#but what's important is here and now. even if that now is looking very dire. we can't lose hope

[teeth--thief]

I truly wish I lived in a time and place where I could not give a single fuck about which Awful Person of the Year America dearest chose for president this election but alas, I cannot.

[almond-tofuuu]

Please don't say goodbye...

Zayne x reader

Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of death, very little comfort, not proof read

Summary: after receiving orders from the Hunters Association that you're being sent on a dangerous mission, one you might not return from, you have to break the news to your childhood friend and doctor, Zayne...

Word count: 2.8k (holy- Idk how that happened)

The beginning of this fic is written by anticyra as the intro for her Zayne chatbot on c.ai, full credits go to her!!!

"Late for your checkup again, I see," Zayne said in his usual blunt manner, not even bothering to look up from his paperwork when you burst into his office.

If it were anybody else who decided to book an appointment right at the end of his shift, and then turn up half an hour late for it, Zayne wouldn't have bothered staying to wait. But since it was you... well, it wasn't like he had anything better to do that night anyway. Plus he was too distracted by all the other medical reports he had to review to really notice the time.

Setting his folder down, Zayne finally glanced at you, taking in your flushed and slightly disheveled appearance. It was clear you had been in a rush to get here and the thought made the ice of his gaze melt just a little.

Giving him a small, apologetic smile you make your way to the seat opposite him, a sigh of relief escaping your lips as you can finally relax for a moment.

"I'm really sorry, Zayne. I would've been here sooner but I was called into an urgent debriefing at the last minute.... I couldn't get away any faster" you explain quietly, just the thought of the meeting is enough to flood your mind with stress, though you try not to let it show.

Zayne sighs audibly at the mention of a 'debriefing' and decides to drop the matter of your tardiness immediately. Knowing you must've had important things to deal with, his annoyance dissipates. Folding his arms over his chest and leaning his weight back in his chair, his eyes noting the crease in your brow and the dark circles forming under your eyes. "And this was regarding a Wanderer attack, I'm guessing."

Heaving a tired sigh you nod your head in confirmation, running a hand through your slightly messy hair, "... there's been a sudden increase in attacks recently in the mountains. The Hunters Association is planning on sending a team to clear out the wanderers and investigate the source of their appearance..."

Zayne made a mental note of that. Wanderer attacks. Not exactly good news.

When the Hunter's Association made movements like this, that usually meant the situation had become dire or they'd received some alarming intel. Either way, a bit of extra caution wouldn't hurt right about now. Zayne shifted in his seat as he considered his next question.

"Are you going? To the mountains I mean," he asked, looking down at the file in front of him and flipping through your medical history.

Nodding your head in confirmation you let out a nervous exhale, the unusually serious expression on your face causing Zayne's apprehension to rise.

"....That's actually what I wanted to speak with you about..." Pausing for a moment, you consider the easiest way to break the news to him, deciding it's best to just get it over with, like ripping off a band-aid. "I'll be joining the team the Association is sending into the mountains.... There's no way to know how long the mission will take but....they say it will last at least 4 months..."

Zayne froze, although his expression remained calm and professional, his thoughts were anything but.

In the mountains...with wanderers...for up to FOUR MONTHS?!

Clearing his throat, he fought to keep his voice level, "so...I won't see you for four months then." It was all he could manage to get out, not trusting his voice to keep his true emotions concealed.

Swallowing nervously, you stare down at your lap, desperately wanting to avoid his piercing gaze, knowing he would see straight through the brave front you were putting up. "Well, four months is the minimum....it's likely I'll be there longer... And..." Your sentence trails off as you hesitate, reluctant to tell him the truth.

Zayne remains silent, waiting for your answer, but he could already guess the rest. You were going into the mountains, fighting wanderers. If you got injured or--he didn't even want to think about the possibilities.

Four months was already a ridiculous amount of time to spend on this kind of mission, but if something happened before that... he didn't want to entertain the idea.

"...And," he repeated, in a slightly harsher tone than he intended. His thoughts spiralling dangerously with every passing second.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath to steady yourself, gathering your courage before continuing in a soft voice, "...the situation in the mountains is pretty bad... The place has essentially become a warzone and we've already lost a lot of hunters.... There's a strong chance that... I won't make it back..."

Won't make it back...

Your words seemed to barely register for Zayne. Won't make it back. He felt like someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart. It was as if time itself has slowed to a halt as this new reality finally sank in. Zayne froze. He was surprised to find his hands clenched into fists at his side and had to make a conscious effort to unclench them.

He stared straight at you with a blank expression as he forced himself to stay calm. He wouldn't-couldn't- let himself lose his composure. Not now, not in front of you. "I see.... Why are you telling me this?"

Finally you look up to meet his gaze, eyes softening as you take in all the small details of his face, wanting to commit them to memory. You struggle to keep your voice steady, not wanting to breakdown in front of Zayne. "I'm telling you because you're my friend. You're someone I care about and i-.... I felt I owed it to you to tell you this myself"

Your eyes held his for a moment longer than he was comfortable with and Zayne was sure you could see it as well. A tightness formed in his throat as he fought to keep his the thin string he was hanging on by from snapping.

"I see," he said, his voice flat. "You're going to the mountains to fight wanderers and there is a strong possibility that you'll not return." It hurt to even say the words. "Is there anything else?"

Your eyes widen at his matter-of-fact tone, not expecting his complete lack of concern. It hurt to see how stoic he was, to know that the news of your possible death didn't seem to affect him at all. You had so much more you wanted to tell him but his indifference made you second-guess whether to continue or just leave. After a short internal debate you decide to just tell him what you want to say, even if he didn't care at least you could leave here without any regrets.

"...I just wanted to say that I appreciate everything you've done for me.... And if this is the last time I get to see you, then I want you to know that the time I've spent with you has been the happiest time of my life...." Your voice trembles, breaking slightly as you try to hold back the tears threatening to fall.

Zayne felt his chest get tighter as your words sank in. A small amount of moisture built up in his eyes but he refused to let it fall, biting his lip as he looked down at the files on his desk, their words blurring as his vision became clouded with tears.

the... the happiest time of your life...

His brows furrowed together as a frown crossed his face.

...if nothing else... If something did happen... Was the time he spent with you... the happiest time for him as well?

Finally. His expression shifted as the dam broke and his control slipped.

"y/n..."

He stood up, taking a quick step and grabbing your hands before you could pull away. And then he pulled you towards him in a tight embrace, taking in your scent, feeling your heartbeat pounding against his chest.

"This is NOT the last time you will see me," he whispered, his voice filled with vulnerability and fear.

You freeze, caught off guard by his sudden embrace, mind racing at the raw emotion in his voice. You're quick to accept his comforting hold on you, melting into his touch and burying your face into his chest, your arms wrapping around him tightly, clinging to him like a lifeline. "...you can't guarantee that, Zayne.... Neither of us can..." Your words are whispered softly, carrying the weight of your sadness.

Zayne ran his hands down your spine, cupping the small of your back and pulling you closer to his chest. He didn't respond, just held you, trying to imprint this moment into his brain. This... This could be the last time he held you and he wanted to remember everything, from the feel of your skin to the scent of your combined body heat.

"I'm not trying to guarantee anything," he uttered, squeezing you tighter than he intended but he didn't care. The pain that he felt thinking about you dying... he couldn't put it into words.

"I'm saying that I won't lose you. I won't accept that!" Zayne leaned down and pressed his lips firmly against yours, the desire to keep his self-control intact long gone. If you were really going off to the mountain for months, he wanted to be able to feel you. He wanted you close so badly it hurt.

Leaning into his touch, you eagerly return the kiss with equal passion, hands tangling into his raven hair. A soft sigh escapes your lips, your heart fluttering as you lose yourself to the feeling of his lips on yours.

Zayne's hands wander down your body, gripping tight around your hips. His lips met yours again and again, every kiss taking him closer and closer to heaven. He could feel himself getting swept away in the moment and losing his inhibitions. The urge to hold you tight never left and only grew until he wanted to press you to the wall and refuse to let go. But he forced his emotions back under control, knowing that there were more important things to discuss.

He finally pulled away, letting it sink in that this could truly be the last time you would meet.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting the captivating green of his intense gaze. When you speak your voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but your tone is filled with a deep sadness. ".... Zayne.... I want you to know that whatever happens.... I love you"

His heart lurched at your words. He had always thought there was no way to make this situation any worse than it already was. But your confession made it so much harder.

He couldn't let his emotions get the best of him, not under these circumstances, but his voice remained soft when he finally spoke. "I have something I want you to know as well," he said, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours. "Even if we don't get to meet again... know that I love you as well."

His confession causes your breath to hitch, heart fluttering as it swells with joy, knowing the feelings you've harboured for so long are reciprocated. You let out a soft sigh, breathing in his familiar, soothing scent, your hands gently stroke through his hair.

"....I wish I had told you how I felt sooner, we could've had more time together.... But at least now I know you feel the same way I do...." You try to keep your voice light, though the regret lacing your words is poignant, sending a wave of warmth through Zayne. Despite everything he could feel his own emotions starting to come back under control, some level of calm returning the longer this moment went on.

You were right, you could have had more time together... He had pushed you away so many times during your appointments and now he was being haunted by the possibility he had wasted too much time.

But at least now... he would know he had said the right thing in your last moments together.

"...We both feel the same way," he repeated, almost in disbelief.

A soft yet sad smile forms on your lips, the thoughts of what could have been weighing heavily in your mind, and the possibility of this being your last moment together causes your heart to ache. "....I swear that I'll do everything in my power to stay alive.... I don't want this to be the last time I see you.... But if I don't make it back, just know that I fought as hard as I could"

You promised to stay alive, but Zayne could hear the defeat in your tone, the fear and worry of the possibility of never seeing him again hanging in both of your minds like a dark cloud.

He squeezed your hands, not wanting to let go even though he knew he'd have to at some point. His eyes never left yours as he considered his response.

"I will do everything in my power to make sure this isn't the last time we see each other." He tightened his embrace, refusing to let go for even a second. "But if you don't come back..."

His voice broke for a moment as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. "Know that I will wait for you. Forever if I have to."

You swallow the lump in your throat, desperately trying to hold back the tears threatening to fall as the pain of having to leave him becomes almost suffocating. taking a deep shaky breath, you look into his eyes, seeing yourself reflected in the deep green.

"...I have to go.... The team are waiting for me..." Even though you whisper softly that you need to leave, your body makes no move to tear itself away from his warm embrace.

The reality of how little time you have left together hits Zayne like a freight train. His body freezes. He couldn't bear the thought of letting you go, as if his body would fall apart if he lost contact with yours even for a second.

"Please..." his voice was pleading now. He didn't care if he sounded weak, desperate even. "Just a few more moments, that's all I ask."

Sighing softly you hold him tighter, you couldn't bring yourself to deny his request, especially when he sounded so broken and desperate to keep you close to him. You could feel your heart cracking at the realisation that once you let him go, you'd have to leave him behind.

"Okay...just a little longer..."

And so he held you, content to simply stay like this, breathing in your scent, running his fingers through your hair, feeling the softness of you against him. Just another minute or two, anything to delay the inevitable and keep you here, safe in his arms.

Unfortunately the moment is cut short by the beeping of your phone, a cruel reminder that your time together is over. You sigh in frustration, glaring at the offensive object as it continued to ring, signalling that you had to leave. Silencing the call, you turn back to Zayne, a sad smile on your face as you both share a silent understanding that this is it.

"I don't like this," he murmured, his voice low as his eyes met yours in a moment of shared disappointment. You had both spent too long not telling each other the truth and now you were forced to suffer the consequences. Even just another minute together would have made it so much easier to bear.

"I don't either..." You agree quietly, your trembling voice showing just how truly devastated you are to have to go "...I guess this is goodbye...."

"For now." He whispered firmly, hesitant to allow even the possibility that you wouldn't come back, and his words were as much for his own sake as yours. The seconds seemed to stretch out and fly by all too quickly, and Zayne didn't want to be the one to let go first, afraid of what would happen the second you parted.

