyone else is already in relationships, but it’s going to be so worth it. there is one thing that sets you apart from everyone else, and that is your intentions. your intentions are pure as snow, and it will show when you find a love so bright that angels would stop to listen, so beautiful that your love story will be a beacon of hope that soulmates really do exist, and so strong that it will feel against the forces of nature to get between the two of you.

PILE FOUR: BARTENDER

i don’t think this is news to you, but what is getting between you and love is simply time. you are a lot of things right now: you’re the leader, the conceptualist, the mediator, and people depend on you to call the shots whether this is at home, work, or school. either your life has always been full speed ahead of your peers, or you’ve been preparing for this for forever; either way, you’re forging ahead in and challenging everything that once was to build something new instead. you have zero time for a lover right now.

this is your calling, but... it is lonely up there for a multitude of reasons. they say if you want to go far, go together, but that’s only true if everyone was as fast as each other in the first place. without that, there will be jealousy, and there will be betrayals. so, it looks to me that right now, you alone can go fast and far and you just don’t want to deal with other people now, having spent a lot of time either trying to get across to other people or watch your back for those who want your spot. i guess i should warn you that there will be a point in time where you will have to take a break and learn to let some things be, but that point doesn’t seem to be in your immediate future. it stands to reason, then, that your next love is not coming in (as a love connection at least) anytime soon. for now, focus and become the star that you were meant to be. the story my cards tell me cut off right before you actually begin this love story, so all i can do is wish you the very best! take care and don’t overwork yourself <3

[elriell]

The Seer of Shadows

Chapter One—  A Fateful Return

It came once more, cold and forceful as it so often did, ripping open her thoughts and bleeding through her unconscious mind. It surged like a powerful river, the running rapids numbed her hearing completely, the soft dreamworld fading to a dark loveless expanse. The terror would only continue to grow inside her, though asleep her whole body seizing with dread, spilling over into reality and it would end how it inevitably always did.

Feyre had thought to comfort her throughout many months, speaking of how the nightmares would get easier and with time the dark clouds that settled over her during sleep would slowly grow weaker and would eventually go away all together. However what she had not told her sister, nor anyone for that matter was that the opposite was true. For her nightmares where only growing stronger, and her sleep shorter each day.

Elain’s scream clawed itself out her throat violently, weaved its way through the night settling in the air, chilling her own blood.  

As she attempted to calm her racing heart which could be heard pounding in her ear like war drums, she knew she could not go on like this for much longer the short bursts of sleep scarcely got her through the day and she grew paler and frailer by the day. It was infinitely frustrating feeling powerless, the backpeddling of her recovery since that terrifying day at the Cauldron, but try as she might she was wilting away like one of her favorite flowers during the winter season.

Disturbing her from her musings a sharp crisp knock sounded at the door. It was during these moments she became most afraid, because the truth was, she never quite knew whether she was dreaming whilst asleep or drifting whilst awake, her visions felt so real, so true, it confused even her own mind. As dread heighten once again, she tugged at the sheets, submerging herself beneath them willing the horrible images that flickered in front of her eyes though her lids remained closed.  

Gentle but firm, the voice called out, “Elain?” At first it was dulled by the ringing in her ears until it came again, louder, clearer, finally breaching her murky thoughts.  

At that her heart felt like it came to a stop momentarily, though it made her feel better to hear his comforting voice, the male on the other side of the door did little to slow the rhythm of her heart.

Taking a deep breath, once then twice more, she vocalized her internal thoughts. “Azriel, what are you doing awake so late?” Or early she supposed, depending on how you looked at it. She hadn’t been aware he had returned after so many weeks away; the shadow-singer had been gone on an important task with the Illyrians, alongside her sister and Cassian. Rhysand had casually informed her over dinner one night after she couldn’t bear to wonder any longer and perked up the nerve to ask, she had not realized quite how accustomed she had become to his quiet strength and companionship. Ordinarily she might not have noticed his absence quite so much, however with Nesta ‘s departure to the mountains as well it had left quite the notable hole in her life.  

