#but none of my wishes are definitely false

[wanderingwoodpecker]

Our Flag Means Death Season 2 Wishlist

Things I want from the new season in order of how badly I need them:

Lucius is inside the ship

Ed thinks Stede is dead

Stede finds Ed's handkerchief

Izzy and Ed Backstory

Fang gets a dog

I would also eventually like Stede and Ed to fake their own deaths to retire happily alive with each other, but please let that be the finale for whatever the last season is (hopefully not this one, I want more than 2 seasons of my beloved pirate show)

[vhaos-chaotic-writing]

Hello, Can I resquest, Transformers One, Yandere Sentinel Prime with a cybertronian reader conjux HCS

Oooh Sentinel Prime - lowkey, I believed I was gonna hate his guts until my very last breath. But I forgot I like fucked up characters that also have babygirl tratis (I mean - I am obsessed with Starscream, I understimated myself).（〃｀ 3′〃）

Yandere!Sentinel Prime (TFO) w/ Conjux Cybertronian!Reader (HCs)

WARNING: Yandere behaviour, possessive and obsessive elements, manipulation, psychological and emotional abuse, forced relationship.

Sentinel Prime is definitely a manipulative, possessive yandere that is not afraid to punish his Conjux with psychological or emotional punishment types.

You were older than both Orion Pax and D-16, a miner too - a hard working one who was always kind and tried to remain positive to everything, even when the guards were kind of jerks and your teammates got hurt while working.

Sentinel met you one day he went down to the mines to just say empty words and promises that fooled enough his blind admirers to keep up working hard. The moment his optics met yours among the other miners... he felt like his spark vibrated.

Uh, how strange - he was sure he was definitely disgusted by any bot, no matter if they were femme, mechs or none, that were a miner.

But here he is, thinking about you and talking Airachnid's audials off about you.

Maybe now he understood what Megatronus said about feeling his spark sing whenever Solus Prime was by his side.

Sentinel Prime started to look after you, visiting you down in the mines and trying to woo you. And while you were quite flattered... something in your spark knew something was wrong. You didn't knew exactly what it was wrong - but everything pointed at Sentinel, one way or another.

You tried to be polite and paint an imaginary limit line between you and the false Prime - but Sentinel knew what you were doing. And he wasn't gonna have it.

"Hehe... oh, sweetspark - it's so funny how you think you can just reject my advances! You should be grateful I have my optics on you, dear! But... Oh, well, I wished we had an organic 'fall-in-love' story to later tell our sparklings! But you left me with no options."

You were... confused. And scared. But before you could even step back, you felt a painful kick in the back of your helm, soon everything going dark.

When your optics onlined, you were met with a... new faceplate.

"Oh, thanks Primus! My love, are you okay?" The unknown mech asks as he gently craddles your faceplate with his servos.

"Where... where am I? What...?" You start to ask, blinking a few times before tilting your helm, staring with curiosity at the mech. "Who are you?"

The mech seems to smile a little bit more to then change his expression one to sadness. "Oh, my sweetspark - you don't remember me?"

The mech - Sentinel Prime - gently held your servo as both of you walked among the big, luxurious hallways of his home, explaining to you how you both were soon to be Conjuxes, him being a Prime and you were part of the guards. While on a mission against the Quintessons, you got hurt and your T-cog got taken, you nearly died! But your beloved soon to be Conjux saved you!

You just... accept it. I mean, you didn't remember anything (but something felt like missing inside of your system). But you didn't mind, you felt safe and loved in Sentinel's hold.

If Sentine Prime was not around because of needing to attend important Prime business, Airachnid is always with you - and she became a sort of... guardian. One who always followed you and kept Sentinel updated about you.

Sentinel blatantly manipulates you whenever you show any type of doubt or consideration on what he says or does. "My sweetspark, please... I nearly lost you one time. And I felt like my spark was going to die. I cannot lose you again, please. I love you so much."

It always works - after all, you don't know exactly who you were once are. Sentinel Prime is everything you have.

"Without me - you are nothing."

A few days after having woken up from your forced induced stasis mode, both of you became the Conjux Endura of each other, everyone on Iacon saw the event and celebrated. Sentinel Prime held you closely, snuzzling his helm softly against the top of yours, keeping one arm wrapped your behind and his free servo holding yours.

And you smile, preciously painted and adorned. But... something still, deep inside of your spark, knows something is wrong. But whenever you see at Sentinel's smile, you can't help but smile back and ignore that uncertain sensation.

After all - You've always been meant to be Sentinel Prime's conjux.

Everything is okay.

(��*ФωФ)ﾉ Vhaos out!

[syndrossi]

October Trick or Treat Fill #11: Daemon overhears an upsetting song

There were some great prompts for mad!Daemon and I...ended up taking little pieces from a few. (I started with "Daemon punches Cole" but ultimately stopped because we might get there at some point in the main story.)

So at long last, here are 3.6K words of Daemon experiencing all the emotions, which definitely include anger.

x~x~x

“Why is this so difficult?” Daemon snarled as they stepped back into the busy street.

“Because you are making it difficult,” Laenor said. “Why did you ask me along if you refuse to heed my advice?”

That was six shops along the Street of Kings visited, none of them offering anything remotely worth gifting to his sons. He had only given them two years worth of name day gifts, and each time it grew more difficult to decide upon a worthy one.

He had hoped that Laenor might have insight to offer, but his sons were years younger, while Daemon’s sons often seemed older than their own years. The wooden ships he had gifted Jon had seen some limited use when their cousins visited, but otherwise collected dust on the shelf. He doubted they would show any more interest in wooden knights or horses.

“It must be perfect,” Daemon said, frustration rising.

When his sons’ belongings had arrived from the Gates of the Moon, and Rhaegar had excitedly reached for his harp, Daemon had been met with the harsh realization he still did not know half of the things his sons were interested in. And when he had learned that Jon’s short sword and Rhaegar’s harp had been gifts from an unnamed “benefactor,” he had needed to excuse himself for a rare visit to the yard, where he had hacked a target to pieces with Dark Sister.

Realizing that Otto Hightower had known his sons’ preferences better than he, to have sent the perfect gifts, had filled him with fury at first, but when his energy had finally been spent in the yard, it had turned to hollow grief. I should know these things. I should know their favorite color, what foods they loved as infants, what joys they clung to for comfort in that joyless place.

That Jon had been forced to seek solace in weapons, in bashing training targets to gain some sense of control with he and his brother at Allard Royce’s mercy, while Rhaegar had turned to song to soothe their pain—

Daemon spun away from Laenor, breath hissing through clenched teeth as he fought to master his fury when every part of him screamed with the impulse to burn, to destroy.

“I know where we can go!” Laenor said, voice tight with the forced cheer Daemon had heard him use before to stave off one of Joff’s toddler meltdowns. His cousin raised his arms, palms flat, in a placating gesture when Daemon turned, ready to snap at him.

He exhaled then. Laenor was not the enemy. The man he wished to burn was in the Vale. “Where?”

“Children like secrets, hidden things. Like Jon’s sheath, the one you said Rhaegar gave him.”

That was true, though it set his chest to burning once more at the reminder of another enemy who still drew breath. Rhaegar’s first gift had been taken from Jon the night of their attempted escape, when Crayne had broken bones and threatened him with death, and discarded. His younger son had asked for aid in having a new one made for Jon, who had been moved almost to tears at the gift.

“What do you have in mind?”

“There is a shop nearer to River Row that sells such things. Jeweled boxes with false walls where they can keep their treasures, pouches with hidden pockets that can hide letters or other small things. Oh! There were some fetching brooches and hairpins that conceal tiny knives.”

His sons did enjoy both intrigues and martial pursuits. And although both had their bronze knives now, Rhaegar wore his openly rather than concealed. He might enjoy the novelty of a weapon hidden within a hairpin. It went without saying that Jon would gladly welcome any excuse to be further armed. He had already started to pester Daemon about when they would be considered old enough to wear a sword at their side.

“That sounds promising,” he admitted, earning a smile in response.

The shop in question was so close to the River Row as to nearly be in it, just barely skirting the edge of the sphere of affluence that radiated outward from the base of Aegon’s Hills, where the wealthiest of the city dwelled. The man who greeted them seemed to be a jeweler by trade, but there were enough works of leather that Daemon assumed he had a partner who specialized in such.

It had all that Laenor had described and more, and the jeweler, upon recognizing that he had royal visitors, brought out some richer pieces for their perusal. There was a beautiful pin of garnet and gold, fashioned into the shape of a red dragon that Daemon was immediately drawn to, the head rearing back and wings splayed wide, as though preparing to breathe dragonflame.

It had considerable heft to it, the pin itself wide and tapering to a point, to serve as a sheath for the hidden blade. The hilt and guard were hidden behind the dragon’s head and wings, secured in place to a pair of hooks by leather straps on either side of the guard that could be worked free.

The dagger could hardly be called that, its delicate hilt barely long enough to pinch between his thumb and forefinger, and the blade itself thin, tapering to a needle’s point. But it could stab a man’s flesh, should the need arise, and bleed him capably enough if aimed somewhere vulnerable.

“Can you make two more in this style?” Daemon asked, running his finger over the jewels that formed the scales. “One of sapphire on silver, and one of onyx on bronze?”

Jon did not often wear his hair styled into braids, but he might consider it with a Shadow hairpin that could transform into a tiny blade. The bronze would stand out against his dark hair, just as the blue of the sapphire would in Rhaegar’s light hair.

“For your sons?” The jeweler’s smile faltered for a moment at Daemon’s suspicious frown. “Tales of their hatchlings have spread throughout the city! It would be my honor to fashion pins in their likeness. Would my prince prefer the pins without a blade?”

“No,” Daemon said. He tested the red dragon’s blade with his thumb, which proved acceptably sharp. “It should be just like this one.”

“I can have it completed within a moon, if that is acceptable,” the man said with a bow. “Should I set aside the red dragon pin for when they are complete, or would my prince like to take it with him today?”

Daemon looked at the hairpin, heavy in his hand, and hesitated. He had not planned on seeking any trinkets for himself, but the red of the scales combined with the warm yellow of the dragon’s topaz eyes were too alike Caraxes not to be tempted.

“Here,” Laenor offered, taking the pin from his hand.

He wove the pin through one of Daemon’s side braids, then through the center braid. With just the pin, it would not have been especially stable, but the wings themselves extended into the teeth of a comb, allowing the decorative top piece to be partially secured in place. Daemon turned his head from side to side, then gave a small hop, testing its hold. It would be better served by some center braid knot, with the pin and comb akilter above it, but he could seek suggestions from Rhaenyra when she finally returned.

“It is very fetching,” Laenor said.

“Set it aside,” he said. One for each of us. It would not do to spoil the surprise early by revealing his own.

He added a pair of belt pouches with secret compartments to his purchase, and even took Laenor’s final suggestion, dictating a design for a pair of jeweled boxes with a clever mechanism for triggering the false bottom to spring up when pressed, revealing the hidden space below.

