#candle maker’s child

[leaf-in-a-flower-garden]

They’re so couple goals

(feat. Their amazing child, who I’ve dubbed Saoirse, being less than enthusiastic at their parents’ pda)

[adler-obsessed]

god. Vivienne really is just. that character. She is taken to the circle so young she does not remember what her parents even looked like and someone had to tell her. She wouldn’t even know if they were telling the truth. She is ruthless, the terror and nightmare of the Orlesian court. She almost weeps when you find the Tranquil skulls in Redcliffe. She hates drop waists. She is harrowed younger than any other mage in living memory. She teaches Bull the steps to the dance of the six candles. He likens her to a Qunari dreadnought that has half the enemies on the ground before he’s even reached the front line. Her accent’s not Orlesian. No Free Marcher can tell where she is from either. Is her original voice another part of herself she cut off? She enchanted a duke within one meeting and they scandalised even Orlesian society. She was good friends with his wife. They possibly fucked too. No can control her. She’s been owned since the moment she was first brought to the Circle. She belongs to no people. There are a dozen leashes around her neck claiming otherwise. She makes fun of an elven god for setting his coattails on fire.  She is on the verge of banishing Cole back to the Fade all the time. She can’t help but grow to care for him at the end despite her best efforts to pretend otherwise. She hates herself for it. She thinks caring makes you weak. During the first conversation you have with her unmasked as a Trevelyan, she begs to know if you also cared about her childhood friend, Lydia. She tries to import illegal fur into Skyhold. Did she kill everything soft within her soul herself or did the Chantry sisters do it for her? She is impossible to prank. Some might say she’s even better than Sera at pranking. She was pulled into the game by the time she was nineteen. She’d faced worse things since she could first remember her dreams. Life has never been fair. One merely needs to be hard enough to survive. The blade at her neck when she lay on the floor of the harrowing chamber was no different from the hunger in her belly as child, a necessary pain that only drove her forward. Maker, was there ever any chance that she did not see cruelty as simply another word for life? Is there any version of her that does not end up surrounded by moral filth? 

[therightbeaches]

𝐬𝐮𝐛-𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐨 ⋆ 𝐚. 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

synopsis: you grapple with the weight of your position in the bau (and, worse, your feelings for your boss.) [3.2k] contents: bau!reader, angst, PINING. basically this entire fic is pining No Joke and reader is not nonchalant about it, brief bed sharing, sort of ambiguous ending? there is no resolution of aforementioned pining, reader is lowkey sulking the whole time a/n: i'm definitely still trying to get comfortable writing for hotch so again, the characterization probably isn't perfect 🙂‍↕️

Hotch is very likely the nicest person you know. The smartest one, too (actually, the second smartest if you think about it, because Spencer has an IQ of, what, 190? But, well, in the emotional intelligence department he sometimes lacks — you still like him bunches but the truth is the truth.)

You know the rest of the team might disagree with the statement Hotch is nice, but there’s an unspoken bond between you and him that’s been present since the day you joined the Bureau, and he doesn’t play favorites but if he did you’re sure you’d be it.

Regardless, meeting Hotch was like scoring a really nice vintage Coach purse at the thrift and opening it to find a crumpled twenty dollar bill stuffed into one of the inside pockets. Lovely on the outside and even nicer on the inside.

Really, you could go on a whole tangent about how sweet and passionate and generous and thoughtful he is. For your birthday, he’d showed up to the office with a four-pack of cupcakes and held your shoulder while you blew out the candles. On Christmas, he’d appeared on your doorstep in the snow to give you a copy of his favorite novel with his annotations scrawled into the margins.

You’ve found yourself in Alaska again. This time, thankfully, there’s a substantial lack of bodies. Rossi had ushered you and Hotch away to participate in a college guest lecture on criminal psychology for aspiring FBI agents — just don’t mention the janky coffee makers, he had instructed half-heartedly while seeing you off on the tarmac.

It was strange. Given, the seminar went off without a hitch, but leaving the lecture hall you’d had this horrible sense of unease. Hotch had the good conscience not to ask you what was troubling you when the imaginary bruise that your lecture pressed down on was aching. More a festering rot that eats through skin and fat and muscle than a bruise, in fact, if you don’t seek to sugarcoat it.

The lobby of your hotel is luxurious but empty. There’s a big window overlooking the expanse of nothingness beyond the hill, squishy velvet couches of emerald green, high-backed armchairs, scratchy wool throw blankets with tassels dangling to the ground. A big fire crackles in the hearth into the silence. The spillage of lamplight outside through the glass only stretches a few feet till it tapers off into the void, an endless pit of tar dotted by twinkling city lights miles away.

You exhale through your mouth and it turns into a smear of fog against the window. This job destroys people. Whittles them down till their bones are so brittle that they collapse under their own weight. You think of Elle, of Gideon, of Jordan, even, how it had eaten them alive inside-out until they had nothing left. You think of Hotch’s torn-apart family and his late wife, of his son who’d lost his mother, and the weight of Spencer’s abduction, his addiction, how it still affects him so deeply today. You think of JJ’s face when there’s a case involving a baby close to home (in a slightly altered timeline, it could just as easily have been hers), of the tough-guy façade Derek puts on, because what else can he do, let the work tear him apart?

There’s only so much someone can bear, only so many back-to-back days of another child missing, another dead body gutted and dismembered and dumped like garbage, another grieving family who lost a son, a daughter, a sister or a brother, a parent. And it’s difficult, more difficult than anyone can articulate, to know that it will never end. So, what’s the reason? Why are you still here, letting this job take and take and take everything you have to give?

Because you’re helping people, argues one half of your mind. You’re changing lives. In turn, the other half: but while you can help in one place, in a thousand others there are countless people getting hurt by cruel hands. What then? What makes one life more valuable, more worth helping than another? There isn’t a good answer (and it’s the reason that you think JJ needs a raise.)

Then, amidst the quiet, there’s the tap of shoes against mahogany floorboards, and Hotch’s distorted reflection materializes behind you. Your own is one you hardly recognize. Worn down to the bone, self-loathing, lonely. Drowning in a three-foot deep pool because you can’t get your legs straightened out beneath you.

“I thought you went to bed,” you say to the window.

“I couldn’t sleep.” He tracks your gaze to the outside. “I thought you went to bed.”

“I couldn’t either.”

“What’s on your mind?”

Profilers, you think mournfully. Hotch can read body language accurately to a scary extent, and maybe now it’s because you wanted him, wanted someone, to notice. Notice my struggle. Notice that something is wrong.

You rub a stiff hand over your jaw. Self-soothing. “I don’t know. This job is just hard. And of course I understand the appeal, but...”

“…But you don’t know why bright college students would want to commit to something so macabre.”

It’s an extension of yourself, really. Why did you want to commit to something so macabre to begin with? He gives you a look in the reflection that says talk to me. He’s your boss but he’s your best friend too. You tend to suffer in silence rather than burden a friend with personal qualms, and it’s why you don’t respond.

You wait with bated breath for something, anything, maybe searching for an answer that he can’t offer. This is one of the few things out of his field of expertise. He won’t give you some bullshit non-answer to make you feel better because that isn’t what you need.

Honestly, what you do need to do is take some time off, spend it somewhere tropical, and he’d give you the time off if you asked, but it’s the easy solution that you don’t truly want because it won’t fix anything. You can fly away in a luxury jet and drink a piña colada out of a coconut on a sunny beach somewhere on the other side of the globe and there will still be people dying while you sunbathe.

“If you had a do-over, would you still join the BAU?” Hotch asks suddenly.

He words it like this but it isn’t what he means. He’s asking if you can continue doing this. If, when you go home, he’ll find your gun and credentials on his desk. If the job is still worth it to you.

“I thought you didn’t really like hypotheticals.”

“In the right contexts I’ll… indulge.”

“And is this the right context?” you ask and turn to face him. The window is cold against the skin of your back.

“It’s something that’s making you upset, so I think it is.”

A beat, in which he levels his steady gaze at you and look down towards your feet as if your shoes can tell you the right thing to say. And, yes, you know that the right thing to say is the truth and it’s the truth that he wants to hear, but to tell the truth is to admit defeat in the face of struggle. You’re not the first agent to be ripped to shreds by the work you do and you won’t be the last but that knowledge doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

All withstanding, there’s nowhere else in the world you can imagine yourself working at aside from the BAU. Never, not in a million years, not for a million dollars, would you wish to be apart from your family.

Never would you wish to be apart from Hotch, who’s changed your life in a million ways, all of which are for the better.

“I would,” you say, then bid him a despondent goodnight before retreating to your room.

The digital clock on your nightstand blinks 12:03 a.m. into the dark and you’re wide awake.

During the seminar, you’d touched on a few cases you’d worked and how the art of profiling directly correlated with catching your bad guy. The fundamentals: this is why we’re looking for a person fitting this exact description, and this is how we know, these are the classifications of serial killers. Oh also, once, three cops walked straight into a trap and I was the one who had to tell their families that we gave them the green light to breach the premises.

Of course, the last part isn’t what you said. It’s not a thing you can say because the FBI is always searching for bright-eyed, bushy-tailed applicants, but it’s the harsh reality that comes with doing this job that goes unsaid until rookie agents learn it themselves in the field. You still remember it. The first case you were on. The first time someone got killed in front of you. The first family you had to inform. The first videotape sent to the cops, the first letter addressed to you personally. The terror, the dread, the constant need to look over your shoulder, the ever-present fear of shadowy corners and what could hide within their tenebrosity.

It’s really fucking cold in your room. The radiator has to be busted, you think. It’s no better in here beneath your thick quilt than if you were bare naked outside in the blizzard, and there’s no way you’ll be getting a wink of sleep tonight unless… well. It wouldn’t be the first time you slept in the same room as Hotch. Two summers ago or so the coordinator had royally screwed up your reservations and booked doubles instead of singles and you’d roomed with him for the entirety of five agonizing days, in which you ate together and watched TV together and sat shoulder-to-shoulder on his bed over chow mein and case files.

He lets you in when you knock. Sets up the pullout couch for you but offers you the bed and relents with little resistance when you shake your head no. He gets you situated and turns the lamp off and it’s just you and him in the stagnant, suffocating silence.

“Do you want to know why I decided to hire you after the first round of interviews?” he finally asks, a low murmur so quiet that you can barely hear it.

You turn over onto your side, a curled palm sandwiched beneath your head and the pillow. “Why’s that?”

“Because I saw in you what I wanted to be when I first joined the BAU. Passionate. Dedicated. I know I made the right choice in hiring you and you reaffirmed it even more today during the seminar. I can’t think of a singular time you’ve let the team — let me — down.”

You roll back over, squint at the ceiling, trace the water damage stains turning white to brown with your eyes in the dim light from the window. You’re able to grab the tails of the curtains and tug them closed. Hotch is speaking with some secret, underlying, cryptic meaning to his words; he doesn’t sing praise just for the sake of singing praise. He must’ve forgotten you’re a profiler too, though it wouldn’t take a genius to decipher just what he means. I don’t want you to leave the team.