"Come back to me, okay?" His voice was tight and strained, hand reaching up to gently brush a loose strand of hair out of your eyes. "Come back to me and keep that promise you made."

Leaning into his touch, your eyes flutter closed briefly, a stray tear rolling down your cheek. "...I will... I'll come back to you and I'll never leave again... I promise, this won't be the last time we see each other." Your voice is full of determination despite the way it trembles.

And Zayne believes you, with every fiber of his being wanting to believe you, wanting to trust that you would make it back. That he wouldn't lose you so cruelly to something neither of you had any control over.

"I'll wait, even if I have to wait forever."

His words were soft yet full of a quiet ferocity. He would wait for you, even if the world burned down around him. He wanted you to know that he would do whatever it took to make your promise come true, no matter how long it took.

[mischieveousmayhem]

I'm thinking of Bruce Wayne x stark!reader. What if their company are just rivals that don't like eachothers guts very much? They met eachother with their mask on so they both didn't know eachothers identity. So like, I get the idea of there's a maybe commotion in one of the gala they both are invited, maybe one of the rogues did sum crazy again that needs both of them to act fast. And things starts brewing from there😧🔥🔥🔥

Hidden Teamwork

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Stark! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: CROSSOVER, violence, enemies to lovers.

Synopsis: Y/N L/N sets foot into Gotham City for a Gala for the biggest and richest companies. However, it can't be a normal night.

A/N: Thank you so much for all the likes and follows I have received!! I apologize for disappearing but I am starting to write again:) Please enjoy!

—

Wayne Empire; one of the biggest companies to exist. Stark International; Another big company.

Though they both have their similarities, it didn't mean necessarily they were allies, realistically they clashed because they were so big, popular and most importantly similar.

There was a big Gala, where all businesses sent one representative to. Which you, Y/N Stark, was sent to Gotham City, to represent her big brother's company, which was founded by their father.

Of course, you were not thrilled because THE Bruce Wayne was going to be there, and you would have to put on the most phony smile ever and thug it out.

You stood in the middle of the gala, in a black dress/suit, blending in with everyone else. You were talking to a bunch of other business owners and workers, who had brilliant ideas to expand their companies. You even found a few companies you could work with in the future.

However, you couldn't fully avoid the billionaire himself, Bruce Wayne. The two of you had crossed paths multiple times and never even dared to speak to each other. Instead, death stares were thrown at each other, which you have to say is childish for their big age.

The peaceful night, turned not so peaceful as suddenly there was a big explosion heard. You turned around and saw a bunch of goons with guns, and other sorts of weapons. You look around trying to figure out the best place to suit up.

Before trying to find a place to suit up, you help escort innocent people outside of the building.

"Help!!" An elderly voice says behind you. It's an old man who runs another one of the biggest companies ever, you rush to his side immediately.

"I got you sir, we need to get out, it's not safe for us." You say while helping him. You bite your lip clearly stressed out.

After escorting everyone out, you go in an alley nearby and suit-up. You're trying your newest invention, the collapsable suit.

After you got your suit on, you were officially "Iron-Sib", which was short for Iron Sibling because you weren't exactly an official avenger, but you were there in dire situations.

You fly to the gala and levitate in front of the goons, who were hired by top-notch villains.

"Face it Vi—" You were about to tell the goons to surrender because they will never win however, a dark figure suddenly swoops in and knocks some of them out.

"What the?!? Who are you?" You literally were shocked under your mask.

"I'm Batman," The figure speaks, "Now help me."

After being shocked for a solid 30 seconds, you then help the Dark Knight himself, knockout about a total of 335 goons.

Before knocking out the last goon, you hold him by his shirt, "Who hired you?"

The Batman was watching from the distance. Who were you? Why were you helping? He didn't need your help.

"Please!! I was just doing my job don't hurt me!!" The figure was scared, your grip tightened just a tad, "Okay, okay!! Lex Luther and the Riddler teamed up for this!! Lex Luther wanted important information that was held here but The Riddler just wanted distraction and disturbance!!"

You don't knock this goon up, but you tie him down so he can't move.

"Your job is done , I got Lex Luther and The Riddler." The Batman spoke.

"I'm sorry but I think you are going to need my help." You speak while crossing your arms.

"I work alone." The Dark Knight answers.

"Not today."

It was obvious you weren't going to let The Batman take down the two villains alone. However you didn't even have to track them down as you hear two voices behind you two.

"Dammit Riddler! You failed me!!" The bald one spoke.

"I didn't know The stupid Bat and that thing would be there! It isn't my fault." The one wearing a hideous green color spoke.

You put it together to figure out who was who, but you didn't act and neither did the Batman for the two were sitting there arguing for a bit about how the Riddler should have planned for Batman.

While the two were distracted, you were the one to make the first move by kicking The Riddler in his groin area. That had to hurt!! Your wearing a metal suit. Which means by that, he was already down, clutching that area miserably. As you tied him up , you watched The Batman fight Lex Luther with hand-to-hand combat.

You watch as The Batman has such agility, making him able to dodge, and such strength, making him able to land powerful hits on Luther.

You can't help but to wonder to yourself; Who is The Batman?

You can't help but to realize how similar that dark voice is to ugly (handsome) , disgusting (mouthwatering), Bruce Wayne's voice.

Lost in your thoughts, you hadn't realized Luther was knocked out and restrained. You look up at The Batman and speak,

"So you're The Batman?" You ask. He nods subtlety but enough for you to notice. "I'm Iron-Sib. Nice working with you."

That's all you say before flying off to that alley and taking off your suit before returning to the crowd of innocent people, acting like you were there the whole time.

That was until you hear that billionaire, Bruce Wayne's voice behind you, "Someone looks disheveled."

"As if the Gala, didn't just get ruined." You say.

"No, you're too calm."

"So are you." You squint.

He had the smallest smile on his face, "Want to grab some dinner since this was ruined?"

You stare at him for a moment. You guys hated each other's guts because of your companies. But now he is asking you for dinner.

"Of course..." You smile, "Bat." That last part was barely audible, but he heard you , which confirmed your suspicions about each other. You were Iron-Sib and he was The Batman. What a start of a beautiful romance.

[saatorubby]

BABY PULL ME CLOSER - G. SATORU

SYNOPSIS : your boyfriend is in dire need for your attention. unfortunately for him, it’s the finals week.

a/n : im loving writing for jjk and this man makes me so ill about him.

GENRE : fluff

PARINGS : student!gojo satoru x student!reader

WARNINGS : mention of childhood pet dying once. reader is referred to as girlfriend.

The finals week was here.

Usually, there is nothing wrong with that, except for being overworked, stressed, and dehydrated, but for gojo satoru, that wasn't the worst.

No, far from worst. For him, the worst thing was being unable to be with his cute and pretty girlfriend.

"Without whom I'll die." he once declared.

There was he now, dreamily staring at you as all of your attention was stolen by those goddamn books. Satoru swears he's gonna burn them all one day.

He wonders whether those dried trees are more important to you than your loving boyfriend, him, who has been begging for your attention for days.

He huffs as his begging stare seems to have no effect in melting your cold, cold heart. Though he has to admit, the concentrated pout and the furrow of your brows do look cute on you as you slave away on the revision and assignments and last-minute projects.

He's tried everything that he could do without your presence. Played games with suguru, and caught up with his friends (which is just suguru and a very pretty and chill lady, ieiri, despite him being popular). Now, he can't go out and get food without his lovely girlfriend, could he? no, that'd be blasphemy through and through.

"Babyyy." he whined for the umpteenth time, laying on your bed as he mindlessly scrolled through social media to find topics to talk shit about with you later.

You sighed and turned to him, exasperated with his antics.

"Can we go and get food?" he asked as his bottom lip jutted in a pout you couldn't say no to. He knows you can't say no to that face, it's too cute.

"Satoru," you stared, frowning. "We've talked about this," you told him, conflicted. You wanted to take up on his offer, you do. You want to take a break too. But you just have so much work. You aren't sure you'd be able to complete it if you stopped even for a minute.

“My love, my darling, my sugarplum honey bun, can we please go and get McDonald’s?” He pleaded.

Gojo Satoru was simply irresistible.

From the first time you’ve met him, you’ve found out that he’s scarily good at getting people to do what he wants.

He looks so cute like that. His pretty eyes watery, his soft, pink lips formed into a pout, his face flushed.

He’s always gotten his way with a face like that.

So you’ve taken it upon yourself to be more resilient and tell him no. He needs to learn.

Also it’s funny how he always looks aghast after you’ve denied him something, like you’ve told him his childhood pet died or something.

“No, toru, we can’t.” You shook your head, looking up at him. You don’t dare try suggest that your boyfriend help with your work, not after…last time where both of you got distracted and ended up making out instead of getting it done.

“I have to get this paper in by tomorrow.” You said firmly, turning back to your work, holding back a snicker as he gasped dramatically.

Here it comes.

“So you don’t love me anymore, huh? Is that it?” He said, narrowing his eyes at your form, hunched over your desk. He takes it back, you’re not cute anymore.

“Is your love for me really that weak, baby?” He lamented. “That’d you’d break under the pressure this easily?” He cried.

“Do you want me to kick you out?” You take it back, he’s not cute.

“Then you won’t be able to see me for real.” You muttered, but it was enough for him to hear.

That made him shut up real quick.

[thevoidtrainstation]

An Alert

info: this takes place during the VDC, and it's first person.

Also, please tell me if I didn't tag this properly.

Warnings: angst, with a pinch of comfort

word count: 700

Watching them perform from backstage was simultaneously enjoyable yet lonely. Looking between my friends and the crowd singing a lullaby (double check that) so well known it transcends countries, cultures, and languages, no matter how reminiscent or similar it is to songs I know, I just don’t know it. How can a song transcend planets, realities, and dimensions; it can’t. I’m the only one who doesn’t know it, not including the dire beast known as Grim, the only one who’s as clueless about this world as I am, even though he’s from it. Truly, moments such as these make me realize how much of an alien I am.  I’m the sole magicless student in a magic school. I was just about to start college because I graduated early from high school, and now here I am a high school freshman again, in a completely different reality, dimension. This whole thing has been a double-edged sword: being transported to a magical reality is any fantasy reader’s dream come true, but all the unknowns about what’s happening at home and the moments of realization about the massive cultural divides between me and everyone else is unpleasant, to say the least. However, seeing the joy on their faces right now, especially after everything that happened today, makes me treasure these moments and my new friends. My new friends are doing so much to make me feel a part of this place, showing me the “most important” movies, TV shows, and music to catch up on pop culture. Though I feel hollow at times due to the differences between this world and my own, they always manage to fill in that hole a bit. As I focus my mind back on their performance, my breath catches and my body freezes. The unmistakable sound of an emergency alert rings from MY PHONE. My phone, the one that I had on me when I arrived here, the very one that nothing worked on, but what was already downloaded onto it.  With shaking hands I pull out my phone, with much trepidation. Why was it working now? Was it able to connect back to my world, or is it connecting to something here? What’s the alert? If I wasn’t already sitting, I would’ve fallen onto the floor.  “Emergency Alert: incoming atomic bomb, please go to nearest shelter….” In this world of magic, nuclear power and warfare don’t exist: I checked. Trembling, and with deep breaths, I manage to unlock my phone, my eyes darting between the red dots on my messenger, the voicemail, and the news app, all of which hadn’t had that little red dot since I came here.  I go to my family group chat and text “Im safe and healthy calling mom.” As the phone rings, I  bolt to one of the backrooms in the stadium, locking the door behind me. The next couple of minutes blur together as I Facetime my mom, who’s with the rest of my family, explaining what happened to me and asking what's happening there. Raspy broken voices and tears aren’t acknowledged as we catch up and exchange “I love you’s”. The call disconnects, I call again, and again no answer. I call my other family, but the calls aren’t going through. I call my friends, but the calls aren’t going through still. I try every messenger app on my phone.  Nothing. There’s nothing. No connection, no way to reach them, no way to reach anyone.   It was how it was when I got here. The only thing that remains on my phone is what was already downloaded onto it.  I let out a soul-shivering wail. I drop my phone and curl up onto the couch clenching my knees to my chest and burying in my head as I sob.  The nuclear apocalypse happened, and I missed it… The doorknob jiggles.  The door temples as it’s banged on, and rammed against. The nuclear apocalypse happened, There’s no home to go back to... The door flies off its hinges.  I continue to mourn the death of my planet, my home, my life, my family as I feel arms wrap around me.