It was not an inexpensive trip, but Daemon had spent little of his royal allowance over his time in the Stepstones. He looked forward to someday bringing the twins with him to the shop, certain they would find other trinkets to their liking within. Once the matters of Volantis and the Stepstones are settled.

They were near enough to a woodworker’s shop that Daemon agreed to one more stop. Laenor had, for once, been inspired by his gift choices and wanted to find some wooden ships for Jace and Luke.

“He also carved their wooden dragons,” Laenor said. “If you’d like any for the twins. His Caraxes was quite a good likeness.”

As they turned onto the next street, they spied a small crowd gathered around a singer who was plucking his lute as he sang a melody Daemon hadn’t heard before, too distant yet to make out the words themselves. They had taken no more than a few steps when Laenor turned abruptly.

“I did not take note of the hour,” he said. “We should return to the holdfast. I can stop by another time.”

The swiftness of his speech spoke to a sudden agitation, and Daemon regarded him with suspicion, not moving to follow. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Laenor said, shoulders slumping after a few seconds of Daemon’s unblinking stare. “I—there is someone I wish to avoid.”

Although his words held the ring of a lie, his gaze did stray toward the singer. Daemon squinted through the crowd to catch a better glimpse of the man. Short, with short brown hair and a plain face. Far from his cousin’s usual type, which was lean, handsome, well-muscled and preferably knighted. And he could think of no other reason Laenor would wish to avoid some singer of common origin.

“Why—?”

“I can explain later.” Laenor grabbed his arm. “Come.”

Daemon easily twisted his arm free, and Laenor’s final protests trailed off as he approached the crowd gathered around the singer. The song was flowery tripe about a pair of Targaryen princes, with two entire verses devoted to their beauty. Such hyperbole was not uncommon in songs about their house.

The song turned slightly ribald then, switching to the lascivious Free Cities of Lys and Myr, whose loveliest slaves could not compare in a verse where their shortcomings were enumerated, with heavy innuendo. A few stretches of broken and butchered Valyrian were sprinkled into the verses, presumably to emphasize the foreign nature of the Free Cities, as the owners of the richest pillow houses conspired to steal away the “hidden jewels of the Iron Throne.”

“You see?” Laenor hissed at him. “It is nothing. We should return.”

Daemon turned to follow, willing to concede just this once, only to halt as the singer moved on to the details of plot, where the “jealous witch of Runestone” struck a bargain with the Lysene slavers.

My sons. Daemon spun back to the singer, too stunned for a moment to hear much of the next verse. It is about my sons.

A purse of fifty-thousand dragons was offered and accepted, and the young twins—fair and dewy-eyed in their innocence—escorted south to Gulltown by a man named Crayne, where the slaver ships awaited. Much was made of his sons’ helplessness, and the slavers’ delight when inspecting their find.

It did not matter that Daemon and Caraxes were made the heroes of the tale, swooping in for a daring, last-minute rescue. Hearing his sons spoken of thus, as objects of desire, as fodder for a Lysene pillow house, brought his blood to a roar in his ears.

“Daemon—” Laenor whispered, seizing his arm once more to halt him from drawing Dark Sister.

“My sons are eight,” Daemon hissed, mind shying away from the knowledge that the pillow houses across the Narrow Sea were notorious for training their pleasure slaves young.

“It is only a song,” Laenor said, straining with both arms now to hold him back. “Nothing happens to them, even in song.”

Laenor’s caution was no match for his fury. Daemon dragged him several steps before his cousin released him at last, and the crowd parted around him as their eyes fell upon his hair, then his unsheathed sword. The singer spotted him last, glancing up from where he had stooped to pick up his earnings, and Daemon lifted him in a single motion, shoving him back into the wall, bringing Dark Sister’s blade to rest just below his jaw.

The man stared back, terrified recognition in his eyes. “My prince. I—”

“Is that song of your creation?” Daemon demanded, the heat of his blood growing with every second he dwelled upon its ugly lyrics.

“No!” the singer gasped, desperately angling his jaw upward to put space between it and Dark Sister’s edge. “There was a singer in Flea Bottom, I learned it from him! And he had learned it from another.”

Daemon searched his gaze for signs of a lie, finding mostly terror, and he turned his head aside, spitting the vilest curses he knew in Valyrian. It has spread then. “What is it called?”

The man swallowed, clearly reluctant to answer. “‘The Pillow Princes.’ I did not name it!”

Laenor had made his way through the crowd after Daemon and put a hand on his shoulder. “Daemon.”

Daemon’s arm strained with the effort of not opening the singer’s throat to spill upon the cobblestone. “If you wish to keep your tongue, then you will not sing it again. And you will spread my warning to others who might do the same.”

The man gave the barest of nods, mindful of the blade. “Yes, my prince, of course! I will spread your words far and wide!”

Daemon lowered his sword, then his elbow, which had pinned the singer in place. The man bowed once, twice, even lower, and stumbled over his lute as he backed away, feet jarring several of the coins that had been tossed his way, which he now ignored to stumble further, not daring to turn his back until he was fully out of view.

When Daemon looked behind, he found that the crowd had dispersed entirely, as though fearful of receiving similar treatment for having listened to the song.

If it has made it through the city, it is only a matter of time until it finds its way into the Red Keep. The thought of his sons hearing it themselves, even if they did not entirely understand the uglier parts, made his fists clench. The part about Rhea will hurt them.

Rhaegar especially. She had given his younger son reason enough to doubt her love, he knew from speaking to Ser Perkins on the matter.

Crayne’s inclusion in the song made it clear that word had spread of his bounty, and inferences had been made from that as to the intentions behind the kidnapping attempt. That the singer behind it had chosen the vilest of possibilities, rather than the more obvious interpretation that one of the Free Cities sought dragons, spoke of malice.

I shall have every gold cloak on alert. Any who dare sing it—

“Forbidding a thing only increases its allure,” Laenor said.

Either he had read his thoughts, or Daemon had spoken aloud without realizing. Denial rose in his throat, and he swallowed it, jaw clenching so hard that it ached. Laenor was right. And if the song had made it to River Row, then it had almost certainly found its way to the harbor, and from there—anywhere.

I cannot protect them from anything. Every failure loomed before him, taunting him. Crayne’s continued freedom, wherever he had fled. The warlock’s candle that continued to haunt his sons. The reward offered by Volantis for their capture, unopposed and uncontested by the Crown.

Even the Stepstones remained unconquered, merely the seeds of victory being planted, with the harvest unassured. And the true horror of the song was that if not for the protection offered by Volantis’s reward, he could very easily imagine the Triarchy hatching such a plot to punish him for all that he had done to oppose them.

He did not sheathe Dark Sister, the walk back to the Red Keep a blur of bitter rage and despair, his thirst for violence, for bloodshed, unquenched. The temptation to mount Caraxes and set out for the Stepstones was nearly overwhelming. Let Caraxes rain fire from above. He would join the chaos of the melee, find release in the spray of blood.

Anything was better than yet another day spent on planning and logistics, on useless whispers and fruitless investigations. I am a blade left sheathed for too long.

Laenor departed once they reached the yard, and Daemon hacked at one target, then another, and another, but the destruction only further fueled the fury in his heart, until he felt as though he might choke on it. I am useless. I shall only fail them, as I failed them for so long.

“Daemon.”

That was his brother’s voice. Daemon blinked, finding his sword stuck partway through the top beam of the wooden fencing along the edge of the yard. His hand throbbed from the repeated impact of metal against wood, carried up the blade to the hilt.

There were a dozen knights in the yard, keeping either a respectful or wary distance from his swath of destruction, and two Kingsguard flanking his brother, and yet all Daemon could feel was a vague sense of threat. As though he were surrounded by only the illusion of safety, and it could vanish within an instant, trapping him, trapping his sons—

You cannot protect them.

He released Dark Sister’s hilt, the fire gone even more swiftly than it had built, without even embers to warm him. He felt cold as he looked to the setting sun, then back at his brother.

“Is there not a small council meeting?”

“Laenor fetched me,” Viserys said. He nodded at Ser Harrold, who strained for a few pulls before wrenching Dark Sister free of the fence and handing her to Daemon, who stared at the sword a moment before sheathing her. A hand found his back, resting lightly there. “Daemon, you worry me. What is the matter?”

There was a concern in his voice that Daemon desperately wanted to believe. “Am I one of your problems again?”

His brother heaved a heavy sigh, which seemed answer enough. “I should not have said that before. I am sorry.”

I am sorry, but we cannot risk open conflict with Volantis while we war against the Triarchy. I am sorry, but you must wed, even if you do not wish to. I am sorry, but I do not trust you enough to explain. I am sorry, but your children must remain here, blood to be spent.

“Daemon?”

“I do not want your apology,” he said. The screams he had strangled before had still somehow left his voice raw.

His brother fell silent for a few long seconds, though his hand remained on his back, a subtle pressure between his shoulder blades. “What do you want?”

“I—” So many things all at once that they might as well be nothing. Daemon swallowed. “I want my sons.”

Viserys’s head moved, and Ser Harrold spoke. “Their arms training is finished for the day. They should be back within the holdfast.”

“Come, then.” Viserys’s hand pushed gently, spurring him into a walk. “We shall find them.”

“Are you not needed at the small council meeting?”

“Are you not needed?” Viserys prodded back, only to quickly add as Daemon’s steps faltered, “They shall manage without us.”

Daemon was escorted to his apartments, and the two Kingsguard and the knight standing vigil outside the door were then ordered a few paces back by Viserys, who continued to study him, his small frown only serving to make him appear even wearier.

“Will you not tell me what troubles you?”

Everything. “It is nothing you can help with,” Daemon said. Nothing you would help with.

“Laenor told me about the song,” Viserys said, hands squeezing his shoulders. “I shall have it dealt with.”

Daemon was startled to find that it had almost completely slipped his mind. The embers of his fury earlier flared briefly, but as he reached for their warmth, they faded once more. “Thank you.”

“Would you do something for me in return?”

He should have expected a price. Daemon’s hands flexed. “What is it?”

“Would you stop slipping your household knights when you leave the Red Keep?” Viserys’s frown deepened. “It is not safe for you until the Triarchy is dealt with.”

He does not wish to let you beyond his reach.

Daemon gave a halting nod in response, and Viserys pulled him into an embrace, pressing a kiss to his temple before releasing him, pulling back to arm’s length, gaze roving over him once more, seeking something that he did not seem to find. “Thank you.”

The sound of laughter rose from within his apartments, and the constriction that had found its way to his lungs eased. Jon. He reached for the door, overcome by the need to see them, hold them. “I must—”

“Go on. We can speak later.”

The flutter of apprehension in his chest settled as he pulled the door open to the sight of his sons staring at one another across the room, their hatchlings positioned between them in some unknowable game. All four heads turned to him, and within moments he was swarmed by all four, warmth seeping through the cold at last.