“I was returning from the mountains when I thought I heard a scream from the other end of the house, I thought I would seek out the source of the sound. Are you alright?” Azriel paused, he seemed apprehensious to continue but his voice picked back up again, just as clear as before. “May I come in if it is not an imposition.”

Casting a glance down herself she was relieved to see she appeared relatively decent, though sweat lined her temple and her hair was a tangled mess from thrashing about, she supposed he had seen her in far worse states throughout the years. Smoothing her hand through the tendrils in a half-hearted attempt to separate the sweat plastered hair lining her face, and righting the nightwear from off her shoulder.

“Of course.” She replied with a confidence she did not truly feel though the quiver in her voice almost certainly betrayed her.

The door released gently and as it unlocked the candlelight from the hall trickled in slowly, the glow framed his shape casting the rest of him in shadows but there was no doubt who the tall figure with broad wings belonged too, sapphire syphons glimmering across his torso, they seemed to thump steadily almost in unison with her own heart.

There was a stillness in him that set her on edge, though it had only been a few weeks it seemed like a lifetime ago as he stood quietly in the doorframe, whatever calm understanding had grown between them over months prior seemed to be absent. Tonight, he was tenser than usual she could read it in the creases of his forehead, in the tension of his torso, his whole being was screaming out for release. Not to mention his shadows rippled around him, very unusual for him to allow them such free range around her.

"I apologize for disturbing you, I did not realize I was quite so loud.”  

He remained far from her by the now shut door, keeping his eyes downcast probably in some chivalrous attempt to allow her to maintain some modicum of privacy. He was always like that Azriel, gentlemanly to the core.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” His siphons glowing vividly in the dim room.

She knew he was only being kind to her as he always was, nonetheless she appreciated the gesture, did not have the energy to sustain any sort of façade she had been prolonging for Feyre. She had so much to worry over already, what with being pregnant. It certainly wasn't the time for her to fret about her again, so she kept her rising demons to yourself.

“How often has this been happening?” He queried gently, it was so low she had barely heard him, almost as if he had been speaking to himself.

“Not frequently.” Only constantly.

He searched her face for any trace of a lie and she knew with his experience, and intelligence he was likely to see the lie for what it was, if he did, he made no comment on the deception, allowing her this secret. And for that she was infinitely grateful.

He did not speak for a while the silence between them louder than the usual tranquility she was accustomed to when it came to the shadow-singer. Tonight, was different. Perhaps whatever happened in Illyria had put him on edge, at the verge of his control, because the silence between them was anything but serene.

“There are many who don't wish to sleep for fear of nightmares. Sadly, there are many who don't wish to wake for the same fear. I suppose we should count ourselves lucky ours are the former.”  

“You get night-terrors too?” She guessed.

No hesitation. “Of course.”

It was hard to imagine such a strong and stoic man being capable of being rendered powerless by a mere dream, more likely he was trying to make her feel better about her weaknesses, for the fragility of her mind some days. She wondered if going mad might be easier, if she simply let it pull her under, perhaps she could finally get some much needed rest.  

Elain implored genuinely, “And how do you cope with them?” He took his time to ponder her words, carefully picking the ones he would use.

“I want to keep my dreams, even bad ones, because without them, I might have nothing all night long.”    

“That seems inordinately sad.”

A soft chuckle, and then, “Never.” Pause. “Have you spoken to Feyre about your nightmares? From the look of your eyes, I am guessing she knows...”

“No, no... I do not wish to worry her, what with everything going on and all, it would be unfair. Anyway, it is all under control so there will be no need to lose sleep over it.” The god of Irony was looking down upon her she was sure. However, it was her best bet at making sure he did not seek Feyre out and tell her, so she would reason with him, certain he was aware of her sister's delicate condition.

"Mhm.” He fiddled with his rings. “Would you like me to do anything? I could bring you a sweat tea...” Azriel was looking around the room as if it would divulge all the answers to him, or mayhap to avoid looking at her. As the thought manifested, she considered how improper this was, how intimate this room was to her and even further still as she lay in short silk underthings with only a thin sheet covering her lean form.  

“I can wait for you to fall asleep before leaving, if you'd like?” Damn— She had not realized how long her musings had gone on for, taking her silence as a refusal he had persevered on.  