“Hotch, I-”

“People like you are what the Bureau needs,” he says sagely, as if you needed confirmation for his invisible meaning.

You sit up, pressing your back against the cushioned bottom panel of the couch. “People like you are. I mean, you’re such a good leader, Hotch, and I know how much you care. You always handle everything with so much grace and honesty, I think you’re great and so kind, you know, and…”

There’s the scrunching sound of fabric against fabric and the squeak of springs in the mattress as he props himself up too to stare at your silhouette in the dark, and you most certainly have given you and your stupid feelings away.

Your elbow bumps into the cotton upholstery behind you as you lift an arm to rub your eye. Your cheek squishes against the hill of your shoulder self-consciously. There are worse things in the world than you taking the bait (truthfully, there was no bait to tempt you in, but you think wanted to say it; it’s been a weight on your shoulders for too long now) and spilling your guts to the object of your affection, aren’t there? Not in this moment, you think, dejected, because you can feel his heavy gaze on you even in the pitch-black of night.

There’s a drawn-out pause, filled only by the sound of your shallow breathing.

His voice scratches when he speaks. “Is it cold down there, on the pullout?”

“What?”

“There’s still a lot of space in the bed.”

𑄻𑄾 ᵎᵎ.

The snowstorm outside has escalated overnight and has reduced visibility to zero. This means no plane travel until the storm wanes, and this also means you’re trapped in your lodging with Hotch for the short-term foreseeable future.

He finds you in the east-facing solarium the following morning sitting on a porch chair. Dressed in thin pajamas against the lesser insulation typical of a sunroom, you’re curled in on yourself with your knees to your chest, socked feet crossed in front of the backs of your thighs, chin atop your forearm.

Your conversation from the hotel lobby the prior evening weighs on you heavily. You would choose the BAU again and again if it came down to it, and when it did, you have chosen the BAU again and again. If anyone asked how much you like your job you might tell them how it’s saved you, how it’s given you so much of what you have. Your closest friends, your home, and selfishly, it’s brought you him.

How obtuse is it to weigh an individual at the same level as the comfort of your own space, as those you value most? Surely very, but he’s everything. He gives you everything you could ever ask for, he’s done the most to make sure you’re doing well, he’s held your head above the surface of your terrible, shallow pool until you could find your footing more times than you can count.

And, sure, it’s his job to do these things, his duty as your supervisor to act in the team’s best interest, but it isn’t his job to walk you to your car in the garage every evening. It isn’t his job to bring takeout to your front door after a hard case, and it isn’t his job to hold your hand in a big crowd so you don’t get separated, or button up your coat for you when you can’t get the button aligned with the opposing slit, or call you each morning to ask how you slept.

You know he’s behind you before you turn. An itchy blanket is draped over your lap from over your head.

“Where’s your jacket?” Hotch asks, neither kindly nor unkindly.

“It’s in my luggage.”

“I meant, why aren’t you wearing it?” A broad, warm hand smooths over the outer expanse of your upper arm to try and rub some heat back into your skin. “You’re going to get sick. It’s cold in here.”

“I don’t know,” you respond, saturnine, with words sticky like taffy in your mouth.

He settles into the chair beside you, passing over a plate with a still-warm scone from the buffet room across the lobby. Twin mugs of tea are placed on the glass patio table between you. The legs of the chair screech in protest as he turns it so his body angles towards yours, his elbows on his knees and his palms pressed flat together. His voice, when it comes, bleeds with the gentleness, the softness, he might use with a small, skittish animal that will startle and flee if he’s too loud.

“Look, I’ve been thinking, and if you want to put in a request for a transfer, I can have it processed by the time we get back to Quantico. I don’t want you to be unhappy, don’t say that you’re not, I know you are. You don’t need to keep suffering because you think you have some obligation or loyalty to the team.”

“Who says I’m suffering?” It comes out thickly, tone teasing the edge of wounded. You recoil at yourself and shake your head. “I’m not. I’m not unhappy, either. I love the team. I love…” You blink and suck in a breath. “I stay because I want to.”

“You must consider me to be—” he sighs and takes your hand into his own, brings your knuckles to his mouth, a ghost of his lips against your skin, “so bad at my job if you think I can’t read my own team.”

“I didn’t say that, Hotch,” you murmur.

He laughs. Your mood brightens marginally with the sound. “You didn’t say it, but you must’ve thought it.”

It’s hard to not want it. He’s done everything right. He’s hooked his kind claws into your tender, wanting flesh and you’ve no desire to get away, even if it hurts, even if it means the puncture wounds will have you bleeding to death right here in front of him. Or, a hand reaching into the gaping cavity of your chest, latching onto your heart and tugging and tugging and tugging till fibers stretch and fray and split, and what else can you do but sit still and let it happen?

The same hand opens doors for you and makes your coffee just the way you like it and touches you with reverence. And is that what this is, reverence? Love? To seek to dissect bit by bit, to pull you apart till but your innermost pieces are left? To flay and open you up with a neat incision, and force a loving hand between the gaps in your ribs and lay a gentle head upon your raw chest to hear, to feel his name thrumming in time with your heartbeat?

No, that is not love, but you love him still. Indubitably, irrevocably, impossibly so. It’s a harsh, mocking finger jabbed into your sternum, and it’s not something that you think you can come to terms with.

[yandere-toons]

I know this is a little early but can you do a Book of Life headcanon for Dia De Los Muertos? It can be La Muerte and Zebulba or Maria, Manolo, and Joaquin. (I love your writing so much!)

Yandere La Muerte & Xibalba (Platonic & Romantic Headcanons)

Warnings: Death, Toxic Mindsets.

A.N. – ¡Feliz D��a de los Muertos!

While the candle of her chosen mortal is aflame with life, La Muerte dons it proudly in a prime spot among her dress or hat, close enough to where she can always feel its heat and wince at the exact moment it goes cold. If so exists even a whiff of foul play, it is her husband Xibalba who punishes the living with a sudden uptick in fatal snakebites.

Hot boils the resentment of Xibalba, who never so wished to eradicate the Law-Maker as he does watching his own helpless reflection in the window of a home where his favourite mortal lay despairing. Decades of deceit and contrivances just to share a few words, forced by ancient law to conceal his true name and nature, have worn his patience to a thread. At the same time, Xibalba is inclined to thank this purveyor of death in person, to offer a taste of what the latest victim endured and send the slain soul to rot, as he did, in the Land of the Forgotten.

La Muerte, for all her power in death, can in life offer only words of encouragement from the mouth of a kind stranger. She often observes their day from the secrecy of terraces and distant roofs, watching to ensure their happiness and step in with bits of wisdom should they seem lost. She refrains from direct intervention until the day they wander inside her castle, at which point she cannot help wondering how much longer it may have taken to meet them this way had they lived the life they wanted. Such rumination is channelled into action as La Muerte focuses on bringing them more comfort with their new arrangement than ever they found with the living, seeing it as a way to make up for all the strife she was forbidden from preventing.

La Muerte is happy to join their visitation for Día de los Muertos, believing it will help them grow more accustomed to her and accept her as someone deserving of a higher role in their existence. Xibalba gripes the whole time while wondering where he went wrong to make them so opposed to his presence that they would choose the company of mortals over a night spent drinking and feasting with him and his wife, even questioning whether La Muerte is behind all of this to punish him for some ancient crime.

Xibalba muses that, for a bond so strong as this, he could use his deathly touch to kill their relatives all at once, feigning the promise of a reunion — while keeping to himself that such a deed would only eliminate the last of their tethers to the living and thus send them straight to his realm in perpetuity. Xibalba has one finger outstretched to do just that when La Muerte slaps it down and swears she will never forget this should he go through with it.

Xibalba wilts at her wrath but soon grows restless with spite and decides a more clandestine approach will net him his petty vengeance. If simply snatching away a few lives is too vulgar, then perhaps he can make a wager of it. La Muerte, her inner child intrigued, listens as he spins the age-old tale of a fair trade: if their spouse in life leaves town; if the kids down the street go on to marry one another — Xibalba will claim hosting rights, and if not, he will stop cursing their mortal attachments.

Neither are too moved by sympathy plays, having heard every plea imaginable from souls desperate to live and reunite with those up above. A bet, however, draws from both gods the memory of a younger time, a splash of excitement in an otherwise predictable system.

La Muerte's conditions are more palliative: not protesting when she requests a day spent with her, not trying to breach the living-dead barrier before its time. When others or perhaps even the soul themselves begin to question these once-thought agape embraces and invitations to dine, the goddess admits to a more personal interest. She has walked beside them for much of their life and feels they were cheated by it, seeing the bad side of the world too much and the good side too little, and so has taken it upon herself to show them what could have been.

Xibalba's conditions revolve around staying with him for longer periods, say a millennium instead of a century, or granting him explicit permission to kill some mortal companion of theirs who stokes his envy. Such a blessing is by no means necessary to carrying out the hit; rather, it serves as a colossal show of deference as well as a convenient method of claiming the person's blood is now on their hands.

La Muerte can generally be relied upon to act as a restraining influence on Xibalba, keeping him from wiping out whole droves of mortals in a fit of cruelty; however, even she will leave them to their fate if the terms are clear and both parties have agreed, for a wager with a god is all-binding. By refusing to fulfil one's end of it, the winning side is bound no longer to the stipulations set forth in the agreement and may exact any price as recompense.

Only one path to victory remains: accuse Xibalba of rigging the bet, which La Muerte will be inclined to believe given his history, assuming a trip to lodge this complaint with her is even feasible. Xibalba may suspect this intent to oust him and cancel the next dinner date in haste, professing to La Muerte that he and his new roommate are getting along splendidly.

La Muerte laments their absence and voices her desire to see them again, to which Xibalba pleads that she has hosted them long enough and to give him a chance. Despite a winding series of lies and broken promises to consider, La Muerte is committed to forgiveness and thus gives her word that she will not try to ferry them back to her land, at least until the next bet is up.

Xibalba's lonely heart is all too eager to drag them down into the Land of the Forgotten, where souls hardly move or speak, having lost all sense of self. Immortals and mortals alike who spend any significant amount of time in this realm incur some degree of degeneration and start to lose touch with what made them human, a process Xibalba endlessly chatters about to fill an otherwise eternal silence.

La Muerte, once content with this tenuous sort of balance, finds the scales tipping when they express a disinterest in reconnecting with the living world. Chaos erupts as La Muerte challenges Xibalba to return their soul, convinced he is poisoning their heart with his own bitterness for humanity. Xibalba deflects at every opportunity, suggesting that he merely speaks a harsh truth and offers an escape from the drudgery of mortal life.

A deep frustration ignites within La Muerte, less now at the dark turn of her husband, which she has begrudgingly come to accept, and more at the threat of losing her chosen soul to exactly the kind of existence she strove so hard to separate from them. Even though the march of time will one day condemn the soul to what comes after, La Muerte sought to enrich their short journey and give them the taste of true happiness they could never afford.

