#just talking aloud. notes for ourselves

[prettygirl-gabi]

Sweet Clues and Sweeter Moments

Paring: Aubrey Griffin x reader

POV: First-person

Fandom: UConn’s Women’s Basketball

Word Count: 1,300+

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day, and Aubrey wants to make it extra special, scavenger hunt why not…

I woke up to the sound of my phone buzzing on the nightstand. I groggily rolled over and checked the time—7:00 AM. Perfect, an extra hour before my day would begin. But just as I was about to sink back into my warm blankets, I noticed a message from Aubrey.

Aubrey: Good morning, babe! Check your door when you get up 😉

I furrowed my brows, sitting up and instantly feeling a mix of confusion and excitement. What could she be up to this time?

After a few minutes of lying there, trying to decipher the message, I decided to get up. I pulled on a hoodie and shuffled to the door, half expecting to see a bouquet of flowers or maybe a little note. Instead, when I opened it, I found a small box wrapped in shiny red paper, a note taped to the top that read, “The hunt begins here. - A”

I stared at it for a moment, processing what this might mean. A scavenger hunt? On Valentine’s Day?

I grinned, already knowing this was going to be one for the books.

The first clue led me to the basketball court. I made my way there, feeling a little silly but excited all the same. The campus was still waking up, with just a few early risers out for morning jogs or heading to class. When I reached the court, there was another note attached to the bleachers.

“To the person who’s always my MVP… you know what to do next. - A”

It took me a second to figure it out, but then I remembered the secret spot Aubrey and I had when we were freshmen, just before we started dating. I rushed to the equipment shed by the court and found the next clue taped to the back wall.

I pulled it off, practically grinning from ear to ear, and read:

“You’re getting warmer. Go to where we first sat after that crazy game last year. - A”

I knew exactly where this was. It was a bench by the fountain, where we had sat for hours talking about everything and nothing after an intense game. It felt like no time had passed at all, even though the world around us had kept moving.

When I reached the fountain, there she was—Aubrey, leaning against the stone rim with that smile of hers.

“Looking for something?” she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Aubrey!” I laughed, running up to her. “You had me running all over campus!”

She chuckled, standing up to pull me into a hug. “You love it. And you’re only halfway through, babe.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “I can’t believe you got the whole team involved. I saw Sarah handing me a clue by the court.”

Aubrey laughed. “Yeah, I had a little help. KK’s probably waiting for you at the next spot.”

“Of course,” I grinned. “You really went all out this year, huh?”

She shrugged with a playful grin. “Anything for you. You know I’ll do anything to see that smile.”

“Well, I’m smiling, aren’t I?” I said, leaning in to steal a kiss. “Okay, okay, I’ll keep going. What’s next?”

Aubrey handed me a small piece of paper, and I read it aloud:

“Now, head to the place where we made the best memories after the UConn game. You’ll find something sweet waiting for you. - A”

I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t…”

“Oh, I did,” she said, winking. “Go check the locker room. KK’s got a little surprise for you.”

By the time I reached the locker room, I was practically glowing with happiness. Aubrey had really outdone herself. I pushed open the door and found KK standing there, holding a small envelope.

“I’m assuming you’re looking for this?” she said, handing me the envelope.

I opened it to find another note, this one with the final clue:

“This is where we started it all. Meet me where we’ve laughed, cried, and everything in between. - A”

I didn’t need to think twice. Aubrey and I had spent countless nights binge-watching movies in our dorm, talking about everything and nothing, just being ourselves.

When I got back to the dorm, the door was ajar, and the warm smell of popcorn filled the air. I walked inside and saw the lights dimmed, with candles scattered around the room. On the bed, there was a blanket fort made with pillows and sheets, a giant bowl of popcorn in the center, and a stack of our favorite movies beside it.

Aubrey stood by the makeshift fort, smiling softly as she looked up at me.

“You did all this?” I asked, my voice filled with awe.

She nodded, her smile only growing. “I figured you’d want something cozy tonight. It’s Valentine’s Day, but we’ve got a game coming up, so I thought we could have our own little movie marathon instead of going out.”

I walked over to her, wrapping my arms around her waist. “This is the best surprise I’ve ever gotten.”

She chuckled. “I’m glad you like it. I wanted to make tonight perfect for you.”

I kissed her softly, pulling away just enough to rest my forehead against hers. “You don’t have to do all of this to make me happy, Aubrey. Just being with you is enough.”

Aubrey’s hand slid down to mine, intertwining our fingers. “I know, but it’s fun to spoil you sometimes. Plus, I love seeing you smile.”

We both climbed into the blanket fort, snuggling in together under the soft covers. Aubrey grabbed the remote, and the first movie started. We spent the next few hours laughing, eating popcorn, and enjoying each other’s company.

At some point during The Princess Bride, Aubrey turned to me, her expression soft. “I know we have a big game on the 16th, but tonight, it’s just you and me. No pressure, no distractions. I wanted to give you something that’s all ours.”

I squeezed her hand, a smile tugging at my lips. “This is everything, Aubrey. Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too, babe. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

And for the rest of the night, all that mattered was the warmth of Aubrey’s embrace, the sound of our laughter, and the feeling that, for now, everything was perfect.

---

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                 -Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

                             -prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more notes on: writer's block

It is an anxiety we feel when we are unable to transfer ideas from our heads to the page.

It is a feeling of inadequacy—that whatever we write will be unoriginal, unimaginative, or have very little value.

It is a temporary state in which we are so overwhelmed with the expectations of an assignment, instructor, ourselves (inner editor) that we can’t get started.

Techniques to Combat Writer's Block

Stream of consciousness writing

There are variations to this type of writing. In general, the ideas are the same: writing freely without considering grammar, punctuation, sentence structure, etc.

The most important aspect of this exercise is to just write.

Variations include: write what comes to your mind as you focus on your topic; write with your eyes closed; cover your computer screen and type freely; write slowly while focusing on each shaping of the letters; or set a timer/alarm and write non-stop for 10-15 minutes.

Change your location

If you usually write at a computer, try the kitchen or dining room table.

If you usually write at a desk, try a seat by a window. Or how about a coffee shop, a park, or the library?

Relaxation techniques

Take a break from trying to write. This will help you to rejuvenate (but come back soon)!

Take some deep breaths. People who tell you that physical exercise is important for mental activity are telling the truth.

If nothing's happening on the computer screen or paper, take a walk around the block. Hit the treadmill or tennis courts or drive to the gym. But take your notebook with you.

Fresh blood will be flowing through your brain and jogging might just jog something loose in your head. It happens.

Start in the middle of your writing project

Avoid the problem of getting started by starting on a part of the project that interests you more and then come back to the introductory matter later.

After all, your readers will never know you wrote the introduction last (another joy of word-processing technology!).

Talking aloud

Talk over your paper with a friend, or just blab away into a tape recorder (even better).

Play the tape back and write down what you hear in clusters of ideas or free write about them.

Accountability & community

Set up a time and place to write with someone else or a few other writers.

Start by talking about what you are working on, your struggle, and what needs to be done.

You can set a specific amount of time for everyone to write silently (an hour or a few).

Then come back together in the end to vocalize what you accomplished (and what you still want to accomplish if more needs to be done).

This goal setting, accountability, and community are highly valuable for the writing process.

more on: writer's block

[fashionteahouse]

Holaaaaa

So her me out

can you do reader x paul

When the pack get back from something they were do and they find out the house ( Emily and sam house obvi cuz That's where they gathering) is empty and find a note said the girls (their imprint) are going for a girls trip to new York for the weekend 😗😗😗😗

holaaa yes i would love to do this 🙂‍↕️ hope you enjoy :)

radical - reader x paul

The sky was darkening with daylight dying down. What didn’t die down was the pack’s high energy. Walking out of the theater, feeling the high of seeing a great action movie, their stomachs begin to growl with hunger.