[marte-14]

"Until we meet again, God Slayer"

The Shadow managed to separate the Heroes.

Sky and Time are alone against a horde of monsters, they are managing to keep up the pace for long, but monsters continue to arrive.

The situation got so dire that Time had to use the Fierce Deity mask. Much to his discomfort.

They win their battle, finally.

Sky stares at the Deity.

Time told them about this mask once. They all talked about their arsenal and how to use it, in case there was an emergency and the owner couldn’t operate a tool. The older Hero expressly said:" Don’t use it under any circumstances, unless the situation is so severe that it’s our last resort."

Now Sky understands why, the mask is powerful but it clearly comes to a price, judging by how it marked Time.

"Chosen Hero of Hylia." The Deity speaks, and Sky immediately knows that behind that voice there isn’t his brother:" As I expected you fight by my side, on my same ground." While he is expressionless, there is satisfaction in his voice:" I don’t merit such compliments by you." Sky responds:" You are very humble, as expected by the First of them all."

The Deity turns to Sky, now looking directly to him in the eyes:" I am not here for pleasantries. I am to warn you, Chosen."

"An important battle is on the horizon, against who I have no idea… But I know that you will have to use me."

Sky looks at him eyes wide open, in a bit of shock and worry. The Deity seems to feel his emotions:" While I have no powers to precisely tell what fate has decided. I can assure you on one thing… You will have no repercussions by wearing me."

Sky wasn’t really worried about that, he would even die to protect his brothers, having the marks of a Deity on his skin isn’t much.

But this seems to concern the Deity so he let him speak:" I know that the Hero of Time has warned you on using me. In his youth he abused of my powers once, I had to remind him that his mortal body has limits."

"On the other hand you, First Hero, do not need such reminders. In strength you and I are the same. On your own, you could have defeated the army we fought today, you have already did this before after all."

Sky feels that the Deity is a bit over exaggerating on his abilities, but it’s never a good idea to contradict a God or Deity.

"I will only help as enough is needed to ensure the success of your Quest and the safety of every Hero."

Sky is still shocked by his words but nods:" Thank you for the warning and the help. I will remember it."

Satisfied the Deity sheaths his swords.

"Until we meet again, God Slayer."

Time takes off the mask, falling to his knees exhausted.

----

Here I also add the time lapse of the drawing!

Hope you like it!

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 53: Fitz's Terrible Idea

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tw: conditioning, mind control, Stockholm syndrome, arrow wound, blood, blood drinking

August 1905

Alexander was seated peacefully by the fire, a soft blanket draped across his lap, lost in the enormous musty book in his hands. It was a scene of perfect tranquility. A perfect scene for Fitz to disrupt.

"So, what are you reading, sir?" he said, flopping down sideways on the couch and draping himself halfway across Alexander's lap, jostling his book and looking up at him with a shameless grin.

His master sighed, but smiled at Fitz. "I was reading about the customs and ways of the local faefolk."

"Faefolk, sir? You mean like fairies?" Fitz asked. "I knew a guy who was running a racket making fake pictures of fairies to sell to rubes. You're saying they're real, sir?"

"They're very real, and you're unlikely to get a picture of them unless they want you to," said Alexander. "They used to be found in the human world much more often, before humans industrialized. Now, most of the once-proud clans are scattered tribes in slow decline in the few wild places left. Centuries ago, it was common enough for faefolk to mingle with humans that many humans today have traces of fae blood."

"Is that so, sir?" said Fitz. Normally he would find this kind of lecture to be boring, but his master's voice was so captivating that he could happily listen to anything.

"You do, too, I'm sure of it. Your blood smells of it."

"Oh, really, sir?" he said, sitting up a bit. "It's hard to imagine any of my dusty old ancestors making love to a fairy."

"I imagine your ancestors weren't as dusty and boring as you imagine. I expect some of them were more like you."

"Are you saying that I would cavort with a fairy, given the chance?" Fitz laughed. "Because you're absolutely right, sir, I would."

"You see what I mean?"

Fitz leaned in closer, shamelessly running his hand through Alexander's hair. "Well, if I'm a fairy, you'd better be careful, sir, or one day I'll drag you away to fairy-land."

"I dearly wish you would," said Alexander, serious and sad.

Fitz's breath caught. They stared at each other for a long moment. And then the spell between them was broken.

"Unfortunately, I need to go out tonight. Business."

"What business is more important than this, sir?" said Fitz, irritated at being spurned and annoyed that he was irritated.

"It's important. I'll tell you what it is eventually. But for now, I have to go."

And so Fitz found himself alone once more in front of the slowly dying fire, eating an apple, with nothing to occupy his mind but his own thoughts -- the worst way to spend his evening.

He was growing too comfortable here, he knew that. The manor was filled with dust and the scent of deteriorating book bindings, but once he'd gotten used to that, it was strangely like a home. It was less ostentatiously luxurious than the mansion of his childhood, but somehow, despite being a vampire's manor, more comfortable and less oppressive. He slept on the finest sheets, ate expensive foods, and bathed with a wide selection of high-end imported toiletries. Alexander, despite his ability to sink Fitz into a stupor with a word, never criticized, never spoke in anger, never demanded anything of Fitz but his blood.

And thanks to the many layers of mesmeric spell he was under, that blood was all too easy to give.

Alexander, his vampiric master, was the real problem. Between his mesmerism, good looks, and quiet charms, he had Fitz firmly wrapped around his finger, like it or not. Even during the day, when he tossed and turned in a fruitless attempt to sleep, he thought of Alexander, his unkept hair, his gentle hands, and especially his captivating voice. He knew he shouldn't feel that way about a vampire who had purchased him from an auction and was keeping him captive and in dire peril, but his idiotic emotions and the spell laid thick on his mind said otherwise.

It wasn't as though it was likely that Alexander had genuine feelings towards him, no matter how much it seemed that way at times. Fitz knew he was a convenient source of blood. Effectively a grocery item. He knew better than to think his master's need was anything more than that.

Fitz sighed as he tossed the half-eaten apple into the air, missing the catch and watching as it rolled under a couch. Alexander had been leaving for the night more frequently lately, and Fitz was painfully bored without an audience for his chatter and whims.

An audience! Apart from his freedom, that was the main thing he was missing out of life. He needed the stage, the rush of applause, the thrill of holding a crowd captive. Alexander had promised him he could have it, but since then he'd dismissed Fitz when he asked about it.

That thought gave Fitz some direction for what he wanted to do with the evening. He marched upstairs to his bedroom and donned an eye-catching purple frock with an actual collar. He wanted something to keep Alexander's attention without enticing him to feed, so that Fitz could flirt his way into what he wanted.

And then he waited for his master to return. And waited. And waited.

He really shouldn't be so worried about the vampire who was keeping him captive. After all, if something happened to his master, maybe the spell would lift from him, he'd come to his senses, and he could escape this place. That's what he tried to tell himself, but the idea that something could happen to Alexander filled him with a sick dread instead.

Just as he was on the verge of tearing his hair out in frustration, the front door opened and Alexander staggered inside. His steps were ragged and he was panting hard, the problem plain to see -- an honest-to-god arrow sticking out of his upper arm.

"God damn," he said. "What happened to you, sir?"

"Fitz," said Alexander with pleading eyes. "Please…"

That was more than enough to make him abandon all his plans, as clearly his master was in no state for his skillful manipulations. Fitz rushed to prop Alexander up.

"Help me upstairs, to my bathroom. I need to treat this wound."

"How the hell did you get shot with an arrow here in the city, sir?"

"Can the explanation wait until I've removed the arrow?"

"That's fair, sir." Fitz guided his master up the stairs as Alexander winced and whimpered.

Fitz had been in his master's bedroom a few times before, primarily to help him with his hair and outfit, and was comforted by the fact that Alexander's sleeping quarters was as much of a disaster as his had always been. He had ample experience picking his way through discarded laundry on the floor, and soon he was helping his master sit at the edge of his bathtub. Fitz wasted no time unbuttoning Alexander's shirt and tossing it aside, an action that was purely in his master's best interest for treating his injury and nothing more.

"Get a towel ready, a green one from the bottom shelf, and some bandages. I'm going to pull out the arrow."

"Doesn't that do more harm than good, sir?" said Fitz, preparing the requested items anyway..

"That may be true for a human at risk of bleeding out, but this wound can't kill me. The faster I remove the arrow, the faster I can start to heal."

"If you say so, sir."

Alexander wrapped the old towel around the arrow, and Fitz watched in horrified fascination as he took a deep breath and yanked. The blood gushing from the wound soaked straight through the towel as Alexander pressed it to his arm, making some truly godawful noises. Fitz fidgeted nervously, wanting to do something to help but feeling entirely out of his depth. He grabbed a washcloth off the bottom shelf and ran it under warm water.

"Here, sir, let me wash the wound."

"It's fine. I just need bandages."

"It could fester, sir, and I don't think either of us would enjoy that."

"It won't fester. The same magic that keeps this dead body upright also protects it from rot and infection. Otherwise I'd be little better than a bloated corpse."

Fitz shifted nervously, uneasy at the reminder that the handsome face in front of him was, in fact, long dead. "Let me wash it anyway, sir."

"…All right." Alexander took the towel off the wound and presented it to Fitz, who was struggling hard to not get woozy and keel over at the sight of it. He took it in his hands as though he were an experienced field medic, dabbing at it with the warm washcloth, and he felt vindicated as the pain on Alexander's face began to recede slightly.

"So… you've removed the arrow, sir."

"So I have."

"You told me you were going to explain how you were shot, sir."

Alexander scowled and looked away, remaining silent for so long that Fitz thought he would have to badger him to get anything out. "Hunter," he finally said.

"Hunter, sir?"

"A vampire hunter. Every city with a vampire population attracts them, a small but dedicated group."

"Vampire hunters…" It wasn't a possibility Fitz had thought of, but he supposed that it made sense.

"I don't usually have any trouble with hunters," Alexander said. "They mostly hunt vampires who prey on people in the streets. I keep my own thrall, and generally stay confined to the manor. Besides that, my vampiric aura is enough to keep most hunters at bay."

"And yet, this arrow didn't embed itself in your flesh all by itself, sir."

"No, it didn't."

"So why'd a hunter attack you this time, sir?"

"I had hoped not to tell you yet, but I suppose you should know," said Alexander. "I'm recruiting hunters to try and kill my sire."

Fitz looked to the bloody gash in front of him, then down at the discarded arrow. "Far be it from me to criticize my master, sir, but it seems your recruitment tactic may leave something to be desired."

Alexander chuckled. "Hunters won't help a vampire willingly, even to kill another vampire. They have to be persuaded."

"So you're mesmerizing them into doing your dirty work, sir?"

"A dozen so far, and I hope to get at least a dozen more."

"A dozen, sir…" Fitz put down the washcloth and began to wrap Alexander's arm in clean bandages as he thought about this. Alexander was risking his life against a dozen vampire hunters or more to try and kill his sire. Primarily to protect him.

He should be concerned, but instead, his treacherous heart fluttered. His hand brushed against Alexander's chest. His master gave it a long and lonely look, as though he'd never been touched there before.

His master was so solitary. How long had it been since he'd last been touched?

How long had it been since Fitz had last been touched?

Before he could think better of it, he ran his hand through Alexander's soft hair, palm lingering on his cheek as he traced down his face. To Fitz's surprise, his master leaned into the touch, drinking it in like a parched man. Fitz repeated the action with more confidence this time, enjoying the wistful look in his eyes.

"…Be careful," Alexander said finally.

"Careful of what, sir?"