“Oh no, that's quite alright. I am sure I have a tonic around here Madja gifted me.” She refused to tell anyone she had ran out quite some weeks ago, believing she could regain control of her nightmares, perhaps that was ill-advised on her part. Continuing on, “Truly, I was not expecting such a rough sleep or I would have had some before laying to rest.”

A lie, regrettably. Elain felt a heap of shame envelop her but it was no more than she would feel at the look of pity she was sure to receive if anyone knew the truth of it.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Azriel was anything but at ease tonight himself, so at odds with his usually calm steady demeanor. He appeared to be contemplating his next words carefully but settled—

“Well should you need me at any point I'm in the West Wing. Day or Night.”

She offered him a appreciate smile, again it was out of kindness he offered, but it was no matter why as she knew with absolute certainty that she would never take him up on that offer. She watched him take his leave and some part of her rebelled and she murmured, “Oh, Azriel... I am glad you are back home.” A blush rose to the surface quick and hot.

He paused abruptly; his hand was paused wrapped around the doorknob and stayed so as if glued to it, though frustratingly, she could not make out his face with his back towards her, the air within the room seemed to vibrate over her skin, raising goosebumps along the length of her arms. The tension that he had been holding in since he arrived seemed to reach its crescendo, his shadows growing and rising higher up his body swiftly covering him as if safely tucking away whatever was eating away at him.  

She could not be certain as the shadows pooled around them and pulled the room deeper in to darkness but she caught the slight movement as he ducked his head in a nod, a poor attempt to acknowledge that he heard her.

Elain wasn't even sure if that was just her imagination playing tricks because as quickly as she could think it, he regained himself and pulled the door open wide and fast, causing a rush of air to flow over her cheeks, Azriel was through the doorway and a mere shadow before she could even blink.  

All that remained was the fading light from the halls as her door gradually closed on its own accord.

She would lay there for many hours to come, eventually falling back in to dreamland, though this time when she returned her thoughts were filled less of a frigid baren land and replaced by visions of dark mountains scattered with wild-flowers, gentle wind chimes sounding through the trees and a small but beautiful cabin lay ahead.  

Although the inky sky should have filled her with fear there was no such unease here, the shadows seemed blanket her, appeared to comfort her in this foreign land, welcoming her home, even though she was certain she had never visited such a place before.

Elain was not able to identify anything familiar but its presence loomed over her in a intimate embrace and the soft smell of roses soothed her soul and coxed her in to a deep sleep.

The respite would not remain so for long, as the cold abyss would return on her next sleep as the sun set beyond the hills, summoning her to the icy void where reality was far from her reach.

As usual if you wish to be added or removed just let me know 🖤

@theshadowsinger-and-thefawn @verifiefangirl @stars-falling @abraxos-is-toothless @tswaney17 @elrielllll @empress-ofbloodshed @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books​ @julemmaes​ @thefangirlofhp

[breitzbachbea]

#11 and #41 for turgre!

Thank you for sending the prompt in!

Fanfic Trope Mash Up

#11 Neighbour AU + #41 Big Damn Kiss =

Herakles & Sadık are both recent university graduates from Athens & İstanbul, but find themselves lacking opportunities to work in their homecountries. So they go abroad to try their luck elsewhere.

Both end up in Germany. Herakles' is living with the Simonides old family friends who've either migrated decades ago or are living as expats in Germany. Natasa and Ibrahim welcome Herakles with open arms. He immediately makes friends with their twins, only a few years younger than him. Omar and Timothea, as they're called, are still living with their parents while they're attending the local university. They're not living in luxury, but they're happy.

Sadık manages to get in contact with Havva Be Yauno via some university acquaintances. They migrated to Germany a while ago, after being kicked out working in local administration. Sadık gets to share a small flat in the building Havva manages for the landlord, together with a Kurdish Woman called Dilan Taş. After some initial hiccups, the two become close friends.

The hiccups with their neighbours next door are less initial. No, that's a lie - The Simonides don't mind their new neighbours, even invite them for coffee and tea. Omar pretty quickly evolves a crush on Dilan.