“You think the girls cooked anything?” Jacob asks Sam as he walks towards the truck that waited for them.

“Of course they have.” he says as he closed the driver door and starts the car, revving the engine to life.

On the road, they kept talking recaps of the movie. Paul even telling the boys what he would’ve done had he have been in it.

The drive comes to a stop when the house that Sam and Emily shared, came into clear view. Sam steps out with a stretch, the other boys run up the steps, excited about which meal the girls had whipped up.

Not smelling anything, they look around the house in confusion. They also don’t hear anything. It’s very quiet in the home. Too quiet. No sounds of heartbeats, chatter, or anything. Just pure silence.

Paul calls out for you, looking for you. Hearing no answer, he hears someone say, “They left a note.”

Coming back to the kitchen to find on the table, a sheet of paper was in Sam’s hands. He read the note aloud.

“Sorry if you guys get back and we’re gone. There’s food in the oven for you guys to eat. We have decided to treat ourselves to a weekend trip! I know it’s last minute and we promise to explain it all (gush all about our amazing trip) when we get back. We love you and we’re safe. There was just no way we were missing out on cheap plane tickets to new york! Hugs and kisses xoxo”

All of your signatures were signed at the bottom, solidifying all of the imprint’s agreement on the trip.

Paul shakes his head as Sam leaves the paper to float onto the table. He grabs his phone to dial his imprint’s number. With no answer he texts you.

“Y/N”

“Call me”

You glance at the phone with nervousness as you walk through the new york atmosphere with the imprints at your sides. Your phone buzzes again with Paul calling. It should be fine. You left a note with the other imprints.

“Hello?” you answer innocently.

“Y/N, what’s this about you being in New York? For a week?” Paul questions through the speaker of the phone.

“The tickets were cheap and we just needed a girls trip.” you say to him.

“For an entire weekend! You could’ve told me before you left.” he says on the phone and he sounds a bit sad.

“That’s too radical. New York is soo amazing already.” you gush and told him while smiling. The buildings soared in the sky and the lively, diverse cultures surrounded you.

“What am I supposed to do with you gone for the whole weekend.” Paul says, you haven’t spend time apart this long in a very long time.

“You will be okay. Don’t worry I will tell you more about it when I get home.” You tell him.

“Y/N, Come on! It’s time for shopping!” Paul heard in the background.

“Gotta go! Talk to you later!” you quickly say.

“Wait, Y/N-“ Paul starts, but he was met with a dead line. He was already eyeing the clock. Counting down and waiting for the weekend to be over.

[coinandcandle]

Paradigm Time! - What is a Paradigm?

TL;DR: Paradigms are how you make sense of magic and how it fits into the world in your experiences. They aren't right or wrong and they often change!

Paradigm: a philosophical or theoretical framework of any kind

Note: There are a few different definitions of paradigm depending on the field you're talking about. In the case of magic, we are using the definition above.

Paradigms are essentially how you make sense of the world around you. In magic, these paradigms are ways in which someone understands magic, how it works, and how it is used in the world.

Other people have used words like “framework”, or “beliefs/belief system”. Whatever you call it is fine!

Paradigms can and often do change over time, maybe you used to believe “xyz”, but now you’re thinking more “abc”. This doesn't make everything that you did while you believed in “xyz” invalid, it just means you understand it differently now.

Since paradigms are basically belief systems, they are not factual and are not “right” or “wrong” they simply are. One person may disagree with another, who may disagree with someone else, who may have similar but slightly different experiences than another. More than anything else, paradigms are fluid.

Furthermore, paradigms are fluid not just within ourselves but within communities too!

Here’s an example:

Say everyone in x community generally agrees that crystals hold power. However, some may believe that crystals only hold power once charged, like how a cup can only hold water once filled. While others may believe there is an inherent power within the crystal. Others in turn might believe that some crystals hold power and others don’t. Yet they all still believe the paradigm that crystals hold power.

Now let’s take a few paradigms about correspondences as another example.

In one witch’s paradigm, they might be used as ingredients that hold inherent power. -> “I am using the magical properties inherent to basil to power my money jar.” In another, the correspondences are spirits that you petition to help power the magical working. -> “I am working with the spirit of basil and asking them to help with my money jar.” In another, the correspondences are offerings that you give to a spirit that you’re petitioning. -> “I am using basil as an offering to a spirit to help with my money jar.” In yet another the correspondences are spirits that you don’t even need to petition, their very presence influences the spell. -> “I’m using basil in this spell because the spirit of basil will help influence my money jar.”

Here are some other examples of paradigms:

Spirit-Working sorcery, where spirits are petitioned for aid, and the strength of workings tends to depend on the depth of the relationship developed with the spirit, and/or success in evoking them in that instance.

Thinking or focusing on your intent in your head is fine, writing it down is better, but speaking it aloud is best.

Energy is the battery of magic. Magic is the change caused by whatever you’re doing but energy is what powers that change, be it a spell, prayer, whatever.

Gods can be called upon and petitioned for help with a spell, but the relationship between the caster and the god will determine the strength of the spell or their willingness to help. Otherwise, you can try to appeal to them with offerings to make up for the lack of a relationship, though their help will still not be as strong as if there were a pre-existing relationship.

Inanimate objects do not have spirits, but animals, plants, fungi, and humans do.

Again, these are not universal paradigms, they are just examples. I honestly don't think there even is a universal paradigm when it comes to magic and witchcraft.

Thank you to @windvexer @friend-crow @stagkingswife and @rose-colored-tarot for your help in writing this post!

[granny-turismo]

You are a real rock of strength for your loving family. It's beautiful. What is one thing you admire most about each grandson (and Kayo) and one thing that worries you the most about each.

Ah, thank you so much dear, you are far too kind.

Being a grandmother, even under the circumstances we have found ourselves in, has been the greatest honor of my life. If I’ve been a rock, it’s only because life gave me no other choice—and because holding this family together, holding my boys, has been my most important work.

I could write all day about them - they are all so different, so fiercely themselves and yet so alike and so full of love for one another. Let me tell you what I see in them, through the eyes of a grandmother who’s loved them from the first moment they were given to me - all six of them.

Scott

Scott… my sweet, serious Scott.

From the moment he could walk, Scott carried himself with such purpose. That little chin lifted, proud and sure, and just one step behind his father. Never arrogant, never cocky - just the quiet kind of confidence that humbled many a grown adult, myself included. He must have been five or six when he told me, very seriously, “Grandma, it’s my job.” That sense of duty has never left him.

He doesn’t talk often about what he’s feeling, but oh, he feels. You can see it in the way he looks at his brothers, or in the way his jaw tightens when something goes wrong. He didn’t ask to be the one in charge, but he’s worn the mantle with such quiet courage - all for the love of his family.

There’s such nobility in him… but also a loneliness. I see it in the way he retreats after a difficult mission, in the long silences when no one’s watching. He rarely lets anyone see when he’s struggling. Not because he doesn’t trust them, but because he thinks he shouldn’t struggle. And I fear one day he’ll forget entirely that it’s okay to lean, to rest, to cry, to feel. I want to hold his hand and tell him: “Let someone carry you, too, Scotty.”

Virgil

Our gentle giant.

Virgil feels everything with such depth, such quiet reverence for life. When he plays the piano, he plays like someone who’s holding his own heart in his hands, offering it out one note at a time. When he paints, you can see every meaning behind each brush stroke. He doesn’t just rebuild what’s broken—he gives it new meaning. He fixes things because he needs to believe broken things can be made whole again. He’s the kind of man who would sit with you in silence for hours, just so you wouldn’t have to feel alone. That sort of empathy… it’s rare. And it’s beautiful.There’s an old wisdom in him, and a kindness that doesn't need words. He is so very like his grandfather.