While she has walked this path with many and knows the weight of her title demands she overcome her grief, cursed objects of half-formed immortality and interjections of the soul's name into increasingly unrelated projects and movements are the desperate final scratches of Xibalba. A god who chases off the inevitable, Xibalba scrambles to build this entire false history in those last few years, only to watch it crumble when his actions force La Muerte to banish him for upsetting the natural order.

[raspberrymornings]

the beauty of this is we all work together. you need beeswax for candles and lotions. some bread recipes use honey. the chef and bakers will need eggs from the chickens. and we make the knitters’ yarn from wool from the sheep! garden tools and many utensils are crafted from metal and wood. the gardener provides produce and herbs for the chef, and their garden is helped by the bees and chickens.

[theastrical]

How do genshin men propose to you?

Genshin men and their ways of proposing to you.

kaeya, diluc, childe, zhongli x reader

Kaeya’s idea of the proposal

Kaeya didn’t think much when he thought of the idea of a proposal, he loved the idea and has prepared himself for the exact moment. Having the pride to be your boyfriend and soon to be (he hopes) fiancé makes him confident.

He proposed to you in the tavern; diluc’s tavern. He pretend to be drunk as hell, he even put some makeup over his face just incase you know what’s going on, yes, he likes to make it extra. At first, he would ask you if you can help him walk home, he would look lousy and exhausted, seemingly to buy your trust. Then he would pretend to drop unconscious, he also make sure the ring fall to the ground so when you’re distracted by the ring, he already prepared himself on his knees. Your ring is made by his own hands, he learned how to make it at one random day with crepus. The ring has a carve of your initial and his, the sapphire is carved into your favourite flower. And his? It’s basically carved into the leaves, the leaves that grow before the blooming flowers.

so when you turn yourself to his eyes…he take the ring to his fingers and kneels. ”you know, i would really love to wake up beside you every morning and have a ring on my finger that represent your existence within me, so [name], would you be my one and only?”

Diluc’s idea of the proposal

Diluc’s idea are fancy, something hard to remake by others. his money is basically unlimited, so he decided to rent a fine-dining restaurant without you knowing he has reserved the whole place for you. you told him that maybe luck was in your side, because the restaurant is all quiet, nobody is there, just you both; not having the hint that he does everything to this extent just to make you his.

It’s a classy ol’ fine dining that you expected, candles and fresh flowers everywhere, yet the menus are basically made for this event only, it’s arranged into a riddle and if it were to be cleared, the words will become a sentence of “would you be mine?”. The head chef made the food based on the themes of your every date with him and it made you teared up. Until the dessert, which is the end, the chef happened to make a chocolate that you can break with a small hammer. Then there’s the ring, the proposal ring that he has been preparing for you. When you found out, you immediately look at him, his other ring which completes yours already in his finger.

“for every seconds, hours, days or months, never have i regretted meeting you. Atlas, i would like for us to be one, so, would you be mine?”

Childe’s idea of the proposal

A week before the proposal, he cleared out his task, wanting to take a whole week off to arrange his proposal for you. it earned him quite the reward from the Tsaritsa, though his body barely function after the last task he’d done, at the end of the day, he’s admitted to the hospital, he resist it at first, but knowing that it’ll make you mad if he’s resisting, then he’ll stay.

Therefore, he thought about making his proposal in the hospital, he doesn’t want anyone to take you away from him after all. So he quietly asked one of his comrade to make one and only handmade ring that they could commission from the best iron maker in teyvat, the side gifts are more special, an eternal flower in a glass (referenced by beauty and the beast rose). He proposed to you by making a…dramatic play. When you visited him when he (presumably) sleeps, he would cough..you panicked of course, thinking that he might choke on pills and such, he closed his mouth, hiding the ring on his palm also acting as if it’s a rough cough, then when he open his palm and sits down, he gives out the look of the ring..that beautiful ring.

“i don’t wanna die alone, so…bare with me and marry me?”, he chuckles and kiss your cheeks before presenting you.

Zhongli’s idea of the proposal

He wanted to move on from his past, he wanted to finally say i love you; though he’s afraid, what if he repeats another mistake? Hence he doesn’t proposed officially, he tried to know you better, making sure that you live off the best life with him, he tried to reassure himself that even if you can be immortal just like him, at least he had made several chapters of your life meaningful.

At the first day, he takes you to a restaurant, telling you to order your favorite, and you shared with him. You told him what you like about it, what makes it special and the next day he recreated for you, inviting you to his house and serves it. You’re happy and that makes him..charmed. The other days, he observes your shopping pattern, you would buy discounted clothes and good deals for groceries, you would always say no to his request of being paid or having to be helped with the bags. Those are also what he observes. It seems that you need somebody that can help you with your burdens in life, cheering for your every moment, or appreciate your action. well it’s not like he doesn’t know you, you’ve been with him since 3 years ago and now you guys basically know each other head to toe, it’s just that..the longer it gets, the harder for you guys to appreciate the small things. Then, at the day of the proposal, he ordered your favorite food and take you out to a date, a humble date. He helped you with every single thing, he didn’t bother to answer your no(s) cause he knows you want to…at the end of the day, he tied your shoelaces and told you to wait for a moment since he also need to tie his..at that moment, he take off his ring from his pocket and present it to you.

“The time i spent while having you beside me was the slowest seconds i’ve ever had in my life, that in fact, make me want to cherish for whatever phase of life the world gave me..and in that phase, i would like to have you beside me. Forever. So would you mind, giving me the chance to court you?”

taglist: @dailypenpen , @daydreaming-paradies

[leah-lover]

Sorry baby. Mary earps x pregnant reader.

You hate staying at home. You were an active person. You liked going to work, working out, and just overall moving. However, ever since getting pregnant and leaving work on maternity leave you have been restless.

The first few weeks were a bliss. Your body really needed the rest. However , the lack of purpose has caused your mood to change from blissful to angry.

Today started like any other day. You watched the sun start to creep into your bedroom because you woke up early. You were lost in your thoughts when you felt the sleeping body next to you start to shift. Your wife likes to move around alot when she sleeps, so what started as her spooning you ended up in her facing the other side of the bedroom. Realizing where she is facing she turned around, placed herself on your chest, and nuzzled her face in your neck.

“Morning my love.” you said before giving her temple a kiss. She only hummed in response, too sleepy to talk.

You stayed like that for a while. She then moved down your body, kissed your bump and started caressing it with her hands. “ goodmorning sweet golden boy.” she said, her voice deep with sleep. “ I am officially jealous of you golden boy. I don't even get a kiss. "I said, pretending to be upset. *

“ good morning my beautiful wife.” she said sarcastically. She then moved up my body to kiss my lips all while her hands were still on my bump. Her kiss was soft, passionate, and full of love.

“ I love waking up like this.” she said.

“Me too,” I responded.

We started like that for about half an hour before we got up. As usual Mary instructed me to stay on the counter refusing to let me help with breakfast. After we were done eating, she got ready because it was time for training.

“ Please take care of yourself. I love you baby.” she said before leaving. She then kissed me and proceeded to leave several kisses on my bump. “ See you soon golden boy.” she whispered to the bump which always makes me smile.

After Mary left, the day was boring. I watched a movie, ate some snakes, and scrolled on social media, but the hours seemed very slow. I then went to the nursery and decided to put the dresser together and relieve Mary of that task.

I seemed to forget the time and didn't hear Mary come in. I only realized she was home when I felt the weight of the wood get lighter in my hands.

“ Have you lost your mind? I told you to relax. This is too heavy for you, you can get injured or worse.” she said with an angry tone.

“ yeah we don't want anything to happen to your golden boy. I am not an invalid mary i can to stuff like this.'' I replied.

��� As long as you are pregnant you are not to do anything that will endanger you.” she continued.*

“ I am more than this baby Mary. a fact which you seemed to forget i am your wife. Your love. Not just you baby maker. As soon as this bump appeared you cared more about it than me.” i yelled.

“ I am gonna go to the kitchen and make dinner.” I declared as I left the room.

After a while I heard Mary call for me. Not wanting to make the situation work, I went to her. I found her in the bathroom. She prepared a bath for me, lit the candle and changed out of her training kit.

“ I am sorry I made you feel bad. I love you and our baby. I am just too protective I guess. But you are my wife, the love of my life, and the mother of my child. I don't want anything bad to happen to you.” she said with her hands on my waist.

I moved her hands to my bump and said. “ I love you too and I love our baby. I am sorry I yelled.”

She then kissed me, “ come on let's relax. She said before getting in then helping me sit in front of her.

we are gonna miss these days when the baby comes.

[that-fall-guy]

"The Search" - a webweave for Room 3 of @mcytblrescape !!

Wild Life sources: clock, "Ohne Titel (Geldig)" by Kurt Schwitters, "Aucassin Seeks for Nicolette" by Maxfield Parrish, "Tamarisk Trees in Early Sunlight" by Guy Rose, window, blue flower, green flower, pink flower, pink flowers, camera, "Starting Fires" by Bears in Trees, "Like Real People Do" by Hozier, "Puppet Loosely Strung" by the Correspondents

Pirates & Rats 2 sources: clock, "Merzzeichnung in Merzzeichnung" by Kurt Schwitters, stamps, books, trinket tin, crystal skull, "14 Verses" by Declan Bennett, "Farewell Wanderlust" by the Amazing Devil, "Gods & Monsters" by Lana del Rey

New Life sources: clock, "20 Ore mit Koranseiten" by Kurt Schwitters, "Snow-Covered Landscape" by Guillaume Vogels, tamagotchi, camera, hat, backpack, "I Could Never Be" from Steven Universe, "Tread on Me" by Matt Maeson

Ultimate Survival SMP sources: clock, "C 50 Last Birds and Flowers" by Kurt Schwitters, "Ceylonese Jungle" by Hermann von Konigsbrunn, bear, beetle, moth, crown, gloves, vined hand, "King" by Lauren Aquilina, "I Just Don't Care That Much" by Matt Maeson

Limited & Secret Life sources: clock, "Spitzbergen Merzzeichnung" by Kurt Schwitters, "She came to the blue sea-ocean" by Ivan Bilibin, bird, letter, fish, cassette, "Queen of Nothing" by the Crane Wives, "What's a Devil to Do" by Harley Poe, "14 Verses" by Declan Bennett, "Bullet" by Saint Motel

Rats sources: clock, "Zeichnung I 9 Hebel 2" by Kurt Schwitters, "Candles" by Gerhard Richter, "Sunflower Seeds" by Ai Weiwei, band-aid tin, bazooka gum, amethyst geode, amethyst crystal, socks, tag, knife, "Puppet Loosely Strung" by the Correspondents, "What's a Devil to Do" by Harley Poe

Double Life sources: clock, "Mz x 21 Street" by Kurt Schwitters, "Loup Scar, Wharfdale" by Richard Jack, coin, coffin, cat in moon, bottle cap, receipt, "Honeybee" by Steam Powered Giraffe, "the broken hearts club" by gnash

Last Life sources: clock, "Merz 30, 42" by Kurt Schwitters, "Trees and Church Tower" by Raymond McIntyre, mask, locket, clover, scarecrow and rabbit, "Whispering Grass" by the Ink Spots, "How to Rest" by the Crane Wives

3rd Life sources: clock, "Sans Titre" by Kurt Schwitters, "Forest and Dove" by Max Ernst, window, heart, pomegranate, stamp, fox, "14 Verses" by Declan Bennett, "Honeybee" by Steam Powered Giraffe

Evo sources: clock, "Ohne Titel" by Kurt Schwitters, "The man with the cart" by Ivan Grohar, pearls, stars, window, feather, dog, "Rule #9 - Child of the Stars" by Fish in a Birdcage, "Dancing After Death" by Matt Maeson

Finale-unique sources: tv, warning window, video player, error tabs, handheld game console, progress bar, axe, "The Circle Maker" by Sparkbird, "The Mask" by Matt Maeson

All skins from namemc; all stereo pngs from this post. As I'm sure you can tell, this is a hell of a source list, so I apologize if I linked anything incorrectly or managed to forget something!