[imagine-knowing-a-name]

i've built my dreams around you

Summary: You find out Natasha's never been to a Christmas market. Considering you work at one, you do what any good partner would do: make her go around with you.

Word Count: 1618

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Request: Can you write natasha and reader celebrating christmas and reader takes natasha to her first christmas market?

Warnings: None that I can think of!

A/N: Merry Christmas everyone :) Comment and reblogs are always appreciated.

»»————-　★　————-««

“You’ve never been to a Christmas market?”

“I’ve crashed a car through one before-”

“Natasha!”

“What? That doesn’t count?”

“You know full well that doesn’t count. You’re supposed to embrace the spirit of Christmas, not destroy it!”

After a slew of horrified looks targeted at her, Natasha finally decided to spare your neck ache by spinning you around to face her for the continuing conversation.

“I have a break at 2 pm tomorrow,” you told her, “come visit and I’ll take you around?”

A smile spread on your girlfriend’s face, filling you with warmth as she wrapped her arms around you and pulled herself closer, nodding against your lips. “Sounds perfect,” she whispered, punctuating it with a brief kiss. “I can't wait.”

Neither could you – a Christmas with your girlfriend would be a dream come true, and as you watched her leave, your mind ceaselessly imagined romantic cliches of the two of you together and all the stalls that she might love. So hopelessly enamoured by her, you hadn’t even noticed your mistake, watching her figure until it disappeared through the doorway. But when you turned back to your baking, the absent slice of your freshly made brownies spoke for itself.

“Natasha!” you yelled.

The Avenger returned dutifully, poking her head around the doorframe with both a knowing smugness on her face and the necessary evidence held between her teeth.

“You couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“They’re delicious love, I see why you always sell out.”

Seeing through her deflection, you continued undeterred, “That was deception.”

“Well, I’m a spy.” With that, Natasha disappeared once more. You shook your head as echoes of her footsteps running upstairs met your ears, then turned back to the counter – you’d need to cook far more now that you’d invited a brownie thief to your stall.

»»————-　★　————-««

For every second ticking towards your promised 2 pm, another coat-clad customer extended the queue; the ever-growing line comprised of people vying for both your attention and whichever brownie they had set their sights on. As much as the business’s success was nothing to complain about, all you wished to see was a glint of your girlfriend’s red hair or the saving grace of your friend coming to cover your shift.

13:56. They would be there soon.

In the meantime, you near-mindlessly served customers, fulfilling order after order while daydreaming of all the stalls you planned to take your girlfriend to see. Until-

“I think I’ll try the Oreo blondie”

- her voice broke through the chatter of the market, snapping you instantly out of your head. This wasn’t just another customer in front of you, but Natasha, wearing the Christmas jumper you’d gifted her years before, jeans, a green jacket, and a beanie still half-folded over her distinctive hair.

You scoffed – though without hiding the smile that came with it – and shook your head. “I don’t serve brownie thieves,” you told her seriously.

“What am I dating a baker for if not for the free food?” she hit back.

“I don’t know. My good looks? My charming personality?”

“Your humour is definitely up there.”

“Hey!” you said in an image of false offence, before waving her along with the tilt of your head. “Now you’re really not getting a brownie today. Get in here and stop holding up the queue, there’s still-” a check of your watch- “two minutes more ‘til the backup arrives.”

Natasha grinned and wasted no time jogging to the side of the stall, entering and wrapping her arms around you from behind. “I’m still working, love,” you half-heartedly reminded her, then turned to a customer, “What flavours would you like?”

“Just missed you is all,” Natasha muttered in your ear, “and I am excited for today.”

You glanced back every so often, but still focused on reducing the queue as best you could. “I’m glad you are, Natty, but maybe you need to go find your teammate so we can enjoy it at all.”

“No need,” another familiar voice said from the side of the stall, “Natasha’s teammate is here. Is that how you refer to me? I introduced you two.”

“It’s usually ‘friend’, Wanda. ‘Natasha’s teammate’ when you’re late.”

“By one minute!”

“Shameful. Does Natasha not teach you any punctuality in training?”

“I do.”; “She’s too busy knocking me to the floor.”

“Oh, that’s true too,” Natasha nodded, pulling herself away from you to greet her teammate properly.

“Now the two of you get out of here and enjoy the market before I hit you with a brownie,” Wanda scolded lightly, twirling her fingers to subtly lift an off-display tray of brownies in warning.

You didn’t need to be told twice, and Natasha was already out of there. “I really do owe you one, thanks for this Wands.”

“If you get Natasha to go easy on me in training, I’ll call us even.”

“Nobody can get her to do that-”

“Are you coming?” Natasha interrupted from outside the stall.

“-So I guess I’ll still owe you one.”

You caught Wanda’s smile and the beginning of an eye roll even as you turned to run away, and you thanked everything that you’d ended up with a friend like her. Natasha was in similarly high spirits when you met her outside, with a loving gaze that lingered on you while you took her hand and began to show her around. You told her to stop eventually since even you could see that she forsook the beautiful Christmas scenery surrounding her in favour of you.

“I can’t help it,” she told you, “Christmas is about the things you love, isn’t it?”

“You’re sweet.”

“It’s something in the air.”

“That’s just the churros.”

“Haha, very funny,” she deadpanned.

“They do make the air sweet, same as my stall, or the waffles! Come on, let me get you something, it’s part of the full experience,” you promised, fulfilling all the plans you’d made in your daydreams. Natasha nodded her agreement, but her eager smile quickly morphed to shock when you took her wrist and ran off, weaving through the crowds and taking her with you until you reached the desired stand.

You pulled her closer once you arrived as a means of apology, then struck up a conversation asking how her day had been until then. Her hand began to hover over her coat pocket as she spoke, alerting you to her wallet’s whereabouts – it had become almost tradition for the two of you to fight over payments, each trying to treat the other, but after promising to be her guide, you refused to lose the battle this time. So you laced your fingers with hers and held her arm stiffly to the side, pulling your own card out the moment the order was made. 

Natasha didn’t take it without resistance, struggling to free herself from your hold and even stating her intention to pay, but to no avail. You released her only once the payment had gone through, allowing her to take the churros from the seller.

“Thank you,” she muttered lowly, offering you a churro as she began to nibble on one of her own. The two of you strolled purposelessly through the crowds, side by side, and worked through the churros until Natasha held just an empty packet. After freeing her hand of the packet, Natasha’s first move was to take your hand in hers again – a move that caused you to recoil at the frigidity of her skin against yours. 

“You’re freezing.” You jumped into action – taking the gloves from your pocket to pull them over Natasha’s hands, then touching her cheeks and forehead to see they were cold too. With nothing else to wrap her in, you wordlessly led your girlfriend to the nearest stall and ordered a hot chocolate for both of you to warm up with. 

“There’s one more thing I want to do.”

“Is it the Ferris wheel?”

“Of course it’s the Ferris wheel.”

“Good,” Natasha said quietly, “we had the same idea then.”

You didn’t take her hand as you led her through the crowds this time – mainly because they were securely wrapped around her cup – but the two of you manoeuvred onwards to the rotating contraption. The sun had begun to set, and the queue had subsided enough that you were quickly led onto the ride and secured, marking the perfect end to the day. 

With a whir of machinery, the two of you began to rise, watching the shops and crowds you'd spent hours pushing through shrink into a model village.

“I had fun,” Natasha said suddenly.

“Did you like the stalls?”

“The stalls, the food, the lights… I see why you love it.”

“Yeah, so crash your car elsewhere next time.” 

She scoffed, but carried on, gazing down at the labyrinth of brightly lit cabins. “It's Christmas-y, but not enough for the full Christmas spirit.”

“What else-”

“It's the company that makes that,” she clarified, finally looking up at you and squeezing your free hand. “And I'm lucky enough to have the perfect companion.”

You'd reached the top by then, silence engulfed the two of you as the chatter of the crowd stilled with distance – up there, it was just you and her.

“You'll have me forever,” you promised. Your eyes drifted to where your hands met, surveying the left hand which – in just a couple more weeks – would no longer be without a ring. The token itself was entrusted to Yelena’s care until Christmas, until your plan could come to fruition.

“A lifetime of you and your baking,” Natasha mused, still unaware of how soon that dream may be, “sounds perfect.”

You smiled, shuffling close. “Merry Christmas, Natasha.”

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

»»————-　★　————-««

taglist: @canvascoloredin @fxckmiup @wizardofstories

[saioratral]

god - cult activities come to an end (gn! reader) warning - cult activities, fake religion, manipulation, non-con (forced touching/kiss), light self-harm topics and death (please keep yourself safe and do not read if you're uncomfortable!) note - from my old blog

what is the true definition of god? a deity with powers beyond human comprehension. a timeless source of all creations and a presence to which all souls inevitably return. that’s the title given to [name][last name]

from your first words to your first steps, you were destined to be ‘god’. your family craved power leading to them creating a false cult with followers who would kiss the ground you walked on. you were seen as a gifted being, the purest form of life, tucked away from the prying eyes of the potential corrupters of the world 

you hated it. every day felt like a hell of a show. you weren’t given any freedom and were constantly exploited for your family’s selfish acts. your body and soul were trapped behind a simple curtain as your ‘followers’ bowed before your throne, chanting your name fervently. you were adorned by the finest clothes and jewellery, sitting high and mighty listening to the concerns of your ‘followers’ 

you glanced over to your family who proudly stood beside you. no amount of pleading eyes would set you free from the world they created. you locked eyes with your younger brother who sent you a wicked smile. shivering, you turned back to the problems the followers were spinning about. 