I sometimes think the only person who doesn't fully realize how important Virgil is… is Virgil himself. Virgil would rather burn out quietly than let someone else hurt. He doesn't often ask for help, and I think that’s the cost of being the dependable one. People forget that even the strongest pillars need support. I sometimes wonder if he even knows what he needs. Instead of speaking it aloud, he tucks it away inside, behind strong hands and a calm face. I worry he thinks being steady means being silent.

John

John, our starman.

He has this calm to him - even as a child - that makes you pause. He has always seen the world differently. Felt it differently. While the others ran ahead, John was the one who stood still and watched. And what a gift that has been. That stillness is so rare in a world that never stops spinning. I think people misunderstand that about John, even from when he was young. He isn’t shy, not really. He just doesn’t speak unless he has something worth saying. He listens deeply. Understands without judgement. And he’s braver than he realizes because it takes courage to live a life partly in solitude, and still care so fiercely.

But space has a way of making loneliness feel like home. I worry that John has grown too comfortable with distance. That he's forgotten how to let others reach him. When someone asks him how he’s doing, I’ve seen him pause, as though the question is in a language he’s still learning to translate. I want him to know it’s not weak to need people. That coming down to Earth doesn’t mean he’s falling—it means he’s returning.

Gordon

Oh, that boy.

Gordon Cooper crashlanded into this world with a twinkle in his eye and sunshine in his laugh. His joy is an act of resilience, often rebellion, frequently defiance. Bold and cheeky, he flirts with the world like it’s an old friend with every ounce of that Tracy swagger when it suits him. But beneath that mischievous charm is a young man who loves fiercely, and unconditionally, and as deeply as that ocean of his. There’s a magic in the way Gordon loves, because behind all that laughter is a boy who lives to make others feel that same kind of joy he chooses to find again and again. Perhaps because I have witnessed him choose it in the most devastating of circumstances. Fish, dogs, strangers at the supermarket - everyone is just a friend-in-waiting.

Most people see that grin and think he hasn’t a care in the world—but I know better. Very few are allowed to see the man behind the grin. Gordon has been through more than he would ever let on, more than most would ever begin to understand, and the truth remains that he often hides furthest behind his humor when he is hurting most. Deep down, I think he still fears that if someone sees all of him - the shadow from the sunshine, the difficult parts - they’ll turn away. And for the boy who loves everything so easily, I think he’d rather break his own heart than have someone decide he is unlovable.

Alan

And of course, our Alan.

Alan has always been a little comet—burning bright, moving fast, impossible to catch. He’s so much like Jeff when he was young. Restless, hungry to prove himself, brave to a fault. He’s got a spark in him that could light rockets alone, and when he believes in something, he gives his whole self to it. That kind of passion can move mountains.

But oh, how he measures himself. I see the way his eyes flick to the others when he’s unsure. I see how he swallows his doubt. He thinks his worth is measured by how well he keeps up with his older brothers, that respect must be won through speed or skill.

When you grow up in the shadow of four older brothers—each of them exceptional in their own way—it’s hard not to measure yourself by their stride. I think Alan spent a lot of his childhood wondering when he’d be tall enough, smart enough, enough to stand beside them as an equal. He had the courage from the start, but not always the confidence.

And I want so badly to sit him down, take his hands in mine, and say you don’t have to catch up. You’re not behind - you’re exactly where you need to be. Your worth isn't measured by Scott’s leadership or Virgil’s calm or John’s brilliance or Gordon’s wit. The world needs Alan’s fire, wild and wonderful and untamed.

Kayo

Last but certainly not least, our girl.

She may not have been born a Tracy, but it didn’t take long before it was impossible to imagine this family without her. Not because she tried to fit in—Kayo never tries to fit. She simply is. And from the moment I met her, I saw something in her eyes that told me: this young woman is going to be extraordinary.

She’s endured more than anyone should, and still, she stands tall—shoulder to shoulder with the boys, never behind them. She’s loyal beyond reason, strong beyond measure, and underneath it all, there is such gentleness in her spirit. There’s a stillness to Kayo. A composed, deliberate presence. People often mistake that calm for distance. But I’ve learned—still waters run deep, and hers run very deep.

But she carries ghosts. She carries guilt that was never hers to begin with, and sometimes I see it in her eyes—the belief that she has to keep proving herself, keep atoning. And I hope she knows that love isn’t earned by being perfect. It’s not a reward for service or loyalty or bravery. It’s hers because she’s Kayo. Because she brings something fierce and beautiful to this family that no one else ever could. Maybe not by blood—but by heart, and by choice, and by love. And that’s stronger than anything else.

[robrae-is-forever]

Robcina Week Day 2: Robin/Lucina's Sacrifice

"So it's settled?" Lucina asked as Robin sat on across from her at the table.

He broke into a grin. "Absolutely!" Lucina smiled right back. "Two months in Valm for vacation! Chrom has everything handled here, and Empress Say'ri says she's excited to have us back. Can't believe it's been five years already!"

"Where does the time go?" Lucina mused aloud. She reached across to take her husband's hand. "And the kids will be excited to go too. They've been to Regna Ferox plenty, but Valm is going to be a whole new experience for them."

"We'll have to keep a close eye on them. They're likely become the terror from the east, just like they're the terror of the south." Robin's eyes twinkled mischievously. He'd heard from Khan Flavia that apparently the twins many exploits and mayhem had become quite popular children's stories amongst the Feroxi people.

"We'll behave ourselves!"

"Yeah, we promise!"

At that moment, Morgan and Marc appeared from the kitchen, having washed up and each carrying a tray with bowls in front of them.

"I'm holding you two to that." He ruffled his daughters hair as she sat next to him and Marc sat beside his mother. "I don't want this visit to Valm to be our last."

"Come on dad, we're not kids anymore!" Marc chided with a smile.

Morgan turned towards Robin. "Will time-travel me be coming along?"

"She's already in western Plegia, waiting for us."

Lucina smiled, eager to see her daughter from a different future. "You're going to learn some new things before we go to Chron'sin. Lesson number one: chopsticks." Lucina picked up a pair from the bowl. "Hold them like this - under your finger, like so - and use it to grab your ramen like this." She held her own chopsticks and expertly picked up the ramen from her bowl and slurped the noodles down. She panted as the near boiling water almost scalded her tongue, and her family laughed.

Marc followed his mothers guidance and after a few attempts was able to get the noodles and slurp them down as well. "Wow, this is really good!"

"It's nothing compared to the real thing." Robin said as he slurped. "Trust me, genuine Chron'sin cuisine is amazing. It won't be easy to go back to our Ylissean diet when we get back."

As they ate, Morgan and Marc pestered their parents with questions about Valm and Chron'sin, talking about traditional style garb and festivals and Empress Say'ri.

Then, the air went as cold as death.

The hairs on the backs of the families neck stood up, but Lucina wasn't even able to rise to her feet at the sudden feeling of dread that overwhelmed her before a magical explosion tore through the manor.

"Well, well, well..." An inhumanly deep voice echoed around them.

Coughing and disoriented, Lucina reached for her children, finding her sons arm while Robin found Morgan's. "What just..."

There was an inhuman screech, and as they stood up, taking defensive stances around their children, Risen appeared from nowhere. "What!? How!?" Robin cried.

"Run, kids!" Lucina screamed, eyes wide in panic.

But they were surrounded and there was nowhere to go. There were at least thirty Risen in the ruins of their home, and they were unarmed. Morgan and Marc, having never been in a real battle, stood numb with fear behind their parents.

"If it isn't my worthless vessel."

The color drained from Robin's face. "N-No..."

Grima walked through the cloud of dust that had yet to settle around them, an evil grin on his face. "And with my offspring no less! I hadn't given it much thought, but a couple of tools to be mind controlled could prove useful... I'll have to make a note of it..."

