#fallen sanctuary: writing challenge

[jobean12-blog]

Fallen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Werewolf AU)

Word Count: 689

Summary: Nothing will keep you from the love of your life, not your father's blade and certaintly not a seemingly irreversible curse.

Author's Note: This is my first time writing this AU and although it's short I really enjoyed it and hope to revisit! This is for @pupandkisasaesthetics aesthetic challenge! Thank you bunches to @sgt-seabass and @rookthorne for hosting such a cool challange! 💕💕The prompt I was given is shown below. I know it gives a Viking vibe but I figured it would work as them hunting the werewolf- that's where my brain went! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy🥰 I made a moodboard but it STINKS bc I just can't do it, I'm no good at it, but I included it at the bottom just because I wanted you to see some stuff I had in mind LOL 😆

Warnings: some angst during a chase, small mention of i-n-ju-r-y and b-lo-o-d, softness too!

Your fingers dig deep into thick fur as the powerful muscles beneath propel you forward at a pace that has the wind whipping around you and chilling you to the bone.

The forest is dark except for the ethereal glow of the moon as you race through the shadows, clinging to him and silently urging him on through every labored breath.

The flight is born out of necessity, the distant sound of clashing weapons and battle cries echoing through the trees, a constant reminder that danger is still close.

As the terrain changes and becomes more uneven you tighten your grip but your fingers slip through fur matted with blood. Darkness closes in around you, the trees growing denser and forming an almost protective barrier as you weave about the trunks.

You can feel his heart pound in rhythm with yours, his muscles strained and taut with tension. You whisper to him, a soft murmur against the backdrop of the night and with renewed strength he surges forward, carrying you closer to safety.

Just when it seems he can go no further, a clearing emerges ahead, your sanctuary. He surges forward with one last determined stride and collapses on the stone pathway.

The small cottage seems to have sprung from the very fabric of the woods, the weathered stones surrounded by overgrown moss and vegetation, blending in seamlessly within the trees.

You slide from his body, hot tears streaming down your face as you run your hands over his large body. The wound on his hind leg is deep, the dark red blood still seeping out.

“James,” you cry. “Please.”

Bright blue eyes meet yours and he whimpers before nuzzling his nose under your hand.

“Please,” you beg.

He heaves himself from the ground and limps toward the doorway. You rush forward and open it, helping him inside before he collapses again, unmoving other than the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

It’s late into the night when you finally get the bleeding to stop, his wound cleaned and covered. Your hands are stained red but your tears have dried as exhaustion takes over and you lay your head against his fur.

Sleep comes quickly but it’s fitful, plagued by the nightmares of what’s hunting you. When you awake you’re curled up between four legs, your body cocooned and warm in his soft fur.

You stretch your aching muscles and sit up to check on his leg.

“You haven’t changed back,” you say quietly.

“You were shivering in the night,” he answers as his tail settles on your lap, keeping you warm still.

You burrow closer to him and scratch behind his ears.

“Thank you.”

It’s just a whisper, barely audible to human ears.

His body starts to shift, the long back fur receding and bones realigning. Muscles ripple under skin, adjusting to their new form and sharp claws retract, leaving behind long human fingers.

With a trembling hand James reaches out, his blue eyes still holding something wild and feral, but when his skin brushes yours, tender and vulnerable, you fall into his embrace and feel him sag under your acceptance.

“We cannot stay here,” he murmurs. “Your father will never stop hunting me.”

You lift your hand, cradling his cheek, the skin underneath still lined with a shadow of hair, and brush your finger over his lips.

“Then I will never stop running,” you tell him as you lean closer.

His dark hair falls in front of his face and your fingers trace his jaw before you tuck it back behind his ear. He runs his nose along your skin with a deep inhale, down your throat and back up again until he finds your lips, a satisfied growl rumbling through his chest.

“You would leave it all behind?”

His question is gentle, a gasp against your lips as he wraps his large hand around your waist and pulls you closer.

“There is nothing for me there…not without you.”

Your name falls from his parted lips, leaving nothing but the breath between you and when his lips press to yours he consumes you, body and soul.

@book-dragon-13 @goldylions @sebstanwhore @hiddles-rose @laineyreads @beccablogsthings @justkinsey @kmc1989 @lookiamtrying @randomfandompenguin @late-to-the-party-81 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife

[fleursbending]

𝐍𝐨𝐭 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞, (𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨). | Neteyam Sully

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : even though the war with the sky-people was over, a new one began to brew in your mind. the eclipse is coming, meaning you only have a few hours to prepare to say goodbye to your yawntu (beloved).

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : neteyam x omaticaya!reader / sully family x omaticaya!reader (platonic).

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : after seeing this in the movies, i wondered how the sully family went about their preparations for neteyams funeral. but i put my own twist to it! readers gender is not specified. i hope you love this gutwrenching angst xx thank you for tuning in to my first writing i posted here <33 feedback is much appreciated!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : atwow spoilers, grief, longing, reminiscing, mentions of death, implications of a funeral, reoccurring mentions of blood, neytiri crying, sad!comfort lo'ak, sully family in pain😭🫶🏻.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.8k words

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐇𝐎𝐖 you ended up in the Sully's mauri. All you can recall is how cold Neteyam's usually warm body felt. How his blood painted not only your hands - but Lo'aks too. It was coating the armbands he crafted all for you, the hands he had held countless of times.

Your eyes shut in anguish, letting the all-consuming rage encompass every inch of your entire being. It was devastating, your mind reliving what was his last moments. He shouldn't have left this world in so much pain. Not when all he did was protect and love the people around him so fiercely.

It was too sudden, you were scrambling to try seize every single memory, experience. Everything that was left of his essence. It pained you to now realise that you were doomed from day one. You should have never challenged him that you could catch a bigger fish. You should have never fallen for him.

Your mind was stumbling on what you shouldn't have done. But what about everything you'll never get to do again?

When everyone would fall asleep, even back home - their home away from the ocean. The rainforest. It was just you, Neteyam, and the stars. The time where you'd share your deepest thoughts, whispers and quiet laughter. Afterall, your cheeks always ached from smiling so much on those nights. Oh what you would do to relive that all over again.

To hop on your Ikrans and fly away to your own little sanctuary, an oasis away from curious eyes. Where you nurtured one another, grew with one another - learnt about your feelings for eachother.

You woke up yesterday thinking that there'd be many more ecplises to come. And on those nights, he would be there. Your protector, your warrior, your Neteyam.

But now all you can see is his wistful eyes as he finally voiced out what he had been telling you in secret since the day you all left to seek further refuge.

"I want to go home." You do recall that.

You recall your fingers tucking his hair behind his ears after he had said so. The beads you gifted him, the ones you braided into his hair only a few days ago - glinting. Your reassuring smile beaming, wavering, sinking. And his eyes held pure desperation, such strong will to live.

Why didn't you live, Neteyam?

The next time you laid your head against his chest. There was nothing, you could only hear your own heartbeat drumming in your ears from anxiety. The heart that used to beat for his family, for your love, for your future - now having no rhythm.

It was ironic, considering how one of things you two were complimented most on was the rhythm of your day to day lives. How even when you were apart from him. When his dad would whisk him away on hunting trips. Or you had to go look for medicinal leaves, your hearts were steady. Because you knew when you'd return, you would be there for eachother.

That was your rhythm, your momentum.

And it was now all gone because of a bullet wound.

"Y/n?" There Neytiri stood, a bowl of warm water cradled in her hands - along with a cloth. You couldn't bare to maintain eye contact, because through her... all you saw was him.

She set the bowl down, as she sat infront of you. Neytiri gazed down at you, frowning. Because the caregiver in such situations for you would usually be her son.

She had adored you from the moment you graced Pandora. Your mother was her dearest friend. After losing her to the sky people when she took a bullet for her. She had to witness your father lose his grips on sanity as you were left to grow up all alone. That was when she and Jake officially took you under their wings.

While your current state was more than understandable, it worried her greatly. For Neytiri, it felt like history was repeating itself.

For once, she did not know what to say. She knew she had to tread lightly, she would push away voicing her direct concerns for the time being.

Your conversations always flowed, it didn't matter if it was as simple of a question as "how was your day?" What mattered is that she continuously rooted for you. Even more so when she witnessed you and Neteyam acting a little too similar to how her and jake had at the beginning of everything. When she realised her feelings for Jake held much more weight than she would have ever thought. But no words could soothe the grief you have submerged yourself into. She lost her first born son, and you lost your soulmate for every lifetime.

Your eyes glossed over as the damp cloth wiped away the last of what you would have of Neteyam. His blood, removed from your skin - transferred to the cloth. And you don't know why such a simple act felt like an axe dragging achingly slow across your heart. But it did.

Maybe because it was the last ever thing of his that would touch your skin. It felt too raw, too open. Your mind wanted to beat itself up, because it wasn't his hand, or his touch. It was his blood. His blood that had caked your hands for however long. Your hands were clean, and your Neteyam was dead.

Neytiri noticing your crestfallen expression, instantaneously brought you into her arms. Into her shelter, into her warmth. And the axe just dug itself deeper. Rupturing your soul, and everything you've ever known. Neytiri looked up at the ceiling, trying her damn hardest to blink away the tears that crept up onto her. Your wails, your haunting cries would keep her awake for a long time. But she knew, if anyone would understand the hollowness she currently is immersed in - it would be you. Her horrowing cries followed yours.

You could taste your own tear's through your sobs, and they were bitter. And you were angry, so angry - at what the world had taken away from you. What you are now going to have to miss, and it cut through you. You both cried harder.

No matter where the members of the Metkayina clan was in that moment, even if they were underneath water. They would have heard it all.

Each sully entered the mauri, one after the other. Tears once again edged the surface and broke. You huddled together, desperately reaching out for eachother. None of you being able to withstand the the thought of knowing your Tsahik - Ronal, was preparing Neteyam for farewell.

After awhile, you were all too exhausted. Draining yourselves until there were no more tears physically able to escape your systems. Silence followed, then soon everyone started dispersing.

Until it was just you and Lo'ak.

His throat burned, and even the action of trying to speak seemed worlds away for him. But yet, he still croaked out, "I'm so sorry, Y/n."

Shaking your head as a sigh left you, none of this felt real to either one of you yet. "I'm sorry too, Lo'ak", you whispered, that's all you could manage right now. He heard you, he knew you're trying.

His hand reached to yours, squeezing it and holding on tightly. Almost to the point where it was painful, but you didn't even mind. You'd take anything over the numbness creeping up on you. And you two needed eachother right now, more than ever before.

Both of you sat there, holding on. You knew ecplise was coming. How could you bring yourself to say goodbye if you couldn't even move? Having to see him so lifeless once more? It felt so wrong. Only the other day, he was hugging you from behind. Did he do that yesterday? Did he do that again before he left you?

How could you say goodbye to a future you barely even began? You wanted to punch something, you wanted to curse the sky people for ever even entering Pandora's atmosphere. You'd do anything to bring him back.

Neytiri and Jake entered the mauri once again, instead this time Neytiri was holding a smaller bowl - now full of paint. They had already prepped themselves for later... how?

They sat themselves before you two, Jake leaning over to give you a kiss on the forehead. You truly appreciated it, you couldn't even begin to fathom how he must be feeling right now. The man had not been able to speak a proper word to you since he carried you onto Tsireya's ilu when trying to make you guys head back to the village. You were too out of it to travel back yourself.

He didn't know where to start, where to end. Suddenly Jake was reminded of the words Lo'ak had told him about the ways of how the water held itself in the eyes of Ewya.

Before he and Neytiri followed Ronal and Tonowari to the dead tulkun the other day. Neteyam had asked for his fathers guidance, on how to properly court you, to prepare himself in the near future to have you as his mate. All the words and advice he had spoken, passed on with Neteyam to the great mother. And he couldn't endure that at the moment, he was on the brink of losing himself even further.

Both of them painted your faces, you wished it would have taken a lifetime. Because it was dark out, already - and that meant Ecplise had arrived.

"We'll meet you outside." Neytiri spoke softly, and solemnly. The pain was so evident in just those few words. It made you want to shrivel up even more. Suddenly sticking yourself to the walls of the mauri and never leaving seemed alot nicer then what was awaiting you.

You looked to Lo'ak, and he stared back at you. His hand fell into yours again, but this time you were the one that squeezed. Truth be told, none of you were prepared. Let alone, ready. None of you would ever be, as you were all under the impression that there was more time. Life is cruel that way.

Before you knew it you were both standing up, making your way out into the night. Time had crept up on you once again. Taking a deep breath you looked out into the ocean, you wish you could bring him back to his true home. But it seems this will have to do. You knew a part of his heart was with the water surrounding you when he first dove into it.

It all feels surreal, but it was inevitable. Goodbyes can be agonising if the world demands it.

"Ma Neteyam, you can rest now."

𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒖𝒓𝒔𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 ━━━ 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑

⤷ feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated ! feel free to ask through my inbox if you would like to join my taglist. ♡

[swansworth]

The Handsome Stranger

Rhysand x Priestess!Reader

Summary: You had fallen for the High Lord, it was inevitable. However, he was clearly in love with another, and now he had come to ask you the one question you had dreaded to hear. 