“now it’s time for our god’s blessing”

your father announced loudly and the room roared in cheers. praises left and right, you were once again in the spotlight as your followers chanted for you. you shaky reached your kimono and slowly undid it. this was something you hated. greedy eyes watch you pull your kimono down, just enough to expose your left shoulder. you felt disgusted, almost like an object bought for people to stare at. a property of your family with no voice of your own. 

against your will, your mother instructed each of the followers to kiss your left shoulder for a longer life. one by one, their sloppy mouths tainted your shoulder. you closed your eyes and turned your head to the right, wishing and hoping someone could hear your prayers for being freed. you wanted this torture to end. 

and your prayers were answered. the door burst open, revealing none other than yuuta okkotsu, a special-grade sorcerer from jujutsu tech. you’ve heard stories of someone as strong as the gojo satoru. there he stood, not too far from you. your father quickly tugged your arm and pushed you out of the hall. looking back, you see the rest of the family running away in different directions. none daring to reach for you. it was clear—yuuta was here for everyone, yet nobody seemed concerned about you.

drawing his katana and summoning rika, yuuta turned the hall into a bloodbath. one by one, your followers' desperate cries echoed into your ears as you pulled yourself into one of the chambers. you couldn’t even reach the bed before collapsing on the floor. it wouldn’t be long before yuuta managed to remove almost everyone. he cursed himself for letting your family run away from his grasp. now he had to find the ‘god’. he didn’t have to search much

he entered a chamber and saw you lying on the floor. he stood there and examined you. you looked pale, almost like you hadn’t eaten in days. just what type of cult was this? you weakly cranked your head to see the sorcerer stand at the door 

“you’re here to kill me aren’t you?”, you asked 

your eyes were dull almost like you had no energy or will to fight back. the twisted cult made you their prisoner, their so-called ‘deity’. your voice lacked any hint of fear, just mere acceptance of your situation. yuuta’s heart ached, pity written all over his face 

“don’t pity me sorcerer”, you murmured with a dry laugh 

yuuta gripped his sword tighter and stared at you, a person broken and used. he could feel anger rising, you deserved better, not whatever freak show this place ran. he approached you closer and bent down to sit on the ground beside you 

“can i lay my head on your lap? that’s my last request before dying… i've never felt loved or cared for. i just want to be comforted before i die” 

yuuta gulped heavily and swore his heart had stopped for a minute. he had never been asked such an odd request. he complies, pulling you closer to him and gently placing your head, cradling you as if you were made of glass. you felt tears well up in your eyes from his gentle touches, it almost felt like feathers swiping past your face 

“you’re pretty handsome up close”, you remarked, a faint smile touching your lips.

yuuta looked down and blushed at your words. were you always this blunt? no, not really. you always spoke carefully and most of your words would have been rehearsed beforehand by your family. yet here you were, acting like a complete high school girl fawning over her crush 

“you’re not going to let me hear you?”, you whispered

you slowly brought your hand up to touch his face. you couldn’t believe you’d be spending your last few breaths with a stranger who was your so-called ‘enemy’. yuuta didn’t utter a word nor did he deny your touches. he let you express your final desires, contemplating on what to do with you 

“i don’t want to kill you”, yuuta spoke 

“i can save you! just come with me and you can join the juj-” 

you silenced the boy by lifting your head from his lap, capturing his lips in a hungry kiss. desperation coated your thoughts, and your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the shapes of his hidden muscles. yuuta hesitated but then surrendered to the kiss, tasting the salty remnants of your tears. a soft moan escaped him as you gently sucked on his lower lip, seeking deeper contact. entranced by your soft lips, he failed to see the flags his body was alarming

keeping him distracted, your fingers subtly moved towards his katana, pulling it closer. the weapon’s cold steel against your skin contrasted sharply with the heat of the moment. you deepened the kiss, feeling yuuta responding, as if he were drunk. you broke the kiss to catch your breath and you watched yuuta panting hard, almost like you knocked the breath out of his lungs 

“you’re too handsome to spout nonsense you know?” 

this was what you had always craved—a moment of connection, however brief, with someone who could see you as more than just a 'god.' with that you pulled him in for another kiss, poisoned by the adrenaline rush yuuta gave you. no second thoughts, you drew his katana and swung it, a sharp and clean blow on your neck. yuuta opened his eyes in horror, breaking the kiss seeing you dead. yet you looked so satisfied. content that you were finally freed 

“i kissed a curse and now a dead person.. and it had to be a french kiss”, yuuta groaned pulling your still body closer to his chest, lips messed up by your lipstick

© saioratral 2024-25 -- do not repost, translate, alter, etc on any platform without permission. Any characters used in my work do not belong to me, they are created by their original creator. all images used are from pinterest

[fictionwomenlover]

"Irreplaceable".

THIS CONTAINS ANGST!!

Arlecchino x Y/N. Y/N uses she/her pronouns!!

MALE/NBLM DO NOT INTERACT!!

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

"Y/n, it seems like you don't understand." Arlecchino clenched her teeth. "Lust is all that love is. I have nothing to commit for. I don't have time to squander on showing you "love" since I am too busy taking care of my children and my subordinates. You are no longer necessary to me, I am exhausted, and I have already obtained what I've desired from you. This is where we're ending it." All Y/N can do is look at her in agony, unable to speak since her lips is unable to form words. With her expression emotionless, Arlecchino doesn't even feel bad about fooling Y/n and giving her false hope despite the fact that Y/N placed her faith in her... supposed lover.

"Arlecchino…Really? Really???" On the corner of y/n's eyes, thick tears began to form. "What in the world was I thinking? I should have paid more attention to Childe when he said that you often sleep with other women. I wrongly thought he was making a joke."

"Well, he's most definitely not." Arlecchino said, leaning against a wall, crossing her arms, and smirking a little. "They understand not to hang around for too long in my presence, though, as it's a one-time event. I wish you were the same. I thought that ending things would be ideal for us both because you've been really annoying lately as well. You were obviously just a fuck partner." Arlecchino said, trying not to gulp while staring dead into Y/N's eyes.

Many questions lingered in Y/N's mind. "so why would you stay with me for a year if you wanted nothing to do with me and only saw me as a fuck partner in the first place?"

"Oh, I just didn't want to upset your sensitive self."

Tears fell and began to trickle down her cheeks. She was on the edge of losing it, but Arlecchino might make fun of her if she did. She then composed herself and spoke.

"Okay, we're ending it here then," y/n sighed. "I appreciate you taking up my time, Arlecchino. Perhaps you could find a woman to satisfy your lust or...whatever." Y/n then left the house, making no attempt to come back ever again.

After a while, Arlecchino broke her mask, her face now dejected. In fact, none of what she stated was true. Since she can't give Y/N enough time or communicate much with her lover, Arlecchino has always believed that she is always harming her. She made it clear to Y/N that she wanted to break up, but because Y/N constantly provided her chances, the harbinger decided that lying ruthlessly would be the best course of action. "I apologize, y/n. It's better this way, I think. In order for you to be happier… so I could quit fretting and always second-guessing myself if I'm a good partner for you."

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

After two weeks, Arlecchino would still see Y/n on the streets of Fontaine, but the Harbinger would just turn away from her even if Y/n was still glancing in Arlecchino's direction. Another instance in which they crossed paths was when Arlecchino went for a stroll with her "children" to the fresh markets and happened to run into a young woman, who happened to be y/n. Y/n was taken aback, made an effort to remain composed, and offered an apology, but the taller white haired woman snapped. "Why must I see your face everywhere," she grumbled. "Please quit bumping into me, it's really annoying." On the inside, though, Arlecchino was at least glad that she could glimpse her former flame again for a little while before turning away.

She was doing a good job of avoiding and covering her face with a mask on, the fine harbinger thought, until one day one of her "children", Lyney, muttered to himself, "I miss mother." Even though Arlecchino was devastated to hear that, she understood that the two of them would benefit from the separation.

One day in the evening, Arlecchino was strolling along a route by the court building in the evening when she noticed bloodstains in the water close to the sidewalks. "Whoever killed someone and then thought it would be a good idea to hide their body here...?" The Knave mumbled to herself. After making sure it was evident that no one was observing her, she turned to approach it. Her heart was racing unnaturally quickly, and she had no idea why she was so anxious. That is, until she notices the bracelet on the wrist of the corpse. "That is..." the expensive sapphire jewelry she got y/n on their sixth month anniversary. As soon as she got closer to examine the corpse, the Harbinger felt numb and only stared at it with full shock.

"No," the knave said, shaking her head. "No, this… I simply happened to run across you a few days ago. This, this could not be…" She was holding her dead girlfriend tenderly in her arms and tears were streaming out of Y/N's eyes as her cold body lays still. After gazing at her body for a while, Arlecchino gave it a gentle embrace and began to cry as she realized that Y/N had died believing that the taller woman had only ever used her body and had never loved her as a whole.

"..wake up… GET BACK TO ME, Y/N." The harbinger shook the icy body and yelled. "Forgive me… I have always loved you and I still do. I...I was lying, I never cheated on you, you always have had my heart, Y/N. Could you please get back to me...?" Holding the young woman she has always loved, Arlecchino broke down in tears, staring up at the rainy sky and chanting "I'm sorry, Y/n", "Forgive me", "Please come back".

After a while, walking in the pouring rain, the knave carried the body with her, weighed down with guilt. "I should have stayed," she spoke to herself. "I'm so stupid to leave you to grieve alone; I can't do anything without you. I'll never be able to forgive myself for this, Y/N... I should have put in more effort for us. My darling, I hope you understand how irreplaceable you are."

Perhaps it wasn't the best idea to part ways after all.

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

Author's note : HIII EVERYONE I haven't wrote a fanfiction for so long </3 I'm ngl I'm still a bit shitty in English Grammar so I'm very sorry if some of the paragraphs don't make sense at all :( I had a headache reading my own blog post LMFAO

but anyways I really hope you guys enjoy!! I've been focusing a lot with life as well lately, I'm trying to earn some money online so wish me luckkk <33

(I wrote an Arlecchino fanfic down because im so obsessed with her now like I literally came back to genshin because of her AAAA)

[ghcstao3]

for @rainerestored — cowboys au

-

Wisps of sand sting Soap's eyes as he attempts to keep a steady aim on his opponent. He wishes the bastard could have chosen any other day for confrontation, any day not on the cusp of a storm—but Soap is not not going to defend himself, either, so here he has no choice but to stand and face the sheriff.

"This is the end, Johnny," Graves calls, with false amicability and a very real edge, "Your days as an outlaw are over."

Soap snorts. He's certain he's heard those exact words before, be it from Graves or someone else on the so-called right side of the law, so somehow, some way, Soap doubts that this truly is where his life stops.

But in any case. He doesn't falter even as dust clings to him like an uncomfortable second skin.

"Awfully bold assumption," Soap grumbles. He shakes his head, makes certain there's a bullet set in place. He knows he's quicker than Graves—he just needs the right moment. "Let's just make this easy, aye?"

"Stand down, then." Graves shrugs a shoulder. Soap can't wait to rid him of that smug look. Just a little longer. "That easy enough for you, partner?"

Soap scoffs. Rolls his shoulders. Readies his trigger finger. Opens his mouth to offer one last retort and—

A shot rings out, quick and brutal and loud. Soap frowns. He still stands, he still has all his bullets, and his gun certainly isn't smoking. He glances back to Graves and sees the sheriff is wide-eyed, gun forgotten at his clutches his stomach, where crimson blooms in uneven petals across his uniform.

Graves collapses. Soap doesn't allow his arm to fall to his side just yet, still uncertain of the origin of the shot.

Then a searing-hot barrel is pressed to the crown of his head, just beneath the rim of Soap's hat.

"What's your business?" A deep baritone asks, voice somehow muffled in spite of being near right in Soap's ear. It rumbles through Soap as his hands involuntarily raise in surrender.

"Was trying to save my honour," Soap rasps. "What's yours?"

Miraculously, the pressure of the barrel falls away from Soap's head. He hears the weapon be holstered, and Soap takes a deep breath.

"Doin' a shit job," the stranger mutters. He then adds, much to Soap's surprise, "John MacTavish."

Soap whirls around. "How do you—"

The words die on his tongue as soon as he's facing his saviour—and near murderer—and finds the man to be none other than The Ghost. Famed outlaw; a legend. Never captured, hardly seen, and believed by many to not even be real. Yet here he exists, clad in all black despite the heat, face half-obscured.