[teabunnee]

YAY AN AFK WRITER 😭 i’ve been so starved. please gimme any hcs you have for lorsan or lucius (in general or x reader hehe) i love them so much

Lorsan 

Lorsan is a dork. But at least he’s your dork!

Whether that’s a good thing or not is up to you. 

Lorsan canonically loves flower crowns, as a child. As an adult, he won’t admit it but should you give him some fresh wildflowers, he melts a bit at the gesture. Maybe he’ll make you a crown, though it might be a bit messy from lack of practice. 

He does his best to woo you with his words. Many of his compliments, however are pure poetry, and he’s an expert in romantic letters to make you swoon, then he ruins it by praising himself too much. 

Don’t be fooled, he’s a romantic at heart. You can see the effort he puts in to sweep you off your feet. 

He enjoys making you blush, sneaking you kisses on the cheek when you aren’t looking. 

If you take your revenge while he’s talking, he continues talking until he registers the kiss and his voice trails off. It’s a great way to get him to stop talking for a bit. 

Dates with the dork are fun! He likes to explore new things with you, or to show you his favorite pretty date spots, he’ll take you to the prettiest, iconic date spots in the Dark Forest, like Lovers’ Wish. (“Though they don’t hold a candle to you, darling”) 

Oh, get ready for the pet names. All of them, sometimes in the same sentence. They get cheesier the more mischievous he’s feeling. 

Lorsan is your protector, should you need it! It’s sometimes difficult to remember that Lorsan is a skilled Windwhisperer and warrior in his own right, but he’s very good at making people remember. 

All of the tension goes out of him when you two are alone, he’ll nuzzle against you, boneless and tail twitching in happiness, kissing your cheek with his lips and his nose. He’s a cuddler, through and through. 

Lucius 

This man be a himbo. A relatively sophisticated and well-bred himbo, but a himbo all the same. 

Dude was straight up missing for two weeks trying to help people. He be himbo

Canonically, most of his advice involves exercise or horses. I don’t think he understands romance. At all. 

Lucius is a noble, so his ideas of romance are kind of centred around what he heard growing up. So he courts you, basically, in his own way. He gives you gifts that are simple, practical and beautiful. Bouquets of flowers, jewellery, whatever you asked for him. Service is also a big thing. He’s your literal knight in shining armour, dude will carry you across the globe princess style should you ask him to. 

he takes you to his favourite restaurants, they are simple, plain fare. Though with how loved he is by his country, the servers and owners always do their best to make it a good experience. 

He’s very sappy, make him something, no matter how stupid or silly it looks, and he wears it with pride in public, proclaiming you as the maker. He gets a bit confused should you get embarrassed. 

He likes taking you on horseback rides, he’s named every single one he’s ever ridden, and remembers their temperaments, so it will always be a pleasant experience for you. 

He won’t talk to you about his troubles, he’s had to keep it to himself so long that it’s tough for him. He’ll open up to you very slowly, after some needling. 

He’s also very hesitant about affection, he won’t initiate it unless you give your permission. He’s very gentlemanly in that regard, though it can be frustrating. 

His kisses are very gentle. He cradles your face in his hands, and gazes at you with such tenderness. His hugs are comforting and very warm, like he's protecting you from the entire world.

[greenwitchcrafts]

Updated version:

December 2023 witch guide

Full moon: December 26th

New moon: December 12th

Sabbats: Yule December 21st-January 1st

December Cold Moon

Known as: Drift Clearing Moon, Frost Exploding Tree Moon, Moon of the Popping Trees, Hoar Frost Moon, Snow Moon, Winter, Aerra Geola, Maker Moon, Heilagmanoth, Long Night's Moon, Oak Moon, Wintermonat, Moon of the Long Night, Little Spirit Moon, Wolf Moon & When the Deer Shed Their Antlers Moon

Element: Fire

Zodiac: Sagittarius & Capricorn

Nature spirits: Snow, Storm, & Winter Tree faeries

Deities: Athena, Fates, Hades, Hathor, Hecate, Ixchel, Minerva, Neith, Norns, Osiris & Persephone

Animals: Bear, deer, horse & mouse

Birds: Robin, rook & snowy owl

Trees: Fir, Holly & Pine

Herbs: Bay, cedar, chamomile, cinnamon, English ivy, evergreen, fir, frankincense, holly, mistletoe, myrrh, pine & sage

Flowers: Christmas catus, holly & poinsettia

Scents: Cedar, cinnamon, frankincense, ginger, lilac, myrrh, nutmeg, patchouli, pine, rose geranium, rosemary, saffron, violet & wintergreen

Stones: Bloodstone, blue topaz, cat's eye, garnet, jacinth, obsidian, peridot, turquoise, zircon, ruby & serpentine

Colors: Black, blood red, gold, green, red, silver, black & white

Energy: Alchemy, darkness, endurance, death & re-birth, higher education, publications, reaching out to others, religion, spiritual paths, travel & truth

Today, December’s full Moon is most commonly known as the Cold Moon—a Mohawk name that conveys the frigid conditions of this time of year, when cold weather truly begins to grip us.

This full Moon has also been called the Long Night Moon (Mohican), as it rises during the “longest” nights of the year, near the December winter solstice. This name is doubly fitting because December’s full Moon shines above the horizon for a more extended period than most full Moons.

In Europe, ancient pagans called the December full Moon the “Moon Before Yule,” in honor of the Yuletide festival celebrating the return of the sun heralded by winter solstice.

Yule

Also known as: Alban, Arthan & Winter Solstice

Season: Winter

Symbols: Baskets of clove studded fruit, Christmas catus,  decorated evergreen trees, evergreen boughs, gifts, gold pillar candles, hung mistletoe, poinsettias, wreaths & Yule logs/small Yule log with three candles

Colors: Gold, green, orange, red, silver, white &yellow

Oils/incense: Bayberry, cedar, cinnamon, frankincense. Myrrh & pine

Animals: Bear, boar, deer (stag), pig, squirrel & tiger

Birds: Eagle, goose, kingfisher, lapwing, owl robin & wren

Stones: Bloodstone, garnet, ruby, alexandrite, blue topaz,  cat's eye, citrine, clear quartz, diamond, emerald, green tourmaline, jet, kunzite & pearl

Foods: Caraway cakes, cookies, eggnog, fruits, ginger tea, nuts, pork, spiced cider, turkey, wassail & lamb's wool (ale,  sugar, nutmeg & roasted apples)

Herbs/plants: Bay, bayberry, birch, blessed thistle, cedar, chestnut, cinnamon, evergreens, fir, frankincense, ginger, holly, ivy, juniper, mistletoe, moss, myrrh, oak, pine, rosemary, sage, valerian & yellow cedar

Flowers: Chamomile, poinsettia & yarrow

Goddesses: Alcyone, Aphrodite, Ameratasu, Bona Dea, Brighid, Cailleach Bheur, Demeter, Diana, Fortuna, Frau Holle, Frau Perchta, Frigga, Gaia, Hel, Great Mother, Idunn, Isis, Ishtar, Kolyada, La Befana, Maat & Tiamat

Gods: Apollo, Attis, Balder, Bragi, Dionysus, Divine Child, Green Man, Helios, Holly King, Horned one, Horus, Janus, Lord of Misrule, Lugh, Mabon, Marduk, Mithras, Odin, Ra, Saturn & Surya

Issues Intentions & Powers: Darkness, divination, light, messages/omens, purification, rebirth/renewal & transformation

Spellwork: Earth magick, happiness, harmony, love & peace

Activities:

• Set up & decorate a Yule altar

• Clean, organize & cleanse before decorating your home

• Make witch's balls to hang on your tree (protective & pretty!)

• Decorate & bless & Yule tree

• Stay awake until dawn to observe the cycles of nature

• Give gifts tomyour family & friends

• Donate your time or helpful items to charity

• Go caroling

• Hang mistletoe in your doorways

• Make Wassail

• Prepare a Yule Log

• Host a Yule feast

• Craft your own decorative wreath

• Decorate your house with Yule colored candles

• Welcome the Sun

• Go on nature walks & leave offerings to nature

• Meditate & reflect on the passing year

“Yule” comes from Old English geol, which shares a history with the equivalent word from Old Norse, jól. Both these words referred to a midwinter festival centered around the winter solstice, which traditionally marked the halfway point of the winter season. After the solstice—the shortest day of the year—the days again begin to grow longer, so it’s thought that Yule was a celebration of the re-appearance of the Sun &the fertile land’s rebirth. 

The celebration of Yule is one of the oldest winter celebrations in the world. Ancient people were hunters & spent most of their time outdoors. The seasons & weather played a significant part in their lives. The customs and traditions associated with it vary widely.

Scholars have connected the original celebrations of Yule to the Wild Hunt, the god Odin, and the heathen Anglo-Saxon Mōdraniht ("Mothers' Night")

Some believe it marks the rebirth of the Sun (the God) from the Earth (the Goddess) & the cold days of winter will soon begin to wane. The Goddess is seen in her virgin Maiden aspect

In towns and cities throughout Sweden during the Christmas season, large goats are constructed out of straw. It is thought that the tradition originated in ancient times, perhaps as a tribute to the god Thor, who was said to ride in a chariot pulled by goats. In Sweden the goat came to be associated with the Christmas celebration, and the Yule goat is now considered by many to be a companion or counterpart to Santa Claus.

Related festivals:

Christmas- An annual festival commemorating the birth of Jesus Christ as the son of God, primarily observed on December 25th

Hanukkah- A Jewish festival commemorating the recovery of Jerusalem & subsequent rededication of the Second Temple at the beginning of the Maccabean Revolt against the Seleucid Empire in the 2nd century BCE.

Hanukkah is observed for eight nights & days, starting on the 25th day of Kislev according to the Hebrew calendar, which may occur at any time from late November to late December in the Gregorian calendar. The festival is observed by lighting the candles of a candelabrum with nine branches, commonly called a menorah or hanukkiah. 