Warnings: brief mention of abuse, mild angst with a happy ending, a big misunderstanding, believed-to-be unrequited feelings, friends-to-lovers

Word Count: 3079

Author Notes: This was inspired by one of my favorite television series, The Vicar of Dibley. The show is much more comedic than this story is, but it still helped me formulate this. The story title is borrowed from the episode that inspired this. Some of the dialogue towards the end is as well, and some of it has been re-worded to fit ACOTAR more seamlessly. Special thanks to @azsazz​ for encouraging me to write this. 

Not many ventured to the temple, too afraid of what peace they would disturb. It was a benefit in your mind; it meant that you could read and take care of your daily duties without anyone bothering you. Usually your days were spent in a comfortable quiet, though it appeared today would not be such a day. 

“Hello?” A voice like velvet asked, causing you to sigh. You had just sat down to start the next chapter in the book you’d been reading and had really hoped to avoid dealing with anyone. You closed your book and moved to the sanctuary, doing your best to smile and give off an air of warmth and kindness. The smile on your face faltered when you noticed a beautiful fae standing before the altar, his blue-black hair tousled and his eyes closed in what appeared to be prayer. 

Part of you wondered whether you should leave him to his privacy but then he asked, “Are you one of the priestesses here?” He’d noticed you. You opened your mouth to respond then abruptly shut it when his eyes opened and orbs that were almost violet in color met yours. “Well?” 

His tone implied that he was annoyed and you wondered whether it was really worth your time to get involved with him. Unfortunately, it was your duty as a priestess to aid any who came to the temple asking for assistance. “Yes I am,” you answered at last, “Was there something I could help you with?” 

“We’ll see.” Oh, you did not like the arrogance that rolled off of this male. The two of you stared at one another in an unspoken challenge to see who would speak next. “Shall I get to the point?”

“If you’d like me to assist you, I think that would be wise.” A look of amusement flickered across his handsome face and you did your best to keep your own expression neutral as he continued to stare at you. 

“You’re very direct.” His statement left you unsure; was it meant to be an insult or a compliment? Regardless, you still held his gaze, waiting for him to state his reason for being at the temple in the first place. The silence stretched on, but you refused to be the first to break it. 

Stubborn too, I see. I could use that.  

The stranger’s voice crawled its way through your mind and your eyes widened. How had he done that? All at once you felt a stab of fear. He was a daemati; he could tear your mind apart with ease if you weren’t careful. 

Clever girl.  

It was almost taunting you, the voice, but you held firm, kept your gaze fixed on the handsome stranger. There was only one being in the Night Court who this could possibly be, and though you knew decorum instructed you to at least bow your head, you did no such thing. “Lord Rhysand,” you said, “What did you need assistance with?” 

“So it’s lord now is it?” He sounded almost amused and your shoulders sagged in relief as his expression softened. “I have a friend in need of sanctuary. They were badly hurt by their former lover and have nowhere to go. I would offer them a room with me, but they were adamant that they did not want my assistance.” 

There were rooms in the temple for requests such as these; cozy, private chambers that offered a sense of safety and peace while the people residing in them healed. The smallest room was unoccupied and had a fresh change of linens on the bed. “We have a room they could stay in for a time, if you feel they would be open to that.” 

Rhysand’s answering smiling was blinding and left you feeling almost breathless. He truly was incredibly handsome. No wonder all the other priestesses swooned whenever his name was mentioned. “I’ll bring them here at once. Thank you, priestess.” 

You gave your name and watched as that smile grew impossibly brighter. He repeated it back to you and your heart pounded in your chest at the way your name fell from his lips. It was almost a purr, soft and sensual. ‘Mother preserve me.’ It was a thought that you had often, a silent mental prayer in an effort to keep yourself calm. Rhysand’s smile turned into an amused grin as he turned to take his leave and you knew that he had heard it. Blasted daemati. 

═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══

You had believed that once Rhysand’s friend had settled, the High Lord would go back to his daily duties, whatever those were. Oh, how mistaken you were.

Rhys’s presence was a constant, nearly daily, thing.

At first, it had been to ensure that his friend truly was comfortable and safe. You couldn’t help but admire that unwavering loyalty. There were many stories and rumors about Rhysand, but the gentle smile he wore when he spoke to his comrade made you wonder how much truth lay within them.

It turned, quicker than you could have anticipated, into social visits. He came less and less for his friend and more and more for you. In the course of a few months, the two of you had formed a budding friendship and you could admit that the smile that tugged at your lips whenever he entered the temple was genuine and warm, full of the growing affection you held for him.

You hoped that the affectionate look you saw in his eyes was just as sincere.

Part of you also hoped that what you interpreted as flirtation truly was. You couldn’t speak for Rhysand, but you knew that your feelings for him had shifted to romantic rather than platonic. It was foolish, you knew, to hope that the High Lord of the Night Court would fall for a priestess such as yourself. And yet your heart raced wildly each time he stepped into the sanctuary, looked at you with those intense violet eyes, and asked with a grin, “Miss me, darling?”

“Always,” you replied easily.

As his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you close so he could converse with you about everything and anything, you sighed in content. In those moments, everything was perfect and right with the world.

That perfection ended when you saw Rhysand walking arm-in-arm with a beautiful, blonde, high fae.

You didn’t leave the temple often, but you had learned that it was Rhys’s birthday in a few weeks and you were out looking for materials to make him something. As a High Lord, you suspected that there wasn’t much you could buy him that he would need or want, and truthfully, you didn’t have much money to buy gifts with. So, you had settled on making him a token; something small he could keep with him for luck and protection. That was when you saw them.

The blonde with him was as beautiful as the goddess that you served. Grace rolled off of her in waves and you felt your knees tremble at the sight of her. She had eyes that reminded you of honey, a deep rich amber that was warm, but still intense. Everything about her was perfection; she was exactly the sort of fae someone of Rhys’s standing would be expected to be with. Your heart sank. You had always known it was foolish to hope and dream, but secluded in your temple, it was easy to imagine. Facing reality, seeing how you paled in comparison, hurt more than you would have ever thought possible.

“You’re a moron, Rhys. It’s a good thing I like you so much,” the blonde teased.

“Thanks Mor, I love you too.” Rhys laughed as he spoke and you watched as the blonde playfully jabbed him in the side with her elbow. You slipped away then, not able to see or hear anymore.

He was a High Lord. You were a priestess. It had been nothing more than a dream, and the dawn had finally come.

═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══

“Hello?” An all too familiar voice called out from the sanctuary. You cussed under your breath at the sound of it. Seeing Rhysand again was inevitable but you had hoped that you’d have more time to process and heal before having to engage with him. Though you had tried to fight it, you had fallen helplessly in love with him. Each smile, each gentle touch and warm utterance of your name had bewitched you. Seeing Rhysand meant facing your heartbreak head-on, and you weren’t sure you were ready for that. 

You heard him call your name and swallowed. There was no way you would be able to avoid him forever and perhaps dealing with the issue now would be wiser. Yes, putting it off wouldn’t solve anything. You took a deep breath, lifted your head and headed out into the sanctuary. 

“Lord Rhysand, how are you?” How you had managed to form words when he was standing there looking as handsome as he had the day you met, you had no idea. 

“So it’s lord now, is it?” You didn’t meet his gaze even though you could feel the weight of his on your face, trying to make out your expression. There was a faint poking at your mind, but you kept your walls in place. If he saw the swirling emotions warring within you he would certainly reject you entirely. Rejection would be worse than ignorance. 

“I suppose I may as well come straight out with it?” He formed it as a question, encouraging you to answer him. You turned your head to look at him and gave him a nod, a silent urgence to continue. His brow creased in what almost looked like worry. “I’ve thought about it quite a lot, talked about it a lot. And I came here to ask you a rather important question.” 

“Well, go on then,” you said. 

“Perhaps, we could find somewhere a bit more secluded? I hadn’t intended on asking you in the middle of the sanctuary.” 

“I don’t see why here isn’t as good a place as any.” You could have sworn that you saw his eye twitch as he stared at you. His hands clenched and unclenched by his sides and you could tell that he was trying to stay calm. He let out a breath and refocused his gaze on your face. 

“Will you marry me?” Damn. You had suspected that he and the mysterious blonde — Morrigan you learned her name was — were close, intimate even, but you hadn’t realized how close. It was your duty, as a priestess, to assist in mating and marriage ceremonies, you had officiated nearly a hundred. This, however, was one ceremony you were uncertain of. 

You stared up at Rhysand, looked deep into his violet eyes and saw the almost pleading expression hidden in their depths. He looked hopeful and eager and you knew that no matter how much it would hurt you to do as he asked, you would. You would because you loved him and his happiness was ultimately what you wished for him, more than anything. With a sigh you replied, “Well, yes of course. I’d be delighted to.” 

The smile that broke out across Rhysand’s face was so radiant that you felt as if you were staring directly at the sun. ‘If only I could make him so happy.’ The thought flickered through your mind and you did your best to squash it down. “That’s wonderful news!” He took a step toward you as if to hug you and you stepped back. No, you couldn’t. You would melt against him as you always did and it would be harder to maintain the professionalism the situation required. 

“Have you thought of any dates?” You asked as casually as you could, though a hint of annoyance found its way into your tone. 

“Don’t you think we should discuss that?” 

“Very well. I would suggest a time near Starfall. That’s always a romantic time of year.” If you were to ever marry, that would be the time of year you’d want your ceremony to fall on. It was cooler, the nights longer, but the stars shone clearer and on some nights looked as if they were close enough to reach. “Though, I would have to check the temple diary to be sure we can hold the ceremony at that time.” 

You moved to the adjoining room, where a few small tables and bookshelves remained for the priestesses to use. The temple diary was an easy enough book to find. Once you had retrieved it, you flicked through the pages to the calendar. Sure enough there was an opening two days before Starfall. You relayed the information to Rhysand who nodded and said, “That’s perfect.”

“Excellent! I’ll jot it down then. Listen, while you’re here, we should probably start getting some of the other forms done. Save some time.” You wrote the date down before standing to find a large pile of documents on the corner of one of the tables. The temple really needed a better organization system, but that was a problem for another day. The first part of the form needed Rhysand’s name, which you wrote . The next…

“All right, what is the name of the lucky lady in question?” 

At that, Rhysand looked visibly confused. “Rhysand, you shouldn’t marry someone if you don’t know their name. I feel that goes without saying.” 

Rhysand’s voice sounded mildly worried as he replied with your name. You paused in your writing and looked up at him. “Pardon?”

“It’s you. I’m asking you to marry me.” 

The silence was deafening. You stared, eyes wide in disbelief. “Are you out of your senses?”

Rhysand’s visible confusion deepened. “I feel Amren would say I am. She thinks it’s too soon; though I find in affairs of the heart, she’s not always the best being to turn to.”

“I might agree with her! What about that other female you’ve been spending so much time with? Morrigan, the gorgeous blonde one! What about her?” 

Frustration rose within you. Was this some kind of joke to him? He charmed his way into your life and then started spending all his time with Morrigan, and now he was asking for your hand in marriage? You opened your mouth to add your own two-cents regarding his judgment, but were rendered speechless by Rhysand’s reply. “You mean my cousin?”

All at once you felt all the confusion and anger of the last few weeks coming bubbling up to the surface and you shouted, “What?!”

“She’s one of my closest friends; I consult her about nearly everything.”  He still looked confused, but you found you didn’t really care. In that moment, you needed clarity. 

“What?” 

“We’ve been walking Valeris together trying to decide if it was too rash or too soon or, perhaps, too stupid. But, I finally decided I must follow my heart. And my heart is saying that you are the being I wish to spend eternity with, the being that I am destined to be with until death comes and claims me.” 

There was a look of burning passion, strong and intense adoration, in his eyes and your heart began to beat wildly in your chest at the sight of it. Oh. He loved you. Gods, you felt so foolish, but how could you have known. His words from before, his proposal, flashed in your mind again and when you opened your mouth to speak, to say that you felt the same, all that came out was a garbled noise. 

Both you and Rhysand looked surprised by the sound and you tried, once again in vain, to say what was on your mind. The noise was worse the second time. "Will you excuse me?" It was asked with some effort, but you managed. You didn't wait for him to answer and instead hurried off to the secluded meditation room around the corner. Once there you took a series of steadying breaths, trying desperately to calm your racing heart and wrap your head around the truth Rhysand had just shared with you. 

It all seemed almost too good to be true. Rhysand, the High Lord, wanted to marry you? You had hoped he loved you to that extent, and would gladly say yes if he meant it. The whole situation felt like a fantasy, like a scene from those books you used to read as a child where the handsome prince would save the princess and they'd live happily ever after. Could such a thing happen in real life? You inhaled and exhaled twice more and then moved back to the sanctuary where Rhysand waited, a nervous look on his handsome face. 

"Let me be sure I've got this absolutely right," you said as you approached, "You are asking me to marry you."

“Yes.”

That ungodly sound worked its way out of your mouth once more and Rhys’s lips quirked into an amused smile. His arms, so strong and warm, wrapped around your middle and pulled you to him. One of his hands slid up your spine to the back of your head before entwining in your hair. 

“I have loved you from the very moment I laid eyes on you. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that we are meant to be together.” His breath was warm against your face as he tilted his head down and leaned forward. “Marry me, darling?”

You didn’t hesitate, your answer required no consideration. You leaned up, closing the little distance between the two of you, and your lips dragged against his as you replied, “Yes.” 

There was a heat to the kiss. It was as if the dams you’d both built to preserve your emotions had crumbled and the flood of your love and adoration for one another had rushed forward. There was so much to think about and plan for. It wouldn’t be easy figuring out your place within his court and what his expectations would be; and you’d have to address your own for him. All of that would come, all of that could wait. In that moment, all that mattered was the feeling of Rhysand’s warm body pressed against you as he held you close, sipped kisses from your lips, and vowed to love you, and only you, until the end of time. 