It's bad, Soap thinks, that his first observation is just about how nice The Ghost's eyes are.

"I know quite a bit about you, Johnny," Ghost hums.

Though Soap has hated that nickname from the mouth of many others—particularly a certain recently deceased sheriff—he feels a pleasant shiver roll up his spine at Ghost's use.

Soap cocks an eyebrow. "That so?"

Ghost nods sagely. He looks Soap up and down, assessing, before raising his chin. "I hear you're good with explosives."

"I might be." Soap says slowly, shrugging a shoulder. "What for?"

Ghost narrows his eyes. Soap can almost hear a smile in his tone as he says, "I have a job for you. If you accept, that is."

Soap tilts his head. His heart beats an erratic rhythm. "If I don't?"

There's definitely a smile now. "Then this really will be your end. Partner."

And, well. Who is Soap not to say yes to an opportunity to work with The Ghost?

[sgiandubh]

Pic Hounds

On December 13, a London Instagram user got particularly lucky:

The person behind this account is an unapologetic pic hound. Something beyond my abilities (I am, believe it or not, painfully shy and incredibly awkward in similar situations) and a rather dubious claim to fame. But I am not here to dissect an online career, heh.

The quick snapshot was taken in front of the Prince Edward Theatre, on Old Compton Street, in LHR's Soho. How do I know it?

Then, literally two clicks in order to find out where this play is on for a limited season (and featuring Joseph Fiennes 🤭🧨 - now we are talking business) :

Of course, questions immediately fused: was he alone? yes? no? with whom? who took the pic? She answers he was with a guy (a friend) who took the pic. As an aside, spare the Israeli Peaker who asked first out of Levantine curiosity, I suppose, both accounts insisting are private and have a curiously limited audience. One is clearly a sock account and the other (also being sorry he wasn't 'with a co-star': no shit, Sherlock, I have no clue who you are talking about!), rather questionable credentials for a 'fashion blog'. I really, really wish these people would stop asking altogether, as the answer will always, always be either partial or downright false, at this point in time. Plus, seriously now: how pathetic is this, anyway?

Unlike other times, this pic hound offered even an unsolicited narrative to introduce her story:

She was 'having breakfast', dear soul, and lo and behold, peekaboo. Maps are wonderful tools, don't you think?

If x marks the spot, where was Danielle having breakfast, allowing her to be simultaneously able to spot SRH and to sprint like Abebe Bikila, breathlessly asking for a pic?

The only possible guess would be the Caffè Nero, at 43 Frith Street. It was open since 06:30, last Wednesday, it has a modicum of terrace outside (unsure if in winter, though) and it is definitely at a sprintable distance from the theatre.

Best part?

It's a three minute (leisure) walk from Soho House, on Dean Street.

I will not have the insolence to ask if the pic hound has a day job, though. That is none of my business, really.

[youngerfrankenstein]

Popping in briefly because I finally watched Transformers ONE!

It. Is.

OKAY! It’s pretty fun. Thoughts under the cut.

I was not wrong about a lot of the humour being quite bad. Not that there weren’t also moments that made me laugh but enough made me eye roll to not mention it. B-127 did get the worst of it, with perhaps one joke near the end that had me losing it while mostly wishing he was mute in this movie too.

It also really fell into the trap of what seems to be a lot of modern Transformers media trying to cram in as many iconic catchphrases as possible. It gets exasperating. Make a new one. That said there were a lot of little referential moments that made me smile! Like Wheeljack’s one major contributing factor to the story being accidentally blowing something up.

Story was alright, but felt really rushed to me. Like I get that they had an hour and a half to get everyone at least adjacent to their starting positions, and they did the best they could. But it still felt off. Particularly D-16 given his fall felt less like a descent and more like finding out one awful truth and plummeting off a cliff to become turbo-Hitler. Though I will say they do a decent enough job given the parameters. Things like Orion immediately going “okay how do we help everyone else?” and Dee going “I want personal revenge.” Highlights the main differences between them and why one of them is cut out to be a leader. Also things like Dee being the one to always stick to protocol and will be the leader whose style is very much “do as I say or die.” I will say they did a good job of actually making D-16 and Orion feel like friends with the limited time. Which is good, because I don’t know if the movie could have worked otherwise.

Nothing particularly surprising either. Though it’s kinda to be expected. Guessed Sentinel sold out Cybertron to the Quintessons well before the movie came out. And fortunately they don’t really expect you to care about robot politics besides “Sentinel Sucks”, though looking back I’m not sure why I was worried. Also I think he’s my favourite character. I’m a real sucker for fun villains as is probably very clear by now, and he is very fun. Even if the engineered confession was cliché. Part of this is probably also because I tend to like Jon Hamm. Which I guess brings me to the cast.

If I’m being totally honest the voices for none of the main four really work for me? Brian Tyree Henry is definitely the one who works the most to his credit. Hemsworth is… fine. He’s fine. He could be a lot worse. Though other than them most of the cast works well for me. Though I do still wish there was more respect for voice acting as an actual career by Hollywood. That said Soundwave’s voice was done well and that is all I ask.

As for things I just straight up enjoyed the animation is REALLY good. And I really like a lot of the designs! The bots, the train, THE QUINTESSON SHIP!!! Also kind of like the whole Fisher King thing Cybertron seems to have going on

[Cinematic Parallels]

And the fact it’s constantly transforming. The ACTION! So well done. All I really wanted was a thrilling punch-up between Optimus and Megatron and I GOT IT! There’s also the frequent use of blatant irony which is MY cringy dialogue trope! Favourite of course: “No more false prophets!” <- False prophet seconds before robot Jesus shows back up.

(Perhaps irony is not quite right but it did make me smile.)

And the most minor one, Oppy getting the Castlevania axe subweapon.

All in all I do hope we get a Transformers TWO. I think there’s more story to be told in this universe, it feels somewhat fresh. And I think with a bit more space to flesh things out it could be quite good! Also I just want to see the gang fight the Quintessons. (Big Quintesson fan here. #bringbacktheG1origin)

Was it the best Transformers film? No. That’s still Bumblebee, and by a country mile.

But was it a good time for the kids?

Yeah, I would think so! Mission accomplished.

[nanabansama]

if tsukasa is wrong and ignores the rules is that why he defeats any puzzle he fights but how can there be mistake in his existence ??

Hello! I'm a little unsure on what you're asking but generally speaking I assume Tsukasa's power comes from the entity inside of him, not necessarily because he has a blatant disregard for rules. If that's all it took, then Hanako should be a lot stronger...

Note that Tsukasa has seemingly had the ability to grant wishes for people since he came back from the Red House. This wish-granting power is eerily similar to both the entity he made exchanges with and Tsukasa's powers as a supernatural.

Tsukasa has always granted wishes arbitrarily. At least, to some extent.

He says he grants wishes of the heart. The heart is generally depicted as a passionate, unruly thing, opposed to the logic of the brain. Kinda like the ego, superego, and id. In this case, Tsukasa is focusing entirely on the id, which is irrational and driven by pure desire. His methods are very extreme, showcased best by how everyone he's granted the wishes of so far regretting it. (Shijima, Kunishige, Amane, Mitsuba...)

In the case of Amane, his superego is him holding back while his id is the violent urge to murder his brother.

In any case, my armchair Freudian psychoanalysis aside, I've long held the theory that Tsukasa's wish-granting powers as a supernatural are related to the entity and that he's had them in some form since he was alive.

My favorite point of evidence in favor of this is that the entity uses the honorific -kun with Tsukasa ("Tsukasa-kun") while Tsukasa uses the honorific -kun when first talking to Mitsuba.

(...just trust me he's saying "Mitsuba-kun" in the right image ok just check your copies of Volume 4 ok)

The singular bump in this theory I've encountered is that Tsukasa specifies he exclusively grants supernatural wishes (in contrast to Hanako) while the alive Tsukasa granted Kunishige's wish, who is definitely not a supernatural. The entity also had zero problem granting the wishes of Tsukasa--a human. And for that matter the wishes of an entire village of people.

For this I have two explanations. One, Tsukasa is arbitrarily paralleling Amane just cuz. And two, something about the nature of Tsukasa's death changed the rules by which he was allowed to grant wishes. Neither is really a satisfactory answer, but they work well enough.

For one, we've already run into issues concerning Tsukasa's powers, like the fact that it's established Tsukasa needs a human to spread rumors, AKA Sakura, but she's doing it in exchange for a wish. You could logic this away by saying Sakura is a supernatural, but then why would the characters falsely explain only humans can do it in the first place? Also, Sakura is not confirmed to be human or supernatural. In fact, given her dialogue in Chapter 92, it's safe to assume she's not quite either?

Essentially, what I'm saying is, none of this makes any damn sense in the first place.

On that note, I struggle to understand how much this is Tsukasa actively granting wishes and not the entity spurring him on. Are they simply in agreement on this? It's possible. After all, Tsukasa seems obsessed with learning Amane's true wish after failing to grant it the first time. He also expresses an interest in people breaking rules, and says if that's enough to break the world then it's better off broken. Frankly, while this is all rather evil, it does strike me as more of a Tsukasa perspective than a purely Pit God one. It makes sense to me why he might think this way, after everything he's been through.

Tsukasa is truly the willing puppet of this entity...their mutual special interest is granting everyone's deepest darkest wishes... (/end theory)

Anyway I totally rambled there but feel free to send another ask if I didn't quite answer your question.

[arioloyal]

Sepandarmazgan

(King baldwin iv x reader part 5)

Warning: none!

How it feels to rest

On your patient lips

To eternal bliss

I'm so glad to know

Today, before sunrise, after the king's suggestion, y/n and baldwin iv left the palace without informing anyone. The hooves of their horses raised dust on the way. They passed everywhere , enjoying the clean air and the absolute silence of the dawn. The crows began to crow and the clothes spread on the ropes in front of the village houses danced and waved in the wind.

Then Baldwin pulled on his horse's reins with one hand and pointed to an oak tree on a hill far away. After getting there, y/n spread the long cloth that was with her under the tree and both of them sat and looked at the sky that was slowly turning to light red and orange.

The sound of adhan came from far away. lady y/n said under her breath: "When I arrived in Jerusalem, I saw this tree on my way first and I sat here. I met someone who said that your sermons can take all the sadness out of any heart, and you know how much I I am a curious person."

Baldwin IV did not respond. He stood there motionless as if he had traveled to another world. His eyes were looking far away. Meanwhile, y/n picked up a large bowl and walked over to the river to fill it with water. she returned and placed a bowl of water and some dates and walnuts in front of him.

:" I was there that day and witnessed all the events.I saw how some templars looked at you. Willingly or unwillingly, you ignite the fire of anger in them. I have no longer the power and ability to suppress them. I don't even like to predict what calamities can befall you. Then I can no longer protect you."