"What you're doing. You must know by now that my feelings towards you are… You should be careful."

Fitz's eyes went wide. Was this a manipulation? Alexander, still looking tired and pained, seemed in no state to be engaging in manipulation.

"Well, sir, I appreciate your advice, but I've found that I never get anywhere in life when I'm being careful."

He was pushing his hand through Alexander's hair to the back of his head, pressing his master's lips to his, hardly caring that they were cold and chapped. He'd wanted this since the first time they'd met in the auction house, and the fact that it was a terrible idea only made Fitz want it more.

Alexander's hands closed around his arms as if to push him away, but he didn't. Instead he pushed forward, returning the kiss, and Fitz felt a giddy thrill in his heart at having finally charmed the stubborn, lonely vampire into reciprocating his affection. They tumbled onto the bathroom floor, Alexander halfway on top of Fitz, and Alexander was desperate as though he hadn't been kissed in a hundred years. Well, he probably hadn't.

Alexander suddenly stopped and drew back, guilt on his face. "I -- I shouldn't -- "

Fitz closed the distance between them once more before either of them could ruin the moment by thinking too much. He needed this. He needed the touch, and even if it was unnaturally cold, he was still drinking it in. He especially needed this infuriatingly stubborn vampire to prove his affections.

It wasn't love, Fitz knew that much. It was bloodlust and regular lust and need, and that suited Fitz better. He would never understand love, but need -- he could understand that.

Alexander's breath hitched, and Lex thought it was desire, until he grasped at the wound on his shoulder. In the excitement, Fitz had almost forgotten about the crossbow bolt. He opened his mouth to ask, but the words died in his throat, as he found himself suddenly enthralled, thoughts scattering.

"The wound pains me, and a bit of blood would help me heal," he said. "I can't be this close to you without the urge overtaking me."

"Good," said Fitz, succumbing easily to the desire. He pushed his master's head gently to the space between neck and shoulder. "Take me, then. Drink from me. I'm all yours."

Alexander hummed, his lips pressed to Fitz's neck and his voice reverberating in his head, sending Fitz further into a dream of bliss. He barely felt the puncture, lying sprawled on the bathroom floor with his master on top of him, swimming in pleasure as his blood drained from his body. The feeding turned to soft nibbles at his jaw and his ear, and Fitz didn't care that his master's lips were stained with blood as he was pulled into a kiss.

"You should warm my bed tonight, Fitz," Alexander murmured into his ear.

Fitz raised his eyebrows. "Is that invitation what I think it is, sir…?"

"…if you're thinking of something lewd, I'm afraid not," said Alexander. "My… desires of that nature cooled along with my blood. I'm truly asking for you to warm my bed."

"So I can serve as a glorified hot water bottle as well as a bloodbag, is that right, sir?"

"No," said Alexander with painful sincerity. "You're much more than a bloodbag."

"And what else am I, sir?" said Fitz, looking up at his master, flashing his least trustworthy smile. "A brilliant entertainer? A scintillating conversationalist?"

"Fitz," said Alexander, placing a hand on his cheek and catching Fitz's eyes with his. "My Fitz."

"Your Fitz," he repeated, feeling mesmerized once more although he wasn't sure his master was actually doing anything. "I suppose I am, sir."

His master looked away. "You don't actually have to call me 'sir' or 'master', you know. It's fine if you don't."

Fitz grinned. "Oh, is that so, Alexander, sir?" The grin left his face as he realized what he'd just done. "Oh, damn that Miss Lily. I'm not going to be able to stop."

Alexander chuckled. "I don't really go by Alexander, anyway. Only my sire and strangers call me that. I go by Lex."

"Lex," repeated Fitz, leaning into his ear, "sir," he added, as seductively as possible, enjoying how his master -- no, Lex -- shivered.

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Thanks for reading! Next week, Oliver gets some help from Lily.

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[kentuckyfriedmegumi]

tess’s guide to writing kiss scenes (featuring itafushi)

this is for @sunnyyflowerrs and @kat-likes-writing btw

bye so i am not that good at writing these idk why i’ve been asked to make this.  i read other people’s stuff and their kiss scenes and i’m like hnnnghghfhsnksj GIVE IT TO MEEEE!!!!! but alas… i shall deliver what the people want.

before we get into the step-by-steps of writing a kiss scene, i want to go over the general things i try to highlight in a scene that helps me when i write them. there’s the general way that kiss scenes go–build/tension, the kiss, post-kiss. wow, what a shocker, right? but overall, when i am writing a kiss scene, i like to highlight the feelings, the movements, and the energy. feelings being what the characters are feeling of course, movements being what they are doing, and energy being the overall charge in the scene. what is the context? is this a happy kiss? is it desperate? is it fast? is it soft? is it intimate? is it sexual? once you establish the tone of the scene, you are able to start building it.

let’s go.

1. the build up

as you get into building a kiss scene, there’s a lot of high tensions and emotions happening. a kiss is a very intimate form of contact and when you have two characters who are going to kiss, you need to set it up in a way that feels natural.

let’s take a desperate kiss for example. let’s say in this situation, megumi and yuuji both nearly died, and megumi was especially hurt (there will be light angst prob, sorry):

Yuuji stumbled towards the boy on the ground. Fushiguro was lying on his side, back towards him, breaths short and ragged. Guilt rippled through Yuuji the way a stone ripples through still water, jagged as it washed over him. “Fushiguro?” he asked. He could hear how pathetic his voice sounded, small and hesitant as he waited for an inevitable answer. Please answer. Yuuji dropped to his knees, feeling the pain of the fight finally settle in. The adrenaline was wearing off now, everything ached and he had cuts all over. He was sure he looked like hell and he could feel the blood caked on his face slowly dry and crust over. But nothing mattered because Fushiguro was right there. He could be bleeding—he probably still was—he could be missing an arm, he could he dying. It didn’t matter. Everything was shut out, locked away from his mind. Everything other than the body in front of him, chest rapidly rising and fall. He saw a small a shift and instinctively Yuuji reached out towards Fushiguro, only stopping not even an inch away from his shoulder. His hand was left hovering over him, scared to touch him, scared to cross that line. He wasn’t sure he could stop himself if he did.

in what i’m writing, i’m trying to show yuuji’s specific focus on megumi. this is a desperate kiss scene, so what i am trying to go for is this sense of i nearly lost you, so nothing matters other than the fact that you are right here with me.

notice that for this, i have feelings, movements, and energy.

feelings. yuuji is WORRIED, poor guy, all he can think about is whether or not meg is okay. i’m highlighting yuuji’s own pain and injuries, and immediately tossing them aside. yuuji does not care if he is hurting, all that matters right now is if megumi is okay.

movements. yuuji is placing himself near megumi, he reaches out for him, but he stops himself. this creates ~tension~ which makes for a juicy kiss scene. having some sort of tension also helps the build as emotions are rising. even in less /dire/ kiss scene builds, there may be some sort of tension going on. maybe they are both shy, maybe one of them isn’t sure the other likes them back, maybe they’re just plain nervous.

energy. this is the charge of the scene and mainly relies on surrounding context. this may be a bit easier to write based on how the scene is going. for this kiss, what is the overall tone of this that you’re going for? is this romantic? is it comforting? it’s important to have that extra layer so the reader has a better understanding of both characters’ emotions and motives as they reach the kiss.

2. the kiss

the kiss itself is the climax of the scene, everything is leading and converging to this very moment (no pressure right?). when writing a kiss, the feelings, movements, and energy are all VERY IMPORTANT because this is what the readers are reaching for when the scene starts.

let’s have a slow/soft kiss now. for this one, megumi and yuuji have been ~in love~ but they haven’t kissed and this is their first one. the build for this type of scene would focus a lot on the jitteriness in the characters. write in things such as trembling hands, increased heart rates, LOTS of blushing. aight, time to make these boys kiss, you get build and a kiss now:

Itadori was looking at Megumi. His cheeks were tinted a soft rosy color, and Megumi adored the way his eyes shone, despite his overall fidgety demeanor. He was usually so confident and easygoing, why was he so nervous now? Megumi wasn’t really in the position to ask questions, he could feel the heat rising to his face as Itadori looked at him. he smiled and Megumi could have melted right there. His eyes were so warm, his smile was so warm, Itadori was so warm. Megumi could feel his pulse quicken and he felt like his head was spinning in circles. But it was impossible to miss the way Itadori’s eyes flickered down, away from his eyes, a bit lower on his face. Megumi swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “Megumi,” Itadori said, stepping closer. Megumi’s face was surely as pink as the hair of the boy in front of him. he nervously fidgeted with his hands, unsure of what to do as the ever-increasing warmth that was Itadori stepped even closer. Megumi searched his eyes as he took one more final step forward. Itadori stopped for a moment, gauging a reaction, as if he was making sure this was okay. Megumi could feel his breath, their faces just inches apart.   It was like time slowed. Itadori shifted, his hand coming up to Megumi’s face, as if Megumi wouldn’t want anything more than what was about to happen. He felt warm calloused hands lightly brush his cheek and Megumi jumped slightly at the contact. Itadori was already starting to lean in when he stopped at the sudden movement, worried that Megumi was going to rebuff him. Megumi reached up with his own hand, grasping Itadori’s arm and holding him in place. their eyes met. They stood like that for what felt hours and seconds all the same before Megumi started to lean in too, eyes half-lidded as they fluttered from Itadori’s gaze to his lips. Their breaths mixed and Megumi just knew that Itadori could feel his racing pulse beneath his fingers. It didn’t matter. With one final resolve, they both moved in. It was like everything in the world stopped. A burst of warmth spread from Megumi’s chest throughout his body, enveloping him as he sighed into the kiss. Itadori’s lips were soft. Megumi could feel a light tremble that was probably, definitely from the nerves, and he was certain that he was probably, definitely trembling too. Itadori’s hand on his cheek moved a bit lower, fingers ghosting the nape of Megumi’s neck. They tangled in his hair while the pad of his thumb rubbed softly behind his ear. Instinctively, Megumi’s grip on Itadori’s arm tightened. As a result, Itadori pressed himself into Megumi further, other hand snaking around to his back and pulling him against his chest. And god, Megumi wanted to melt. They broke apart, only for a moment, before Itadori moved back in and resumed the kiss. Megumi could feel his mouth part slowly and Itadori responded in kind. Both of them moved with gentle, subtle motions, taking in small breaths in between. Megumi shifted his head, tilting slightly to the right, allowing Itadori to deepen the kiss further. They kept the pace slow, their kisses light. Megumi’s heart was racing a million miles a minute and his mind was overflowed with only thoughts of Itadori—the tenderness in his touch, as if Megumi was the most precious thing in the world to him.

ayyyyyy look at that kiss!! once again, we got the big three.

feelings. for this scene, it was important to show that megumi is nervous (capital n), but he WANTS this. he wants yuuji to kiss him and he wants to kiss yuuji. when they finally do kiss, there’s this overwhelming feeling where all of his anxieties finally calm. notice how i focus a lot on megumi’s feelings to convey the importance of this kiss for them. i also highlight yuuji’s nervousness in meg’s perception through his actions. the constant glancing at his lips and the way he moves in slowly to kiss him help show that yuuji is just as nervous as meg is.

movements. a lot of people thing that writing kiss scenes are awkward and i can see how they would be. you don’t want to focus TOO MUCH on what they’re doing, unless you’re writing more explicit content. in this snippet, i have brief descriptions of their actions, but a lot of movements are also focused outside of what their mouths are doing. yuuji brings his hand from megumi’s cheek to his neck, his other hand comes his back and pulls him closer. but you don’t want to focus too much away the kiss. i bring it back to that by writing how megumi is the one who deepens the kiss, parting his mouth and allowing yuuji to take over.

energy. this kiss scene is meant to be soft and tender. notice how i sort of drag it out bc the boys are supposed to be a lil nervy. i convey the energy by using descriptors of their subconscious actions, bc the body is also reacting to the kiss. heart rates are increased, they’re looking at each other’s lips, they’re lips are trembling. but i also have the feelings and movements be really soft and slow. they don’t crash together, they slowly gravitate towards each other.