[catt-leya]

Ummmm listen that one about seducing Rick in Negans bed…. If that’s been written could you let me know what it’s titled? And if not, then here is my request to write it 🥹

Claim Me || Rick Grimes 18+

Trigger: degrading (?), dirty talk, breeding (?), sextape

You're already circling the sanctuary for the 3rd time and still Rick doesn't want to go inside the building and prefers to sneak around in the bushes in front of it.

Annoyed, you follow him and as he wants to make a 4th round you sigh heavily, "What are you looking for, Rick?"

You see him wince slightly and then turn to you hesitantly, "I…well, you know."

Your eyebrows go up and you put your hands on your hips, "No, Rick. I have no idea why we're supposed to sneak around the square for the 4th time when we saw everything was quiet the first time. So feel free to explain why I've been staring at your back for what seems like an eternity and we're not finally going in."

At your challenging tone, he straightens up a bit more and points vaguely at the buildings near you: "There could be someone else here, and I don't intend to put you at risk."

At his words, you frown and he avoids your gaze.

You remember very well the time when Rick would have liked to throw you to the walkers. That wasn't even that long ago.

At the beginning of the war with Negan, Daryl took you out of Sanctuary to join his people because you helped him escape from his there.

God, you remember the first time Rick looked at you like he wanted to rip your head off, and that was just because you were living under the same roof as Negan.

You never expected him to take you on a tour behind the walls of Alexandria, and when you realized he wanted to go off with you ALONE, you stared at him for minutes as if he had just fallen from the sky and landed right in front of you.

But really, the two of you going out is nothing compared, you to the statement that he would worry about you.

Sure, you didn't expect him to feed you to Walkers, or you wouldn't have run off with him, but the sincerity in his eyes and the honest concern is more than surprising.

He may not be looking at you, but you can't take your eyes off him for that.

As judgmental as he was in the beginning, you actually never resented him and perhaps admired him a bit for how protective he was of his people.

Even now, he exudes something that just makes you feel safe around him, and you barely recognize your own voice as you say softly, "Thank you, Rick. I really appreciate it, but don't you think we've taken enough safety precautions?"

His whole body tenses as he glances at you again and because you're standing not far away next to him, you reach out and rest your hand lightly on his upper arm, "Come on, let's get this over with and then we can get out of here."

Briefly his eyes twitch to your hand, which you immediately lower in response, and he nods at you, "Okay."

Silently you walk together to the entrance and you don't say a word as Rick pushes himself in front of you and goes in first. It's probably just his way of making sure he can protect the people who are with him.

The whole building is filled with silence and as you look around the old halls, you could swear you can still hear the voices of the people who lived here months ago.

It's clear why Rick brought you along and you clear your throat quietly, "Would you like to see the weapons or the medical room first?"

With his revolver in hand, he slowly turns to face you and his blue eyes seem to glow in the dim room.

His eyes were the first thing you noticed about him. The world is so dull and barely drenched in color, so those bright eyes just seem even more powerful, especially in contrast to his dark hair and slowly graying beard.

You'd probably rather bite yourself in the ass than say it out loud, but yes, you find him incredibly attractive.

Even now, Rick is just scrumptious and you don't even realize you're staring at him silently until he waves his hand back and forth in front of your face, "Are you even listening to me?"

You blink several times before shaking your head slightly to clear your mind of thoughts and then say in a voice hoarser than you'd like, "Sorry, I was in thought. What did you say?"

He lowers his gun and then takes a small step toward the door that stands wide open beside you, "What's upstairs?"

Only now do you look in that direction and shrug, "There were just the bedrooms of the people who lived here. Many had adjoining bathrooms. Maybe there's medicine."

You used to live here too, and with each step up the stairs and Rick just ahead of you, you realize how much your life has changed since then.

As Rick reaches the last step of the stairs, he turns to you and offers his hand to help you up the last few steps (for whatever reason), but you put your hand in his without hesitation so he can pull you up to him and then maneuver you back behind him before letting go of your hand again and asking, "Left or right?"

You peek over his shoulder as he blocks your view with his height, "Doesn't really matter. This is the only staircase, so we might as well split up."

You can literally see his reluctance to let you go off on your own, but you squeeze past him and grin widely at him, "Relax Rick. I'll be fine."

Before he can reach for you again, you disappear into the nearest room, and you hear him quietly shuffling in the hallway before he, too, goes into another room.

You've been with Negan long enough to know every room upstairs, and it's not long before you've searched every possible hiding place and find a small pack of aspirin.

You stuff it into your backpack and then stroll from room to room.

Every now and then you catch a glimpse of Rick as he, too, changes rooms, and you whistle a soft tune as you go into the next room.

In the middle of it, you stop as if rooted to the spot and bite your lower lip.

You didn't even remember that Negan's room was on this floor, too.

Not that you would have avoided the room otherwise, but seeing the bed again that you spent more than one night on doesn't faze you either.

It's not that Negan forced you to sleep with him and you were raped by him.

No, he didn't want that, but for you the visit to his bedroom was always more of a duty than a pleasure.

Negan is an attractive man and you didn't think it was a bad thing to sleep with him, but when you think about it with Rick here….

You wince as you realize where your thoughts have landed and you cry out softly as Rick's deep voice comes to you from the door, "Are you all right?"

You press the flat of your hand over your heart and turn to your companion, "Holy shit, you scared me."

Rick leans his shoulder against the door frame and lets his gaze wander around the room, "Was this your room?"

Slowly you drop your hand and shake your head, "No…it was Negan's."

As you mention his name, his blue eyes immediately land on you again and he pushes away from the door slightly to walk across the room.

Closer than necessary, he passes you and you close your eyes briefly as his hand brushes yours.

It's strange to see Rick in Negan's room.

Even though the two of them may also be somewhat similar, Rick exudes something completely different and you just can't stop staring at him as he sets his revolver down on the nightstand and walks around the bed, "Been here a lot?"

Rick knows full well the role you've played in Negan's life, but he's never been interested.

Until now, at least.

He looks at you for a moment and slides his flat hand across the bed sheet.

You try to find your voice again and breathe, "Regularly."

All you get from him is a "Hmmm" and he continues slowly across the room.

The light coming through the window makes his hair shine in all different shades of brown and you would love to touch his curls.

You don't know what he's thinking about right now, but you force yourself to start moving and head for the bed, "It wasn't bad, if that's what you're getting at, Rick."

Slowly you sit down on the edge of the bed, not taking your eyes off his back as he looks at a picture on the wall.

"No?"

You can't interpret the undertone in his voice and swallow hard, "He never forced me to have sex with him. I could have refused him, but it was just easier to have that position in his life. I was trying to survive. Nothing more, nothing less."

You're not even sure why you're explaining it to him, but you want him to understand.

Hesitantly, you pull your feet up on the bed as well and murmur softly, "Why do you even care all of a sudden?"

"I don't" he turns back to you and looks at you languidly "You bought your protection with your body. You may not think of it that way, but in a way he pushed you to sleep with him."

At his words, you have to blink in surprise, "I…maybe you're right."

Quietly you take a breath, "But it doesn't change the fact that that's the way it was, and I hope I never have to do it again."

For a brief moment it's completely silent and his gaze burns on your skin, "You do realize that I would never ask you to do something like that, right? I know I didn't welcome you with open arms, but I would never go so far as to push you into letting me fuck you."

You're not sure why you're reacting this way to his words, but you slide around on the bed, "I know you wouldn't pressure me into sleeping with you. You wouldn't even have to."

You quickly slap your hand over your mouth as you realize what you just said, and the glint in Rick's eyes tells you he heard you clearly.

He tilts his head a little and says in a raspy voice, "So I wouldn't even have to push you to spread your legs for me?"

You don't dare say anything and Rick bites his lower lip, "Even though I'd be asking you to do that right now?"

Your heart skips a beat and your body starts to shake with anticipation, "Rick…"

He closes his eyes briefly and laughs to himself, "Hey, relax. I just want to tease you a little."

Those are his words, but when he looks at you again, you can see the excitement in his eyes, making your middle twitch in anticipation.

The thought of letting Rick take you on Negan's bed is so incredibly dirty that your middle gets treacherously wet and you slide around on the bed again.

You watch him make his way slowly toward the door and you call his name softly.

Immediately he stops and sighs softly without looking at you, "That was a tasteless joke, so let it go and let's look for weapons."

You don't know where this knee-jerk reaction comes from, but you purr, "No."

Irritated, he looks at you again, "No?"

Your heart is up to your throat as you slide onto the middle of the bed, batting your eyelashes, "So you want me to spread my legs for you? Would you like that, Rick?"

Immediately his gaze slides between your legs before he pulls himself together and looks at you with flushed cheeks, "Cut the crap. I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have said that."

His blue shirt tightens a little against his chest as he takes a deep breath and all you want to do is touch him.

God, you want him to fuck you so badly you feel dizzy and you clutch at the sheets under your hands, "Come on. Don't you want to claim me right here where Negan fucked me before?"

Something dark slips into the way he watches you on the bed and, what might have really been a game before, now becomes bitterly serious as you kneel down and pull your shirt over your head.

Even though your breasts are still covered by a bra, you feel exposed and tremble as he continues to stare at you, "Stop it."

You bite your lower lip and reach behind you for the clasp, "Why?"

He takes a step toward you and you pause.

"Shit, this is really going too far. Please just put your clothes back on" he pleads softly and your breath quickens "If you don't want me, you can just walk out of the room and I promise I won't say another word about how much I want you inside me."

Groaning, he closes his eyes, "Not here."

Briefly, you dare a glance at his crotch, which is already clearly showing, and that gives you the mouth you need to unhook your bra and toss it on the floor next to the bed, "I've never offered myself to Negan the way I'm offering myself to you right now. Please."

He can't help but stare at your breasts, which you willingly show him, and then you murmur his name softly again.

His cock twitches in his pants as you ask lasciviously, "How would you like me? On all fours so you can take me from behind and press my face into the mattress so I don't attract walkers while screaming your name? Or would I rather be on my back so you can see my bouncing tits while you use my pussy to cum?

He moans, "Fuck," and you can see the greed in his gaze as you take a deep breath, "I want this, Rick. Right here, right now."

You can see the exact moment he drops the wall he's built around himself and he slowly walks toward you as he mumbles into his beard, "Fuck it."

Your middle tightens again as you watch him unbutton his shirt one button at a time and then brush it off his shoulders.

Immediately your eyes drop to his belt and you swallow hard as he now reaches for his low-slung pants as well and says to you, "Pants off."

All your brain can manage is "Yes yes yes" as you finally convince him to kneel on the bed in just his boxers and throw your underpants, including your panties, on the floor.

Your first reflex would be to squeeze your legs together but, because Rick is kneeling right in between, you can't and instead you drop onto the bed and look up at him, "Rick?"

Slowly he lets his gaze slide over your body and sighs softly when he gets to your face, "I never told you, but you're beautiful."

The way he looks at you is like a touch right in the middle of your heart and his big hands on your thighs feels like you're going to burst into flames right then and there.

Gently he continues upward and when he reaches your hip and you flinch, he laughs softly, "Now all of a sudden you're not so forward and offering me to do the dirtiest things with you, huh?"

You place your hands on top of his as he draws little circles on your skin with his thumb and nods towards your breasts, "Do they feel heavier than usual yet?"

Agonized, you gasp and nod vigorously, "Yes."

Rick's hands aren't really doing anything sexual and yet you squirm under him and he patiently looks down at you, "I didn't know you wanted me to fuck you so badly. I mean, sure I've thought about how you'd feel around my cock, but fuck that you need it so badly that you're begging me to fuck you is damn hot."

Slowly he leans over you and his lips hover over yours, "Go. Beg me again."

You arch your back and finally your erect nipples press against his hard chest, "Please, Rick. Show me who's in charge."

Growling, he lunges forward and you groan as his lips meet yours.

As soon as he leans forward, you feel his cock pressed against your thigh through the fabric of his boxers and you rub against him, "Rick…"

Surprisingly gentle, he slides his tongue into your mouth and moves his hand up enough to take your breast in his hand, relieving the pressure you can't suppress with arousal.

He knows exactly how to touch you to make you wriggle under him and moan into his mouth.

Under your protest, he pulls away from your lips and turns his attention to your neck, "Is this how you imagined it, baby?"

You whimper in agreement and he presses his hard-on against your pussy, "Use your words."

Softly you breathe, "Yes, Rick."

You are rewarded as he slowly rubs against you, making you lift your legs and wrap them around his narrow hips.

You hear him laugh softly in your ear, "You can put your legs right back down, baby. I want you on all fours like you so loudly offered."

Briefly, your thoughts flit to Negan, who also took you on all fours most of the time, but when Rick flips you onto your stomach and grabs your waist to stand you up for him, it feels different.

He knows what he wants, but the way his hands slide over your naked body makes you think that he might actually care about you.

That you're not just another willing pussy for him to fuck.

Shit, you know the stories from Alexandria where women rave about having been in bed with him or swarm around him to get fucked in the mattress by the one and only Rick Grimes.

He notices your hesitation and runs his hand down your spine, "What are you thinking about?"

You prop yourself up on your elbows and look over your shoulder at him, "It's nothing."