"Bastard!" Lucina screamed, guarding Marc with her body. "How are you here!?"

The Fell Dragon laughed, long and loud and echoing with such force it felt as if the ground was shaking. "Naga thought to thwart me by sending help from another world. But it didn't work." He narrowed his glowing eyes at Lucina. "I'm from an Outrealm, one where you failed to stop me. Your friends all died, and the Fire Emblem is mine! With all five gemstones, my power has increased a hundred fold!"

Hatred for the monster kept Lucina on her feet, but it barely beat out the shock. Grima had travelled from another world, one where he'd succeeded? It couldn't be!

"Get back!" Robin roared. "I killed you once before, and I will do so again!"

"With what power? The Fellblood within you has been removed, no doubt by Naga's influence. But it lowers you to the status of mortal, and even the Exalts couldn't stop me!" He laughed again, raising his fist enwreathed in dark energy. "I killed your best friend, and your wife. I relish the opportunity to do so again."

Robin ran forward, desperate to protect his children, but years of peace meant he wasn't as fast as he once was. The dark energy struck him and brought him to his knees. Grima grabbed him by his coat and lifted him to his feet. "Look at me." He commanded. Robin spat in his face. Lifting his other hand, he wrapped it around Robin's throat, who began thrashing as he was choked, kicking and punching in an attempt to get out of Grima's grasp. With a sickening snap, Robin's body went limp in Grima's grasp.

"Father!" Morgan let out a blood curdling scream and tried to run forward, but Lucina caught her.

"Don't! Get behind me!" Lucina was barely able to catch her daughter and stop her in time. Marc wrapped his arms around his younger sister, tears falling from both of their eyes as Grima dropped Robin's dead body to the ground.

"What? No proclamations about changing fate? Tell me now how hope will never die, when your husband's dead body lies in front of you!" Grima taunted as he approached.

Lucina cast her eyes left and right, but there was no way out. The Risen would stop them before they got too far. "I need Falchion!"

She cried out as a sharp pain erupted from her stomach. She looked down to see a steel sword buried halfway into her, and her only thought was that she hoped it hadn't pierced her children behind her. She coughed up blood, and then her mouth opened in a silent cry as Grima forcefully drew the blade up her sternum, cutting even deeper before freeing the blade with a sickening squelch.

She fell down, her last words as she looked at her children being, "Get... Away..." Then the light left her eyes.

"Leave us alone!" Marc yelled, trying to tackle the Fell Dragon as he took a step towards him and sister, but he lacked the strength to accomplish anything and Grima tossed him aside like a doll. Two Risen came forward and held him back as he screamed, "Run, Morgan!"

But the young girl was frozen in panic.

Both her parents were dead, and she was going to be next.

"Wh-Who are you?" She asked in a panicked, high pitched voice.

"I am the wings of despair and the breath of ruin. I am the Fell Dragon, Grima." He grabbed Morgan's cloak, a hand-me-down from her father, and lifted her with one hand as though she were light as a feather. He tilted his head as he looked over the girl, then glanced at Marc. "Hmm..."

"Don't, please! We'll do anything!" Marc cried as he tried to wrestle out of the Risen's grasp. "Morgan!"

But she couldn't stop looking at the murderer in front of her. "Why do you look like my father?" She asked.

Grima chuckled. "Your father's fate was to be my vessel. He is the heart, and he belongs to me now. We're one and the same." Morgan didn't know what he meant or what he was talking about, but a prideful anger she'd inherited from Lucina swelled in her chest.

"You're not my father!" She screamed and struggled, finally finding the mind to try and get away from him. "He would never do these things!"

"He wouldn't." Grima agreed calmly. "But I would. And I have plans for you two." He lifted his other hand to her head, and she screamed as she felt dark magic forcing its way into her body. "If Naga wants to bring warriors from the Outrealms to interfere with my rule, I will do the same!"

"Let her go!" Marc screamed as he watched his sister disappear in a flash of dark energy. "No! Where is she!? What did you do!?"

"You'll never see her again." Grima snarled down at him. "As for you..."

Marc's eyes widened as Grima reached for him.

~!~

As Morgan fell through time and space, she could feel Grima's influence trying to overwhelm her mind, twist her very soul into something it wasn't.

"Father... That wasn't you..."

She thought as darkness engulfed her.

"You're a better man than that... You would never do anything to hurt mother..."

She wanted to sob as the last image of her parents flashed through her mind, dead in the rubble of their home.

"I want to forget... I don't want to remember anything that happened... This is a nightmare... Please, someone wake me up!"

A flash of six red orbs appeared in her mind, and she screamed into the void.

"Father!"

~!~

When Morgan awoke, she was laying on her back in a field.

She sat up slowly, rubbing her head. She had the mother of all headaches, but couldn't figure out why. For a moment, it felt like a dark presence was in her mind, but it disappeared as soon as it came and she took in her surroundings.

"Where am I?" She asked aloud. "And... What's going on?"

Nothing looked familiar to her. Wasn't she at home? Had she wondered into the woods again and taken a nap in a field somewhere?

Then, panic gripped her chest.

"I-I can't remember anything!" She thought as she stood up alarmed. "Where's home!? Where's my mom!? Dad!?" Her head suddenly erupted in pain as images of Robin flashed behind closed eyes. Images of him chasing her around the house when she was young, teaching her how to cook, praising her when she had cast her first magic spell, telling her she couldn't date until she'd moved out, falling asleep in his arms on their couch as he went on and on about tactics... But nothing else came to mind. "Who's my mother?" She thought as tears welled up. "Why can't I remember? What happened?"

Then, an inhuman scream sounded from somewhere behind her, and she heard twigs snap and grass get trampled as a large group of something started closing in on her at alarming speed. She started running, and as she looked around saw a crumbling structure on the horizon.

"Help! Someone help!"

[selmasemlan]

Sacrifice

Summary: Luna and Marcel are trying to save Davina, Freya and Elijah only care for their own, so our super couple step up

Pairing: Marcel Gerard x Luna Salvatore (OFC)

Author note: I´m a little sad that this series is ending

Warning: none

Word count: 1504

Series Masterlist

Sacrifice

The dimly lit room was charged with mystical tension, each flicker of candlelight casting shadows that seemed to pulse with the ancestral power closing in on Davina. She sat, pale and shaken, within the boundary of the circle—marked with symbols meant to keep her safe, though they felt fragile against the immense magic surrounding them. Marcel paced nearby, frustration and worry darkening his gaze as he tried to find a way to protect her from the ancestors’ wrath.

Luna stood a few feet away, her own expression tense but calm, her brow creased in thought. Her hands glowed faintly with her scarlet magic, ready to be deployed if necessary. Isaac was by her side, his posture protective, his hand twitching toward the weapon at his side even though he knew it was useless against the kind of magic that filled the room.

Marcel finally dropped to his knees beside Davina, cupping her face in his hands, his tone soft but urgent. “We’re going to get you out of this, Davina. I swear. We just… need more time.” He looked to Luna, his eyes filled with a plea for reassurance.

Luna crouched beside them, her hands glowing slightly brighter with each heartbeat, her voice calm but resolute. “We’re working on it. Freya’s doing everything she can to break the connection to the ancestors. You just have to hang in there a little longer.”

Isaac leaned forward, offering a warm smile to Davina. “Yeah, Davina. You’ve got this. And if anyone tries anything, I’ll punch right through them, magic or no magic.”

A weak smile flickered across Davina’s lips, her gaze shifting between her friends, but the dread was still present in her eyes. “I trust you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. But there was an undeniable tremor of fear there, one that seeped into the air around them.

Marcel took Luna’s arm gently, leading her a short distance away, his gaze troubled as he looked over his shoulder at Davina. “Luna,” he murmured, his voice low, “maybe we need to get her out of here. Move her somewhere the ancestors can’t reach.”