3. post-kiss

this part is probably the easiest to write. both characters are coming down from their high and there’s a swirl of emotions that starts to die down. usually nerves dwindle as both characters soften. depending on the situation, you can have them soften into each other, or perhaps they pull apart in regret.

bc i’m cruel, let’s do both! sorry in advance…

Fushiguro was kissing him. It should have been the best thing in the world. It was the best thing in the world, but all Yuuji could focus on wasn’t the heat from his body, the grip on his shoulders, or the soft press of Fushiguro’s lips against his own. All Yuuji could think about was the endless list of lives that he had taken. The people that he should have saved, that he could have saved if he had just died. Fushiguro was kissing him, and he didn’t deserve it. But couldn’t he be selfish? Just this once, could he take what he had always wanted? Fushiguro had asked to be saved, he had asked for Yuuji’s support. Yuuji wanted nothing more than to give that to him. He wanted to give it all to him. And so he did. Yuuji stepped closer, grabbing Fushiguro’s collar and pulling him further in. He could feel a small gasp before he swallowed it with a kiss. Fushiguro was kissing him, how could he not kiss him back? The feeling of Fushiguro’s hand carding through his hair stopped everything. His touch was gentle as he tangled his fingers through Yuuji’s hair. There was a certain tenderness in the way that he moved. No. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to be touched, kissed, loved as if he were a good person. Not after everything he did. Not after everyone he killed. And he especially didn’t deserve it from someone like Fushiguro. No, Fushiguro deserved so much more. Yuuji deserved nothing. So he pulled back, his grip on the collar loosening. Yuuji had to force his hands down at his sides as he took a step back. He was still quick to notice the way Fushiguro followed him, only briefly, before he pulled back with a certain look on his face. The kind of look that Yuuji hoped to never see again. “I’m… sorry,” Yuuji said. Fushiguro stiffened and his gaze fell. “No,” he said, face dark as he turned away from Yuuji. Suddenly, everything was so much colder. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have k– I shouldn’t have done that.” It wasn’t you. It’s not you. It’ll never be you. I’m a monster, I’m a murder, I don’t deserve you. You could have so much more, so much better than me. A million thoughts raced through Yuuji’s mind—so many things that he wanted to say to assure Fushiguro that he didn’t pull away because he wanted to. “We should probably get some rest,” was what he said instead, “before we go to the third years.” “Right,” Fushiguro replied. “It’ll be a long day, I’m sure.”

eeek sorry, chooms. i’m just trying to provide ~variety~ here in my kiss scenes. whipping these up on the spot means i just sorta write whatever comes to my brain. this kiss meant to be angstier. it’s bleaker. yuuji’s thoughts are dark and self-depreciating. he kisses meg back, but he immediately feels bad about it because he feels like he doesn’t deserve it. this translates to his movements, with him gripping the collar in desperation, but immediately pulling back and restraining his himself at the end of it. as for the energy, notice how in this kiss and post-kiss how there’s an overall darkness in the tone. there is less focus on the kiss itself and what they are doing and more so in the dark thoughts plaguing yuuji’s mind. this adds to the post-kiss, as it sets up his regret in kissing meg in the first place.

Let’s do another one:

Megumi rushed in, crashing his lips against Itadori’s as the grip on his arm tightened. Fuck Sukuna, fuck the higher ups, fuck everything else in the world. They were crazy for thinking the world could ever just be free of Itadori Yuuji. Megumi wouldn’t allow it. Not when he was right there in front of him, real, and alive. Megumi could feel Itadori stiffen in hesitation for a moment before he was met back with the same fervor, the same desperation Megumi had kissed him with. All of the noise of the outside world, all of the noise in his head silenced immediately at the feeling of Itadori’s lips moving against his. His hand was quick to make its way to Megumi’s face, caressing his cheek with a gentleness that he was definitely not kissing him with. Megumi didn’t care about that, though, so he tilted his head and let his arms fall around Itadori’s waist and pulled him flush against himself. A small gasp escaped from Itadori before it was immediately swallowed by the kiss. Megumi drank him in like he was dehydrated and Itadori’s lips were a cold glass of water. They could have stayed that way for forever. Allowing their pace to slow, Megumi’s grip on Itadori loosened. They morphed into a kiss that more loving and intimate. It was as if the rush of emotions slowly recessed back into the ocean of Megumi’s mind—not repressed but rather settled into something a bit softer. When they parted, Megumi held Itadori close and rested his forehead against the other boy’s. He was smiling. That same goofy, stupid smile that he smiled when he was about to watch a movie with Megumi, or when Megumi summoned his Divine Dog, or when he was cooking with Megumi. The smile that Itadori reserved only for him. “Hi there,” he said. Megumi gave a small smile in return. “Hi.” He could tell his heart was racing, he was probably blushing too, but all he could think about was that he kissed Itadori. Even crazier, Itadori kissed him back. Megumi couldn’t help the small chuckle the escaped his lips before it was too late and Itadori was giving him a small nudge. “Are you thinking about me?” Itadori teased. “Shut up,” he said with no real annoyance. “Fine.” And suddenly, Itadori was kissing him again.

For this post-kiss, we have them softening to each other. The kiss was a big boiling point of emotions as megumi kissed yuuji, then after the kiss, they part and it’s a sweet, loving moment between the two of them. we have megumi’s feelings being read about yuuji, we have his movements in resting their foreheads together, and we have the energy shift from a passionate kiss to an intimate moment.

overall

i mean that’s basically it! i didn’t plan on it, but i wrote four kiss scenes (well, three kisses and one build to a kiss) and broke down my little formula for each one. i hope that this provides some enlightenment in how to write a kiss scene and i hope my ramblings make sense here. i was always of the belief that kiss scenes were super hard to write, but after writing one for IYTFPTGFMTFILWH, it just sorta all clicked for me. i hope that this guide helps it click for you too, fellow author.

if anything, i hope you enjoyed the itafushi kisses. happy itafushi friday.

[angeart]

hunted hybrids au rambles

this is an au me and @linkito made for our scarian RP, so just beware it’s focused solely on these two and it’s self-indulgent. CWs, i suppose, are themes of violence and dehumanisation of hybrids, and mention of self harm (feather plucking).

the basic premise is that hermitcraft’s code got attacked. think season 8 moon big and ground deteriorating underneath their feet, but it’s all more rapid and out of the blue. they don’t get a chance to investigate or prepare. it’s just. happening. so obviously, confusion and panic.

and then the hermits get scattered, to other worlds, seemingly indiscriminately and at random, as hermitcraft implodes. 

grian and scar end up in the same world, but it takes them about a week to realise. (a very horrible week, mind you.) their comms don’t work quite right here. 

now, where they’ve ended up is a very, very hybrid-hostile world. think rough people and black markets and criminal societies. think hunters and bloodhounds and phantom-dragons that screech through the night. think traps and watchtowers and rotting forests without a bird-chirp in them.

this world considers hybrids to be something to hunt. something to take apart and sell and gloat about. vexes are disliked and killed for sport, for  bragging rights. there’s no mercy in that. avians, though? avian wings are seen as a commodity, a decoration. something to make money out of and claim a different kind of prestige from. 

... did i mention this world is permadeath?

yeah.

so here we have these two hermits, and i think it’s important to note that the life games aren’t a thing in this universe. they never experienced a situation where they have to fight for their life. they find themselves here, stranded and alone, not knowing if their home even still exists or what happened to the others and if there’s anyone left out there who will be looking for them. 

maybe they try to look for help, used to friendly communities and little to no consequences.

maybe they get glares and smirks and weapons pulled on them.

maybe they realise the error they’ve made. maybe they realise that this is no place to seek help.

and then they run.

and all they can do is keep on running.

(the wood is rotten. the animals are scarce, next to none - have they even seen any? besides the wailing hounds? they can’t remember. the resources are hidden, stashed away in the communities they are desperate to get as much distance from as possible. the land is dark, and eerie, and unfamiliar. it’s late autumn, toppling into winter, air chilly and frosty, and they are so, so very underprepared.)

i think this is a good time to note that i chose violet-backed starling as the bird-base for grian in this au. because the wings are brilliant and bright and vibrant. they’re rare. expensive. very, very much wanted. (very hard to hide in a drab late-autumn.) 

scar and grian meet under dire circumstances: a hunter de-routed from going after scar by a call for backup, to a violet-winged avian—an information scar overhears—a trophy too precious to walk away from. this is the moment scar has the startling, horrifying realisation that grian is also trapped in this world. (he hears  him before he sees him, and he’d know that voice anywhere.) (he never heard him scream like this before—)

long story short, grian gets hurt, scar goes a little feral, and together they escape, to seek out shelter and supplies in a world that seems determined to strip everything away from them. it’s getting colder, and they have nowhere to go but deeper into the forest, hoping that they’ll eventually go far enough that the hunters will give up. (a feeble, impossible hope.) 

please think about them being so confused and destabilised over the realisation that they’re no longer alone. the complicated feeling of relief of having someone familiar and safe there, and the absolutely nauseating terror of having them there, because it means they’re stuck in this nightmare, too. the struggle to keep each other alive and sane through it. the way how something so normal and taken for granted gets turned upside down—and gentle touch now feels so unfamiliar. (oh how they need that softness, in a world that is only ever harsh and cruel.)

the (so far) two drawings i made for this au are:

1. them curled up into each other, wrapped up in a blanket, trying to keep warm and survive the night. please note that scar is pressed against grian’s back, protecting the part of him that now feels the most vulnerable. (grian’s wings are a huge target. a beacon beckoning the hunters closer.) grian used to sleep (on those rare moments when he actually allowed himself to stop and nap) with his wings pressed against hard, rough, cold edges, just to hide them. just to make them less visible, just to make himself a little less vulnerable. (his feathers are a mess.)

2. on that note. the second drawing touches on grian’s complicated feelings about his wings that come from all this trauma. because all those pretty feathers do is drag danger to them. because he used to love them and they used to be his pride and joy and they let him feel free, but he can’t even fly anymore (the sky is too open; there are too many airborne hunters and watchtowers). and it’s these damned feathers that cause him and, more importantly, scar to get hurt and have to run and run and run even when they feel like they can’t anymore. 

grian is so upset with his feathers. they feel like a curse. they feel like a burden. they feel like he’ll never not be terrified as long as he has them. he’s tired and in pain and cornered and desperate, and he wants them gone. and so what if he cries. what if he starts plucking them out, urgent, frustrated, panicked sharp yanks, and—

and scar is there, and he’s shushing him and telling him to stop. telling him that his wings are beautiful, and they’re his, and scar won’t let anyone else touch them, ever. it’s okay. it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. (nothing is okay.)

//full drawings are linked so feel free to check them out if you're interested :3

------ @motherofplatypus a bit late but here you go! the requested au rambles

[majaloveschris]

it’s interesting, back when all this hoopla began, some blogs were convinced this was all genuine because of two reasons: 1) CE didn’t need to do PR to get more attention because he was already famous. 2) the attention was negative and did not help him and why would he go through all this for negative publicity?

While I agree to an extent that the attention with this relationship brought a lot of negativity to him and his family/friends (and obviously, hers too) - I maintain the belief that it wasn’t about the who he married, it’s about him having a partner and settling down and being married. To lots of people, this shows stability and being able to commit. It finally aligns with his “wants to settle and have a family” narrative. The GP will look at recent posts or movies of his and go oh yeah he got married (if they even bothered to remember that) and move on with their lives. His fans are the only ones currently bothered by all this because they hate the partner he’s with. But to me, they achieved their goal and now no matter what happens, at least he was married once and he’s seen with a ring - check and mate.

I kindly remind people that this is Hollywood. Public image and persona still is extremely important, and celebs always do things for reasons and most often, there is a bigger picture to unveil later on.

That being said, look at Taylor and Travis. She definitely is famous enough and imho, she did not need the publicity of a more public relationship. Some people said she quickly pivoted to Travis after her last guy Matt something was revealed to be problematic (I forgot why) and her PR team was quick to pull her out.