Skeptically, he raises an eyebrow and slides his hand from your back lower to between your legs and you thrust your hips toward him as his rough fingers slide over your wetness, "Tell me."

You hang your head and gasp, "Forget it, please. It's…" He slides a finger inside you and you moan, "Nothing."

At a moderate pace, he penetrates you with his hand and the other he wraps around you so he can play with your nipples again.

The man is going to drive you crazy and he doesn't even have to do much to do it.

His voice is rough with excitement, "If you want my cock, you'll have to tell me."

Panting, you gasp as he slides a second finger inside you and you know you wouldn't survive not being allowed to cum on his cock.

Uncertainly you close your eyes and murmur, "How many women have you slept with? And I mean only in Alexandria."

You expected him to pause, but instead he just penetrates you faster and you keep moaning as he starts to explain, "I don't know exactly, I mean, I'm not actively counting. Why do you ask?"

You moan softly, "I told you to forget it. It was just a stupid thought."

But there's nothing you can do about the fact that you sound jealous and Rick can tell right away, "Well someone is crazy jealous that I've fucked other women before."

He presses on your clit, "Maybe it will make you feel better that I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you."

At his words, your pussy tightens and he murmurs softly, "Bit of reassurance and already your pussy is clinging to my fingers, huh?"

An "Oh God" slips from your lips and before you can come on his fingers, he withdraws them from you and you whimper, "Please."

Gently, he puts a hand to the back of your head and pushes you down so that your cheek is on the bed sheet, giving him a better angle to thrust into you.

Breathlessly, you watch him pull down his boxers and precum just waiting to slide into your wet tightness.

Submissively, you whimper, "You don't just want me because Negan had me, do you?"

He positions himself at your entrance and then looks you in the eye as he answers honestly, "No" and then pushes into you.

You can't help but squint your eyes shut and moan his name as he stretches and fills you inch by inch.

You push against him to take him deeper inside you and he growls, "Fuck, what I'd give to film this and watch it over and over again."

Your mind pretty much goes blank as you gasp, "Then you do it. Film me."

Up to the hilt inside you, he pauses, "What?"

Sluggishly you open your eyes, "There should be an old camera in the nightstand if someone didn't take it. It runs on batteries and you can record me with it if you want."

For several seconds he holds perfectly still and you could swear he's stopped breathing when he finally hisses, "Fuck, you're filthy," and contorts a bit to get to the nightstand.

Sure enough, the camera is still there and after a few seconds of him setting up and you getting used to his thick cock inside you, he starts moving inside you while the camera is pointed at your body below him.

The awareness that he'll be watching it later to jerk off lifts you to unimagined clouds, and you tighten around him again and again as he thrusts into you, growling, "Who did you offer yourself up for, baby?"

To yips, "For you."

Dangerously soft, he hisses, "Louder." and thrusts harder, eliciting a soft yelp from you, "Just for you."

He moans harshly and you feel his cock twitch inside you as you can barely breathe.

Rick does it perfectly.

The way he talks to you and touches you.

It's addictive and you have to muster all the strength you have left not to beg him to never let you go again.

The smacking sound your pussy makes as he takes you must be abundantly clear on the recording and you know you can't take it much longer taking his cock inside you again and again without cumming, but before you can even say a word Rick moans, "Fuck…Once Negan sees me fucking your little pussy in his bed while you moan that you only want me…"

You're supposed to be panicking that he's going to show someone else, or at least put him in his place, but you just howl, "Yeah…I just want you."

A single hard thrust from Rick makes you wince, and you have to stifle a cry as you pulse around his cock, pulling him deeper into you in rhythmic thrusts.

The camera is forgotten as he just drops it and has to brace himself over you and asks hoarsely, "Can I cum inside you?"

Still on your climax you gasp out a "Yes oh god yes" and that's all it takes for Rick to chase his climax into you shuddering and moaning until you think you won't be able to walk after.

You haven't caught your breath yet when he brushes your hair out of your face and presses a kiss to your cheek, "Thank you" and with one last thrust he pauses inside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you notice him pulling out of you and then pulling you up so you can sit on his lap.

Hanging in his arms like a doll, you murmur softly, "Rick…I…"

You don't really know what to say.

Quickly he kisses you on the mouth, "Shhhh…was I too rough?"

Silently you shake your head and yawn, "No."

You look into his eyes and can't help it your heart starts to flutter as you see the warmth in them, "You're a good girl."

You think of the sexual way it comes across, but he murmurs softly afterward, "And by that I mean you're a good person. You didn't deserve to be treated as badly by me as I've done time and time again until today. I'm sorry."

Slowly, you blink before whispering to his lips, "I have some ideas on how you can make it up to me" and kiss him on the swollen lips.

@hail-yourselves  @bean-is-reading  @chanlvr2  @criminalwalkingsupernatural  @sunshinevirus  @toxic-ink  @kingtwhiddleston  @bloodycherry22  @vane28282  @bamslover  @revesephemeres  @emo-potato-virgil  @tropodyn  @mrsashleybarnes18-blog  @igotbasicdrag @moonshine147 @1-800-isabellapotter @starkstiless

(If anyone else would like to be tagged, just let me know 💗)

[daimyosprincess]

SANCTUARY

—PAIRING: Boba Fett x Female Character

—SUMMARY: Sometimes sanctuary isn’t a place, it’s a person.

—WORD COUNT: 1.2k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: third person narration, explicit sexual content, Empire era!Boba, yearning, themes surrounding sex work, oral sex (fem receiving), open-ended ending (like not sad but not necessarily happy either? ends on a sense of longing)

Please let me know if I missed anything!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you so much @wolffegirlsunite for this amazing song prompt ask! I'm trying out third person for the first time (so lemme know if y'all like it) and idk if this counts as a reader insert but I intended for it to kinda be like one, so I kept the female character's description vague. I am also trying to practice writing shorter pieces with these song prompts and let me tell you!! I do not like shutting up!!! I have many thoughts concerning this man!!!! But it wouldn't be a challenge if it was easy 🤨

Enjoy besties 💖

Song: Sanctuary by Joji

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

If you’ve been waiting for falling in love

Babe, you don’t have to wait on me

‘Cause I’ve been aiming for heaven above

But an angel ain’t what I need

It’s always after dark when he comes to see her. Like a fallen star, he touches down on the glimmering world of Canto Bight in the dead of night—a whispered name amongst the patrons in the casino as he passes through the velvet ropes to the pleasure house above. Boba can feel their eyes, their titillation, their curiosity, their fear of him on his back as he ascends the stairs. He pays it no mind because when he crosses the threshold into the Black Rose, only one thing matters to him.

Low lights soon give way to neon walls where beautiful men and women dance, their dark silhouettes enthralling their audience as drinks are served and credits are spilled from pockets. Boba doesn’t bother to stop and admire the show, however, he strides directly over to the pink-skinned Twi’lek sitting in the corner booth. She greets him with a familiar smile, knowing who he is and what he’s here for. She nods wordlessly towards the curtain behind her and the guard steps aside to let him pass.

The music dampens to a dull thump in the gilded waiting room, the air fragranced with dusky rose and sultry amber. He takes off his helmet to let the sweet air kiss his face, a gentle brush over the tips of his ears, the bow of his lips, the tip of his nose. Boba breathes it in, the scent of his escape. The scent that clings to his clothes even after he leaves, reminding him that she’s only ever one call away, laying alone and empty of him. Those thoughts, that sinful fragrance… they make his body ache for hers.

It drives him almost as much as his desire to be the best to honor his father’s legacy. That dull throbbing in his bones is his pain’s pleasure: the satisfaction of completing another job is made even greater with the knowledge that his reward is waiting on Canto Bight. It’s only after his pucks are turned in and his bounties paid that he allows himself to see her. She is a wine he must only sip, her sweet intoxication too tempting to allow himself anything greater. 

Her taste already stains his lips, keeping him from coming in the light of day, despite that the dim interior is never any brighter than it is after the sun sets. Because then she would know. She’d know that if she’s holding out, waiting to fall into that unspoken love that she wouldn’t have to wait on him, that his heaven isn’t one floating in the sky. An angel isn’t what he needs... it’s her. 

That’s why he no longer seeks out anyone else to fulfill his desires, why she’s become the only one. Boba has experienced the thrill of pleasure with many in his years, discovered what he liked and what gave him the release he required to keep his mind clear. Most of all, however, it revealed how he needs the warmth of equal to truly soothe the burning in his core, something more than just the colorful amusement of a dancing girl or the rough diversion of another hunter on a long job. He needs more, firmer ground to touch down upon. He needs a sanctuary.

She likes to make him wait for a couple minutes when he arrives, let their mutual anticipation build to a low boil. Swiping on her trademark ruby lipstick, the Madame of the Black Rose smiles at her painted reflection. Boba Fett is in her waiting room, fresh off a hunt, pent up and ready to burn through all that raw energy. He needs her. He’s never said as much, but she knows that’s why he comes to her, to work through the knots in his soul after being wound so tight. 

Donning the sheer black robe laid out on her chair, she saunters into her waiting room practically purring with delight. Boba is reclined on the low slung chaise, legs apart with his helmet propped on his knee. His pretty lips twitch into the smallest of smiles at her appearance, his dark eyes glinting with salacious intention as they slip down her body. All she has to do is hold out her jeweled hand and he’s pushing her back into her rooms, his hot mouth sealing over hers.

The fervid way they tear into each other, pulling clothes and armor off as quickly as their tangled limbs will allow, speaks the words their lips do not: what you want is what I want. Sincerity in motion, acted out but never spoken of. Two souls that lie awake when apart dreaming of the courageous, secret reality where they give into something real. Something that they passed off for child’s play or a fantasy fit only for those on the opposite side of the galaxy’s underbelly—either way, certainly not something for them. Bounty hunters and working girls, no matter how revered or expensive, don’t get happy endings together. Not in this life at least. 

When he kneels between her thighs, Boba revels in the slick warmth and breathy moans that she allows him to wring out of her with his tongue and fingers. One orgasm is not enough for him, nor two, and just barely three before he comes up for air, panting praises and curses into her soft skin while she runs her nails through his hair. It gives her such pleasure, such luscious pride to see his glossed over eyes and slick-shined face so overwrought and pussy drunk. She hasn’t even touched him properly yet and he’s a man consumed.

When he finally gives her his cock, it’s hard and leaking, flushed with violet want. She relishes in the way he fills her cunt every single time he takes her; the lurid stretch of him burns in her veins, her heart pounds against her ribs as he snaps his strong hips against the back of her thighs. When she flips him on his back to ride him how she likes, she yanks his face up by his curls to kiss and bite and bruise her way into him. Maybe if she kisses him long and deep enough, he’ll hear all the things she cannot bring herself to say. That if he loves her like she loves him, he doesn’t have to wait any longer to make her his. That she doesn’t want an angel or a savior, just him. 

Skin to skin and cheek to cheek, she hopes there’s an osmosis of sentiment. Fuck me harder, she begs her with body, fuck me like you’re not going to leave. Fuck me like our lives won’t end up apart. And he does, again and again, every time he darkens her door. He digs his fingers in, sinks his mark into her giving flesh, pulling her so close because they can never know how long their lifetimes will be. When he holds her so tight her lungs protest and her ribs threaten to crack, she locks her legs around his muscular torso and presses her lips to his ear. We can aim for heaven above, baby, you don’t have to wait on me.

[miguelswifey04]

wait I just had a random idea

Miguel x Siren!reader idk why but it popped up in my head and I cannot get it out

But anyways how have you been doing? You been posting lots!-🪼 anon

oh my god yes i can definitely do that tehe

it’s because i have a lot of requests and i write them BUT i save them to my drafts and post like every hour or so to space them out 😭— lin 🧚🏽‍♀️

miguel o’hara x siren! reader

what happens when spider-man meets and falls in love with a siren 🧜🏽‍♀️

miguel had always been captivated by you, drawn to your ethereal beauty and enchanting voice. but it was your siren nature that truly intrigued him – the magic and mystery that surrounded your every movement and melody. he couldn't suppress his growing feelings any longer and felt a burning desire to express his love.

one evening, miguel gathered his courage and decided it was time to confess his feelings to you. he found you sitting by the waterfront, your voice carrying across the waves as you sang a haunting melody. as your last note echoed through the air, miguel approached, his heart racing.

with a nervous breath, miguel spoke, his voice filled with sincerity. "i may not know you personally but, there's something i need to tell you. i have fallen deeply in love with you. your siren nature, your beauty, and your voice... they've enraptured my heart." he paused, searching for the right words. "i want you to know that i am willing to adjust my life to accommodate your unique siren lifestyle. i want to be with you, to support you, and to create a life where we can both thrive."

your eyes shimmering with emotion, listened intently to miguel’s declaration. you had guarded your heart for so long, fearing rejection due to your siren existence. but in miguel, you saw a kindred spirit, someone who embraced your uniqueness and offered genuine love and understanding.

a smile bloomed on your face as you responded, your voice as melodious as the waves crashing against the shore. "miguel, your words fill my heart with joy. i have yearned for someone who would accept me for who i am, sirensong and all. to know that you are willing to journey alongside me is a gift beyond measure."

with your hearts now laid bare, miguel and your embarked on a new chapter of your lives together. miguel cupped your face and sealed a kiss that would be a testimony of the beginning of your relationship and for many years to come. both of you worked together to create a home that would accommodate your siren needs. miguel studied the lore and legends surrounding sirens, seeking knowledge and finding ways to blend the human and siren worlds.

your home became a sanctuary, a place where your enchanting voice could echo freely and where miguel found solace in your song. he embraced the shifting tides of your lives, determined to navigate the challenges and celebrate the magic you shared.

you charted a course of love and discovery, with miguel supporting your siren lifestyle every step of the way. on moonlit nights, you would stroll along the beach, hand in hand, sharing tender moments as your voice harmonized with the crashing waves.

as you embraced your intertwined destinies, miguel and you found solace and a profound sense of belonging in each other's arms.in your loving union, you discovered a harmony that transcended the bounds of reality, a love story guided by the song of your hearts, forever entwined by your shared passion and desire to explore the depths of your connection.

in your siren song, you wove a melody that would resonate throughout your lives, an eternal reminder of your love and the promise he had made to accommodate and embrace all aspects of your unique union.

tags 🏷️!! @meeom @astro1bloom @obi-mom-kenobi @sabcandoit @kairiscorner @emiemiemiii

[truedairship]

Have another Fic Title. :)

Six Impossible Things

Thanks for the title, truly, it certainly made my imagination happy! My mind immediately jumped to those Five Times challenges, I wrote Nikola’s part… and then the rest happened. It was most certainly not my intention to make it this dark! Blame it on late night studying and then writing all this in one go I suppose.