Luna shook her head, casting a quick glance back at Davina. “We don’t need to. Freya’s protections should be enough.” But the doubt was starting to creep into her voice, and Marcel didn’t miss it.

“Luna,” he interrupted gently but firmly, his gaze serious, “I just… I get the feeling we really do need to. The Mikaelsons—they’re paranoid, always have been, and they don’t take risks without a reason. If Freya thought there was any chance the ancestors could find a way around her protections, she wouldn’t be relying on magic alone.”

Luna studied him, searching his eyes, trying to understand what he wasn’t saying aloud. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and he leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper. “They’ll do anything to protect their own. And if they think moving Davina will help, I don’t think they’d hesitate to do it without telling us. If Freya runs out of time…”

Luna’s gaze sharpened, her lips pressed in a thin line. “You think someone might try something reckless,” she finished for him, understanding dawning in her eyes.

Marcel nodded, his expression grim. “Yes. And if it happens, we need to be ready to act, quickly. I don’t want Davina getting caught in the crossfire of anyone’s desperate move.” He glanced back at the trembling circle, then turned his attention to Luna, his voice barely more than a murmur. “Maybe we should move her ourselves, before it comes to that.”

Just as Marcel finishes talking, a gust of cold air blew into the room, signaling the arrival of Elijah and Freya Mikaelson. Their presence immediately made the room feel more oppressive, as if all the hope was being sucked out by their cold determination.

Marcel turned to face them, his eyes flashing with anger. “What are you doing here?”

Elijah’s calm and deadly gaze fixed on Marcel. "This isn’t a negotiation, Marcel. The ancestors’ power is too dangerous in Davina’s hands. We have no choice."

Freya stepped forward, her fingers already weaving a spell in the air. “We need that magic to stop Lucien before he destroys us all.”

Isaac instinctively moved to stand in front of Luna and Davina, but in an instant, Elijah knocked him aside with a swift blow that sent him crashing into the wall. Marcel lunged forward, but Elijah was faster, grabbing him by the throat and pinning him against the wall. Marcel struggled, his eyes wild as he tried to break free.

"Don’t do this!" Marcel growled, his voice strained. "This isn’t the way!"

Freya ignored him, advancing toward Davina with her hand raised. Luna, who had been thrown off balance by a magical push from Freya, stumbled backward, hitting the wall hard and crumpling to the floor.

“No! Please!” Davina’s panicked voice echoed as she saw Freya step closer, her hand reaching toward her to drain the ancestral magic she had been trying to keep under control. “Stop! Reconsider!”

Elijah tightened his grip on Marcel, holding him back as he shouted for them to stop. “She doesn’t deserve this! You can’t just sacrifice her!”

Freya’s eyes, cold and focused, locked on Davina, and she ignored the screams of protest. But before she could make the final move, the room suddenly pulsed with a surge of red energy.

Out of nowhere, Luna’s magic exploded, tendrils of crimson light wrapping around Freya and Elijah, dragging them to their knees. The Mikaelson siblings gasped, stunned as they struggled against the magic now holding them down. Luna, though unsteady, rose to her feet, her hands glowing bright with power.

Davina let out a shaky breath, the pressure around her circle lifting as Luna’s magic reinforced it with a new red glow.

Freya looked up, her voice strained as she realized what was happening. “Luna… what are you doing?”

Luna’s eyes were fierce, her expression calm yet deadly. She raised one hand toward Davina and the other toward Freya, her voice low but commanding. “You want ancestral magic, Freya? Fine. I’ll give it to you.”

Freya winced as green magic began to flow from Davina toward her, mingling with the red tendrils of Luna’s power. Davina gasped, worried for Luna as the strain on her friend became clear.

“Luna, stop!” Davina pleaded, fear filling her voice. “Don’t do this! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Freya, now in visible pain, looked at Elijah in confusion and worry. “She’s... she’s giving me the ancestral magic. But this—this shouldn’t be possible.”

Elijah’s usually calm demeanor faltered as he saw Freya struggle. “Luna, enough! This isn’t necessary!”

But Luna didn’t stop. Her magic continued to pour into the room, overwhelming even the Mikaelsons’ combined strength. She was pouring everything into protecting Davina, determined not to let her fall victim to their plan.

And then, just as quickly as it began, Luna’s power flickered out. She collapsed, her body drained and weak, just as Marcel broke free from Elijah’s grip and rushed forward, catching her before she hit the ground.

Freya and Elijah rose slowly, shaking off the remnants of Luna’s magic. Elijah immediately went to Freya, concern etched on his face. “Are you alright?”

Freya nodded slowly, though the pain lingered. “She... gave me the magic I needed to fight Lucien,” Freya said, still processing what had happened. “She did it. But how?”

Isaac ran over to Luna, his face pale with worry. “Luna, is she okay?”

Marcel held Luna close, his expression fierce as he looked at the Mikaelsons. “She’s fine. Just exhausted. She used a lot of magic.”

Davina knelt by Luna’s side, panic in her voice. “Is she really okay? Luna fixed the circle and made it stronger. She saved me.”

Marcel cradled Luna in his arms, his gaze softening as he looked at her pale face. “She’ll be alright,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “She always finds a way.”

Isaac let out a shaky breath, kneeling beside Marcel. “She’s incredible.”

Elijah, standing a few feet away, looked at Freya. “We got what we came for,” he said quietly. “But I doubt we’ll be welcome here much longer.”

Marcel’s voice, though calm, carried an underlying threat. “Leave. Now.”

Elijah opened his mouth to respond, but Marcel’s hard stare made him think twice. Instead, he gave a nod, and the Mikaelsons slowly began to exit the room.

Marcel held Luna close, watching them leave. His focus then shifted back to her, his anger melting into deep concern. He leaned down, his forehead gently pressing against hers.

“Thank you, Luna,” Davina whispered, her eyes filled with gratitude and concern.

Marcel nodded, still cradling Luna in his arms. “She fixed the circle, Davina. You’re safe now. She made sure of that.”

As the room settled, Marcel held Luna close, the protective circle around Davina glowing stronger than ever with Luna’s magic, while the exhausted witch rested, safe in the arms of the man she loved.

[imaginingmoonlight]

Hastie Lanyon was a Dead Man: a Lanyon/Jekyll oneshot

Word count: 1485

Notes:

Guess who’s been fixating on silly Victorian men? ME! Yeah I had fun with this. I’m so sorry it will get a bit angsty. This is up on ao3! My account is under the same name as here :) Warning: major character death.

Hastie Lanyon was a dead man. These shaking gulps of air, these slow and rhythmic heartbeats would be his very last. He could feel it- his life slipping through his fingers like water off a duck's back. It would be gone soon, gone like the sunlight slipping into the horizon or clouds whisked away by the wind. Would anyone care? Would anyone notice? Would anyone miss him once he was gone? Utterson, perhaps. He was a good chap. Loyal, he was, albeit a little dull. Hastie had always considered the lawyer to be one of his closest friends, whether the feeling was reciprocated or not. He had even visited a day ago, the very second he had heard of the illness. That was hard. Oh so hard. To know you were dying? That was one story. To admit it aloud? That was another story entirely. Lanyon remembered how the tears had stabbed at his eyes, how his chest had tightened, how his hands trembled with fear. Utterson was patient, sympathetic, even a little teary himself. But when he had mentioned Jekyll...

Jekyll.

Where would he be now? Was he even Jekyll anymore? No doubt, that Hyde character had probably taken over completely now. Lanyon was considerably more upset at the thought than he should have been. He hated the man, don't get him wrong. The very thought of him made his blood boil and his skin crawl with an army of spiders. Yet... the thought also made his heart swell. A swell of memories, joy, happiness, love . Jekyll, before his downfall, had been much more than a friend. Much, much more. "Just a friend" wouldn't stay up until first light drinking wine and talking about their deepest, darkest secrets. "Just a friend" wouldn't brush their knuckles against yours while walking just a little too often to be accidental. "Just a friend" wouldn't share a kiss, soft and tender, with you in a moonlit study. No, Jekyll was not a friend, not by a long shot.