I don’t know if I agree with that. If it was as simple as erasing the controversy of a bad partner, she could be seen with Travis but not to the extent she has been. They got the NFL - aka one of the biggest money empires in the American sports and entertainment industry - involved. If you are not an American you may not understand how big NFL football and the Super Bowl is here in the states. But the levels they went to make Taylor and Travis a thing is interesting,

That’s why I think Chris very much needed the PR. I think it’s the woman choice that caused this ordeal to fall apart at the seams. Because I imagine a different situation:

Let’s say, he got paired with someone like an Ana de Armas or even Dakota Johnson (if either were single) - look at how the public reacted to Dakota and Chris at Central Park. Look at how the fans reacted.

It was mostly positive and people were surprised, including his own fans. Surprised that he looks good with her and physically they fit better together. Now the idea of them playing love interests isn’t so dire as people once thought.

The perception here is totally different. If he did scare videos with someone like Ana, did an IG montage, I don’t think the reaction would have been negative at all.

Him posting a pumpkin pic, or him doing restaurant tours with a different more favorable woman would have been completely different. If he showed up to VF after party with any of his ex gfs - and took a pic in the same red suit - I still think the reaction would have been less negative from his fans.

It could still be cringe to some but I highly doubt it would be at this level of animosity.

if the partner was different, I think you’d be seeing a much different result for both of them today. His partner, if she was also an up and coming actress but received better by his fans and the GP, could have seen herself get further in her career simply due to followers and visibility. If she was a different person with a different attitude towards work and promotion, she may be reaping more benefits today.

I think you have similar thoughts to me, maja, that this situation was unfortunately a failure due to the choice of pairing. If AB had gotten a different man, maybe even if she had stayed with Lucas B, you may be seeing a different result for her too. Her/his fanbases didn’t seem to hate them together as much, and also they did look pretty good together considering.

I wonder, would we still be seeing her post a ridiculous homemade shower video to distract from her friends problematic tweets? Would we still be seeing her pretend she’s never online and hiding away for months at a time? Would we still see her try so desperately to prove a point if she had simply ended up with someone else?

Yeah, I definitely see what you are saying. I don't think she was the first choice, in my opinion, especially because of the age gap. He's always been dating women who are close to his age, so choosing her for this whole "marriage" thing is interesting. Maybe choosing a younger partner was on purpose, and they were looking for someone who isn't that close to his age to attract a new demographic. I mean, a lot of younger women now think they might've a chance with him and thirst even harder, so who knows? I think people outside of the fandom only have problems with the age gap part, but unfortunately people are used to this, especially in HW, and 24 and 40 isn't even that bad, considering people like Leo (who is older) notoriously date younger women, and for him this is the first time. That we know of, of course. 

As you and I said, they should've chosen someone else, someone who hasn't done, said, or posted questionable things. The same goes for her friends. The most problematic part is her and her friends' personalities. I think most people would've moved on from the age gap thing; after all, they both are adults, even if 24 is a bit young for 40 in my opinion. And maybe if they were truly looking happy or in love, that could've made everything a bit better too. However, the fact they both look as if they don't want to be around each other helped at least him a lot. But they look relativly cute together with Lucas; it seemed like at least they liked each other. 

At the same time, I still think he and his team didn't know about the tweets, because I truly believe if they did, they wouldn't choose her.

I think his team failed this test, and this was a huge lesson for him too. 

[emry-stars-art]

I didnt mean to rediscover how much I like brainstorming and world building stuff but here we are - this time it’s (mostly) pirate Neil and shark Andrew flavored!

@tell-me-your-vision had some very good tags on the last post like this so of course I started thinking harder about it lol, you all know by now that the best way to get me to draw more is to leave ideas and questions in your tags 😘 it’s very interesting figuring out what parts I want to be drawn directly from the source animal and what I want to have artistic liberty with! Sometimes you just gotta say “it’s this way because I decided it is” and offer no more explanation, not even to yourself.

That being said. If the snippet interested you, find more of the unfinished scene here :D (and if you want to leave a comment… 👀)

I don’t know how clear this image is going to end up being, so here’s the important notes typed up:

Does [Andrew’s] missing fin cause maneuverability problems? Yep. Fins keep the body stable and streamlined in the water. No fin/half detached fins means Andrew spends a lot more energy to be equally as efficient while swimming. (That’s part of why he had more upper body strength than most mers.)

Does jelly Neil feel pain like humans? Not at all. Pain vs nociception - the detection of averse stimulus. So Neil can sense and respond to ‘painful’ stimuli, and he does feel some pain like a person would in his upper half, but it’s mostly just a sensation that he responds to. (This is dangerous. Less pain means he doesn’t realize how dire a situation may be.)

A second eyelid - like a crocodile/etc; a clear secondary eyelid that closes horizontally beneath the primary eyelid, developed to keep the eye safe and clear underwater. Why jelly Neil rarely ‘actually’ blinks

Pirate Neil’s prosthesis. Most of it is always hidden under clothes; it’s made of leather, copper, rubber, and cumaru wood. It was given to him by Stuart as soon as the man found out that Neil had lost his leg, and Stuart had it custom made through his vast connections. At one point in the timeline, Neil angrily takes it off to show a wary and lashing-out sharkDrew that he has also once been on the wrong end of a ‘whaler’s’ knife.

The tiny two panel comic in the bottom right corner: pirate Neil says “stop trying to stab me in the leg” while sharkDrew was fairly certain he just took out this pirate’s kneecap with his sharp rock

The snippet:

“And it was terrified. It’s second eyelids fluttered, it’s eyes were hazy. It held the rough stone ready in case Neil tried to get close again. It still wasn’t breathing right. It was still bleeding.

“Okay,” Neil said softly. He held his own hands out a little to the side. “I’m not going to hurt you more.”

The shark snarled, though it’s mouth never opened.

“I didn’t hurt you in the first place. They’re still finning mers?”

Neil tried to step in, slowly, and was met with another vicious swing. He was ready this time, avoiding the sharp stone neatly.

“Hey, thing. Keep moving like that and you’ll bleed to death.”

Another attempt, and another swing. Neil looked at the place it’s fin had been, now a horrible, gaping wound on its back. He could see the meat beneath the blood. If he didn’t help soon, the shark would go into shock, if not simply die here on the rocks.

“Do you even realize what’s at stake for you?”

[sickfictropes]

"Two or three characters stuck on the side of the road in the middle of a snow storm" sounds like it's worth exploring...

Mind delving a bit deeper with branch prompts and such? you don't have to of course I'd really appreciate the content!!!

I'll start :)

1) Caretaker realized Whumpee was sick with a severe fever long after they'd been hiding it for a while, only finding out when they had a dizzy spell and nearly fell on him. He jumped to start the car and drive to the hospital, not paying much mind to the weather, but, well... things got out of hand. Now he's trying to keep their fever down and help them stay hydrated with only what he had in the car. (Makeshift first aid time!!)

2) Whumpee and Caretaker were driving to visit a friend, but the snowstorm hit and the roads were too icy to safely drive on, so they had to park the car on the side of the road to wait for the weather to calm down. No problem, right? Except Caretaker didn't know how sensitive Whumpee was to the cold, and the heater is on the fritz. She'll have to think of some creative ways to keep her warm before things get dire...

3) Whumpee doesn't talk about her past much, but Caretaker's gotten the impression that she's afraid of snow --- an aversion left over from a traumatic event. So they've usually opted to keep her indoors whenever it snowed, showing up at her door with food, turning up the heat and closing the curtains so she doesn't have to see the weather. Only today, it's different. Whumpee had a family emergency and she had to get somewhere, fast. She knew she couldn't brave the storm alone, so she called the person she trusted most --- Caretaker --- to be the driver. She was doing a decent job of keeping herself calm, especially with Caretaker's grounding techniques, but then they got stranded. And now? She can barely breathe.

That's all I came up with on a short notice!! All of them are two-character, not three-character mostly because I couldn't think of what I'd call a third character (CaretakerB? Whumpee2?)

I hope you like the scenarios. And don't feel like you have to be exactly as detailed as I was, I'd be happy even if you just gave me your opinion on my prompts and didn't add your own (although I'm sure yours would be awesome)

yes omg!! i have written a "trapped in a car in a snowstorm" fic with my lady OCs (read it here if you want) and it was super fun. let's go!!

the driver knew that whumpee wasn't feeling well when they left, but dragged them along anyway because whatever they're doing is important. but now they're stranded on the side of the road with no water, no medicine, and a whumpee whose fever is only working harder to combat the cold weather.

not only are they stranded, but it's because the engine failed, which means they can't even use the heat on the car. caretaker/driver doesn't even know whether to share body heat or try to let the cold bring whumpee's fever down.

whumpee nad driver/team get out of the car and walk a bit to see whether they can find an exit they can walk to so they can buy a new tire to replace their flat one (no emergency tire) , and trying to find their way back is very difficult because of the low visibility. or maybe the driver gets out to look and whumpee gets concerned and goes after them when they don't return within after like 15 minutes.

as for your amazing prompts: i love them!!

i love the desperation, the frustration!! the urgency!! the fact that driver must feel so helpless!! yes!!

oooh yes i love this and might i add what if the two that are in the car are not the best of friends? maybe they don't know each other well, or they don't get along so well, so sharing body heat is, like, an absolute last resort.

YES PANIC ATTACK IN A SNOWSTORM OMG ANON YOUR MIND. she can't tell if she's shivering from cold or trembling with anxiety, and the physical sensation of cold is only making the panic attack harder to ground from because her brain is literally trying to AVOID the ground. maybe she ends up dissociating and really scaring the driver/caretaker :)

anyway this is what i got! thank you so much for your long and thoughtful ask--i really love all your prompts and i hope you like the ones i added!! <3

[oops-it-happened-again]

The Pretty Prince - Chapter 1

From the start, I want to specify that I'm not looking for hostile discourse about camps and who's right and wrong. Please, do not come to me seeking to fight.

If this is not your vision, that's okay. Please don't come for me!

Ellyn Baratheon lives a life in the shadows in her father's keeping. Until the day she and her sisters are told that they might soon be married to the King's brother. Dreading an uncertain future where all their secrets may come to light, she takes a reckless decision.

Words: 3k

Pairing: Aemond x Ellyn Baratheon (textual ghost)

Warnings: abuse, neglect, insecurity, arranged marriage, mention of brothel, mention of disfigurement, insults, slightly Aemond-apologetic, Aemond is a sad boy

Aemond kept as still as he could while the Lord of Storm’s End went through the usual motions of displaying his power and influence with despicable self-importance.

He’d expected as much, but it made him slightly uneasy, nevertheless, to feel the eyes of so many courtiers and counsellors following his every minute movement.

What were they thinking? Were they in awe or wickedly amused by his presumption?

His mother had been very clear in her instructions—he was to cement his brother’s claim to the throne by offering his hand in marriage to bind Borros Baratheon to their cause.

“At least there are two of them,” Alicent had sighed when she’d looked at her unfortunate son with quiet discouragement. “It’s your name—our name—you’ll be selling. Let’s hope that is convincing enough.”

As he now weathered the insidious tempest of disobliging whispering, Aemond sank deeper into his immobility for fear that even the minutest flinch would give away his thoughts.

Neither his mother nor his grandsire or brother had considered, even for a minute, that a maiden might want to wed him.

He was the king’s son, the king’s brother, and those fraying links of blood and loyalty were all he had to show in his favour.

As he stood, tall and cold as a statue, in the draughty hall, Aemond couldn’t shake the memory of the subdued despair painting his relatives’ faces a ghostly white—things were dire, he’d been told, and they had to make bold strokes.

Daeron, of course, was too young and outside the reach of their mother’s grasp, so she’d seen herself compelled to offer what she clearly thought of as “damaged goods” in hopes that the wave of good fortune and pure luck that had carried their House thus far would overwhelm others into complying.

Once upon a time, Aemond knew, a young Alicent had herself made her fortune by being sweet and comely, thus catching the eye and affection of a widowed king, but he could boast neither one of these favours.