Kwanzaa- An annual celebration of African-American culture from December 26 to January 1st, culminating in a communal feast called Karamu, usually on the sixth day. It was created by activist Maulana Karenga, based on African harvest festival traditions from various parts of West & Southeast Africa. Kwanzaa was first celebrated in 1966. 

A Kwanzaa ceremony may include drumming and musical selections, libations, a reading of the African Pledge & the Principles of Blackness, reflection on the Pan-African colors, a discussion of the African principle of the day or a chapter in African history, a candle-lighting ritual, artistic performance & finally, a feast of faith (Karamu Ya Imani).

Saturnalia-

is an ancient Roman festival and holiday in honour of the god Saturn, held on 17 December of the Julian calendar & later expanded with festivities through to 23 December. The holiday was celebrated with a sacrifice at the Temple of Saturn, in the Roman Forum & a public banquet, followed by private gift-giving, continual partying & a carnival atmosphere that overturned Roman social norms: gambling was permitted & masters provided table service for their slaves as it was seen as a time of liberty for both slaves and freedmen alike.

 A common custom was the election of a "King of the Saturnalia", who gave orders to people, which were followed & presided over the merrymaking. The gifts exchanged were usually gag gifts or small figurines made of wax or pottery known as sigillaria. The poet Catullus called it "the best of days".

Other celebrations:

Feast of Epona-

Eponalia is the feast day of Gaulish Goddess Epona, the Divine Mare & in the time of the Roman Empire it was celebrated on December 18th.

Epona is known to be one of a very few Gaulish deities whose names were spread to the rest of the Roman Empire. This seems to have happened because Roman cavalry units stationed in Gaul followed Her & adopted her as their Patroness. This may have started because many of the cavalry troops were conscripted from Gaul as they were superb horsemen. From Gaul the Romans took Epona with them including to Rome where She was given her own feast day on the 18 December. They worshipped her as Epona Augusta or Epona Regina & invoked her on behalf of the Emperor. She even had a shrine in the barracks of the Imperial Bodyguard.

Hunting of the Wren-

A traditional custom carried out on the Isle of Man on the 26 December, St. Stephen's Day. It consists of groups of people going around villages and towns singing and dancing a traditional song and dance around a decorated wren pole.

The earliest and most common folklore story accounting for the origin of hunt the wren tells of a fairy/enchantress/witch whose beauty lures the men of the Isle of Man to harm, for which she is chased and is changed into the form of a wren. It is therefore in punishment for her actions that the wren is hunted on St. Stephen's Day

Sources:

Farmersalmanac.com

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

Llewellyn's 2023 magical almanac: practical magic for everyday living

Wikipedia

Encyclopedia Britannica

[drysdalesworld]

masterlist ੈ✩‧₊˚

this is my masterlist for this blog! my first blog is @normspellsman if you want to check out my other works! <3

will include hockey & percy jackson related works

request guidelines! <3 (they’re open!)

♡ = fluff | ☹︎ = angst / no comfort | ✧ = comfort | ♢ = suggestive content | ♠︎ = other | ❦ = requested | ❀ = popular

HOCKEY

New Jersey Devils —

Nico Hischier

Imagines:

none!

Blurbs:

none!

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

none!

Luke Hughes

Imagines:

none!

Blurbs:

none!

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

puppy love

Jack Hughes

Imagines:

none!

Blurbs:

none!

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

mister pickles

Philadelphia Flyers —

Jamie Drysdale

Imagines:

(pre-trade) always trust the match maker (jamie’s version), part two — ♡ | ☹︎ (ish) | ✧

jamie drysdale x fem!reader ➡︎ in which trevor zegras is the ultimate match maker and proves it to you after your last failed relationship.

sneak peek! | pt. 2

Blurbs:

of puppies & jealousy ( ❦)

in sickness & in health

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

ducks, ducks, ducks (pre trade)

completely serious

to the moon & back

summer lovin’

beautiful girl

Series:

hughes + drysdale = 4ever! — ♡ | others tbd

jamie drysdale x fem!hughes!reader ➡︎ the story of jamie drysdale and (y/n) hughes’ relationship told through imagines, blurbs, and social media posts.

drysdalesworld talks about j.drydale:

trev + the kitchen = hazard zone!

reader loves jamie’s freckles

jamie loving reader wholly & completely

Vancouver Canucks

Quinn Hughes

Imagines:

none!

Blurbs:

orange peel theory

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

quinn girlie

San Jose Sharks

Macklin Celebrini

Imagines:

none!

Blurbs:

none!

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

none!

Will Smith

Imagines:

none!

Blurbs:

none!

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

none!

William Eklund

Imagines:

none!

Blurbs:

breakfast in bed

the comfort of family (❦)

the orange peel theory

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

none!

Series:

it’s the little things — ♡ | more to be added

dad!william eklund x mom!reader ➡︎ the story of william eklund & reader & their family told through imagines, blurbs, thoughts, and social media posts.

drysdalesworld talks about w. eklund:

him as a dad <3

UMICH

Luca Fantilli

Imagines:

always trust the match maker (luca’s version) — ♡ | ☹︎ (ish) | ✧

luca fantilli x fem!reader ➡︎ in which rutger mcgroarty is the ultimate match maker and proves it to you after your last failed relationship.

Blurbs:

“wait, let me get mark!” ➡︎ luca reacting to the tiktok voicemail prank and somehow getting mark involved.

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

my lover — ❦

ALL

Headcanons:

them with a highly energetic child

them with a shy & quiet child — ❦

them with a laboring s/o — ❦

names i think they’d give their children

Percy Jackson Universe

Percy Jackson

Imagines:

the sun & it’s shadow — ♡ | ☹︎

percy jackson x platonic!fem!nike!reader ➡︎ the sun needs a shadow, a protégé to continue it’s legacy within it’s presence. the sun can live without its shadow, but it’s shadow cannot live without its sun.

Blurbs:

none!

Headcanons:

“why are you hanging halfway out your window?” ( ❦ ) ➡︎ in which percy, thalia, & nico catch reader sneaking out to see their partner.

Social Media:

sixteen candles

Clarisse La Rue

Imagines:

none!

Blurbs:

none!

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

terrorizing & love notes

Luke Castellan

Imagines:

work song — ♡ | ☹︎ | ✧

luke castellan x fem!nike!reader ➡︎ luke gave up his dream of seeking vengeance on the gods for you. but at what cost?

curly q’s — ♡ | ❦

luke castellan x fem!hades!reader ➡︎ reader has curly hair that seems to attract every camper in sight, aweing over how pretty it looks. what happens when one day, she isn’t paying attention to him after a whole day of helping fellow curly haired campers?

Blurbs:

none!

Headcanons:

none!

Social Media:

none!

Fic Recommendations! <3

Hockey:

you’d know — j. drysdale

author: @ohmyeyesmyeyes

had a smile on my face the entire time i was reading this work. it’s so cute & made me giggle 🎀

hey, i can be your boyfriend! — n. hischier

author: @theemporium

the fake dating trope is my literal weakness & never fails to make go absolutely feral. i loved how nico was super respectful of reader yet didn’t let jackson & his shit slide at all. the scene where nico picks reader up after the football/soccer game literally had me foaming at the mouth. their works never fail to make me feel some type of way i swear 💓

the teacher’s always right — q. hughes

author: @captain-huggy-bear

literally melted when quinn said “hi, baby” to reader in front of her students & then proceeded to publicly say “anything for my girl” 🥹😭 i was actually so sad when i finished reading it bc it was so good i didn’t want to stop reading. this entire fic altered my brain chemistry istg

reader is so fr for wanting to prove her students wrong about her dating quinn. i think i’d actually crash out if my students were that relentless in not believing her & in denying the fact that reader is with quinn 😭

PJO:

apples — l. castellan

author: @indecisivemuch

i literally could not stop cackling when percy asks if reader & luke are engaged. poor boy seemed so confused when reader said no & genuinely didn’t know the rule of thumb when throwing an apple 😭

specifically these parts: “I guess congratulations are in order?” Percy spoke up as you lined up for food the following day. […] “You’re engaged?” you almost dropped your plate at that and gave the son of Poseidon a questioning look. “You proposed to Luke like a week ago?” […] “Uh, in Ancient Greek culture, it’s considered a marriage proposal if a man throws an apple at a lady. But, I mean, it’s the 21st century, so I guess it can work both ways.”

the way luke just took this as an opportunity & RAN with it is hilarious

the way that luke is so enamored with the reader is so refreshing bc in most fanfics (at least in my opinion) you don’t get that aspect as much

true colours — l. castellan

author: @supercutszns

the way you wrote the reader in this had tugged on my heart strings. i could relate to them so hard & just wanted to give them a hug

child of iris!reader is something i never see so this was also refreshing!

the paint subject/scene was written so beautifully. i liked how you wrote both of their aspects & how reader saw it as something embarrassing while luke saw it as something cute & so uniquely (y/n) that he had a whole thing planned out to tell them it was cute & wipe it off their cheek as he did so

the part where he says he only wants reader after they try to tell them that he has so many other options pining after him so why should he like them, was also written beautifully. my heart warmed at that interaction

simp & lovestruck luke castellan is all i need in my life

[themonotonysyndrome]

You just got Rick Rolled!

I have no excuse.

Watch Max0r videos on Youtube :)

-

Summary: Bright Eyes is ready to pull a deadbeat dad.

The duffel bag underneath the bed is ready to go. Pockets are stuffed with wads of stolen cash. 

All they need to do is swipe an armful of blood bags from the Clan’s cold storage for the long road ahead. 

William Solaire standing between them and the milk aisle was not part of the plan. Nor his sad, puppy eyes.

Fucking damn it. 

-

In the grand scheme of things called life, Bright Eyes is not a main character. 

Main characters are people like Frederick, who’s worthy of second chances because he vomits out his heart to those who demand it. Vincent, with his flashy smile and equally flashy cars that caters to single simps who dream of being swept away by a set of 2000-era vampiric TV tropes. Sam, who you can’t hate because he’s not just a bitch, no, no - he’s a bitch with a backstory who just so happens to love to pretend that Bright doesn’t exist on a good day and won’t stop bitching why they’re the modern incarnation of Satan on the worst. Oh! We can’t forget the poster child of Byronic Hero which is Tank. They’re a fan fav for a reason.   

In a world of main characters, Bright Eyes could hardly hold a candle to the people around them. If anything, they’re an NPC. The glitchiest NPC to ever exist in this Skyrim of a world. 

The kind that was brought into the story to be shitted on by the audience because they either don’t meet up to lofty expectations or weren’t the perfect victim.

Is it getting too close to home now? 

Bright has no problem being an NPC - hell, they don’t even mind that there was no space for them on the picture wall that consists of Sam, Frederick, and Tank - they still have their pride, as shitty as it is. Why the fuck would they want to stay at a place where no one wants an NPC that fucks up the whole gameplay? Nah, fam - Bright has been preparing for their getaway on the same night they woke up with an angry Sam sitting beside the bed. 

The Summit expedited the plan. 