When was the last time he had seen him, before the incident? Well, it must have been winter, at least 9 or 10 years ago. They were much younger, of course. Reckless. The two were in Jekyll's house, sat huddled together in the same armchair. It was cold outside, deathly cold, yet they were heated by the hearth both in the centre of the room and the ones hidden in their hearts. It was silent, but a comfortable silent. Silent like the calm right after a storm. Silent like the early morning. Words were whispered, lingering on steady breaths and gentle gazes. It was a perfect night. Until it wasn't.

"Hastie?" Jekyll's voice had a shaken quality behind it, the usual sweetness cracking. Immediately, Lanyon could tell something was wrong.

"Yes, dear?" He had replied, pretending to be none the wiser while the worry gripped his gut like a vice.

"Do you ever think about... You know,"

"No, I don't know. Go on?"

"Running away?" The words could barely be heard as they escaped his lips. Lanyon had been taken aback. What were you supposed to say to that? What could he possibly answer?

"Well, no, not really." Why would he? Life here was perfect. He had a blossoming career. He had a blossoming love. What more could he ask for? What more could he want?

"Not really? Not once?"

"I have no reason to. I have everything I need right here." He leaned over to rest his head on his partner's shoulder, fighting to keep his tired eyes open. Jekyll had smiled, genuine and warm, but there had been a slight sadness hiding at the very corners of his mouth.

"Of course. Of course. But what about freedom? What about the liberty to be ourselves out on the streets? We have to hide from the public eye every day, Hastie. Why should we? Why should we have to cater to a world that looks down on us?" Oh. Lanyon looked down at his feet, shoes still on from a day working.

"Because that's life, Henry. Not everyone will accept us and that's okay."

"How can you be okay with hiding this? Surely you can't bear to live the rest of your life hiding a secret? Hiding the most beautiful truth to exist?"

"Henry, we can't just leave. That's absurd."

"But is it?"

"Yes, it is." Lanyon sat up straight, gaze hardening ever so slightly. It was enough for Jekyll to see, though; he recoiled a little, flinching with a grimace. "What about our jobs, Henry? What about our lives?"

"Hastie, you are my life!"

"Then why isn't this enough? Why do you want more?"

"You know why. I may have you but we'd still be shunned if we so much as linked arms in public. Is that the life you want to live?"

“I-“ the words wouldn’t come out.

“So come with me!”

“…I can’t.” He choked the sounds out, barely a whisper. “I can’t just leave my life’s work.”

Jekyll shook his head. The disappointment and anger and hurt grew in his eyes, a distant inferno swirling in his irises.

“Henry, I’m so sorry-“

“No. It’s fine.”

And with that, Henry Jekyll had strode out the door.

It would be years until he heard from Jekyll again. It had gotten worse over time. It turns out time doesn’t bring fondness; like a grape in a barrel, it brings bitterness and sucks the sweetness out. Lanyon could barely take hearing Jekyll’s name in public again. Ever since he’d left, the man had completely thrown himself into his work. Immoral work. The devil’s work. Utter scientific balderdash. This didn’t really bother Lanyon too much, of course, but at least he had an excuse to publicly hate the scientist. No one had to know about their… past relations.

But oh, how he missed him desperately.

One can forgive. One can move past. But one can never forget. And god, he’d never forget those nights, just the two of them, spilling secrets like water through open fingers and sharing sweet, lovesick looks lit by candlelight. They were the best nights of his life. And they were gone now.

At least, that’s what Lanyon thought. Then came that December night. The night was suffocating, a thick fog laying over the city like a distasteful throw. A thick air of mystery loitered. That mystery only built when a letter was delivered to his door. A letter from none other than Henry Jekyll.

So eagerly had Lanyon sliced open the envelope and delved in. So quickly had his heart skipped a beat or two.

“Dear Lanyon, You are one of my oldest friends; and although we may have differed at times on scientific questions, I cannot remember, at least on my side, any break in our affection. There was never a day when, if you had said to me, ‘Jekyll, my life, my honour, my reason, depend upon you,’ I would not have sacrificed my left hand to help you. Lanyon, my life, my honour my reason…”

Lanyon had hardly been able to read the rest with a clear head. His life. His honour. His reason. Did he really still mean that much to him after everything that had happened? So of course, without a doubt in his mind, Lanyon followed the cryptic, quite possibly dangerous instructions detailed.

He so desperately wished he hadn’t.

He had driven straight to Jekyll’s house, despite every ounce of reason screaming at him from his core. He met with Poole, got the drawer and went straight back to Cavendish Square. Even when that strange little man- Mr Hyde- had shown up, he still pushed aside any doubts and focused on the task at hand: saving Jekyll’s life. However that may be. It was all so confusing.

He hadn’t expected Mr Hyde, after promptly taking that potion, to transform into Jekyll. It was horrific. Such horrors he had never seen before. Every time he shut his eyes, all he could see was the way that man’s features had grotesquely contorted, agonisingly slow, into the face that once brought him the most comfort in his life. He felt no comfort then. Just fear. Pure fear, raw and acidic in his stomach. It had scared him half to death. Quite literally. Now look at him. He was laying on his death bed, slowly fading away. Wasted. Lost. Soon he would be gone forever. He had so many regrets. He should have just ran away with Jekyll when he had the chance. Maybe then the man never would have turned to such horrific experiments.

"Jekyll? If you can hear me-" his words sounded so pathetic, so weak, hanging limp in the air of his room.

His answer was silence. Still, he continued.

" I love you."

And just like that, a lantern flickering to darkness, Hastie Lanyon was well and truly a dead man.

[flash-exchange]

Gilded at a Cost

Characters: Sariel & Bird Writers: @yarnnerdally @lorei-writes @evil-quartett Rating: all ages Warnings: none Notes: We played Frantic Fanfic in voice chat and decided it was too much fun not to share it. Strap in for the chaos! (5 minutes mode; we challenged ourselves to be serious)

Despite the most recent attempt by Clavis to disrupt order within Rhodolite castle, there was at least some good that came of it this time around. One of the birds (a mourning dove) that he had released within the throne room had taken a liking to Sariel, much to his chagrin. He didn't see the need to eliminate the birds and he couldn't help but wonder if this one knew that. The dove cooed softly from the corner of the room. It sat patiently on a perch and seemed to follow him no matter where he went. "Well, at least you're more well behaved than half of the residents of this place," he murmured aloud to the dove.

The dove flew over and perched itself on Sariel's shoulder, cooing again. A soft, wry smile spread over Sariel's face and he reached up to pet it gently.

---

The dove did not avoid his touch. As delicate a creature as it was, it leaned into his gloved hand, small beak nuzzling into the leather. The bird, it seemed, understood him on some fundamental level. However, a bird's comprehension was limited.

The throne room needed to be vacated eventually, a new king settling into his reign. And so, the bird had to follow Sariel out of it, this time bound by a cage. It spread its wing, wide as it could. But it couldn't fly. Not in the palace, not then… Not when bound by human rules.

---

The dove's wings were cut. Sariel could understand it. For him, the work in the palace had become repetitive, like the dove's birdcage. He knew the dove should be out, flying freely, but he just couldn't let it go, Rarely had a being ever showed so much trust in him, not the common fear of his devilish nature. Still, selfishly, he couldn't let it go. It made a pact with the devil, and he wouldn't let go of it now. Sariel had little friends in the castle. Respect yes, but someone he truly considered a friend? There was no one. So, eventually, he started talking to thee caged dove, wondering if it could understand him. HE told it about Clavis' mischief, Belle's training, and the fight for the throne. All through it, the dove stayed quiet, its head tilted towards him. Was he so inhuman that he could not have real humans as friends? Was it pathetic he reached for a dove instad? But it was more reliable that any human. It didn't brat at him, it just stayedd in its cage. And anytime he let it fly in his room for a while, it seemed so happy and grateful. Despite all his work for the princes and country, barely anyone recognised that. So he took pride in the dove's reactions. He couldn't let it leave anymore. HE needed it. It might just be a bird, but… they could relate to each other.