A second round through history. Where do you draw the line of how much you dare to affect? When does acting, or choosing not to act, become playing god?

In the end there were many small things she dared to do that, should a mistake be made, might risk altering the timeline. Things her old self hadn’t been able to explain, ‘miracles’ that had been oh so convenient in times of need, funding that had all but fallen into their lap when resources risked running low… In a time before digital surveillance and the World Wide Web, pushing the boundaries of what was perceived to be possible without being detected wasn’t very difficult. No. Her trip to the past had not been a century worth of vacations, but the countless of species thought extinct even by her past self, now safely moved to her new sanctuary made it more than worth it.

Some things, however, were too impossible even for Helen Magnus to accomplish.

She had entertained the idea. Of course she had. Ever since finding out about the energy being cohabiting his body she had tried to figure out a way of separating them. She did not believe it to be the cause of all the violence, but it had certainly played a major role, of that she was certain. However, even with a hundred years to think, she could not come up with a way of keeping it contained. Not without completely altering the future. And perhaps she didn’t dare to find out how much of it was all John in the end. At some point, the victims of Jack the Ripper became a small price to pay in the grand scheme of things.

Letting Nikola in on the truth had always been part of the plan. It resulting in him nagging her for investment advice had not. Because one did not need a hundred and fifty years of experience to disbelieve that he would keep a low profile and use the money sparingly. She never told him how much their timeless arguing comforted her. Besides, with the amount times he would come to deplete her wine cellar in the future, he certainly got his fair share of that money either way.

The evening of April 14th, 1912, found one Helen Magnus in front of an empty bottle of whisky, sitting close enough to the fireplace that it could be blamed for the sweat pooling around her neck. Not even her warmest jacket could block out the icy cold gripping her chest. It was not the last night she would spend with a bottle, drowning out the sounds of terrified screams falling silent half a world away.

He knew. Of that she was certain. Why she had ever thought she could keep it from him she didn’t know. The very moment she told him about the time travel, she saw the comprehension in his eyes, the realisation that in her time, she has already seen him die. She wants to tell him about the energy being in John. To ease the bitter heartache of his betrayal. She does tell him to bring a damned spare battery for his suit with him. He never lets her finish, to tell him when he will need it. Perhaps, she thinks, he finds comfort in knowing there is an ending waiting for him in the future. And she can’t help the feeling of jealousy coursing through her because of it.

When an archduke was shot in Sarajevo, Helen Magnus helped a newborn child take its first breaths in Nepal. She didn’t trust herself not to interfere, should she have remained in Europe. Declining the grateful offers of food, she left the house. How could she explain that today, every smell reminded her of the rotting stench of dead corpses. Two wars worth of corpses, and she was now responsible for them all. Her hands hadn’t stopped shaking since she tried to wash the blood of them. In the years to come, she often wondered what right she had, choosing not to change it all.

The first time, she had begged him to stay. Had wanted to force him into accepting more of her blood. Now, standing in front of the newly covered grave, watching the single white tulip next to the flowers her past self had left mere hours ago, she couldn’t help but think that he made the right decision. Espionage and bank robberies aside, seeing the never ending violence of the future would’ve broken her dear Nigel. As he had told her all those years ago, humans were never supposed to live that long. When exactly she stopped thinking of herself as human, she didn’t know.

Heart in her throat, she watched as the consciousness stored in the modified Praxian computer was transferred into the sleeping body. There were things still impossible even for Helen Magnus to do, but figuring out how to retrieve a daughter scattered across an EM-shield was not one of them. Heavy as the burden of it might be, it was her job after all, always doing what others can’t.

[ricardian-werewolf]

Grishaverse for the fic you’d love to see me write?

Sorry for the delay in getting this back to you, but here we go! “The Darkling…” Nikolai sighed.  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter how it happened, but he made me a monster.” 

“When?”

Nikolai blinked, counting back on his fingers. He examined the glass of tea in his hand and sipped it. “A few years ago. I led a rebellion against him, and for my punishment, I was cursed to become… That. I managed to keep the throne, thank the saints. Otherwise Ravka would have collapsed in on itself.”

“And it’s not already?” Cecily snorted derisively. “When you extended a hand to get us out of sanctuary, neither of us had any idea that you were placing our kin into such a dangerous position. Say on the wedding night, your monster comes out and kills her? What then?”

“W-we won’t be doing that.” Nikolai sipped more of his tea. “No intimacy. Not for the first few months.”

“The court and your council expects her to bear an heir. Her father does as well.” Cecily prodded. She would not let up, it seemed. Nikolai sighed. 

“Fine, tell me, what do you want? Should I break off the wedding?”

“Yes.” Cecily replied, as Anne shouted “No!”

Nikolai looked between Cecily-Anne’s grandmother and mother in surprise. One wished for him to not wed her, yet the mother did? It was strange. Resting the saucer on his knee, Nikolai turned his gaze to Anne.

Snapping open her cigarette case, Anne pulled a cigarette out. It was lit the moment she placed it between her rouged lips. She flashed him a thankful smile. 

“You are the only marriage offer my daughter has received.” 

“What?” Nikolai breathed. “T-the only-”

“The marriage to Himmler was intended for my son, who…” Anne winced. She’d known. Of course, even in Australia, she knew somehow that her son and heir had been slaughtered brutally in the night. 

“Died.” Cecily finished, her tone clipped. “My son is a monster, but even he will eventually impale himself on something that will be his end. The people of England are growing discontented.” She fished out a cigarette and placed it in an elegant silver holder. Nikolai lit hers as well, and shrugged. 

“The people of England have been in a winter of discontent since ‘21.”

“All the more reason to return Cecily-Anne to that safe-haven.”

“Or keep her from it.” Anne challenged.

Nikolai looked between the two women again, and got to his feet. He crossed the blood-red carpet to stare into the roaring flames of the fire. The glass of tea in his hand turned to a molten amber as he swirled it and contemplated what to do. The monster within him was stirring, hungry to take Cecily-Anne as it had before. When she’d fallen from hitting the ceiling, the demon within him had surged out to grab her before she could hit the ground. It had been the one to tend to her wounds, and even now, he sensed its longing to return to her bedside. 

But Ravka had larger problems to deal with. While the Darkling had seemingly… disappeared and left Nikolai’s homeland in his care, it didn’t keep the wolf of Fjerda from their door. The Darkling’s extended search in Western Europe and America for a Grisha Sun Summoner had drained their coffers once more, and no one wished to enter any alliances with the nearly bankrupt state. 

Except England, and the Soviet Union. Nikolai hated himself more with each passing day as he nursed this kernel of advantage- the Soviet Union had been promising Nikolai something that no one else could hope to offer.

Jurda Parem. 

Enough of it to raise a force of Grisha against the Darkling. But the crippling addiction, with no hope of a cure? That horror frightened him. He was no closer to solving the mystery of his own demon. The debt that the Soviets would expect blew all of this out of proportion. Even with the Fabrikators and Nikolai’s precious Nolniki’s rapid militarization, Ravka was still poor, her civil service still reeling from the upset of power that had befallen it. 

[romanaisalive]

Fanfic Tag Game

Tagged by @sarcasticsciencefictionwriter thanks so much for the tag!

I'm afraid this won't be very riveting... I need to upload more stuff, I have a bunch of short fics I could technically upload but never got around to it. Also, the whole "writing three long projects for years" thing.

1. How many fics do you have on AO3?

13

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

29,956

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I have stuff uploaded for Doctor Who, Star Wars, Sanctuary, Dragon Age and The School for Good and Evil.

Out of these I'm still active in Sanctuary (if you could call it that) and Dragon Age. I partly moved on to write original stuff, but a DnD & Dragon Age AU story is in the works. I have some stuff for Fallen London too, just didn't upload it yet.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Cold And Consequences - 357 (SGE, Dovey/Lesso)

all my words are left with you - 221 (SGE, Dovey/Lesso)

Star Wars Fictober Challenge - completed - 129 (Star Wars, various)

All My Pieces - 116 (SGE, Dovey/Lesso)

Littles - 54 (Star Wars, Boga POV - written for fic exchange)

...what can I say, SGE fandom was very lively when I was active in it

5. Do you respond to comments?

Mostly! I really appreciate them all and try to answer always, some slip through the cracks though, for older works where I'm no longer in the fandom.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Don't Save Me (I'm Already Dead)

Canon compliant Luminara fic... The canonical character death was a given, then I spiced it up with some extra angst.

7. What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

The Luminara lives AU in the Star Wars Fictober Challenge. I might have been compensating a little.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope! I don't think I post enough for that. Also, hate would require readers and other than my old SGE stuff I'm proudly representing the Very Niche Subfandoms division here. :)

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Nope! I'm the kind of ace where I'm not sex-repulsed but I usually skip smut scenes because I find them boring, no reason to write it.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really, more of an AU girl. I contemplated involving Warehouse 13 in my big Sanctuary fic just to explain where James got the exoskeleton from, but still undecided if I want to go ahead with that.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I translated one of my own fics once, does that count? I wrote it in Hungarian originally and wanted to post to a wider audience. (Never again, by the way. Translation is a whole other discipline, I'd rather write it in English from the getgo.)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Kinda? We had some stuff with @cardeakelsey once but it never really got written.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Oh boy. Ever? I don't think I have one.

15. What’s a fic you’d like to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I like to think I will finish all my projects one day. Fingers crossed. I might need to rehaul some of them first to be feasible, though.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Mood setting, foreshadowing, internal monologues. Angst.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Dialogue.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I sprinkle it in sometimes, not too much. In my opinion if two characters speak French it's better to just say "they switched to French" in the description.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

No idea. It was a WHILE ago.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Out of my published ones probably the broken and the damned (Dragon Age canon compliant) or Smile (SGE, Emma-centric character study).

Tagging anyone who wants to do it! :)

[thrudgelmir2333]

Reddit Response Repost: Interpreting the Deathmask character

This is just a Reddit post I made about the Saint Seiya character of Deathmask I'd like to share here as well, because it touches on some grievances I have about the way people interpret the character arc he was involved with. Original thread link: https://www.reddit.com/r/SaintSeiya/comments/194yu1u/about_death_mask/

Short version is, I'm annoyed by interpretations who measure the worthiness of characters, even in action series, just by how effective at action they are. Deathmask from Saint Seiya is just a really good example because of the contrast of how effectively he's written and how unneffective people still think he is.

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

This is probably gonna be a ripple in the water as far as the fandom's understanding of what happened with Deathmask goes, given it's primary parameter about what makes a good character is wether or not they get "good fights", but here it is:

Deathmask wasn't made useless.

He was just made a villain. And he's probably the best character in the whole lot of the Gold Saints, if you ask me.

At the start of Sanctuary Arc, Kurumada was faced with a challenge; he had to write stories for more or less 12 characters that were going to have to occupy a significant portion of your attention. If he failed in this task, the Gold Saints would go down in history as just a bigger, shinier parameter of Silver Saints in his story.

As such, as a writer, he made a choice; he took a character he wasn't sure how to write yet another "antagonistic but ultimately redeemable" arc, and so he made Deathmask a full villain. And Aphrodite as well.

This is because, and I can't stress this enough, the idea of making all these twelve characters equally important and equally acceptable in moral terms, like Soul of Gold tried to do, is comical, and frankly betrays a lack of understanding of how difficult to juggle large casts and write comprehensive character arcs is. Someone has to be written differently. Someone has to be the asshole. Someone has to play the part that shows what happens when a Gold Saint becomes selfish.

Deathmask's character arc is simple, but effective; he is Shiryu's villain in his quest to elevate himself from his blindness and attain his 7th sense. That's all Deathmask ever needed to do. He was an important stepstone in Shiryu's character growth and preparing him for later events like freeing Hyoga from the ice and his battle with Shura.

And the fact that this character arc is sprinkled so effectively, beginning in Mount Rozan where Shiryu struggled with his blindness and ending at the Cancer Temple where he attains his 7th sense, demonstrates that, at one point, Kurumada did know how to structure a really good storyline for a side character. Shiryu is the most popular of the Bronze Saints for a reason and this touching story of him overcoming his disability and confronting the malice of a twisted Gold Saint (as in, an evil parallel to Dohko, Shiryu's idol, who is ALSO a Gold Saint, look at that) is probably the best writing Saint Seiya has ever shown.