:" I am not an enemy to anyone, I am against the conspiratorial nature of some of them. The world is always full of sinners who wear holiness clothes. Jerusalem is the land of conscience. Sometimes, order, law and words are not enough. The only thing that always It's worth it, it's only love. The love of God . I came here to ask for forgiveness, but I had no idea that I was going to be the king's companion."

"I wish one day I could experience the love like you..."

Lady y/n turned her head, probably so he wouldn't see her laughing. :" If God wills, you will definitely reach it. The place where words lose their meaning."

He took a deep and heavy breath, in this world, they were the only ones who could drive each other crazy out of excitement. Whenever Y/n was with him, she felt like a young girl who was ready to learn new things at any moment, she had the feeling of a caring mother, and she was like a lotus flower that was ready to bloom. She would flourish, she would become a woman.

:"You say that if God wills it for me, I will reach it. What exactly do you mean by that? Does it mean that it is in my destiny?"

Lady y/n nodded and said, "Yes, that counts as well. But we shouldn't have false beliefs about fate. I can't say what fate is, but I can say what it isn't. destiny doesn't mean that the path of our life is predetermined. That a person after every tragedy says, "there is nothing more i can do!This was my destiny" is a sign of ignorance. Destiny is only at the crossroads. It is up to man to choose the path.

In fact, we are neither in control of our lives nor condemned to it.

He moved a little closer to y/n and adjusted the white scarf on her head and tucked her black hair behind her ear. he was close enough that y/n could smell him. The smell of wood, amber and rained soil...

:" I brought you here to ask you an important question. away from everyone. After these events, I have become more determined to protect you at any cost. Now it's your turn to choose between this dilemma. .."

:"Dilemma...?"

:" I saw you as a person who loves not only beauty but also ugliness. I trusted you in any situation because I knew you deserve it. You will one day become a great person in this land. But I'm not here for too long. I will not be there to see that day."

He held her hand, it was pleasantly warm.

:" Jerusalem and I need you and we are fascinated by you in all the way... are you willing to stay here?"

:"Yes, my lord if you wish...!"

:" No hear it all before you answer...

would you marry me?

Lady y/n felt like the blood froze in all her veins for a moment. The world stopped moving. her happiness, like the life of her king, was short. For a moment, she imagined the farewell . that day. which would destroy heart. But she was glad that she could at least have him from now on.

she came here in search of divine love. But at this moment, she was blessed with divine and material love at the same time...

[To be continued]...

[pfffsfic]

Post-Fall Falls False Starts- Chapter 18: Looking Back

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

There were two kinds of slow walk. One was the sort of walk a group of heroes would do on the way to the villain's headquarters, the sort of walk wrestlers sometimes entered the ring with. Ideally there would be a cool song playing in the background and then that song would be reused at climatic moments later in the series, but you'd never really feel the impact as strongly as you felt it that first time- she digressed. The second type was the sad type. Emotions could weigh a girl down like a backpack full of dumbbells, and though having them around usually motivated her to get where she was going and do what she was planning to do faster than usual, something about that just wasn't happening tonight. Part of her hoped to run into a monster just so something would take her mind off of the situation. None came. Only her own inner demons, which seemed less like formally-dressed hot tall guys and more like shapeless masses of painful thoughts.

Several major doors to the future had just been abruptly and unceremoniously closed off to her. She hadn't even planned to use the 'out' she had prepared by stealing from the van until much later, but now that it was no longer a possibility, this place seemed less like a magical land of possibility and wish fulfillment and more like a lawless universe of danger and despair. Why, oh why couldn't she find it in herself to get excited? Danger was good! Much of her work contained dangerous situations over which heroes triumphed. The rest of it was fluff, which was definitely out of the question right now. The difference, she realized, was that she was unsure of her ability to triumph. Her fantasies swerved from all the ways she could live it up here to all the ways she could die here. Okay, so the present was a dark forest path and the future was a cave full of monsters- the former was literal, the latter was metaphorical. What about the past? Ah, yes, the past.

She met up with Rob on her fifth real day here and they had been grilling mushrooms and catching small forest animals ever since. Before that, though, life was less... stable.

MORNING 1: DEEP FREEZE

If she squinted, she could make out the clock on the wall of the vacant grocery store. 2:11. That had to be AM since the stars and moon were overhead.

The doors were locked. She snuck around the perimeter of the building, back to the wall like a secret agent looking for 'weak spots' in its structure. A rusty air vent grate hung loose from one of its fasteners. Excellent! She was tall enough to pull herself through after lugging over a rock to step on. The grate on the other end came off with surprisingly little resistance and she happily tumbled face-first onto the glorious air-conditioned sales floor, where she made a beeline for the icebox next to the checkout counter, slipping her head inside, letting out a pleasurable sigh, and then curling her body up on the floor next to it. This was perfect. The only thing that could make this whole situation any more perfect, she thought out loud, was if she encountered a certain someone in her dreams.

Her first encounter with a 'local' was far from that, though. She groggily opened her eyes to see a slack-jawed cashier, freshly into work, staring down at her. In a flash, she reached for her head, popped it back on, and theatrically looked over the other ice creams.

"I'm aliiiive!" she gasped, feigning lightheadedness. "My brethren," she addressed the inanimate frozen treats, scooping a couple of them into her arms, "why only me? Why have you not all been awakened to the glory of sapience?"

When no answer came, she leaned over the icebox for a moment like a grieving widow at a military funeral, pretended to steel herself, and then ran out of the store and into the woods via the automatic door.

AFTERNOON 1: INTO THE WOODS

With a spring in her step and a sparkle in her eyes, Sarah whistled some nameless tune all the way down the forest path. Was it for fun? To occupy her mind? To stave off hunters? To stave off monsters? To attract monsters? She didn't know for sure, but she also didn't need a rationale to continue with it. Whatever ended up happening would be swiftly rationalized as part of her plan. When the forest stopped being creepily sunny and started being sunnily creepy, she sat down on a rock and started on one of the popsicles she had grabbed earlier. It was strawberry flavored and if Sarah tried hard enough she could make out some faint differences between this universe's strawberry flavor and her own universe's strawberry flavor... or, on second thought, that probably just came down to the brand.

"It would be a shame if my peaceful lunch in the scary forest was interrupted," she spoke out loud to no one in particular, hoping that, as was typical for cartoons, something would happen right afterwards. It was almost a letdown when nothing did.

As dusk set in, she wandered the forest in search of a birch tree, failed to locate any, and fell asleep eventually on the roots of an evergreen tree, driven not by fatigue but by a simple desire to dream. She did have a dream that night. It was about a meteor impact on Elmore, only when the meteor came down instead of spreading fire and destruction it made all of the computers and TVs in town start playing loud dubstep. Sarah was a member of the task force dispatched to chop up the metaphor and eat it (which seemed sensible in the dream but was confusing upon waking up).

DAY 2: THE TREES HAVE EYES

Sarah noticed a small anthill near her sleeping tree when she woke up. The ants, going about their day, were a good metaphor for... something. She didn't really know what and her creative juices weren't flowing fast enough today to push her to come up with something. She was melting a little. As one ant trotted aimlessly around in a search for food, she noticed something odd: none of the ants had approached her yet, and she, a self-proclaimed tall drink of 50% water, 15% sugar, and 45% dairy, had been sleeping there for at least five or six hours. 'That's alright,' she thought, 'the ants here are probably weird like everything else.'

Part of her mind told her the ants weren't the problem.

Just 10 minutes from the sleeping spot was a small grove of birch trees and their adjacent cave. This place, she decided, would be her hideout! Exploring the cave, though, Sarah discovered a giant spider with human feet on the ends of its eight legs, heard it hiss territorially at her, and quickly changed her earlier decision. The rest of the day was spent scouting out other caves, none of which were quite as eventful (though she did spot some small footprints that could have belonged to some distant gnome), and she topped it off with a rather one-sided wrestling contest against several angry raccoons over what had seemed a worthy prize: a bucketload of discarded food from the dumpster out back of Greasy's Diner. It was delicious- the victory, that is. The food, on the other hand, was mediocre. And all of it tasted like coffee.

MORNING 3: DISTANT ENCOUNTERS

As the wee hours of the morning on the third day dragged on, Sarah, an early riser, donned "her" top hat and bow tie and her eye patch, left the shallow cave she had slept in the previous night, and trudged out to sit out by the edge of the lake, its subsurface disappointingly free of any visible lake monsters. The moonlight made the whole thing awfully serene, just like a painting in the waiting room of a doctor's office. Sarah couldn't help but skip a small stone across the surface. When it hit the water and sunk on first contact, she remembered with a heavy heart that she did not actually know how to skip a stone. That had once been a source of trauma and/or drama in her childhood; a friend from Richwood Elementary, a well-off human girl, had invited her to a lake house birthday party and the girl's snooty parents had nearly laughed her off the property when she came in last in their stone-skipping contest. She had never really fit in, but that was okay because of uniqueness, or something. That lake house had been in the 2D part of town. This town was in the 2D part of the multiverse. Something about the view brought her back.

When a group of rowdy early-bird fishers pulled up by the lake with a boat strapped haphazardly on top of their truck, rather than going and saying hi like she had been urging herself to do despite her appearance, Sarah fled into the woods clutching the hat for dear life. In retrospect the group of middle-aged men probably would not have been enthusiastic about greeting her for multiple reasons, but what citizen would be? No, she needed to wait for the right moment. Now she was just worried that moment might never come.

AFTERNOON 3: CATCHING FLIES WITH IMITATION IS THE SINCEREST FORM OF FLATTERY

The ground would be her canvas and that big stick over there would be her brush. On second thought, maybe her finger would be her brush, because the stick didn't allow her the sort of control she needed to make three letters fit neatly inside a tiny heart. A heart... there was something else she had meant to draw, but what? Oh! Right.

After a few minutes of sloppy work there were eyes of providence in a circle around the clearing, with legs, arms, and accessories for good measure. Sarah hoped this would be an effective 'trap' for the object of her makeshift summons even without the Latin incantation, but the afternoon was still young, and she had to make use of her time effectively. What did that even mean at a time like this? She had no concrete plans, just a bunch of tiny idea fragments. She decided, staring at the watchful eyes around her, that she would go through all her ideas from least to most embarrassing. Everyone liked exponentially escalating hijinks.

The first act was a monologue. She took up the old adage and imagined a naked audience to replace the nonexistent audience before her. It helped with the nervousness, or maybe she didn't have any nervousness to begin with, but either way it was absent by the time she hit her stride.

"...And that's why i think there should be more shoujo love interests with huge biceps. Anyways, you ever wondered why anybody would choose to have one eye?" she asked, pausing for an imaginary burst of laughter and flipping up her eye patch. "Of course, I don't mean to insult anybody who doesn't have a choice. But if you do have a choice? I mean, c'mon. I'd love to interview some shapeshifting one-eyed guy about that someday, but of course nobody's listening." Another pause, a slow sweeping look at her surroundings, a glance over at the eye patch. "I just wear this thing to look cool! Maybe that's why someone would choose that. Am I a hypocrite? I might be a hypocrite."