[vikings-til-valhalla]

When I was in kindergarten, my music teacher showed the class the famous movie "The Sound of Music". It took several classes to finish it, but I didn't remember anything about it except for one scene where Maria stood on a hill singing that line, "The hills are alive with the sound of music." Everything else became a total blank.

Today, I rewatched it with my mother for the first time in almost 20 years. And all I can say is this:

1. I'm damn surprised a teacher was allowed to show this to kindergarteners.

2. I'm damn mad at myself for not remembering the literal entire point of the movie, which is love and loyalty through love, whether for better or worse.

The horrors of Nazi Germany, and escaping them, it makes me think of what my family had to go through to escape themselves. That's right. I had several family members who, back in the 1940s, fled Germany to avoid being forced into Naziism. They made it onto a boat, and went to Canada, but that's as far as I was ever told. My grandma, old as she was, couldn't remember much more, so she hadn't told any of her kids beyond this.

But it makes me think. My grandma, too, was part of a convent of nuns. She also fell in love and left, married, and had 5 children, although they'd lived in America at the time and continued to do so until this day. Just like Maria fell in love with Georg despite being a nun, and together, as a family, they all fled. Because they loved each other, and they prevailed for the sake of love. It was horrifying, their escape. Traumatic, and full of fear. Fear that, to me, was real. Because somewhere, in the past, my family experienced it firsthand themselves, and were too horrified to tell anyone the whole story.

I remember in 5th grade, a kid in my class had either a grandfather or an uncle (I forget which) who'd escaped a concentration camp. That relative published a book on the experience, came into class, and read it aloud to us, or at least part of it. And... it was just as terrifying to me as when I'd met former slaves who came to my class years beforehand to talk about their experiences as well. It was the 2000s. And yet, these people lived, had stories to tell, experiences to share, and I'm damn lucky I had the opportunity to meet them, hear them out, and learn about history at such a young age specifically from those who'd experienced it themselves.

For years as a kid, I knew Nazis were awful. I felt horrible about being a huge part German growing up because of this. But when I learned my family's story, or what little of it that I know, I started to take pride. Pride in the fact that they actively went against oppression, and gave life to a legacy that continues today where, even though I'm just one person long descended from them, I have experienced all kinds of oppression myself, and met people whose experiences are parallel but distant from my own, and we've stuck together for our lives to fight oppression ourselves.

I've met folks from all walks of life. I've seen everyone who's gone through everything imaginable. I've gone through a lot of stuff myself, things I can barely speak of because they're horrifying to me. And it's because of this that I choose to do whatever it takes to help anyone and everyone find safety, happiness, and freedom.

My distant relatives did the same, and created a family with the hopes that they'd live better lives someday, as everyone who becomes a parent hopes. And thus, I fight for a future of the same desire: make it better for everyone. When you leave, make sure things are better than when you arrived.

Fuck Nazis. Fuck oppression. Fuck supremacy.

Fight for freedom. And, on that note, free Palestine. For the love of everything, free them. This is a more than a massacre, it's a genocide. I've been through massacres myself. This is far worse than that.

Keep taking action, keep protesting, keep fighting, keep flooding politicians with messages, keep donating to Palestinian organizations, keep hearing the voices of Palestinians because they're here and they will tell you what must be done to help them. Do not stop. Ever. The future depends on everyone together fighting for the safety and freedom of one another.

From the river to the sea. Free Palestine.

[chikaras-garden]

tips for dialogue in fics please?

If it’s any consolation, this was a really hard (but interesting!) question to answer. For me, dialogue is the first thing I think of—so often, it just comes to me and I write everything else around or based on the conversation I imagine. 

That said, it was a neat challenge to pick apart how I do that, so here are some tips:

Read dialogue and watch conversations in shows and movies to get a feel for what sounds compelling and natural to you. Not all professionally written dialogue is good dialogue (I have one particular film writer whose dialogue makes me want to commit acts of violence); and if it doesn’t sound natural to you—it isn’t natural. Take note of things you like, and try to use those tools in your own writing.

For clarity, I omit filler words like “um” or “uh,” and I also never use dialect words. If you’re familiar with the Highlander romance subgenre, you know what I mean, but dialect words are basically phonetic interpretations of how words sound in a particular accent. I find filler and dialect words are hard to follow as a reader, so I choose not to use them.

But on the other hand, feel free to write messy sentences. Sometimes, we cut ourselves off in speech, or we use informal contractions. “You’re gonna— You’re gonna do what?” Allowing yourself to break rules of prose within dialogue makes what your characters are saying feel more human.

Think about what your character knows and what they want their conversation partner to know. This is where dialogue can be interesting. Would your character lie or omit information? Why? How would they conceal that? Does your character believe what they’re saying—even if you, the writer, know it isn’t true? How would you convey that to your reader? 

Think about the words your character, specifically, would use to describe something, and also consider their emotions at the time. A character who’s sad or angry might have difficulty getting words out. A character who’s usually quiet wouldn’t use a lot of words to convey a thought.

Just like how you, the writer, have an audience—your character has an audience and would consider them when speaking. Think about who your character’s conversation partner is and what their relationship is like. They would most likely be more casual and open when talking with a friend, or more guarded with someone they don’t know well. If your character is talking to a loved one or a child, they might sugar-coat or soften what they’re saying out of consideration for the other person's feelings or safety.

Simplify your dialogue tags. A tag is something like “he said” or “she asked” before or after your dialogue. Not every piece of dialogue needs a tag. If it does, it probably only needs a simple tag of a verb with (maybe) an adverb. Too much description around your dialogue distracts from what’s actually being said.

Read your own dialogue aloud or in your head. Does it sound like something a real human being would say? Does it flow naturally off your own tongue?

[eating-the-inedible]

OH GUYS

I am NOT in fact broken up with by someone i'm not even dating!! I'm in a QPR now even??? like. whaaaaaaaat??? (<-no idea how i pulled this off)

the weekend+monday has been deleted

and we had a talk about feelings and what we want from this

and we even made ourselves a little contract (it's a list) so there's no confusion on what we are comfortable with

we have a Yes column (including things like hugs, cuddles, and pokes)

a No column (which includes pet names (for now) and apologizing and running away (which my QPP put "i'm looking at you ella" in parentheses))

and a Maybe column with only one bullet which is "biting 😂" (yes the emoji is included)

im really happy

and i can't help but think about how many problems my blorbos would solve if they just sat their asses down and had a conversation about what they want

to which i must note—anytime i had an important question to ask but for some reason felt too self-conscious to say aloud, i wrote it down on a post-it note and handed to them to read (we were snuggling during this conversation) and then we'd discuss out loud after the question was out there. I found it very helpful

my point with that is, if the blorbos can't just sit and talk, the least they could do is sit and write/read notes. like. (OFMD S2 Kinda Spoiler below cut)

we all saw how much of an effect stede's letter had on ed

so much so that he angry shouted "YOU WROTE ME A LOVELY LETTER!"

and i stand my belief that the letter helped

anyway. idk how i turned this from a "hey turns out im not dumped, in fact im now in a QPR" to "my blorbos need to communicate" to "now im having emotions about gentlebeard and the finale again"

[chaiaurchaandni]

These past two months have filled me with nothing but tears. I was looking for a post I reblogged from you two years ago about the “warnings” Israel sends Palestinians before bombing their homes and cried reading it aloud again. May Palestinians one day be free and may their oppressor’s grey heads go down to the grave in blood.