While they and Frederick were expected to show up at the undead shindig, being Clan members and all, Sam worried it might overwhelm his Progeny. Apparently, older Vamps enjoy stabbing each other with words and dinner knives after the third course. Sounds like Bright’s kind of people. But because Frederick was benched, so were they. It’s cool, it’s fine. Silver linings and all that. It gave Bright lots of opportunities to pack their meagre shits into a worn-out duffel bag from the store room and steal whatever cash they could find around the house while Frederick was asleep. Vampiric hearing rocks! Sure, they were curious as to why Sam and Tank came back looking like they just witnessed a train wreck, and Vincent seldom came over with his trademark smirks anymore, but since no one tells them anything, Bright chalked it up as another Tuesday. Not their circus, not their monkeys. 

Whatever happened at the Summit isn’t their problem. Missing the last bus to Ferris is.  

Earlier that evening, they made a show of getting ready for bed after Sam left to meet Tank for something, and they can’t bear to look Frederick in the eyes, knowing that this will be the last time they will ever see each other. Not that he knows, but hey, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, right? So they collapse onto the mattress, willing themselves to be calm because anything less will have Frederick peeking his head through the door. So they close their eyes until the bond between Progeny and Maker whispers to Bright that Frederick is unconscious. The rose detergent on the pillows and duvet itches their nose. They hate the smell but they can’t forget how wide Frederick smiles just because they accepted a bouquet of roses from him once. It’s not rocket science that all of the previous lavender scents on linens were replaced with rose soon after that. 

Bright Eyes is so exhausted of sustaining themselves on the pitiful sweetness of their once friend turned Maker. Not when the bitterness that comes from Sam is gradually killing them. 

They get up and take a good, long bath. It's probably the only one they’ll be getting for a while, so they’re making the most of the soap and shampoo. They continue to ignore the sweet, floral scent clinging to their body. Then they dig through the closet for a jacket covered in patches and a ripped pair of jeans - the clothes their parents bought for their birthday, now worn with time. The clothes that they wore on the night they were murdered. Then they spend half an hour checking everything for one last time. Anyone can tell by a single glance that Bright Eyes is a walking charity case. It’s cool, it’s fine. No one cares about runaway people all the time. They’re statistics. 

Their stomach flips when Bright stalks across the hall like a ghost. A part of them wanted Frederick to catch them in mid-act, to convince them to stay so they could work things out for good. The part that loathed Bright, however, hisses to remove the glitch in this game. 

Once the front door is locked behind them, Bright wipes their eyes and hoists the duffel bag strap firmly on their shoulder. The abandoned theme park will be their last stop in Dahlia. 

-

Wonder World will forever be a sight for sore eyes. 

Like the Clan, the place is a living corpse. It should have been destroyed, put all the bad memories to rest, but instead, it transformed into a hideout for the walking dead. Hah. 

Bright keeps a good healthy distance from the Vampires that are on shift, listens well to the chatters in dark corners, and avoids slipping underneath awnings that will collapse on top of them if they so much as breathe. They memorised the schedule for this specific night, and it paid off. No one notices them skulking towards the cold storage. See, new batches of blood will be delivered tomorrow, so no one will find out that a couple of leftovers will be missing. Fingers might be pointed at Bright, but by then, they’ll be long gone. A footnote in their lives. 

The fridge greets Bright when they sneak in through the open window, no different than a racoon. Their entry wasn’t as smooth as James Bond’s because their kneecap bumped against the nearby table. Luckily, no one heard it. 

“A+, A+, more A+… you’re fucking kidding me? B-? Beggars can’t be choosers, Bright. Food’s food.” They grumble to themselves as the fridge is raided. They stuffed as many blood bags into the bag as they could. 

Suddenly, the door gently opens. Bright Eyes turn around. Their eyes widen in horror because - 

“Little Bright? Is that you?” William Solaire, the fucking king of every magical equivalent of Schrödinger Cat in Dahlia, tilts his head in question as if to better see them. Standing between them and their freedom. What the fuck, how the fuck, why in the actual fuck!? “I didn’t mean to interrupt your break time. Ah… how are you? Lately, I haven’t had the pleasure of…” Here’s where Bright could only watch in frozen shock when William’s eyes met with the duffel bag and stuffed pockets.  

Hubris is the downfall of many great men. In Bright’s case, it’s stupidity. They really should’ve come up with a backup plan for something like this. That’s on them. They’ll take that L like the underdog they are. 

The two of them shatter the awkward silence by speaking at once. 

“This isn’t what it looks like!” 

“Did you just went through the window?” 

Cue the stares. Wait. There’s something they need to try. 

“Dinosaur in the museum say what?” 

“What?” 

Bright promptly snaps their mouth shut. Don’t laugh. For the love of Reddit Mods, don’t laugh at the most dangerous grandpa in the world. While Bright manages to avoid death via lectures, their shaking shoulders give William the wrong impression. Thinking that the youngest Vampire in his care is shaking with fear at the sight of him pulled on William’s heartstrings. He had always harboured a sadness for not being able to connect with Bright Eyes the way he does with Frederick. The boy is often quiet but perks like a sunflower when you give him the right attention. Bright, on the other hand, scampers away the moment you turn your back. No gentle words or amount of glitter bombs as presents could entice them to drop the walls fiercely guarding their heart. 

William’s heart twists and turns into a knot - more so lately - seeing how Bright Eyes tremble. 

“It’s alright, Little One. You’re alright. The blood bags are for anyone who is in need.” William kindly assures them. “It’s unlike Sam to forget and restock for his household. I supposed our recent conversation has put him out of sorts.” 

“Wait. You think I’m hungry?” 

“Is that not why you brought that bag over - ”

“Yeah, yeah! Pssh, totally! Sam was getting testerical about the lack of bloodshed in the house. Not the fun kind, though.” Bright Eyes fib as they ramble on, their little tell-tale sign of attempting to smother the panic. They refuse to fidget or look away from William’s eyes. Is it a trick of the light? Is Bright high? Why are they wet near the corners? “Uh… c-can I go now? I need to dip to the grocery store for some milk… you know how it is…” 

For some reason, that made the Vampire King flinch. What the hell!? Anyone walking by would think that Bright is bullying him! 

But William lets out a gust of air, heavy and somehow reluctant. He steps aside to present the open door where the world that allowed Tom Howard to live is waiting for Bright. “Of course, Little One. I shouldn’t keep you from your errands.” 

“Lit! So this is me, walking away now…” Bright Eyes warily sidesteps William, who is still giving a strong kicked puppy vibe. Which is insane to comprehend. 

Something about it, however, made them turn around to look at him one final time. Due to the hilariously huge gap between a king and his peasant, Bright has only seen William thrice from afar, and that’s during really important events where they can’t fake a seizure and escape - 

“Bright, Vampires don’t get seizures.” 

“Until now. Quick, pretend you actually care and drag me out.” 

“…Low blow, Bright, and you know it. Why do you never listen when I’m - aaand you’re already on the floor. Great.” 

- so they’re left with them being sandwiched between a highly amused Lovely and a distracted Vincent because their beau is flashing their ankles or something. Bright doesn’t want to know or care. What they do care about is that thanks to Frederick sulking off somewhere, they are now in the spotlight because the prince of the entire damn clan is holding onto their elbow. Random Vampires snicker when they pass by their group, and whenever Bright flips them off, some of them actually laugh! Bright will never understand these deadbeats. But anyway, because of Frederick, Bright has the front row of William in all his fancy ass clothes, in a shiny crown that blinded Bright and a million-dollar smile that rubs them off the wrong way. Fuckers with a max level on charms give them the hives. 

So this melancholic shroud that drapes over his shoulders so heavily that Bright might as well ask if it’s made of lead with how it makes William look so small in the shadows? Yeah, it’s giving red flags. 

And since Bright is colourblind with no filter whatsoever - 

“OK, why do you look like someone woke you up from a depression nap?” Bright demanded, marching back to William. It’s stupid. It’s borderline suicidal, but hey, Bright was never known to make decisions that align with their self-preservation. That’s something their murderer and both Makers will agree on. Tonight, curiosity wins. “Usually you’re very…” They scrunch up their face, trying to think of the perfect words. 

William raises an eyebrow. “Very?” 

“Very shiny.” Bright nods, pleased with themselves. “The kind of shiny that’s like fire in Chinese factories after every election.” 

“I… see. I’m starting to understand why Samuel complain of migraines every now and then.” 

Even as he said that, William began to smile fondly. That threw Bright off a little. He said that without derision and they have no idea how to react. 

“Uh, right. So what’s up?” 

“Can’t a man be caught in his own sorrow every now and then?” 

“But you’re not supposed to be angsty. You’re the King. Your world is supposed to be perfect and all that shit.” Unlike mine, is what Bright didn’t say. 

William’s smile turns rueful. He surprises them by admitting, “Would you like to know a secret, Little Bright? My world hasn’t been perfect lately. How can it be when my loved ones are leaving one by one.” 

Oh, fuck them, is William trauma dumping right now? Deadass? Is this trauma dumping!? Bright didn’t consent to this!

Wait - leaving? Who’s leaving too? 

…Is it any of Bright’s business, though? When they’re doing the same thing tonight? 

This scene feels familiar. It’s like the time they steal a sip from a man in his late fifties while he’s in the middle of a divorce and struggling with alimony. Bright was looking for food, not someone’s entire life story that, in the end, they paid for an Uber and sent him on his way. The point is, there’s no fun in kicking someone who’s already eating dirt. That’s not enough room in Wonder World for two miserable fuckers, so Bright might as well do something about it. 

“C’mon, let’s go. We’re going on a side quest right now.” Bright demands, and fuck it, they grab one of William’s hands and drag him to the exit. Does it say something that the Vampire King lets himself be led away like a cow? Probably, but Bright couldn’t care less.

The patrolling Vampires stare at them incredulously. None attempted even to approach the duo. 

“Is this a kidnapping?” William politely inquires. While Bright might’ve initiated the contact, he finds himself reluctant to let go of their smaller hand. It’s an anchor that he silently needed over these past few days. 

“That and robbery too. I’m gonna be needing your wallet since mine are non-existent. Which one is your car? Wait! Let me guess, the one on the right that looks like it just left the showroom a day ago.” 

“It’s actually this morning. I enjoy collecting Rolls Royce as much as I enjoy watching those exciting Bond movies.” 

“Sheesh, I guess it’s hereditary then. Ok, Goldfinger - take the wheel. We’re going to karaoke. Screaming into a mic is a legit form of therapy. Take it from me.” After dropping that nugget of wisdom, Bright and William enter the car. 

Before William speeds off from the driveway, he frowns and asks, “Why can’t I be James Bond?” 

Bright Eyes groans into their hands. 

-

It takes William Motherfucking Solaire crying into a microphone, singing Hurt by Christina Aguilera to convince Bright Eyes that something is wrong with the trajectory of their life. 

Seriously, what the fuck? 

Despite being one of the prettiest men who should be kept in a museum (isn’t he 5,000 years old or something?) William is an ugly crier. It doesn’t make any damn sense, but he sure ain’t got that damsel-in-distress tears like Cinderella. Bright could only grimace as they extended a box of tissues once William finished belting out the final verse. Their duffel bag mocks them from the door, the only exit from this room. The lamentation of Bright Eyes would be a sick-ass song. 