The second act was jokes. She told a few of her many memorized puns related to herself ("What does ice cream do when it gets stressed? It has a meltdown!") and then filled time with a particularly long and winding joke about a monk that ended with an unsatisfying punchline. The fun of that one was considerably lessened without the groans that always followed her telling it back home. The capstone on her set began with "My ex wife still misses me," followed by a tangent about whether it was even appropriate to tell jokes that start on false premises about the teller, whether joke plagiarism applied to informal conversations, and ultimately whether a tree that fell in the forest with no one to hear it would make a sound. The punchline to that final joke never arrived because she had forgotten where the conversation began.

The third act was music. Sarah's vocal chops were better suited to calmer, quieter, and/or creepier tunes than the loud and flashy showman-esque renditions she was now attempting to put on with her stick in hand as a makeshift cane. The first song she had in mind was We'll Meet Again, but the second she opened her mouth, it dawned on her that she did not know the entire thing, just about half of the chorus. She pivoted to another similar song with Daisy Bell and then in an entirely different direction with a few of her favorite vocal synthesizer tunes, a few of which she had memorized in half-mangled Japanese and then another few that were in English. Halfway through a high note, she noticed with awe that a few animals had taken notice of her singing. A few beady-eyed birds, a raccoon (who looked familiar, maybe from her battle the previous night), and two deer- scratch that, upon closer inspection it was one deer with a head at each end and no backside- stood by the clearing watching her go. So this was what it felt like to be a Disney princess... or, really, less of a Disney princess and more of a Disney forest hermit.

"Thank you for coming out tonight," she said, and then she realized a moment later than her subconscious that night had fallen. The animals scattered when she sat down to take a short rest, and suddenly her motivation, momentarily buffed by the presence of actual tangible beings other than herself, was mostly gone.

A bit more walking from the art clearing yielded yet another cave, and a peek inside the cave, past the waterfall that hid its entrance, yielded yet another disappointment. This one at least had the additional security of both a few large boulders and the waterfall, the flow sound of which changed when someone passed through it, and so she accepted that there were too many caves to find that cave easily and laid down to see if her performance earlier that day would bear fruit. It didn't. In fact, if she dreamed at all, she didn't remember it.

DAY 4: THE INTRUDER

Sarah was hungry. Not eat-your-own-leg hungry, but hungrier than she had been for, what, weeks? Months? It had been a little over 24 hours since her last meal, and that last meal in question was coffee-spiked all-day breakfast food out of a dumpster, so not exactly the sort of soul-nourishing thing she needed for a lite survivalist lifestyle. She beat the sun into the town proper and glanced tentatively at the diner, which made her stomach drop and alleviated the hunger a little as a result.

It was difficult to both walk casually into town and constantly dart behind lampposts and buildings to avoid the gazes of the citizens, especially with no destination in sight. After who-knows-how-many minutes of Red Light, Green Light, Sarah's eyes fell upon a mansion on a hill in the distance, and, using a technique no doubt more common in Elmore than here, she ducked behind one building far from the mansion and popped out from behind another building closer to it. One or two short fence hops later she stood before the mansion, staring up at a window that hung open just a crack, wondering what sorts of food the pantry of a place like this might have in store.

On one hand, this was the wrong house to come to for someone like her who was not a fan of taxidermy or getting lost; on the other hand, this was the wrong universe to come to for someone like her who was not a fan of taxidermy or getting lost. With a deep breath and all of her mild-hunger-fueled athleticism, she used the rope from the van to lasso the latch of the open window, used a combination of a few lucky footholds and her height to ascend the side of the house, and pulled herself over the threshold into what she soon realized was a very occupied bedroom. Her eyes met the occupant's eyes. She couldn't tell who it was- their eyes were the only things visible in a field of pitch black.

"Who-" said a youthful voice from the direction of the other two eyeballs.

"You're dreaming," said Sarah, darting for the bedroom door. As soon as probably-cifica (whose identity Sarah was really making an educated guess about) saw Sarah's unusual silhouette in the doorway, she must have figured the dream explanation was more likely than an actual giant ice cream cone in her house, because she didn't attempt to make chase. The pantry was easy enough to find (perhaps the family had more than one?) and, after spraying edible gold dust on the security cameras, Sarah made off through a garbage chute with a whole roast-ready duck, a pint of caviar-flavored frozen yogurt, and a few bags of imported chips with a fancy French name she couldn't read.

She took a different route back to the cave this time and noticed a few footprints that weren't hers. A clearing with several suspicious, near-hidden pit traps caught her eye, and she made sure to watch her step.

DAY 5: THE OTHER INTRUDER

What time was it? She didn't know for sure, and there was no sunlight in the little muddy crevasse she had made for herself between two easily-pushed boulders. She shoved another chip into her mouth and chewed quietly. The good thing about chips was they could be eaten at breakfast, lunch, or dinner, as well as between meals as a snack, so it didn't really matter what time it was.

Why was she huddled up? Well, only a few hours earlier a set of footsteps had echoed outside- and then inside- the cave, and she had taken measures to hide herself from prying eyes. It had apparently worked. The intruder was deterred, right? Maybe it was an animal. Maybe it was a person. What if somebody owned this cave and she was just a trespasser?

It was like the universe responding to her thoughts when the sound of the waterfall changed. It didn't go back to normal, either. Someone was sitting in the flow, and they weren't leaving. Why would anybody do that? To train for a big battle? To meditate (for a big battle)? Nah, unlikely. She poked her head up from behind one muddy boulder and snuffed a near-gasp with her hands. The person (or not a person?) meditating (or not meditating?) in the waterfall was three-dimensional. No, no, not just that, she recognized the back of his head. A sense of loneliness she didn't even know she was swamped with crumbled around her as she stepped up to him.

"Rob?" she asked. He was repeating something incoherently to himself and apparently didn't hear her over the sound of the rushing water. That was alright. She reached out in what was supposed to be a friendly pat on the shoulder, but the force of the falling water made it really more of a slap...

She didn't have time to cover her ears before he shrieked so loud there was a mini-earthquake inside the cave and darted off into the distance. She wasn't planning to follow him, really, at least not until she had the chance to clean off the mud and get out of her two-item cosplay, but her eyes fell on the crowbar that had fallen from his backpack in his confusion, and she suddenly had a conversational 'in'. That was always the goal when getting to know people. Then again, if you were desperate enough for interaction, you could fabricate an 'in' from practically anything, like entering a conversation about grades with a, "woah, we could be study buddies! Who knows? it might turn into something more." That one hadn't worked. What was she doing even thinking about this? She needed to get the crowbar back to Rob!

Thankfully, the waterfall was almost like a 5-second shower, and she only needed to stand in it for a second to get most of the mud (and a bit of herself) off. There were wet footprints in the forest dirt for her to follow. "Who knows?" she said to herself, or to nobody in particular. "Maybe this could be the start of a great friendship."

Several weeks on, Sarah still didn't know if what they had was great or a friendship, but it sure helped the existential dread to think of it that way. She looked down at the tapes and thought to herself, no looking back, no looking back, no more looking back.

[notafraidofredyellowandblue]

Interesting how none of the guys wished Till hbd

Well...i mentioned to one of my tumblr friends a while ago, the guys are of the generation who often think it's silly to congratulate someone on social media when they are in touch personally and can congratulate in real life; i must admit i'm the same 😇 so i wouldn't search too much into it..

for a longer answer; Flake, Olli aren't active on social media afaik, Paul and Schneider are occassionally, but i don't think i ever saw a birthday post from them, Till's social media is, i think, not maintained by himself, that account rarely acknowledges the existance of Rammstein bandmates anyway 😊

The only one doing a Happy Birthday now and then is Richard, for Till's birthday last year he was several days late, so i wouldn't rule out he'll post something over the weekend 😊 but he misses most birthdays too..

My theory (feel free to disagree) on Richard congratulating Flake a while ago is that Richard has become aware that since the tour, German media are following his account (and reading his Kruspefying captions) and that that post was actually a subtle nod of support for Flake after the allegations in 2023 (where Flake lost his podcast and booktour even before he was attacked himself, and even after nothing came of it, hasn't gotten them back).

Oh, and my other theory was that Richard actually went to Mexico to attend Till's birthday show and could congratulate in person, but i think that definitely was proven false by now... 😄

So...my theories tend to be not all that useful... 😄 so...well...as to the answer to this ask...i'm going with the first paragraph 😇

[fierce-kiwi]

Thrum

I recently finished reading Meg Smitherman's novella, Thrum, and I have some thoughts. I was not expecting to be so captured by this tiny little book as I was. None of what I am about to say is earth shattering, but I wanted somewhere to put my thoughts anyways, here it is......spoilers ahead, proceed with caution.

**SPOILERS**

How would our simple human brains react to coming face to face with something that is otherworldly? The talk of extra-terrestrials and are we truly alone in the universe is such an interesting topic and whether or not you agree or disagree with the idea, the question holds true. Throughout the story, Dorian, this vampire-esque alien gentleman, constantly tells Ami that the ship is sending out a frequency to protect her mind from basically imploding on itself because human minds are too fragile to grasp the concept of his entire existence. The ship, although somewhat protecting her, is also the cause of her extreme paranoia and memory loss. Ami inevitably makes it to the heart of the ship, where Smitherman provides an intense scene of light gore and somewhat of a reveal of who or what Dorian truly is. Blood is leaking out of every orifice on Ami's body and her skull pounds as if it is seconds away from shattering; ultimately this scene depicts a human nervous system collapsing from the brain trying to formulate what it is seeing into something it understands but is failing. If we were to make contact with something within or outside our own solar system, would this be how our bodies and minds would react or is the human mind capable of more than we think?

Smitherman also addresses throughout the book the concept of reality. Scientists are still debating and testing the brain to understand how it formulates reality; how experienced realities differ from perceived realities, no two brains are alike, and so on. I am by no means a neuroscientist, but its books like this that make me wish I would have gone that route. I will never be able to eloquently discuss in depth make-ups of the brain at this point, but it still fascinates me that two people can be sharing an experience but be processing it differently. Ami, in our story, is losing her mind quickly, or so we think. Towards the end of the book, it is revealed that she possibly has been losing her mind much slower and over a longer period of time due to the frequency emission of the alien ship/Dorian. She hits a breaking point and no longer believes anything she is experiencing or seeing is real. During these instances in the book were probably the main times I would consider the story a horror novel. The panic I felt as I imagined myself in Ami's place definitely caused some heart palpitations and secondhand stress. Later in the book, I start to wonder if it is actually the ship continuing to portray these images of false realities, or is she experiencing an extreme case of PTSD, and her own mind is creating her new reality. Especially the "ghosts" of her crew that she sees in the shadows and confronts on her trek to the ships core.