Lord Borros grunted loudly, and Aemond had to suppress a shiver of apprehension. What if this formidable ally would deny his brother’s request for fealty on account of the prospective groom’s shortcomings?

He couldn’t bear imagining the look of utter revulsion on his mother’s face if he came back without having secured an advantageous match—thus, he clenched his jaw and waited.

All the knowledge and skill he’d acquired over the years meant nothing in this arena, and Aemond dreaded the arrival of the daughters of the house.

He knew for a fact that they’d been summoned, but the hall remained eerily empty. Their potentially wilful tardiness annoyed him because his stomach was churning with tension as he was reminded of the countless times he’d been deliberately snubbed and excluded before.

“I don’t have all day,” he hissed, earning but a tired look from the resident Lord.

“They’ll be here soon enough, and then you can have your pick,” Baratheon drawled, leaning back in his chair in an explicit show of disinterested superiority.

Aemond found that he was relieved to see that his negotiation partner seemed disinclined to maudlin preoccupation—this would be vital if the girls outright refused to do as they were told.

The scene taking shape in his head—a sweet-looking, dark-haired girl clutching at her father’s legs while begging him not to condemn her to such a terrible fate—made his mouth curl into a sour sneer.

“Ah, here they come now. My Prince—meet my daughters.”

“Come on, Ellyn,” Cassandra hissed as she burst into her sister’s room like an autumn storm unleashed. “The King’s brother is here—he’s agreed to wed one of us.”

Laying her book aside with a guilty flinch, Ellyn stood and patted her hair nervously.

“Remember!” Cassandra said urgently to which the other merely nodded. “Leave it to me!”

Ellyn Baratheon was almost two and twenty years of age, but her father—guided by his meddling council—had long since decided that he would pass her off as his third-born daughter instead, which was easily done as she was small of stature and soft-featured.

Cassandra, of course, was so much like him that she was the perfect choice for a provisional heir while he prayed for a son nightly.

Tall and stern, Maris was by far the smartest of the gaggle of daughters, and Ellyn had readily agreed not to stand in the way of her bright sister’s promising future.

Thus, she’d taken her place on the third rung—a future consolation prize for a minor lord or ally at best, and a contented spinster at worst.

She was not overly worried about Floris, their youngest, either for she was already beautiful and would most probably catch the eye and heart of any Lord she fancied without too much trouble.

“I thought the King’s brother was presently betrothed?” Ellyn whispered urgently as she was ushered into the tenebrous throne room.

“The new King,” Maris, who kept herself informed about the events and developments of the realm, replied haughtily. “Now be quiet and look pretty.”

Ellyn only managed to keep herself from rolling her eyes because her father’s imperious gaze settled on her at that very moment.

“My daughters,” he thundered and waved towards the row of young, nubile ladies expressively.

“Go then,” Maris said without moving her lips all too much and gave Cassandra a little nudge. “You wanted to be the oldest and the heir—go entertain our esteemed guest.”

“Oh, he’s disfigured,” Cassandra mumbled as she pretended to fuss with Maris’s collar. “Do I really have to?”

Ellyn meanwhile was spellbound by the apparition in black leather, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably as he waited for either one of them to go talk to him.

He was prodigiously tall and stood very upright as if aggressively demanding to be acknowledged by the milling courtiers and her wilfully dispassionate father.

From this distance, Ellyn couldn’t make out every subtlety of his features, but his overall demeanour was self-possessed and dignified enough to make her spine tingle.

“You can be your nasty self and make sure he won’t choose you,” Maris grinned and slouched. She’d been told many a time that she was the least comely of the bunch, and she evidently planned on taking advantage of that unfortunate shortcoming to avoid a less-than-alluring fate.

“He looks funny,” Floris whispered, tugging at Ellyn’s sleeve. Being barely more than a child, she couldn’t yet fully understand the intricacies of court life and its intrigues—to her, Ellyn was her oldest, most reliable sister, and she turned to her in her confusion.

“Hush, little one,” Ellyn cautioned. “He might well become a very important man soon. Just hold on to your doll and think of pleasant things.”

Not her, Ellyn prayed, not the baby. Floris was too young to be carried away to King’s Landing where she would be without her friends and family.

Let it be one of us, one who can defend herself and cry noiselessly. Please, Gods, spare the child—she wouldn’t know how to be a bride.

Despite her glacial pace, Cassandra had now reached their guest and was making conversation when, suddenly, the door opened anew, and the Queen’s young son was announced.

Aemond fought the instinctive impulse to avert his face from the cool gaze of the tall, self-possessed maiden walking towards him with grim determination.

“My Prince,” she greeted without an ounce of virginal shyness or understandable fear. “I trust you’ve had a pleasant trip.”

Oh, he thought, she’d been taught how to behave in such a situation and taught well at that. From her calm demeanour and steady gaze, he could deduce that she’d entertained and humoured more than one unwelcome guest of her father’s in her short life.

Despite his better knowledge, he wished that she’d show any kind of candid emotion other than steadfast dutifulness. Even horror would have been better than cold indifference.

Along the back wall stood three other girls, trying hard to dissimulate their hushed conversation by hiding their mouths behind slender hands.

“Your sisters won’t join us?” he asked, aghast at how tense and breathless his voice sounded.

Cassandra Baratheon—oldest daughter and heir apparent—cocked one eyebrow impatiently as she took a nimble step to bar his view on her siblings.

“You shall have the opportunity to meet each of them in turn if that is your desire,” she replied in the bored tone of a tired shopkeeper.

Different answers, unduly angry and even bordering on despicably petulant, rose to Aemond’s pinched lips and died unspoken in the damp air between them.

The girl lifted her head defiantly, her eyes narrowing as she stared at him as one gazed into an abyss just before taking a leap of faith.

“I take it you’d join your wife in Storm’s End?” she then said as he merely returned her icy look unflinchingly.

That reflection surprised and startled Aemond. “No,” he answered slowly.

“Well, as long as my father has no son, I’m bound to this place,” she shrugged.

For the first time since stepping out of the shadow of the hallway leading to their private rooms, Aemond saw her eyes light up with what he now recognised as insultingly earnest relief.

"What about your sisters?” he inquired, holding back his temper. The agony of being unwanted and unwelcome yet again thrashed like a wild beast within his chest, but he couldn’t let his undeniable faults ruin this tremendous chance for his House.

“Floris is too young to be taken away,” Cassandra replied sharply. “And Maris would probably nag you into taking her to Old Town to your mother’s kin.”

Mentally, Aemond weighed every piece of information carefully. There was a fourth daughter, he knew, but the young lady seemed unwilling to bring her up.

From where he stood, he could see her, bent over the youngest of the brood admonishingly. He couldn’t see her face very well, but she seemed comely enough, and the little girl’s expression was full of trust and love as she looked up at her older sister.

Cassandra followed his gaze and stiffened. “Ellyn,” she said in an unfathomably vague tone. “Who knows what she’d want—she’s a dreamer.”

Pulling himself back to the conversation at hand, Aemond snuffed out the spark of torturous envy that had been ignited in his heart at the sight of Ellyn’s small, pale hand smoothing down the youngest daughter’s braids soothingly.

Even after all these years, he still wished that things had been different between him and Aegon at times.

“I’d speak—”

He never got to finish his sentence as Lucerys was announced at that very moment.

An eternity of hurt and compounded slights came tumbling down to bury Aemond under his own folly.

In the end, he had to return to King’s Landing not only without the bride he’d sworn to secure but also with the terrible news that the first fell stroke of the looming war had been dealt by his very hand.

His mother only looked at him, eyes empty and lips pinched, before sweeping out of the room in disgust.

Later, Ellyn would hardly remember all the minute shifts in tone and demeanour that had led to the monumental tragedy of Prince Lucerys’s death, but the voice—raw, angry, and shockingly pained—of that looming, white-haired intruder stayed with her through many a night.

“Father will let him have one of us, nevertheless,” Cassandra prophesied as they sat around a blazing fire, Floris asleep on a nest of pillows at their feet. “He found Maris unprepossessing, and I must admit that he’s not what I’d hoped for either.”

When both her sisters turned to her, Ellyn drew her shoulders up as if to protect that spark of undue curiosity she’d buried deep within herself.

“He sounds…wounded,” she said cautiously.

“You don’t say? Were you so distracted by your romantic novels that you failed to notice the glaring lack of an eye?” Maris mocked. “What kind of man plans to present his mother with such a gruesome offering? He was outright frightening, no?”

Her tone was hard and unforgiving, and Ellyn frowned at the sight of the bitterness overtaking her plain features.

“One who wants to impress her?” she offered. “He’s well-grown and looks healthy. And he’s well-spoken.”

“If you disregard the unequivocal blemish and the fact that he’s a murderer,” Maris interjected coolly.

“Of course,” Ellyn sighed, feeling chastised once again. Her heart was too soft, and her mind too inclined to lose itself in fantastic stories to be relied upon to say the right thing at the right time.

“He has a face like a crescent moon,” Floris, who’d of course woken up at the worst possible moment mumbled.

“He looks dull,” Maris added pitilessly.

“He kind of is,” Cassandra agreed. “He’s just not…impressive enough. All those black clothes and the petulant expression—I’d rather hoped to marry someone more grandiose if you know what I mean?”

“You’re being ungenerous,” Ellyn interrupted their flood of mean words. “I thought him a fine-looking young man.”

“Well, then you can marry him for all I care,” Cassandra scoffed and breezed out of the room in a fit of unjust vexation.

As she lifted Floris into her arms to carry her to bed, Maris gave her sister a hard but not unkind stare. “Be happy that father demoted you—you clearly have much to learn still about the ways of the world and…men,” she said and left Ellyn alone, staring at the flames wistfully.

Even after she’d gone to bed, her sisters’ words haunted her. Displaced as she was, she loved them and wished to spare them any harm or pain.

In the eyes of the world, she might have been a lesser, younger daughter, but—in her heart of hearts—she knew what was expected of her.

Thus, she made a hare-brained, daring plan. Taking advantage of the fact that she’d grown almost invisible to those around her as war loomed on the horizon, she prepared for days before slipping out of her father’s castle under the cover of night.

To ensure that her disappearance would stay undiscovered for as long as possible, she didn’t take any of the guards or soldiers but fled with only her personal maid towards King’s Landing.

As soon as she’d made landfall, she hurried up a busy street and stopped at a vendor’s stall.

“I’m looking for the prince,” she whispered, jingling a few coins in her palm to signify that any information would be rewarded well.

“Which one?” the crone asked in a bored tone as she kept chewing on something soft and wet.

“The pretty one?” Ellyn said, afraid to speak his name where so many could overhear.

“He’s the King now,” the other laughed.

“No…the other one,” Ellyn sighed. “I mean him no harm—I—” She stopped herself before she could give away her identity inadvertently.

“Listen, lass, a pretty young thing like you should not go looking for Aemond One-Eye—he’s dangerous.” The woman spat into a street corner with admirable precision and then turned back to Ellyn. “Take it from me, dearie, you don’t want anything to do with him.”

I might not have a choice, Ellyn thought as her heart sank.

“I thank you, good woman,” she replied politely. “Where can I find out more? I’d like to know what kind of man he is.”

“Why?” The beady eyes of the old vendor now inspected her shrewdly, drinking in her dark, curly hair and her gentle, black eyes. “You’re not from here, are you?”

Knowing that she couldn’t very well tell this stranger that she wanted to protect her family and, if necessary, warn her sisters, Ellyn nodded wordlessly.

“I’ve seen him when he flew around the kingdom in the name of his brother…and I found him very intriguing,” she then breathed cautiously, hoping that her tone and wavering smile would give the impression of a puerile infatuation rather than of a deadly serious scouting mission.

“You’re as mad as he is,” the crone cackled. “Either way, ask around in the pillow houses and taverns—not that you’d find him there, but there might be people who know him better than I do, Gods be thanked.”

Bowing low, Ellyn dropped the coins into the gnarled hand that was extended towards her demandingly.