With all due respect, (because I understand where he's coming from), I'd like to disagree with u/TheHeroNeverDies's response in the following point; the Cancer Cloth abandoning Deathmask has nothing to do with a lack of care from Kurumada against constellations he doesn't like, because frankly, if Kurumada was THAT petty, he wouldn't be the kind of writer capable of telling any kind of compelling story.

Rather, its just that it was the best way to narratively demonstrate that Deathmask's character had 'fallen'. If you pay attention to the timing of when it happens; it occurs right after Deathmask tosses Shunrei down the waterfall telepathically, which was his lowest moral point as a character since Shunrei had nothing to do with Deathmask«s philosophy of justice. He just tried to kill her because her prayers were annoying him. This motivated Shiryu to fight back and the Cancer Cloth to realise Deathmask wasn't true to his own words.

And this is coming from me; Kurumada's top critic. I can talk for hours about how shitty his writing can be, but Deathmask is actually a point where, in my opinion, Kurumada did a pretty damn great job. He's a functional, complete character who helped Shiryu accomplish his greatest character growth in the story.

And the fact people think he was underwritten cause Kurumada "hates Cancers"?... If that is even 1% true, frankly I think it's hilarious, because it shows Kuru accomplished some of his best writing while supposedly writing against the damn character. lol

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

PS: On a less important sidenote, I also disagree with anyone who says Deathmask and Aphrodite aren't useless "because they were just pretending to be evil".

Again, with all due respect, can't you tell a retcon when you see it? Deathmask and Aphrodite aren't characters designed for redemption arcs. They are villains who lived long enough to be part of a popular toy set collection.

This is actually one point where I agree with u/TheHeroNeverDies when he implies that petty, weak writing is behind the way this particular character was handled. Deathmask had no business being back at the Wailing Wall and no business being part of an ensemble cast in Soul of Gold. I don't care how much you may like his tepid "I'm a sad drunk" episode in Asgard; this guy bragged about murdering whole families with glee as his establishing character moment.

Stop whitewashing villains. It's fine to like Deathmask as an evil character. Deathmask is not Vegeta after Majin Buu, he is Bardock before the prophecy powers.

[the-jaded-dark]

Day 2:  Drink Me

Day 2: Orbit - Illusion  - @daily-writing-challenge​​ Character: The Jaded Phoenix or the Raven of Midnight?  Mention of Jackary @jackarychaoti

Footsteps on the old wood creak overhead and underfoot.  I’m not the only soul lost in this relic of the past.  The entrance lay behind fallen boards once nailed in place, a gaping hole leading into the dusty darkness within.  A mouth that won’t utter a word yet there’s no mistaking the invitation on its tattered-carpet tongue.  

Come in.  Follow me.

The decay makes the pathway dangerous. Doubt lingers like a vice around my throat. Ember eyes cast a fiery glow in the darkness.  My nature is never easy to hide, especially in his domain.  He creeps on me.  Icy fingertips raking down my spine, sending shivers in goosebumps across my delicate skin.  The bracers will not see me left broken long if he manages it, powered by a shard of the sun itself, even his cold cannot squelch that light.

Over here.  Up here.  

The room at the top of the house is as I remember it. Once a bedroom, it became a sanctuary and nest for a bird losing grasp of reality.  The painting is ethereal.  Flowing black ink shifting steadily through a sequence of time, like tree boughs bending to an inexistent wind.  A bundle of letters sticks out from beneath the remnants of bedding, both half melting into one another.  The blanket is thick with dust and mildew, shoved aside without a thought in want of those bundled papers so ready to crumble at my touch.  Just one word, one letter, a memory, who else did he know.  Did I know?  

I never told Jackary what I found that night I didn’t come home all those moons ago. 

The vial lies on the cracked floorboard it landed on when it slid from my fingers.  Ink colours my lips black, slinks down my throat dense as cooling blood and just as cloying when it permeates my senses.  The darkness fails to creep, slamming into my senses and sending them scattering beyond my grasp.  I can’t breathe.  The fire glow of my eyes extinguishes itself and plummets us into the pitch.  The world twists, turns.  I fall inside out and upside down.

I never told Jackary.  I never told him.

The little vial of blackened memories tied to the string binding the envelopes together became my moment of stupidity I couldn’t own up to.  A mistake made just over a year ago now.

My hand collides with the wall.  Frost curls and coils out along the wood, cracking the fragile board further.  The wings that unfurl from my back sprawl as wide as the shadows in the room, growing like a feathered cloak behind me with each skittering bit of darkness that melds itself to me.  I stumble out to the balcony, shoving the glass door out of my way.  The glass tinkles in protest, the wood of the rail creaks in annoyance of my weight against it.

Just one breath.  Just one moment of clarity.  

The crack resounds through my head.  Darkness blankets me, cushions my freefall by removing my conscious mind from the moment of impact with the dead ground.  The cold swells, a hard shell over my arms, my legs, weighing down my chest.  I can hear myself gasping.  The fire within dwindles into a single green flame at my core.  My hope, my light.  My Emerald.

I never told Jackary.

[deerydear]

Something I've been thinking about, recently...

I heard a voice ask me, "Is it scary to take everyone seriously?" I think that's paraphrase of what he asked. He asked right after I had written this post about "cult mind-control".

In it, I debated my impulse to reject the truth from another person.

I actually got some very good advice, today. I had an argument, and the other people correctly assessed a theme in my behaviour. I don't mean to offend, because I value a productive discussion... and I don't like name-calling, as it puts people on the defensive. Although, in some situations, someone may benefit from being shaken up-and-down... all around. Get a little dizzy and regain your bearings. Recalibrate.

I value a little physical pain as a method of burning chaff. It refocuses the mind onto what is real. This discussion is reminding me of a blog-entry from last year:

I've been reflecting, rethinking, regurgitating, ruminating... like a cow chewing the cud.

I realized that one of my old attitudes was not as productive as I assumed. I remember someone challenging me on my assumptions, standing their ground.

I treasure this.

I was so desperate to numb myself with a belief. Yet.......... I have written about how "identity" was a way for me to forget myself, what was real... to play in a collective delusion with other people as desperate to forget themselves as I.

This reminds me of a story in the Red Book: The Wounded God and the Opening of the Egg.

"Unfortunately, the good person who has bound his strength will all-too-easily find slaves for his service, since there are more than plenty who yearn for nothing more strongly than to be alienated from themselves under good pretense." Here is where this story begins. I will include three pages which provide a short, sweet slice of the whole:

I've been told that I have a great intelligence, by many people. Some of my teachers in school told the classes that "I was the smartest kid, there". I'm not trying to brag, I want to impart a piece of my experience in the world. This can build up an Ego so grand, tall... ivory-tower.

It was because the teachers proclaimed it, that some people became scared to contradict me, for fear of "looking stupid in front of their peers". Yet this lack of opposing iron to sharpen mine against just led to becoming very dull. Status-quo leads to stupidity.

So, in being stood up to... I realized with so much relief:

"At least I hadn't led someone else into a delusion, again..."

The discussion of today had rubbed me wrong. Yet, we were both wrong in our own ways, and also both right in our respective ways.

"You spit out and curse everything that lies beyond your lovely world, since you know that it is the disgust, scum, refuse of the human animal who stuffs himself in dark places, creeps along sidewalks, sniffs out every blessed angle, and from the cradle to the grave enjoys only what has already been on everyone’s lips. But here you may not stop—do not place your disgust between your here-and-now and your beyond. The way to your beyond leads through Hell and in fact through your own wholly particular Hell, whose bottom consists of knee-deep rubble, whose air is the spent breath of millions, whose-fires are dwarflike passions, and whose devils are chimerical sign-boards. Everything odious and disgusting is your own particular Hell. How can it be otherwise? Every other Hell was at least worth seeing or full of fun. But that is never Hell. Your Hell is made up of all the things that you always ejected from your sanctuary with a curse and a kick of the foot. When you step into your own Hell, never think that you come like one suffering in beauty, or as a proud pariah, but you come like a stupid and curious fool and gaze in wonder at the scraps that have fallen from your table. You really want to rage, but you see at the same time how well rage suits you. Your hellish absurdity stretches for miles. Good for you if you can swear! You will find that profanity is lifesaving. Thus if you go through Hell, you should not forget to give due attention to whatever crosses your path. Quietly look into everything that excites your contempt or rage; thereby you accomplish the miracle that I experienced with the pale maiden. You give soul to the soulless, and thereby it can come to something out of horrible nothingness. Thus you will redeem your other into life. Your values want to draw you away from what you presently are, to get you ahead of and beyond yourself. Your being, however, pulls you to the bottom like lead. You cannot at the same time live both, since both exclude each other. But on the way you can live both. Therefore the way redeems you. You cannot at the same time be on the mountain and in the valley, but your way leads you from mountain to valley and from valley to mountain. Much begins amusingly and leads into the dark. Hell has levels.” --- Reflection of The Castle in the Forest

I had been contemplating the story of "Seven" ---- One of the men working as a Detective wants to name-call, forget, pretend, go back to his life where he is a good guy in a world of bad guys, lunatics, psychos whose thoughts do not matter....

I understand someone who may be apathetic towards other people's well-being. I understand someone who is willing to put their pursuit of the illusion of pleasure as their top priority. I understand the mind of a rapist. That's what we were talking about. That was our discussion.

Yet, I looked him deep in the eyes.

"Although I understand it, I do not condone it."

It's different, when you believe that you are the only evil person in the world... you're the only one brave enough to break the taboos.

I typed "everyone is evil" as run-on thought, but that's a sjw reskinning. "Evil =/= disagrees with me, comes against me."

What if "me" is evil?

Play pretend?

Cry wolf? Oh boo hoo, help me! I'm being persecuted.... for being a rapist.

Persecuted for selfishness, anti-sociality.

It doesn't have to manifest as extremely as rape. There is usually a long prelude in which the selfishness extends itself, finds a footing, takes root.... repeat, like a creeping vine that tries to take up territory.

Choking out other plants, in this conquest...

I like the story of L versus Kira. I posed it as a philosophical question: If you had to choose between the world's most effective detective, versus someone with the power to kill anyone known?

Rapists? Gone. No release.

I think of this horrible case, that happened in Japan. A group of men tortured a woman to death. Three of the men were locked up in a prison for less than ten years, and then they were released onto the streets. This was real life.

Yet, in the story, Kira was not an infallible justice.

There are other people who have been exonerated of their alleged crimes. Years down the line, it was proven that they had been innocent of the crime they were accused of. Sometimes, this happens because of improvements in the capability of forensic sciences.

Do those people deserve to die, due to of a crime they hadn't committed? Kira didn't truly have the supernatural power to know who had been innocent or guilty. He relied on the news reports. He relied on court-verdicts. He was a person, like any of us.

L was reputed as being able to solve any case. Before Kira, there had never been a single case in which L was involved, left unsolved. Even then, during the Kira epoch, he had narrowed the suspects down to two people, but he required a proof to prosecute them. In the end, these individuals were found guilty. L lost his life to the case, but he was avenged.

The first time I read this story, I agreed with Kira. It's a very human question. Do we kill those who hurt us? Do we show mercy?

I can't answer that for you.

What does it mean to answer?

Some advice that a Pastor gave to me:

"Don't always go looking for things to be offended about. Look instead for where there are opportunities to learn."

I come to the discourse between a man, his soul, and a teacher.

"These also stagger from wine and stumble from strong drink: Priests and prophets reel from strong drink and are befuddled by wine. They stumble because of strong drink, muddled in their visions and stumbling in their judgments. For all their tables are covered with vomit; there is not a place without filth."

I am reminded of a dream that I was in, ten years ago.

I had prepared a dinner for a gathering of people. They began to eat. One by one, every person started vomiting copiously, until a black sludge was quickly dripping from the table... covering it entirely.

I stood there, frozen in horror yet pride. I had the resolve of someone who plans to murder his neighbors, yet the little birdcage in my heart was crashing around. A shrill voice: "You are wrong!"

She doesn't want me to do it. "It". What even is it? Something conceived, but I could build blueprints for anything. I could build an amusement park. I could create love.

"It" didn't exist before I planned "it". It doesn't exist in the natural world.