It's just Herakles and Sadık who keep butting heads.

They argue about petty semantics that only people who studied 'breadless art' would care about. Herakles complains that they're too loud at night. Sadık says Herakles is dragging stray cats into the house by leaving out food & now the whole staircase stinks. There's always something.

As time goes on, they get over themselves a little. Too busy with their own life. Sadık feeds the cats with scraps he gets from the Turkish butcher. Herakles comes over after it's been eerily quiet for weeks and finds out that Sadık's latest odd job makes him work at night. He actually finds him slumped over on the kitchen table when Dilan lets him in before she leaves for work. He goes back and leaves him a package of expensive coffee beans that he had imported from Greece.

One night, they end up together on the university campus. Sitting on the steps surrounding a piece of green near a small river. The city's barely still awake, there's only music, TV and chatter from the dorms. The occassional student crossing after they stayed late at the library.

"What did you actually study?" Sadık asked and put the lighter back into his pocket. It was a cheap one with a wheel. Pain in the ass to get working at this point. His last money had been spent on the cigarettes themselves.

Herakles took a deep breath through his nose. He stared at the water, flowing invisibly except for a few dancing white and orange specks. "Philosophy," he said.

Sadık chuckled and the chuckle quickly became a laugh. "Oh, what a surprise that you couldn't find a job with such a prestigious degree." He grinned and exhaled some smoke.

"And history. Archaeology, Politics, Linguistics, Architecture, Maths... I dipped my toes into physics, too, for a little bit, but couldn't really make it."

Sadık's grin had long faltered. Herakles looked to the river. A smile replaced the initial surprise on Sadık's face. "Oho, a real Renaissance man, aren't you?"

"I like to learn. But all I could do with the few fields I actually managed to acquire a degree in was teach in school. And I'm just not... very good at that." He sighed. Long. "But my dad had stopped paying once I had gotten a job, not that he had ever really paid me enough, mind you, so... I had nowhere to go if I had quit."

"Except here." Sadık wished Herakles would have looked at him. To even catch a glimpse of him, a little bit of that beautiful face illuminated by the pale moon or the orange streetlights.

"Except here." Sadık finally had his wish granted. "What did you study?"

Sadık took a deep breath through his nose. His cigarette was almost finished. "Architecture, too. Tried to get into engineering, but couldn't quite make it. Would have loved to do Literature, frankly. I dunno, get a teaching position at an university, but Anne* always had higher plans for me. Career woman and all that, only wanted the best for me, too, so studying something almost as useless as philosophy wasn't really up for debate."

Now he was the one to stare into the river while he took another drag. He looked at his feet. His shoes could need a good cleaning.

"A smoking literature professor, how cliché," Herakles said and the deep shadows on his face hid how much it reflected the amusement in his voice. He leant in closer to Sadık and put a hand on his thigh. His inner thigh. "All the women would have gone wild over this."

"You think so?" Sadık asked, an expectant but cautious smirk on his face. Rest of his cigarette between his fingers. Herakles' weight on his thigh. He enjoyed his touch. The nights were so cold here in Germany. He leant in for a kiss.

Herakles' hand disappeared. "But I don't kiss smokers." The next moment, Sadık was engulfed in darkness as Herakles stood and blocked the streetlight. He turned and adjusted his jacket. "I have a job interview tomorrow, so see you around, I guess." He turned to just the right angle that Sadık could catch his grin.

He only had a dumbfounded stare as goodbye while Herakles climbed the stairs back to street level.

Some time after this incident, Herakles gets a job as research assisstant at the local university. It's initially only for a project of the history facculty, but he's happy nonetheless.

Now that he knows Sadık enjoys literature, he tells the Simonides one time the topic crops up & they know of a regional literature club, who's holding public reading nights. Any author can show up and read their pieces for 10 Minutes to an audience. Omar tells Dilan, who knows that Sadık writes poetry. She thinks he should go and so after she bullied him into it, they do.

Sadık becomes a regular guest there and ends up meeting other literature enthusiasts, like the Beilschmidts. (He and Gilbert bicker a lot about what the other writes, both trying to take the other down a peg). Sadık never tells Herakles any of this.