“Not promising,” Hala, her faithful maid and friend, who’d been standing just behind her throughout that whole conversation, whispered as they made their way into the bowels of the bright, sunny city. “What’s your plan?”

Just ahead, Ellyn saw the oddly familiar silhouette of a tall man walking stiff-backed towards an establishment of ill-repute, so she quickened her pace.

“Milady?” Hala called with mounting alarm.

Ideas and thoughts were considered and discarded at a pace that would have rivalled even Maris’s quick wit as they pushed their way through the throng of unwashed paupers and ruthless thieves.

Her father’s hall had been gloomy and ill-lit, and the Prince had certainly had other considerations on his mind than the seemingly innumerable daughters of a sour-tempered Lord—consequently, it was highly unlikely that His Highness would recognise her if he were to meet her again, stripped of all the trappings of her station and her house.

It was worth a try—instead of buying potentially false information from every low-born crook in the city, she might as well try to get to the man himself and make up her own mind about him.

Ellyn wasn’t naïve enough not to be fiercely aware of the moral peril she’d be, in for her father would certainly shun her if he ever learned of this, but she’d come too far to give up now.

“Why, my dear friend,” Ellyn grinned mischievously, feeling more like her brave, ferocious father’s daughter than ever before. “I’m going to pretend to be a whore.”

So, this was the first chapter. -> Chapter 2

⤳Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you want to read more of this, please let me know!

[defira85]

WIP Whenever

I've actually made quite a lot of progress on the next chapter compared to how long it took me to do the last few, because this was a chapter I've been looking forward to writing for a while now because of a scene between Carmela and Gale I have planned. Which is not the section I'm teasing here today, go me

(I enjoy Carmela's rigidity as a paladin and I know that makes her unpopular in my fics (I've seen the comments, I know people don't like her) but she's still my girl and I love her)

Anyway. Not that we're seeing her in this snippet. The very lovely @elinorbard tagged me earlier in the week and we're getting Gale and Rhyme today since I'm unhappy with the progress I've made on my Gortoween fic

Gale could not say that he had ever been a particularly athletic man in his former years, and as he gritted his teeth and forced himself to put one foot in front of the other as they plodded wearily back up to the mountain peak, leaving the ruined monastery and githyanki creche behind them, he found that he was quite frustrated with his younger self for having squandered the opportunities of youth—and, more importantly, the exquisite luxury of functional knees. What he wouldn't give, to be able to transport himself backwards through time and confront the bold and brash younger Gale of Waterdeep, to take him firmly by the shoulders and shake him, and lament to him sternly the dire importance of regular stretching and muscle building exercises. Being so well-acquainted with his younger self, he knew intrinsically that young Gale of Waterdeep would not have listened to a word he'd said, and would have dismissed such hard-earned wisdom flippantly. Gale of Waterdeep was a prodigy, an archmage without peer, a man striving towards divinity with both eyes fixed on his prize—what need did such a man have for squats? Trudging through a mountain pass, days from civilisation, without even the luxury of good arch support in his boots? Unthinkable! A younger Gale Dekarios would have considered such a future to be an unconscionable failure of the highest degree. And as the current Gale Dekarios huffed under his breath to try and make it look like he was not so terribly winded as he actually was, and that his thighs weren't burning like the fires of Avernus were set directly under them, he had to admit that he didn't entirely disagree with his younger self.

Tagging @zeph0r Nat I will get you to admit that your writing is magnificent and necessary one day @sleepytimegrrl @angelicfangirl I'll go into the document myself and steal your WIP if I have to @flamemittens I'm cheering for you @robinyourcreator

[miss-tc-nova]

The Important Things - Leona Kingscholar & Grim

In a very Leona mood but haven't found another plot to drown myself in yet. But here's a little thing I probably won't dig into deeper but had some fun with.

Premise: Grim's in trouble again

Words: 988

~~~~~

               Sunshine filters through the foliage above, allowing just the perfect amount of warm light fall upon the lazy lion. As usual, Leona Kingscholar is in the midst of an afternoon nap as he skips another class. Meanwhile, thoughts of a particular prefect flitters through his brain.

               This magicless student has proven to be quite interesting. There’s no end to the surprises he’s witnessed and, before he knew it, Leona found himself intrigued. He wanted to know more—to be around this stranger from another world. It’s the first time Leona’s cared about anything in a long time. But he had an image to uphold. He’d sooner die than reveal just how badly he wanted to get to know the Ramshackle prefect. Weakness did not look good on him.

               An ear flickers. From beyond the greenhouse walls, the faintest sound of screeching can be heard. Normally Leona would roll over, endure the annoyance rather than get involved, and resume his nap. However, something about it seemed familiar, nagging at him to investigate.

               With the greatest annoyed sigh, the lion sits up. Curses and grumbling rumble under his breath as he ventures from his cozy hiding place and out into campus life. His ears lead the way as his thoughts attempt to decipher the yowling. He knows that sound—he’s certain of it—but it’s distorted in something extreme.

               Stepping onto the courtyard, Leona spots the source of the ruckus. Of course that sound was familiar—it’s Grim. He shouldn’t be surprised that little beast is at the center of this fiasco, but for once, the chaos doesn’t appear to be his fault. As the feline bolts back and forth across the yard, hot on his tail is a trio of dogs, snarling, snapping, and on the hunt.

               His body acts without thought. Immediately, Leona rushes towards the Ramshackle resident. Grim spots the housewarden, utter fear in his eyes, but he changes course.

               As Grim gets within reach Leona throws an arm out to intercept the cat. Claws dig into his skin as Grim scrambles for safety, but the lion ignores the pain, his focus now set on the pack.

               Leona inhales as deep as his lungs will allow. One more step forward and all that air comes rushing back out in the loudest roar the lion could muster.

               All three skid to a halt, feet scrambling and clawing to turn tail and run. It’s their turn to yelp as they flee.

               For a moment, the two sit quietly, heavy breathing filling the silence between them. Then suddenly, Leona finds Grim frantically rubbing his face against his. His first reaction is to snap at the freshman to cut it out, but realizes that he’s probably just relieved to have escaped what could’ve been a deadly situation.

               Still, a tang of iron reaches his nose. Leona lets out a sigh and starts the stroll towards the Hall of Mirrors. It’s better if they vacate the area anyway, before people start pestering them about details.

               Grim is pretty well attached to Leona’s shoulder as they go, a rumbling emanating from his fur and the occasional head bump finding Leona’s face.

               The lion takes the cat back to Savanaclaw. Being a dorm of ruffians, minor first aid is pretty common knowledge, so it’s no big deal for Leona to look over Grim and patch him up—those mutts definitely got a couple good bites in. However, even after he sniffled and complained through being cleaned up, Grim now hangs from the Savanaclaw student’s shoulder, not about to let go anytime soon. The only time the dire beast moves is when Leona decides to resume his nap, where he curls up on the beastman’s chest to join him. Through this whole thing, Leona just lets it happen. Grim is being unusually calm, probably still somewhat shocked and using Leona as comfort. It also makes it easier to keep an eye on Grim if he’s within reach; the Seven know the prefect already has enough to deal with. If this could make life a little easier, well, Leona won’t object too much.

               “Leona? Oh my gosh! Grim!”

               The warm weight on his chest disappears, rousing the lion from his cat nap. Beside him sits the prefect, worried hands fussing over Grim as he dramatically retells how he got into trouble with a pack of dogs. It takes quite a bit of self-control not to smirk when the furball gets to the part about Leona saving him, even when those glittering eyes fall on him with awe.

               The prefect thanks Leona profusely for taking care of Grim. He tries to brush it off as sheer coincidence that he was there at all, but there’s no denying the little flutter in his chest.

               From then on out, Grim wasn’t such a pain in the ass. He still had his moments of boisterous chaos, but he actually listened to Leona—when it mattered at least. And he had his own moments of usefulness. Grim was a great lookout when he thought he was in cahoots with Leona, making sneaking out for naps so much easier. Also the weight on Leona’s chest as he napped somehow made him sleep so much better.

               To top it off, the prefect genuinely appreciated Leona’s interactions with Grim. He got near constant words of gratitude for keeping the second Ramshackle student out of trouble and was welcome in their dorm whenever he saw fit. Most importantly, it meant that he got to see more of the prefect. Sure, he was actually starting to get used to Grim, but he wouldn’t have done so if it weren’t for this stranger that had captured his interest. If he hadn’t recognized the little beast as the prefect’s partner, he would’ve left well enough alone, but Leona inadvertently made it his duty to ensure Grim was protected.

               Because what’s important to the prefect, is important to Leona.

~~~~~

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist

[janebonbon]

Alright, Let's talk

I've had some time to digest everything about the election and hearing all the talk surrounding it. I was, and am devistated as to where things stand now for a Trump presidency. However... My gut tells me this is not over. Whether that means election fraud or tampering, boycotts and protests, or more legal trouble for the big orange. It's not over. Things are far too quiet, and we are in the eye before the storm. Notice how EXTREMELY quiet Trump is this time around. He hasn't been boasting and gloating and unsufferably hard to ignore. There is something going on, and I think he is very nervous.

However. That does not erase the threat of everything Trump stands for. If anything, this has shown us the threat in front of us. My family is Polish, I have grown up Polish. Why is that relavant? Talk about world war two was almost a constant growing up. Most people associate Poles with WW2 anyway, so I learned a lot. I learned a lot about facism, nazis, eugenics, and the psychology of complacancy that led to the holocaust.

Around 2016, at the fresh age of 14, my mother and I went to the Zekelman Holocaust Museum in Michigan. I urge you too look at or read about some of their exhibits here. This is where my mother and I were first able to completely face the fact of what Trump was doing. There was an exhibit showcasing the 10 stages of genocide. We are now currently at stage 7. Project 2024 has thrust us there. I worry deeply about what project 2024 has shown us. What that means for every single women, the LGBTQ+ community, our immigrant communities, our disabled communities.

Even if there is no internment camps like in the holocaust, I worry about escalations. I am terrified of history repeating. I refuse to be complacant in that, and I urge you not to be as well. I urge you to prepare for the worst, but hope for the best. Be proactive in measures for the future.

Especially if you are a woman, I am telling you to buy Plan B now. Travel state lines if you have to. Plan B has a shelf life of 4 years. If not for yourself, do it for a friend, family member, or someone you care about. Even if you are not sexually active, you never know what is going to happen or who might need it.

If you have any period tracking apps, they need to go NOW. Flood it with misinformation if you are able, change past entries before you delete it. Stick to putting that information to pen-and-paper where your data will not be taken by the government and used agaisnt you.

If you are able to, please apply for a passport or renew yours if you haven't already, the sooner the better. It can take a lot of time for them to get processed, so do this first. If you are financially unable to pay for a passport, you may be eligable to apply with a fee waiver. In case you feel unsafe and just want to leave the country for whatever reason may happen, I feel it is extremely important to have.

Download Signal. It has end-to-end encryption that will keep you and those same people you care about safe. I also suggest turning off notification previews even on apps like Signal, as I am told that they can be un-encrypted. If you value your privacy for conversations with your trusted people, you need to do it on something that is end-to-end encrypted.

If you are able and feel safe to, build a community network. Anyone you believe can be trusted, talk to them now about your fears and come up with a plan for worst-case scenerios. Reach out to others that have the same fears as you. Talk to your trusted friends and family members. You are not powerless. You have strength in numbers. If not to help you feel safety, but to give you hope and laughter in hard times. It does not and will not mean that the world is not dire, but you need to still stay sane.

Save important doccuments now. Not on pinterest or in a TikTok bookmark. Download. That. Shit. Don't have the computer space? Get a hard drive. A USB. Fuck it, a CD. Can't download important information? Write it down on physical paper. You have options. Even if it doesn't get taken offline, archiving and saving important things is extremely important anyway. Anything important to you, save. I am worried about books and important information being lost. Get physical copies if you are able. Find ways to download them in PDF or similar formats. Music? Save it. Maybe I'm being too wary, but you will have no idea what is going to go until they start doing it.