“I do not want to die to descend into your darkness.” “But,” she said, “you need not die. You must only let yourself be buried.” “In the hope of resurrection? No joking now!” But she spoke calmly: “You suspect what will happen. Triple walls before you and invisibility—to Hell with your longing and feeling! At least you do not love us, so we will cost you less dearly than the men who roll in your love and patience and have you make a fool of yourself.” “My dead one, I think you are speaking my language.” She replied to me scornfully: “Men love—and you! What an error! All this means is that you want to run away from yourself. What do you do to men? You tempt and coax them into megalomania, to which you fall victim.” “But it grieves me, pains me, howls at me; I feel a great longing, everything soft complains, and my heart yearns.” But she was unsparing. “Your heart belongs to us,” she said, “What do you want with men? Self-defense against men—so that you walk on your own two feet, not on human crutches. Men need the undemanding, but they are always wanting love to be able to run away from themselves. This ought to stop. Why do fools go out and preach the gospel to the negroes, and then ridicule it in their own country? Why do these hypocritical preachers speak of love, divine and human love, and use the same gospel to justify the right to wage war and commit murderous injustice? Above all, what do they teach others when they themselves stand up to their necks in the black mud of deception and self-deceit? Have they cleaned their own house, have they recognized and driven out their own devil? Because they do none of this, they preach love to be able to run away from themselves, and to do to others what they should do to themselves. But this greatly prized love, given to one’s own self, burns like fire. These hypocrites and liars have noticed this—as you have—and prefer to love others. Is that love? It is false hypocrisy. It always begins in yourself and in all things and above all with love. Do you believe that one who wounds himself unsparingly does the other a good deed with his love? No, of course you don’t believe it. You even know that he only teaches the other how one must wound oneself, so that he can compel others to express sympathy. Therefore you should be a shadow since this is what men need. How can they get away from the hypocrisy and foolishness of your love if you yourself cannot? For everything begins with yourself. But your horse still cannot refrain from whinnying. Even worse, your virtue is a wagging dog, a growling dog, a licking dog, a barking dog—and you call that human love! But love is: to bear and endure oneself. It begins with this. It is truly about you; you are not yet tempered; other fires must yet come over you until you have accepted your solitude and learned to love. What do you ask about love? What is love? To live, above all, that is more than love. Is war love? You are bound to see what human love is still good enough for—a means like other means. Therefore, above all, solitude, until every softness toward yourself has been burnt out of you. You should learn to freeze.””

“I see only graves before me,” I answered, “what cursed will is above me?” “The will of the God, that is stronger than you, you slave, you vessel. You have fallen into the hands of the greater. He knows no pity. Your Christian shrouds have fallen, the veils that blinded your eyes. The God has become strong again. The yoke of men is lighter than the yoke of the God; therefore everyone seeks to yoke the other out of mercy. But he who does not fall into the hands of men falls into those of the God. May he be well and may woe betide him! There is no escape.” “Is that freedom?” I cried. “The highest freedom. Only the God above you, through yourself, Comfort yourself with this and that as well as you can. The God bolts doors that you cannot open. Let your feelings whimper like puppies. The ears on high are deaf.” “But,” I answered, “is there no outrage for the sake of the human?” “Outrage? I laugh at your outrage. The God knows only power and creation. He commands and you act. Your anxieties are laughable. There is only one road, the military road of the Godhead.” The dead one spoke these unsparing words to me. As I did not want to obey anyone, I had to obey this voice. And she spoke unsparing words about the power of the God. I had to accept these words. We have to greet a new light, a blood-red sun, a painful wonder. No one forces me to; only the foreign will in me commands and I cannot escape since I find no grounds to do so.

Continue reading...

As the discourse continues, the man says things in manners which would I would have taken as deep offense, were I a woman with no clue of what it is to be a man.

"Man", What definition of man? Cultural? Biological?

We return to the question: "Nature or Nurture?"

I grew up being taught in an English language. There are separate words for man and woman, and she and he. As I changed, strangers began to believe I was a "Sir", without any flounce or pomp... I looked in the mirror and I saw a male face staring back at me. My definition of "man" began to change from "someone who I am not", to "someone who I can be." Men had seemed "the other", "the one who I am not". The "hetero" in "heterosexuality". The different.

"Man as an assumed default, appearing as a threat to the womanly." "I am not a 'he'. People do not call me 'he', so I do not know what it is to be a 'he', or an assumed man... The word they give me is 'girl', 'a she'.

"A language teacher | know explained that grammar is just the way we chart relationships in language. Maybe it also reflects our relationships with each other." --- Learning the Grammar of Animacy

This is the story of a woman who grew up speaking a foreign tongue.

I hear my own story, too.

My family had to leave behind their home country. In childhood, I wasn't taught my native language. Yet, there is such a familiarity, as if it was spoken in my dreams. The shape of words: a way of knowing the world. It's almost like I knew the shape of the words on my tongue, and the meaning of that shape... Example:

I used to be obsessed with the sound "nyeh"! (not how Joey says it, here, but more like "ni-yehh"; or "nyaa" with an "-eh" instead of "-aa".) THIS IS HOW YOU SAY "NO!" IN POLISH! It's spelled "nie". I knew the meaning, before I knew the intellectual justification. I would draw anime-characters grumpily saying "NYEH!" as a sound of defiance.

Speaking life into my home language...

I've heard it asked, postulated... "Does everything happen for a reason?"

If I hadn't changed, then I may or may not have changed my mindset regarding cultural-gender. Who knows? God does.

I believe in the power of possibility, so I shouldn't preclude any other cures from the repertoire of fate.

Perhaps I want to see good in my sorrows. Gold amongst sand, yet... does your hunger delude you? Does it stray you off into far valleys in search of an alien boon?

Ah... Ah-ah-ah...

[julianxfinstock-blog]

BASICS

NAME: Julian Wesley Finstock.

NICKNAMES: Jules, Southern Stud (Allison Argent).

AGE: 18.

BIRTHDAY: August 6, 1999.

SPECIES: Witch.

GENDER: Male.

PRONOUNS: He/His.

FAMILY

MOTHER: Elizabeth Finstock.

FATHER: Tamison Finstock.

PARENTS: Deceased.

FAMILY: Mystic Falls (Uncle Bobby), Hawaii (m. grandmother).

SIBLINGS: n/a.

APPEARANCE

FACE CLAIM: KJ Apa.

RACE/ETHNICITY: Samoan, Irish, Scottish.

HEIGHT: 6ft 2in.

WEIGHT: 188 lbs.

BUILD:  Athletic.

HAIR: Wavy, medium-length.

FACIAL HAIR: Scruff.

HAIR COLOR: Red.

EYE COLOR: Brown.

SKIN COLOR: White.

DOMINANT HAND: Left.

ANOMALIES: N/A.

SCENT: Woods, soap, faint spice.

ACCENT: Thick Louisiana drawl.

PHYSICAL DISABILITIES: None.

LEARNING DISABILITIES: Dyslexia.

ALLERGIES: None.

DISEASES: None

DISORDERS: None

BLOOD TYPE: B+.

FASHION: Typical jeans-and-t-shirt style, usually paired with a thick jacket, boots or sneakers. He doesn’t possess many clothes, barely a week’s worth of different shirts and pants due to very limited funds.

TATTOOS: Three. Right shoulder honoring grandfather’s Samoan tribe. Left hip music notes on a scale, the beginning notes of his parents’ song. “Cúram” in Gaelic text on left forearm.

PIERCINGS: none.

JEWELRY: Father’s watch.

NERVOUS TICS: Scrubbing palm over the back of his neck.

HOME LIFE

RESIDES: Mystic Falls, Virginia.

BORN: Lafayette, Louisiana.

RAISED: Lafayett, Louisiana.

VEHICLE: 1972 Chevrolet C/K 8 Cylinder. His father’s truck until Julian was 11 and it broke down. They full repaired it and it was then given to him when he was 16.

PHONE: Black iPhone 5s.

LAPTOP/COMPUTER: Lenovo 11.6″ laptop.

PETS: None yet.

EDUCATION AND SPECIALIZATIONS

HIGH SCHOOL EDUCATION: Northside High School (valedictorian)

COLLEGE EDUCATION: Tulane University (one semester), Newport College (current).

MAJOR: Music Education/Composition.

MINOR: Psychology.

CAREER: Music Teacher/Composer.

LANGUAGES: English, Gaelic, Samoan, French

OTHER: N/A.

BELIEFS

POLITICAL AFFILIATION: Democrat.

RELIGION: Christian.

BELIEFS: Traditional w/ Modifications.

MISDEMEANORS:  None.

FELONIES: None.

TICKETS AND/OR VIOLATIONS: None.

DRUGS: none.

SMOKES: never.

ALCOHOL: Occasion.

DIET: none.

RELATIONSHIPS

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Bisexual.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual.

MARTIAL STATUS: Single.

CHILDREN: N/A.

AVAILABILITY: Available.

LOOKING FOR: Peace, forgiveness.

PERSONALITY AND INTERACTION

PHOBIAS: Sleep, himself.

HOBBIES: Running, composing, meditation.

TRAITS: Charming, warm-hearted, easygoing, gullible, gentle. Slow-tempered, proud, stubborn, angry, self-loathing, clinically depressed.

QUIRKS: Rarely speaks of himself, usually eating something, tends to bounce his leg with excess energy, cannot look people in their eyes (hasn’t been able to since childhood due to an unwarranted guilty conscience.) 

SOCIAL MEDIA: Facebook.

FAVORITES

LOCATION: woods.

SPORTS TEAM: New Orleans Saints.

MUSIC: classical.

SHOWS: Hell’s Kitchen, We Bare Bears, Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

MOVIES: Dances with Wolves, Rio Bravo, McClintock!, Ocean’s Eleven, Mr. Holland’s Opus, August Rush

BOOKS: The Complete Stories by Flannery O’Connor, Salvage the Bones by Jesmyn Ward, The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers.

FOOD: Shrimp, grits, pie, burgers, fries.

BEVERAGE: Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee.

COLOR: Gray.

MISCELLANEOUS

MORAL ALIGNMENT: True Neutral.

MBTI: ISFJ.

MBTI ROLE: The Defender.

WESTERN ZODIAC: Leo.

CHINESE ZODIAC: Rabbit.

PRIMAL SIGN: Angora Rabbit.

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Hufflepuff.

TAROT CARD: The Hermit.

LOVE LANGUAGE: Physical Touch.

SONG: “Bach/Break” - August Rush OST

[silverliningwarrior-blog]

Writing challenge 002, question 005: Who are the people your character holds most dear?

Her father and uncle Alaric are the most important to her, they’re her family after all. But Allison also cares deeply for Caroline, Bonnie, Scott, Stiles, Lydia and Isaac. They’re the people she’s gone through a lot with, people she considers to be her support system.

[factorialsfandoms]

Hi! From your prompt list how about “Everything might not be perfect, but it will be better", with Sky and whoever else you want?

Hello! A pleasure to write a thinglet for you. I... kinda failed as a starter, but still.

Ooooh a Sky prompt. Challenge mode time. Usually I go Hyrule but hmm... Oh I know. Have him and some Legend. I'm scribbling this straight into tumblr so... have fun I hope!

Warnings: Nope (maybe some shoddy timeline and characterisation I’m using this to destress not be accurate <3)

Relationships: Legend & Sky, Sky & Fi

Summary: Some years before the hero of Legend's birth, the Chain makes camp into the sacred grove.

Largely based on one page from Divine Dark Reflections 7, with Legend mentally comparing how he and Twilight found the sword.

Legend led the group through the forest and to a clearing. He claimed this place as similar to his own time, though this deep in the forest he could not tell. The clearing, however, he swore would still be safe; so long as the forest looked familiar it would be.

And then in the clearing Legend laid eyes on a sword, set in a pedestal and covered in vines. He froze and shuddered a moment, before nodding to himself, “we’re before my time, but close. Twenty years or so, looking at the vine growth?”

A flutter of interest went around the group; as soon as they established that the sword in the pedestal was, in fact, the Master Sword, they fluttered a bit, before returning to the chores of making camp.

Sky however... Sky could not ignore it, no matter how much he tried. He laid out his bedroll and helped Twilight pull over fallen logs to use as seating, refilled his waterskin with water Wild had boiled for them all to use, and still it was there, lingering in his mind.

The Master Sword - Fi - lingering just behind him, covered in vines and alone.

In the end he could not take it any more; his fellow heroes settled in to chatter as Wild cooked, and he slipped away.

Not far, of course; just a few steps away, really. He could still see his brothers and they see him, but now he stood beside the sword...

Reaching out, Sky hovered his hand over the crumbling pedestal. Vines grew thickly up and around, choking the master sword in their grip. His other hand instinctively sought his own version of the sacred weapon out, reassuring himself with the gentle presence of the dormant Fi still there.

Her presence came from the sword before him, too, but ancient and mournful and just as decrepit as the base she stood in.

The glade did not look so beautiful any more; darkness seemed to taint everything, a wickedness and corruption deep in the very earth itself.

Something was wrong here. Something was very, very, very wrong.

Warring instincts tore him in two. Half of him wanted to step forward, to tear the vines and dreadful thorns from the sacred blade, half of him wished to grab his brothers and flee this place, while a half he did not know existed was arguing that he should cry.

Sky did none of these things, remaining frozen and hesitating and his fingers an inch from the vines.

He remained that way as laughter sounded from the settling camp behind him, his brothers ready for the night. Did they not hear? Did they not taste it in the air? Did they not realise how very dangerous this seeming sanctuary was?

A hand clamped around Sky's own, forceful grip pulling him away from the sword. He startled for a moment, feeling the cold metal before managing to parse it into rings.

Legend.

He, too, was looking at the sword, but with a very different emotion in his eyes. Eventually, he turned to look at Sky instead.

"Leave her."

"What?" Sky turned back to look at the Master Sword, suffocating beneath vines and the choking darkness. "I can't just leave her here, not like this."

"Why not? It's how I found her."

Legend's words sounded flippant, but years of experience had Sky tasting the pain beneath them. Sky twisted his hand over, squeezing Legend’s where it still held him away from his hurting friend.

“You found her like this?” Sky felt almost sick thinking it; mostly about the state of her, but also the idea of one of his brothers being left to defend himself with such a fragile weapon.

“So you can’t touch her,” Legend sounded almost upset about that. “Because... In just a couple of decades - maybe just years - I’ll come and find her here. We... Shouldn’t meddle in that.”