So imagine his surprise when he spots him one night in the audience. Afterwards, he's torn between sneaking out and going straight up to him, but Herakles makes the decision for him.

"I didn't know you wrote poetry," Herakles finally broke the awkward stare-off.

"Well, now you do." Sadık closed his book and shoved it under his arm. With a grin, he asked: "You think it's good?"

Despite what followed, Herakles couldn't wipe the smile off his face: "I enjoyed it more than the other guy's crime story, at least."

Sadık gave a short bark of laughter. "Oh, you don't know half of it, Gilbert's been trying to make it work since forever. You got time for a coffee?"

So life's good. They're hanging out, they're working, they're pursueing their passions. One time, the heater in Sadık and Dilan's flat breaks and despite Havva trying their best to get it repaired and them a temporary replacement, they're freezing their asses off. So they go and visit their neighbours, who offer them to sleep over. Sadık is supposed to sleep on the couch. Dilan is supposed to sleep on a mattress in the Simonides' room. Both somehow end up sleeping in a Greek's bed instead. (Herakles has a really small room - his desk is even in the twins' room cuz it wouldn't fit in his own. Sadık asks if he wants coffee and they end up drinking coffee in his bed together and talk until they fall asleep.)

Life could be rosy. That is until one day, the Simonides get into real trouble with the landlord. You see, Natasa and Havva always had a tense relationship, because Natasa doesn't believe in playing by the rules too much, while Havva is a very organized person. However, now some things - like mayhaps Herakles living with them - have gotten directly to the landlord of the building and they're not amused. They threaten to evict them, unless Herakles is going - and want a hefty fine from the Simonides either way.

Getting a new home would mean severe financial strain, not to mention the fine. Omar and Thea may would have to pause or drop their studies. Herakles would have to go back to Greece and start from scratch.

Which he's willing to do, seeing how much trouble he caused the family, even if it breaks his heart. Natasa is having none of it - "I'm not sending you back to your son of a bitch, deadbeat dad, Iraklis" - and insists he stays.

Dilan and Sadık get wind of all of this and they're just as devasted as the family itself. They don't want to lose their neighbours. They don't want this to ruin Omar's and Thea's future. They don't want Herakles to leave. Sadık doesn't want Herakles to leave.

So he pleads with Havva to do something, anything, he'll help them do whatever it takes. Natasa is far too proud to do so. Maybe she even suspects that Havva had something to do with it. (They don't).

And through a lot of negotiation, bribery and running errands, the Simonides get to stay. Omar and Thea can continue pursueing their degrees in peace. Herakles gets to stay and keep working in Germany.

"You... You've spent your past weeks on this?" Herakles' stare pierced Sadık as much as it seemed to look right through him. His mouth hung open, jaw slack. "This was all your doing?"

Sadık took a deep breath, but had to settle for a rather unintelligent "Well, yeah." Herakles' stare unsettled him. He had never seen him at a loss for words before. He was even afraid the other might faint.

A heartbeat later, Sadık was afraid he might faint. Herakles had taken a step towards him, grabbed his face and pressed his lips onto Sadık's. It knocked the breath out of him.

His lips were soft. They were so soft and hot and melded with his own effortlessly.

He kissed back, hands on Herakles' face, fingers buried in the messy hairy. The pressure between them was right, felt right, made them one for a brief eternity.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun. They both took a deep breath through their nose and Herakles panted loudly as he exhaled through the mouthm He swallowed.

"Herakles, I don't think that that's an appropriate enough Thank you", Ibrahim said, but neither of the two barely even registered it. Natasa laughed. Loudly.

"Oh, no, I think it's more than enough," Sadık replied as he stared at the wall next to Herakles' head. His hands were still on his face. "Although..." Ibrahim and Natasa were talking in Greek when he faced Herakles again. She still chuckled while a grin stole itself onto his face. "I think I could go for a little bit more gratitude, after all we've done."

"Don't push it," Herakles warned him. Yet, his cockyness was rewarded with another kiss.

Sadık's tongue slipped between his lips effortlessly. As if it belonged there.

Like Herakles belonged here.

So... yeah! I hope you liked it!