At the end, Ami chooses to stay with Dorian, who at this point is screaming Eldritch terror, but I felt she was caught between a rock and a hard place. She either stays with Dorian or accepts a slow painful death drifting through space on her dead ship. It seems that with her final acceptance of Dorian, she experiences an extreme calmness that I am assuming is her brain coming to an acceptance of the things around her, almost lowering her brains mental shields entirely and fulling succumbing to the ship. However, I can't help but wonder if the "memories" Ami was experiencing that explained what happened to her crew were true, going back to the issue that led her into this frenzy panic about what is real and what isn't. She just all of a sudden accepts the images she is seeing, concerning the deaths of her crew members, as fact. What if these were false memories created by the ship/Dorian to make Ami stay with him? Does Ami believe the feelings she is experiencing for this extra-terrestrial being are real? The fact that she killed her human love, Lily, makes me feel like everything Ami was experiencing, once contact was established, was a reality created for her for the selfish desires of the ship/Dorian. If allowed to be in her right mind, she would have remained with her crew and would have found a way together to get away or died trying. Or possibly would have been swept away by this all powerful being to sail across the galaxies in a very BBC special kind of way.

Maybe that is where the true horror of this novella lies. Having everything you know warped and taken away from you; only realizing it when it is already too late. To have control over not only your body but the deepest recesses of your mind, consumed for the gain of another; engulfed in an endless night and falling.

[flxwxr-bxy]

Hi, I've seen your requests are open. May I request an Oikawa x fem! or gn! reader fluff? In which Oikawa Tooru sees reader again after a long time, and wonders how should he approach her/them.

Thank you.

— Daffodil

☾  Thanks for your request, I really loved writing it. I hope you liked it! ☆

☆ Genre: Fluff 

☾ Character: Oikawa x Gn! Reader

☆ Warning: None!

☾ I am not a native English speaker, so I apologize if you find any spelling mistakes.☆

He would be lying if he said out loud that it didn't hurt the moment you parted ways in high school, after graduation he decided to follow his dreams, even if it meant leaving you behind.

Now he wished he had asked you for your number before graduation, maybe then the lonely nights wouldn't feel so lonely if he heard your voice even though you were miles away from each other, but he knew it would be selfish, asking you to wait for him even though he wasn't even sure if he would be back soon or if he would ever keep his promise, so he didn't. He didn't ask you on a date just the day before his flight when you met, he didn't accept your confession that rainy day because he didn't want to give you false hope that he wouldn't leave or that you would find a way to make it work even with the distance between you. So he left with a million regrets in his heart.

But now back to the place he left years ago, he wished he had stayed, did you always look so lovely?, he really didn't expect to see you, it's not like he had never heard of you after he was gone, you were friends with iwa too, so he knew a little about how you had been, but you still weren't fully on speaking terms, he wondered if you would have thought about him all this time, did you miss him? He expected the answer to be no, after all you hadn't approached him either, maybe he just hadn't given you the opportunity to do so.

Would you pretend you didn't know him at all if you happened to see him too? No, you were not like that or at least he hoped, because without realizing it his feet started to move until he was almost in front of you, he was really a coward, where did his sudden confidence go? Why couldn't he reach you? He was almost sure he couldn't talk anymore, oh what a bad idea this was, what would he even say?, well you two were friends at some point in your lives, perhaps he could buy you a coffee and catch up, but what if you said no? Definitely a bad idea.

So horrible that when you finally became aware of his presence, he couldn't even understand what you were talking about! Embarrassed as ever, when he finally caught on that your voice was expecting a response from him, he couldn't help but blush a little, god he wasn't like that in the least, that made it even more embarrassing, and now you were laughing at the look on his face, truly a horrible plan.

He decided to smile awkwardly at you until he knew how to speak again and thanks to looking at his phone to try to give you his new number (which by now he should have learned) he didn't notice the soft look you were giving him, and when he looked up again it was gone. Finally, when you parted ways with a promise to write to each other and meet up sometime, he thought it may not have been such a horrible plan, just, maybe.

☾ Author's note: Daffodil is a flower than means "new beginnings". Pls reblog and follow, I hope you have a lovely day or night. :) ☆

All works belong to @ flxwxr-bxy don't copy, translate or repost in other sites without my permission. Thanks ♡

[immeasurable-depths]

Chapter 2 of my post-Grey Valley fight is finally done! It’s definitely not my best work but I just wanted it finished regardless, I’ve got a few more things rotating in my brain that I’m excited to write now this is done. Let me know what you think!

Snippet here, rest on AO3 ft. Lots of angst, hurt/comfort, lots of magic metaphors and something spicy too…

Laudna hated that she didn’t know what Imogen was thinking - and that she was too afraid to ask.

She hadn’t been able to protect her in the fight, and now, she couldn’t protect her from whatever mental torrent was overwhelming her from the inside. And Imogen wasn’t offering it up, either.

Laudna yearned to cross the chasm that separated them, to say something to get Imogen to open up. To make her feel Laudna’s concern for her, to share the burden of whatever she was bottling up. But the wind snatched away any half-formed words that skittered across Laudna’s lips.

It was Imogen, eventually, that broke the silence.

“What is it, Laudna? I can practically see the thoughts spillin’ out of your head, and that’s with this circlet on.” Her voice was soft, with the faintest edge of teasing - but she wasn’t quite managing to sell it. Weariness coated every word, and her eyes gazed forlornly out across the plain; Laudna wished she could look into them.

“It’s nothing, dear.” Now it was Laudna’s own voice that rang false.

“Laudna.”

She sighed, fists clenched into balls at her side. Her pale skin glowed even in the weak moonlight.

“I can’t say what’s bothering me, Imogen. It’s selfish.”

Imogen softened at this, turning towards Laudna to meet her gaze. Pale moonlight glanced off lavender irises in a way that made Laudna’s breath hitch in her chest.

“Hey. None of that.” Imogen always tried to stop Laudna’s self-flagellation in its tracks. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. No judgements here.” A smile ghosted across her lips, small but genuine.

So Laudna yielded first. She sidled closer to Imogen and took one of her hands in both of her own, fingers lacing together effortlessly like pieces of a puzzle.

“I have to admit, Imogen - it was hard to watch you in that fight, today.” She smiled sadly. “I don’t know if I’ve just… not realised how nerve-wracking it is when you have someone you care for so deeply, or…” She trailed off, searching Imogen’s face, but Imogen remained impassive, carefully guarding her expression. Laudna continued.

“You know I think you’re very capable. But watching you put yourself in danger, drawing that creature’s ire…” She frowned and swallowed hard, scared to say her suspicions out loud, not wanting it to come across like an accusation. Laudna cleared her throat. “Well. Like I said, it was hard to watch. I can’t… fathom losing you, Imogen. Now more than ever.” Her eyes were pleading.

Imogen smiled again, her gaze softening in a way that made Laudna’s heart feel like it was being squeezed warmly in her chest.

“That ain’t selfish, Laudna.” She clasped her fingers around Laudna’s. “It’s nice.”

But still, Imogen looked down, not fully meeting Laudna’s eyes. Laudna could tell she still wasn’t saying something, was guarding her words and her thoughts and her heart in a way that Laudna longed to break through, to find out what was hurting her so she could tear it down piece by piece.

If Imogen wasn’t sharing, Laudna would have to draw it out of her. And that meant saying her own fears aloud.

“Sometimes it seemed like… like you were putting yourself at risk intentionally, Imogen. Going out into the open like that, it was… reckless, darling.”

Imogen’s lips pursed, and her grip on Laudna’s fingers loosened.

Laudna opened her mouth to speak again, eyes searching Imogen’s face beseechingly.

“Please don’t.” Her voice was impossibly small. “Don’t… don’t leave me. Not when I just got you.”

Imogen’s face crumpled at that, pain crossing her expression. She tried to withdraw from Laudna’s grasp, but Laudna held on, clinging desperately to Imogen’s hands.

“I’m not…” Imogen trailed off, before starting again. “I’m not tryn’a leave you, Laudna. I could never,” and Laudna believed this, the quiet earnestness permeating through her words. There was a pause, longer than the gaps between Laudna’s heartbeats, too long.

Imogen inhaled deeply, then continued. Her gaze stayed resolutely on their clasped hands.

“Sometimes I feel like I need to draw some fire on myself. To take the hit, to make up for… everythin’.”

The silence rang hollow between them. A cold sensation that had nothing to do with the wind trickled down Laudna’s spine as her eyes roved across Imogen’s face, trying to understand.

“Imogen, what do you - ?”

“All I do is put you in danger, Laudna,” Imogen whispered bitterly. Her hands balled into fists, trying to extricate herself from Laudna’s grasp.

Laudna shook her head, slowly.

“That’s not true, Imogen…”

“That beast earlier today. Dusk, tryin’ to get between us and manipulatin’ everythin’.” Imogen’s voice shook as she choked out the next word. “Otohan.”

“No. No! You can’t hold yourself responsible for these things,” Laudna’s eyes widened and she stooped down a little, desperate to make eye contact with Imogen, to make her see the truth of her words.

Imogen inhaled sharply, and then looked up, gaze boring into Laudna’s; her purple eyes had turned a deep black. Laudna felt herself recoil at the intensity, before steeling herself and meeting the fierce stare.

“Responsible? Look at everythin’ that’s happened, Laud!” Imogen’s hands gestured in exasperation; Laudna couldn’t help but notice that the pale purple lines trailing up her arms flashed white in the moonlight. “My powers… it’s all tied in. Mine, and my mother’s. She’s so involved in all this, and I… I need to prove to Keyleth that I’m not gonna betray them. She already doesn’t trust me.”

“Imogen,” Laudna’s voice came out in a hiss, disbelief plain on her face as she shook her head slowly, trying to convey her disagreement. “You are not responsible for the mistakes of your mother. Any more than I’m responsible for what she does.” She pointed emphatically towards her own temple.

But Imogen was shaking her head. “It’s not the same, Laudna.”

“It’s - it’s…” Laudna was spluttering now, trying desperately to put together an argument to change Imogen’s mind. She could feel a ravine growing between them, widening and widening with every falsehood that Imogen used to convince herself that she was evil.

Laudna lowered her voice, trying to adopt a calm, soothing tone to bring down Imogen’s frantic intensity.

“You’re so brave, Imogen. But -”

“Brave? Ha!” Imogen’s laugh came out as a humourless bark. Her hands flew to her hair and she ran her fingers through it frantically, eyes scrunching shut as she spoke faster and faster.

“I’m anythin’ but brave, Laudna. I’m a coward. It’s like… it’s like there’s somethin’ broken inside me. It’s been broken since my mother left me with these powers and no way of understandin’ them. She claims she’s protecting me, but it’s a lie. She’s not protecting me. She’s runnin’, too. Guess she taught me something.”

Suddenly, all the intensity dropped from Imogen’s speech. She spoke in a hushed voice, bleak and resigned to what she had so effectively convinced herself to believe. Her previously animated hands slumped to her sides, and she stared desolately across the grey horizon.

“All I do is run from the storm. It’s time I stood up and faced it.”