Sky wanted to meddle, he desperately did, but he understood. Legend hesitated for a second, before yelling something about taking Sky to get firewood over his shoulder. Moments after an acknowledging reply, he grabbed Sky’s shoulder, and pulled him a little way into the woods.

“Look, Sky,” Legend’s face pulled a complicated set of expressions, none of which were terribly reassuring.  “ She just needs a bit of care, and she’ll be right as rain. But we have to leave her be.”

“She’s so...” Sky struggled to find the word he wanted, eventually settling on a simple “tired.”

Legend gave a humourless laugh; Sky narrowed his eyes on him.

“Aren’t we all?” was all the explanation that Legend gave.

Sky considered it for a moment, before sighing, “I... suppose so. I just wasn’t expecting to see her like that.”

Legend’s sound of acknowledgement was intensely uncomfortable. In the awkward silence following, they both collected a little of the wood they came to uncover.

And then Legend removed his sword from its sheaf, offering it to Sky.

Not wishing to question in, Sky gently took it from him.

And very nearly dropped her.

“Fi?” he whispered at the tempered blade.

Beneath his fingers was the familiar sensation of his dear friend; still hibernating, still ancient, still grieving, but now very much at peace. She welcomed his touch like the old friend he must have seemed to her, just the lightest of brushes against his fingers. Familiar, comforting, ancient.

“Did my best to fix her up,” Legend quietly shrugged. “Got the blacksmiths to help me.”

Sky thought of the pain of the blade in the stone, and compared it to the calm acceptance of the one now in his hand.

“You did well.”

He truly meant those words; even just to find someone willing and able to care for a blade so decrepit and so old, let alone reforge it without damaging the spirit inside would truly have been a task.

“Eh,” Legend shrugged non-committaly. “But... Everything might not be perfect, but it will be better. This world’s just waiting for its hero; I can’t fix every problem in this forsaken place, but I can damn well try.”

“... And the dark taint?” Sky dreaded to ask, but he had to.

“Oh that,” it seemed almost a non-issue to Legend, reassuring and terrifying for different reasons. “Turns out locking Ganon in the Sacred Realm with the full triforce is a terrible idea. At least it’s weaker here; only managed to corrupt one realm.”

Sky somewhat wanted to faint. Instead he took a very deep breath, and clutched his pile of wood to his chest, “... corrupted sacred realm?”

“I fixed it when I got the triforce,” Legend promised. “As much as I could, at least. Its a bit battered, but fine.”

Sky looked at the tempered sword, at Legend, then at the blade again. He took a deep breath and nodded, “I see... We... are safe here, right?”

“As safe as anywhere. A little safer than most places.”

It was not very reassuring.

Sky looked at the tempered sword again; the master sword reforged, lovingly recrafted at Legend’s demand. A corrupted sacred realm, a fallen hero, and Legend standing between it all.

Shuffling around his wood Sky reached out, gently pressing his hand against Legend’s once again.

“Let’s be getting back, before they send a search party.”

Before we both fall too far into out heads is what Sky meant, but it meant much the same; Legend muttered something under his breath, but picked up his wood as well.

Together they returned, and settled in.

And late that night, on watch with everyone else asleep, Sky crept back up to the forgotten blade. He was careful not to touch any vines as he wormed his fingers through the thorns, pressing the one finger he could get around them to her hilt.

There was a little recognition in the blade, waking only ever so slightly under his touch, screaming in pain for her master.

“It’s okay,” Sky whispered. “I can’t take you, I can’t save you, but... Your new master will be here soon. And he’s going to be so very good to you, I promise. So just... Hold on.”

Fi did not respond, but he did not really expect her to. Not when so long had passed, not when she slept still. Instead he sat beside her, and gazed out into the Lost Woods until a waning sun rose.

[madelineorionswan]

Valentine's day challenge 2022.

Day 1: A date and a dragon. (Blind date)

A/N: Woohoo! My very first writing challenge. Thank you to the amazing @lifeofkaze for creating this wonderful challenge and letting me participate. Now will be keeping to schedule? I plan on doing so but I miggggght just get a little lazy occasionally. Let's dive right into it! Also I know this isn't what a blind date is, but since Madeline didn't know about the date and it was a surprise, just go with it 😉.

Warnings: Cuteness, sad Charlie, Drinking, maybe a little sad, mentions of past injury. (if you squint really hard)

Summary: After a long month of working at the ministry, Madeline could only hope for a little rest and relaxation, along with some cuddles with charlie. But charlie being charlie had his own ideas. let's just say they might have been a bit...flamable.

"So, you and Weasley got any "couple plans" upcoming," Tonks joked. She sat down at Madeline and her's office couch and kicked off her boots, which by some miracle landed perfectly aligned.

"How do you mean?" Madeline quirked a brow, sitting down on the couch beside Tonks.

"You know... all the cute couple-e stuff most couples do?"

Madeline chuckled, shaking her head dismissively, "Tonks you know me and Charlie don't do anything like that. In fact, I think we don't do anything like a normal couple."

"I know I know, it's just, Weasley's always so...infatuated with you it kinda gets me thinking he does a lot of those things," Tonks said, raising her hands in defence.

Madeline got up and picked up the bottle of firewhiskey on her desk. She tossed it over to Tonks, who caught it, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Now, THIS is what I'm talking about," Tonks pulled out two glasses and poured the drink, handing it to Madeline.

"Cheers to hopefully, a good few days off of work," Madeline declared. She clinked her glass with Tonks' and the two girls leaned back on the couch and sipped on their drinks.

---

"Well, I'll see ya in 2 months Madeline, and don't get too mushy" Tonks patted Madeline's shoulder, chortling.

"Yeah, see you and don't worry I won't," Madeline smirked and rolled her eyes playfully.

Madeline gripped the portkey and braced herself for the upcoming impact. And just like that, she felt her body being twisted impossibly tight as the portkey took her to Romania.

---

Madeline fell on a bed of grass with a loud thud. No matter how many times she had travelled via portkey, she had never gotten used to it. She got up and dusted her coat with her hands. She gathered her fallen bags and was about to get up when she felt pain shoot up her upper arm. In all of the frenzy, Madeline had forgotten that she had injured herself quite seriously previously. She took a minute and then got onto her feet, heading for the sanctuary.

She headed for the set of cabins near the sanctuary. Walking up to Charlie's cabin, Madeline felt a sense of warmth, she felt at home. She hadn't even reached the front door when Charlie burst through the door and ran up to her. He hugged her tightly and picked her up, spinning her around. Both of them burst into giggles, enjoying being in each other's arms again.

"I missed you so much," Madeline mumbled, burying her head into the crook of Charlie's neck.

"I've missed you too Dragostea Mea," Charlie whispered, a love-sick smile on his face.

They both would have stayed like that, staring into each other's eyes, when all of a sudden Charlie's stomach grumbled loudly, making him blush as red as his hair.

"I think it's time we sorted out dinner for you", Madeline pocked Charlie's nose, smirking as he let go of her. "And don't even think of making it yourself," she said, grabbing her bags.

"Not so fast love," Charlie smirked and scooped Madeline up, making her burst out with laughter. The bags were left in the front yard.

Charlie kicked open the door and walked in. Aro, their pet dragon immediately walked up to them, wanting to get some pats as usual.

"Don't worry buddy, we haven't forgotten you," Charlie chuckled as he placed Madeline on the couch. He kissed her deeply before sitting down beside her and cradling her in his arms.

"Did my favourite baby dragon miss me?" Madeline said in a child-like voice. Aro eagerly jumped onto her lap and made himself comfortable there, immediately claiming his place.

"So how long did Moody give you this time?" Charlie asked.

"Well," Madeline elongated, making Charlie hold his breath, "Moody was in a surprisingly good mood so I got about two months," she said smiling widely. Charlie smiled too and kissed her full on the lips.

"Good," he said, "I bloody missed you too much."

"Oh I know," Madeline joked, knowing full well Charlie can be clingy sometimes, especially when she's away. And boy did she miss him too.

That night there weren't many words spoken, just staying in each other's arms and feeling the warmth and comfort of each other.

And Aro, of course, everybody needs a little dragon in their lives. Especially Madeline and Charlie.

---

Charlie Weasley has always been an early morning kinda guy, always waking up around the crack of dawn and taking care of his dragons. But today, he just stared at Madeline peacefully sleeping...and drooling on her pillow. Even though he'd have to wash and change the pillows, he loved seeing her peaceful face in the morning. Charlie chuckled as Madeline curled up in her sleep, falling in love with her adorableness all over again.

But breakfast was a must-have for these two, so Charlie did have to get up. He placed a tender kiss on her lips before getting out of bed and slowly walking down the stairs, careful not to wake Madeline up.

While making breakfast, Charlie thought about how he could spend his day with Madeline. Obviously just sitting and enjoying his day with her was on the top of the list. But maybe something more.

Charlie had realised that he had never been the usual type of romantic guy. Showering his significant other with expensive gifts, going on constant dates, not leaving each other for more than a couple seconds, never was his thing. While sometimes that made him confident about himself, sometimes it made him doubt whether he's being a good boyfriend to Madeline.

"Hey buddy," Charlie smiled slightly when Aro jumped onto the kitchen counter.

He knew that today was valentines day, something some of his co-workers were pretty excited about. He and Madeline usually just spent the together. No fancy dates or any sort of fuss.

"What do you think buddy? Should I take her on a date or...or like get her flowers?" He asked the dragon while running his hand over its scales. Aro gurgled and nuzzled his snout into Charlie's hand.

Charlie sighed but didn't deny the baby dragon more back rubs. Just then an idea came to his mind and Charlie smiled brightly. He picked up Aro, setting him down on the floor as he rushed around the kitchen.

Aro let out a meek roar, making Charlie laugh. "Don't worry buddy, you'll be my assistant for this," Charlie said. Not understanding what the sudden fuss was about, Aro just stared blankly at Charlie and sat down on his bed.

---

Madeline fumbled down the stairs, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"Good morni-" she was about to say, expecting to find Charlie making breakfast. But the cabin was deserted. Madeline looked around hoping to find her boyfriend or Aro. Instead, she found a crumpled up piece of parchment beside a plate of beautifully made eggs and toast.

Madeline unfolded the parchment and a smile spread on her face. She recognised Charlie's Chiken-scratch handwriting, and well, the breadcrumbs all over it.

Dragostea Mea,

Meet me at the cliff near the reserve at sunset. I've got a little surprise for you. And wear something nice.

Love, charlie.

"Looks like you've gotten some ideas, Charlie," Madeline thought to herself, smirking. But until his plans, Madeline would focus on breakfast and some paperwork. Hopefully, Charlie had something exciting because she would definitely be bored. And boy did he have something exciting planned.

---

Throughout the entire day, Charlie had been busy setting up the designated place for a blind date. Charlie hadn't felt prouder of himself as he saw the arrangement come together. Nicely presented table, a nice scene, Romantic stuff right? All that was left was good food.

"Well, this is it, buddy," Charlie sighed and looked at Aro, who was more busy hovering around the pink flowy curtains Charlie had placed. The little dragon sneezed dramatically, blowing out some fire and smoke, alarming Charlie.

"Woah there, don't want to set it on fire do you?" Charlie pulled Aro aside and set him down on the ground.

Aro growled, clearly not pleased with the sudden interruption. He huffed in annoyance which was mostly unnoticed by Charlie, who was too busy fixing every little detail. Just when Aro had enough of Charlie's rants and ignorance he glared, took a deep breath and blasted fire at the tent.

Charlie's eyes widened and he quickly jumped out of the way. But it was too late to save his hard work. One moment and it was all up in flames. Charlie's stomach sunk. But he soon regained his senses and shot Aguamenti at the tent. It took some time but finally, the fire was out.

As if this scenario wasn't humiliating enough, while Charlie attempted to calm Aro, he heard someone gasp loudly. He felt his heart sink when he saw Madeline in a lovely dress (which made his heart flutter), eyes wide in shock.

"Wha-what happened?" Madeline whispered as she approached him.

Charlie felt sad, angry and disappointed in himself. All his hard work for nothing and most of all, he disappointed Madeline.

"I- I was planning a blind date and well, this happened," Charlie gestured towards the now burnt remains of the tent he had set up.

Madeline felt terrible, even more so when she saw how much Charlie had worked for the blind date, which was now ruined. Charlie let out a frustrated groan and sat down on a giant rock.

"I'm so sorry, all I wanted to do was to have a nice time with you, maybe even impress you and then Aro decides to burn the whole thing, it's all my fault," Charlie ranted, not caring that all Madeline wanted to do was to hug and comfort him.

So that's what she did. She sat down beside him, and brought him into a tight hug, kissing his head.

"I'm such a terrible boyfriend, you work so much for the both of us and I can't even put up a simple date," Charlie mumbled, sadly.

"Hey that's not true," Madeline made Charlie face her. She caressed his face and said, "You're the best boyfriend I could ask for, Charles and just so you know, a ruined date isn't going to make me stop loving you."

Charlie smiled although still feeling guilty. Madeline sensed the underlying guilt and kissed him.

"I like you for you, Charles I don't care about dates, it's you I care about, you whom I love," Madeline assured him.

"Honestly what did I do to deserve you?" Charlie chuckled, still not believing how lucky he was.

"You didn't need to do anything, just being there for me was enough," she whispered lovingly and the two kissed under the sunset.

Sure, Charlie might have messed up the date, but it didn't matter to either. What mattered was that they loved each other.

And Aro of course.