“The closest thing I have to a son, child-in-law, great grandson and friend are leaving me.” William confesses after blowing his nose. 

“Did I ask?” 

Much to Bright’s horror, William continues.  

“I wanted to be a leader and a father that I never had. A Maker that mine never was. All I wanted… was to protect my family. How did it all went wrong?” 

Oh, geez. William does not give a shit that Bright Eyes hasn’t unlocked his social link. All they wanted was to evict whatever funk was messing with his system like a landlord so they could run away in peace. Not play therapist! Now, the employees are nervously looking through that window on the door because a grown man is depleting their stock of tissue boxes by the minute while Bright is struggling to figure out how to comfort said grown man that doesn’t involve homicide. 

By the way, it took precisely ten minutes for William’s words to register in Bright’s crack-concentrated, addled spider monkey brain. 

Their eyes widen like the backside of a yogi mid-downward dog. “Time out. Back it up, dump truck. Vincent’s leaving? As in, leaving the Clan? Him and the rest of the main characters?” If Bright was still alive, their heart would beat frantically as their head spins in disbelief and betrayal. 

Frederick is leaving them? After everything? To follow what, Sam? And Vincent and Lovely? 

…Without even telling them? 

Numbness and Bright Eyes always have a strange relationship. Quinn draining their blood down to the last drop didn’t give Bright that all-encompassing numbness. It was only when they woke up again that did it. It feels like their bones just took a dip in a pond in the middle of Antarctica. They didn’t even realise they were crying until William gently wiped the tears with a tissue. It’s a testament to how the shocking numbness rooted Bright to the core because they would flinch away from any physical contact that they didn’t initiate after death. 

“You didn’t know.” William summarised with that same melancholy from Wonder World and that same sad smile. They hate it. They don’t deserve it Well! So much for karaoke therapy. Now Bright’s feeling like shit too. 

William leans back when Bright Eyes huffs and slumps against the cheap red sofa. They pretend that their nose isn’t itching when they sniffle as they angrily rub their red eyes. “Of course I didn’t know! I get that Sam wouldn’t tell me shit but I didn’t expect this knife in the back from Freddy!” They spit, and then words start to embarrassingly spill from their mouth before Bright could stop themselves. “I fucking hate this! Why can’t I do anything right!? Why can’t I stop making mistakes? Why do I always try for people who never even like me? Fuck, fuck, fuck this! I hate feeling like this! God, I’m so tired of-of everything!” Fun fact: Bright is also an ugly crier. Even more so than William at this point. Not that it matters because they’re too busy wailing and making a mess out of his shirt when he pulls them into a tight hug. 

A shirt that has more of a network compared to theirs, and Bright Eyes appropriate it by blowing their nose. 

When their crying tapers into hiccups, it’s William’s soothing hand behind their back that grounds Bright Eyes. Exhaustion finally sinks in, and they’re long for the rest in the forever box (coffin) already. 

“I’m… sorry, Little One.” 

“The hell for?” Bright Eyes scrunches their nose. Although William had released them from his embrace, Bright didn’t actually scoot away. Instead, they play the part of a finicky cat - pressing close to the older Vampire without acknowledging it. “You’re not Sam. I hardly even know you.” 

“And I regret it dearly. And I deeply apologised for the suffering that you had to endured under Samuel’s blatant negligence. If I had known earlier that the wounds caused by Alexis run deeper than he would like to admit, I would have intervened. I would have you in my care instead of his in a heartbeat.” 

“Alexis?” 

Here, William sighs. “My eldest Progeny and Samuel’s Maker.” 

“Why does he hate her so much that he took it out on me?” Bright hates how small their voice sounded to their own ears. They needed to know, though. They needed closure, and then maybe, finally, they’ll be able to move on somehow. 

William looks torn, clearly debating with himself. He sighed once more, but this time, it was with resignation. “It’s not my story to tell. However,” Seeing the crushed expression on poor Bright’s face, he decides to be honest towards someone who desperately needs it. Especially since they suffered not only at the hands of someone who was supposed to be their caretaker and teacher but also William’s own negligence. After the Adam incident, he should’ve kept a closer eye on his Clan instead of diverting this attention to other Houses. He owed this much to Bright Eyes and more. “You deserve the truth. Do you have some time to listen to an old man’s regrets?”

“I was supposed to clap my asscheeks to Ferris. So much for that. Actually, I guess it’s pretty hypocritical of me to get pissed off at Frederick for booking it since I was gonna do the same.” Bright’s grumbled, causing William to rear back in a start. But they press on. “So why the fuck not? Whose origin are you spilling? Wham Slam Bam Sam?” 

“…Yes. Two sins never cancel each other.” Something dark flashes over William’s beautiful face. The hair behind Bright’s neck freezes. “Yet I can’t help but find myself disappointed in Samuel’s behaviours more so than mine after tonight.” 

“Spill the tea, spill the tea! My life is already a German bedtime stories and besides, isn’t it so much fun when you focuses on someone’s L instead of yours!?” 

William simply rolled his eyes at their cheek, and so Bright Eyes made themselves comfortable as the Vampire King narrated a story of a daughter he dearly loved but could never understand, and in return, she was unable to understand those she loved. It was all very sad, and the tropes that William describes are all too familiar to Bright. Man, no wonder Alexis turned out to be a villainess like those in their favourite Korean romance manhwa. They wonder if reincarnation is a thing in this world. Would they reincarnate as one of Trisha Paytas’s babies, or is that exclusive to royalties? They made a mental note to ask William once story time was over. Anyway, Alexis and Sam’s history could be a Hozier’s album all on its own and Bright supposed they could muster up some form of sympathy for him if they have similar-sized bazoombas/chesticles as the Princess’, but alas, they don’t. For that, Bright can never forgive Sam for his projection. 

Frederick and their situation hit too close to home apparently, but just because he can’t dish it out on Alexis, does that justify him punishing Bright in her stead? Fuck that. 

Anger buzzes around Bright’s ears like angry hornets. They can’t be around Sam for at least 100 years now that they know the truth. Frederick and Tank can have him for all they care. 

They snatch the microphone again, prompting William’s curiosity. “Are we in for the next session of karaoke therapy?” 

Bright just searched for Grow A Pear by Kesha and belted out for the next three minutes. Making sure to scream out the verse, ‘but you cry about this, and whine about that. When you grow a pair you can call me back,’ making William wonder if he should’ve used more tact. Once they got it out of their system, Bright exhaled deeply and turned their attention back to William with their hands on their hips. 

“If thought crimes were a thing, they would need a new set of the Geneva Convention. So Sam’s a major Soy Wojack.  Good for him. Why is he and every one else are packing their shit up now and not ten thousand years ago?” 

“That’s my fault. My decisions regarding the Summit were inexcusable, and I fear they will be unforgivable to those I love.” William replies as morosely as a tortured poet in the 1500s. Very apt. 

Storytime, part 2! So, while the Summit didn’t go to hell in a handbasket, a lot of the parties that were nearly caught in the crossfire were butthurt, apparently. Trusts were betrayed, and William no longer rests on that pedestal in the eyes of Sam, Vincent, Tank and the furries. Bright doesn’t understand what the big deal is; William is literally an artefact. You can’t live that long with a shiny moral compass. Even now, as William easily takes in Bright’s shenanigans in stride, they could never ignore his capacity for cruelty and ruthlessness. No matter how soft he speaks or how kind he is to Bright. However, stressing out over the assumption that William always has an ulterior motive whenever he opens his mouth would be the equivalent of same-day shipping to God for Bright. Again. Besides, assumptions are nails that could seal a coffin, and Bright would rather use them to build a shelf for Bad Dragons and Lovehoney instead. 

So they snap their fingers, switching to Business Mode. “You know what your problem is? Your problem is that you don’t have a Shae to your Sansa. The Garrus to your Shepard. The Soundwave to your Megatron. Get it?” 

William just looks like a lost child in Whole Foods. Bright tries another angle. 

“Confidants, dude. You don’t have any of those. You’re a King, right? I thought every King has a council of advisers? Ain’t that supposed to be Vincent and Alexis’ job?” 

“No. I can’t possibly bear to burden my children with the unsavoury aspects of our world.” William counters with a grimace. Perhaps William and Bright share a lot more in common than they thought. Not the martyrdom vibes coming off William like radiation but the fact that both of them are essentially the universe's way of trying to figure out how much PTSD one man can possibly get. If Bright is an economist, they would vehemently write themselves and William down as bad use of human capital. Oh! Wait, William is still talking. “It was not out of malice that I placed my family in the dark regarding the Summit. It was out of love. I don’t understand why they couldn’t understand that. Porter even served as their shield.” 

“It could’ve gone better. It really did.” Bright insists, but judging from William’s stubborn expression, this is an issue that is not going to be resolved overnight. 

They thought long and hard about this. Running away is so damn easy it might as well be a cheat code, and isn’t that what Bright and the others are doing? Vincent and the others are probably doing so under the guise of ‘needing some space’ from William, but Bright was planning to run away from their feelings and issues with Frederick and Sam, with no intention of ever talking to them again. 

HOWEVER!

Being abandoned fucking sucks. Bright of all people knows how that tastes! The thought that William would be left all alone with a daughter that comes and goes worse than that street cat Priscilla leaves a sour taste in their mouth. William isn’t an evil dude. He’s just dumb.

Slowly, their duffel bag loses its appeal. Bright is going to take a leap of faith here, and only time will tell if this will be the stupidest decision they have ever made, triumph over their jaunt in Wonder World with Frederick. And so they sit beside William and say, “Look. I actually don’t wanna be alone, and I bet you don’t want that too.” “No, Little One. I had enough of it back in the day.” William quietly admits. A Vampire King shouldn’t be able to look like a poor puppy being left out in the rain! Seriously! 

“Right. Here’s the plan, Batman. You wanna spare Vincent and the rest about the nitty gritty aspects of what it means to be a deadbeat? Fine. We do it baby steps, then. You tell me before you pull off any shits, and I’ll talk your ear off how stupid it is until we figure something better. Sounds good?” 

“No. Absolutely not. You’re family as well, Bright Eyes. I won’t have you suffer the burden of my crown.” 

“I am the Alpha and the Omega. I am one of the mods in 4chan. I can handle shits, alright? It’s in my DNA! Look William, you need someone in your corner that you can trust. If you can’t start with your Progenies, start with me. Prove to them that you value their opinions. We’ve got all the time in the world for it, right?” 

Finally, after trying to get through William the entire night, he starts to look hopeful and, most importantly, determined. He clutches Bright’s hand tenderly. 

“In that case, I have a proposal of my own. If you promise to be my guide, I promise to be your teacher. Allow me to be what Sam was meant to be for you. Perhaps by helping one another, happiness can make its way to us.” As he says this, William feels a lot more better than ever before. It feels like things are starting to look up for him. A rebirth could be just what he and Bright sorely needed. 

What a blessing. What a boon to have a great-great-grandchild to be the modern incarnation of Athena. 

“Yeah, yeah. So! Never gonna give you up?” 

“Never gonna let you down.” 

[cheerysmores]

Heavier than sin (2/2)

Pairing: Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford

Tags: Lavellan Inquisitor, Mage Inquisitor, Angst, Smut, (I just had a lot of thoughts about religious guilt)

Rating: E (18+)

Read part 1

***

A month later

The small hours drag by in Cullen’s office. Winter had reared its full blunt head over the mountains, enough for the night to have teeth and the candle on his desk to offer no warmth against them. A moan from the door breaks the silence as another gust shoots around the battlements. Usually Cullen would wile away the hours out there. For the sake of his ears and fingers, he’d retreated back inside to scrutinise some older reports. If anything, he’s at least glad to have several walls and a courtyard between him and the newest addition to Skyhold– the Eluvian. Something about the tar-dark surface makes him so viscerally uncomfortable and he can’t quite put his finger on why.

He turns over the latest message from Emprise Du Lion and Harding’s handwriting abruptly changes. The letters are decorated, the penmanship flowing like water running down a window– Dorian’s he surmises.

Additional note

Our brave Inquisitor spent twenty minutes failing to climb a sheer cliff (both on and off a horse) until she fell and sprained both ankles. Bull carried her to camp under oath that he would not say anything. I however, made no such promise. 

I want it on record that I pointed out another route several times. I’d rather not incur the ire of the fearless Commander currently reading this.

A knock at the door breaks his concentration. They knock louder when he doesn’t reply, pounding over and over until he angrily looks up.

“It’s late,” he calls. “Whatever it is can wait until morning.” It’s long past midnight, no one should be bothering him.

“It’s me.”

He recognises the Inquisitor’s voice immediately. He opens the door to find her swallowed by an enormous grey fur. Both it and her head are covered in a thin layer of snow, the visible points of her ears flushed to a bright red. She shivers and doesn’t offer him a smile.

“Inquisitor,” he says, ushering her inside.

“Commander.”

“I did not expect you back at Skyhold so soon.”

“Well, I’m here.”

He fumbles for what to say. She hasn’t come to his office in weeks and barely looks at him around the War Table. He wishes he had something in his hands, anything to stop his fingers fidgeting like a nervous child’s. He considers whether he should give her something instead: another fur, a drink, a knife to break the tension that’s suddenly filled the room. 

“How are your ankles?” he says before the silence suffocates him.

“What-” She sighs, shaking her head. “I’m fine .” 

“Oh.. uh… that’s good.”

She looks around, her eyes sweeping anywhere but him. “I was hoping we could talk.” The fur shifts and reveals a sore patch on her shoulder. He looks away from the bare skin. He’d rather not dwell on exactly how poorly she’d dressed for the cold under there. 

“What happened to your arm?” he asks.

“I got a little too close to the dragon. Elfroot can only cure so much.”

“The dragon ?” 

“It put up quite the fight.”

He looks at paper on his desk. “That wasn’t in the report.”

“It was kind of a last minute idea… anyway, here you are.” She pulls a rolled parchment from her fur and passes it to him. Her fingers are chilled as ice when they brush his.

An explanation as to why they were fighting dragons doesn’t follow. It infuriates him. She’s throwing herself in maker-knows how much unnecessary danger when they’re inches away from finally taking on Corypheus. 

He swallows the admonishments. Why did you do that without a plan? The Inquisition needs it’s Inquisitor. You’re the one person holding this all together lest we fall to splinters of infighting.

Don’t make me think about grieving you.

Read the rest on AO3

(Sorry it took so long)

[sweethoneyrose83]

The Candle Maker’s Secret

The town’s eerie candle maker creates enchanting candles said to bring peace and joy. When a curious child discovers these candles are infused with fragments of Christmas dreams, they help the maker spread warmth far and wide.

[thewardenisonthecase]

14 Days of Circle Mages: Upbringing/Arrival/Phylactery

Read on AO3

This is my contribution to the @14dayscirclemages following the life of my Rook, Dawn Thorne, long before the Veilguard.

Chapter Summary: A little look into Dawn's last day with her family and her arrival at the Gallows.

A/N: Tw for child abuse (mainly, a 6 year old gets slapped in the face)

9:24 Dragon - The Anderfels

The Thorne family had always been a very religious family. Every night, before tucking her into bed, Dawn’s mother would sing to her parts of the Chant of Light. By age three, her favorite story to hear was of how Andraste pushed back against the evil Tevinter mages. 

Magic is to serve man, not rule over him, her parents would say. This is why we have the circles, to keep mages in check and make sure they can never hurt anyone. 

Apostates are to be feared, her brother would tell her. They are maleficarum. They cohort with demons and use blood magic. Magic is a powerful and dangerous thing, and no mage is ever safe from corruption. 

There had never been a mage in the Thorne family because they were very faithful, Dawn’s mother assured. As long as they continued to believe in Him, magic would never harm them. 

.

Dawn’s last day with her family had fallen on her birthday. 

The Thorne family followed its usual traditions. Both of her parents woke her up, kissing her face and wishing her a good day. Her mother let her eat anything she wanted and in the evening, while her father and brother worked, Dawn’s mother combed her hair, a song on her lips. 

The night is long

And the path is dark

Look to the sky

For one day soon

The dawn will come

She giggled. “That’s my name!” “Yes, it is.” Her mother kissed the top of her head. “My little Dawn. I named you after the hymn.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes.” Her mother began braiding her hair as she continued. “You’re the light of my life, brought into existence by the Maker. I had to give you a fitting name.” 

Dawn hadn’t understood what her mother meant but she didn’t question it. Her mother tied a blue ribbon at the end of each braid and turned her around, giving her a kiss on the forehead. 

Her mother stood up from her chair, and walked to the drawer, retrieving a small wooden box. There was a sort of key mechanism on it, which she turned around three times before handing it to Dawn, telling her to open it. 

Once she did, the box opened, and an image of Andraste spun around and the sound of the music that her mother sang played from it. 

“My mother gave me this when I was very young, Dawn. I want you to have it.” 

The little girl looked at her, green eyes wide and bright. 

“Dawn, what do we say when someone is nice to us?” 

“Thank you, mama!” 

“Goog girl.” She kissed her forehead. “Your father and brother must be done now, go call them for dinner, its time for us to eat.” 

She nodded and excitedly ran outside, clutching the music 

“Papa!” She shouted as she saw her father. He was a big man, tall and imposing, but once he saw her, his face lit up as he picked her up and kissed her cheek. 

“Ah, my Dawn, you look so pretty.” He said as he held her and she smiled. 

“Look at what mama gave me!” She showed him the music box. 

Her father put her on his shoulders and she handed the box to her brother. He examined it for a second before giving it back to her. 

The three of them walked back inside the house, and soon, they were all set at the table. Before they could eat, her mother began to pray.

We thank the Maker for the food we have today, and for the life we were given. Most importantly, we thank Him for giving us Dawn. 

There was a cake on the table, the candles on top of it unlit. Her parents struggled to find a way to light them. 

As Dawn looked at the candles, she began to feel a kindling in her fingers. Perhaps if she could just…

With a wave of her hand, she lit the candles, giggling to herself. Her brother stood up from his chair and looked at her horrified, as her parents turned around confused.

“Witch!” Her brother pointed at her. 

Dawn began to cry, not liking her brother’s tone, as her mother kneeled in front of her grabbing her shoulders. “Dawn, what did you do?”

“I only wanted to help you.” She sniffed. 

“She created the fire. She’s a mage.” Her brother told them. Her parents shared a look, before her mother lifted her up. “Let’s go to bed.” 

The next day, the templars had shown up in her door, and Dawn was only allowed to bring the music box with her. 

.

9:24 Dragon - ???

Dawn did not know where they were headed. She tried asking the templars on board but they either ignored her. Some even looked at her with fear. 

There were others like her aboard the ship, mages. Some were much older than her, while others seemed to be her age. Everyone looked terrified to be there. 

Inside her small cabin, she’d hold on tight to the music box, replaying it for hours on end. It was her only source of comfort. Why did no one explain to her what was happening? 

Dawn wanted to go back home. She had cried to the templars and they ignored her. She’d have nightmares, seeing her brother’s face. Where once her father would hold her tight and comfort her, now she’d be awakened by angry men with angry faces as they told her to shut it. 

When they finally arrived at their destination, the young girl was greeted with the sight of scary, golden status of hungry men covering their faces. 

She did not want to leave the boat but the templar gave her no choice. They all exited the boat and there were more statues around them. Dawn and the other mages were brought inside the building, where a tall, blond woman, with cold blue eyes, stood in the center, a greatsword in hand. 

“I am Knight-Commander Meredith and this is the Kirkwall Cirle of Magi - the Gallows. It’s where you’ll stay and learn to control your magic.” 

Dawn swallowed hard as the woman began to list all the things that they could and could not do - their clothes had to be circle appropriate, they couldn’t leave whenever they wanted, they were to stay in their rooms unless they were in class, they were not to cast spells outside of class, they weren’t allowed to speak with outsiders. 

All in the name of them being deemed too dangerous. She held onto the music box even stronger than before. 

Once the knight-commander was done, they were made to stand in line and wait in front of a room. One by one, they were called in, until it was Dawn’s turn. There, two other templars stood. Next to them there was a wooden table with several glass vials. 

They motioned for her to step forwards and she did.

“Your hand.” One of them asked.

“What for?”

“It's for your phylactery.” He answered and Dawn frowned, tilting her head in confusion. 

With a huff, the other one explained. “Their vials, filled with your blood. If you, or any other mage, tries to escape, this will ensure we’ll be able to track you down and bring you back to the circle.”

“Blood?” Dawn’s eyes widened. Her mother always told her stories of wicked maleficars and their twisted use of blood to power their spells. “But…if you’re using blood…isn’t that blood magi-”

Before she could finish her sentence, one of the templars backhanded. “How dare you insinuate such a thing?!” 

“But-”

“Silence! You will do as you are told.”

Dawn lowered her head, as a tear ran down her burning cheek. Roughly, they grabbed her hand, slicing her palm open and squeezing the blood into a vial. Quickly, they wrapped a bandage around it and kicked her out of the room, where she was eventually reassigned to a dorm. 

The other mages around her spoke, but Dawn just laid on one of the beds, holding on tight to the music box. That night, before she fell asleep, she silently prayed to Andraste for answers: what had she done that had been so evil and vile to be cursed like this? And when would her parents rescue her?

For the first time in her short life, Dawn felt like no one had listened to her prayers. 

.

Thanks for reading! If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging it and leaving a comment, they're extremely appreciated!

[gaycavilltheorists-blog]

This is sad

It does sound like either his biological father is to far to visit as often as he would like

Or Heather and Charlie do not let him go see his father as often.

I definitely think it's the second

Because any loving devoted parent like him who wrote how much he misses his son would go to the end of the world and back just to see their child

It sounds like the candle maker and cavill are both emotional terrorists

Absolutely disgusting