ohmygod i know exactly the post youre talking about anon! i went back and looked at it also in the first week of israeli bombing this october bec zionists online kept bringing up those 'warnings,' as they always do, to justify bombing civilians. it's insane that this is seen as a mercy.

honestly, i've never felt so deeply heartbroken. i dont feel like watching a new show or reading my silly little poems or listening to taylor swift anymore. every waking moment of mine is consumed with the desperate need to do something - anything at all - for palestine. to spread awareness, and encourage people to donate, and deconstruct israeli propaganda bec this is all i can do now. i dont want to fall into despair and im doing my best to cultivate revolutionary optimism and hope!! i've cried and had nightmares and messed up my quizzes bec i cannot stop thinking about everything that's happening in palestine but!!! every single time, i have picked myself up and reminded myself that this is also a battle of perseverance, and we cannot afford to exhaust ourselves to the point that we cannot look after ourselves and therefore, cannot contribute to the cause.

my heart goes out to you anon and i hope you know that we are all united in our solidarity, in our collective pain and also in our collective struggle!! and youre aways welcome to reach out if it gets overwhelming and if you just need someone to talk to <3

(just a side note: i have personally been able to cope better with the despair ever since i started following more palestinian resistance-centric sources, e.g. the telegram channel, resistance news network + accounts like mellow.falahi on IG or revolutionaryem on X/TWT just to mention a few. these sources report on the activities of resistance forces + translate messages from different resistance factions + share news ab israeli aggressions all over occupied palestine, while also speaking about the long history of palestinian resistance/sharing speeches from iconic palestinian revolutionaries/sharing revolutionary artwork, etc. i think it's rlly imp to remember that palestinian resistance has existed ever since zionism landed in palestine (even before 1948) and that this is just one of many battles fought by the resistance. every single time, the palestinian people have survived and the palestinian resistance has survived. this time will be no different inshallah.)

[naturespeaksbypel]

A Word From A Bird

PEL. A Word From A Bird. (London, United Kingdom.) Acrylic.

Sound Effect of blackbird birdsong by Der_Sternfahrer from Pixabay.

Now here is a little and large poem Which we hope, in our hearts will find a home. And if we love it and give it our blessing, It will have the freedom, to roam and roam. Now, to bring it to life, with colour and sound, We found, it's meant to be read or sung aloud. For strange to us, as it may seem, We may get the feeling, we're talking to a crowd. We may get the feeling, we are talking to the unseen. For it carries its own hidden music and rhyme, Which seems to get better and louder in time.

And as we know, we all like good news, Because good news creates more good news. So we have taken care, to use kind and thoughtful words. We listened to our trees and we listened to our birds. We listened to the Oceans and to the free herds. We listened to the Fire, burning brightly. We listened to the Wind, blowing lightly. We listened to the Earth, day after day And here's what they, all have to say.

"Let's forgive the mistakes of the past And stop worrying about the future, For the die has been cast. Just live in the present, to see what it brings. For the times that are coming, will show us, Some amazing new things."

But first a big thank you for the paper, That carries this poem. For we must remind ourselves please, Who really pays without a murmur or a moan. It is not you or me, Nor the birds nor the fish in the seas, But rather, our courageous and caring, terrific trees. Though we give it little thought, our trees pay the price, Every single day, so let's be nice. Let's give them in this poem, one free page, For our fast oncoming Magical New Age. To listen to them, to let them have their say.

And though much of our World Is in such a big and scary shamble. It only takes one with courage, To take a little gamble. To believe the trees; To listen to the breeze within the leaves. And if we believe, their simple little message in this. We may find our life in time, could become just bliss. We may find, we might even fly like a bird. After all, it's only one colour, one note, one word. So why not try it. Test it out. We have nothing to lose, except our pain, And if we don't like it, we can throw it back out, Until we're ready, until it comes around again.

So now it's time, to clean up the Planet. Come on John, it's up to you and Janet. Let's start right now and begin to plan it. There's no time to wait for the rest. First we're going to end starvation, Then it's more conservation, re-forestation and preservation And that's just one solution. We’re so fed up with our own pollution. It's time for our gentle revolution. So come on, it's up to us, let's do our best.

And when we decide just to, let go our Hell, For those that have fallen, for those that fell. And when we decide to let go our fear and sorrow, To create for our children, a safe and happy tomorrow. And when, to our frightened and excited surprise, We begin at last to slowly realise, That sometimes, we are the Devil in disguise And sometimes, we are as bright as Angel's eyes. Then we can help us all, let go the war, As we learn and grow and have some fun, Like we know we did, many times before. After all most of us, are in the dark, travelling blind, Searching for that spark, which one day, we're bound to find, Waiting for our children, to discover their own happy pilgrim.

So attention Trees. Stand at ease God's Grace. Our Grace Hurray, thank you. Now we've had our say. And with no further ado, Here's our little Fairy Story, Called The Aquarian For us and for you.

PEL

PEL. Walpole Park. (London, United Kingdom.) Acrylic.

[thatfangirlofsb]

A/N: Welcome to Your highnes's epilogue, I hope you like it. It's going to be short.

T/W: Grishaverse spoilers.

Your highness (Epilogue)

"Please, I don't want to know. It was enough trauma for me when, at the riot, he listed all the places he'd done it with Zoya."

"But it worked, we managed to save ourselves."

Matthias sighed, and Zoya followed him. The two couldn't avoid the look between disgust and surprise.

"Nazyalensky..."

"Helvar..."

Their hate, during those years, hadn't disappeared. Although it had been reduced; they no longer wanted to kill each other for he being a drüskelle and she a grisha, but only for being themselves. It would be strange if the fjerdan, after marrying a grisha as powerful as Nina and having with her a daughter as blond as himself, continued to hate those the fjerdans called drüsje. Sometimes with Zoya Nazyalensky he was tempted; but just that.

"We've had a great number of meetings without you going down to each other's throats, let's keep it like that." Nina commented, trying to lead the conversation back to less swampy grounds and taking the cup of tea in her hands carefully. "The Wandering Isle is very good."

"People are too happy."

"Matthias upset?" Zoya asked, with a clear smile on her face. "Even I would move there just to annoy him more."

"How about life as Sturmhond and Zyoma?" Genya asked, trying to help Nina in her attempt so that they wouldn't have to be separated this year.

"That..." Matthias commented with a tone of voice that was too strange for him. "How is the life of pirates?"

"Privateers." Zoya and Nikolai said at the same time, unable to avoid directing a frazzled look at him.

"What is the difference?'

"We have a license."

"Our license." Alina and Mal added at the same time, smiling as they looked at each other.

"If I have to see these two cuddling again... I'll throw them into the air." Genya rolled her eyes, in an overly theatrical copy of the blue-eyed girl's actions. "What?"

"They only have one child, Dubrov. But you have the twins; Dominik and Isaak, Liliyana and, besides, you are expecting another." Zoya brushed her hand over her belly, and Nikolai fixed his gaze on it with a smile. "I don't know who's cuddling up the most."

"Genya!" Zoya said, staring at her.

"I'm just saying facts."

"Clearly us." They all turned their heads towards Nina, who had set her cup down on the table. "Even if we only have Roëd..."

"Nina!" Now Matthias was the one looking at someone; at the heartrender

"I'm just saying facts." She answered him with a smile that the fjerdan avoided with his eyes.

"How is the life of king and queen?" Helvar asked Alina and Mal, clearly wanting to talk about anything as long as Nina didn't keep opening her mouth.

And they were going to answer him, but the flutter of a crow distracted them. The bird landed gently on the table to Zoya's right, and she watched that it had a note tied to one leg. "What?" She carefully reached it out, taking the piece of paper from the animal to open it up and begin to read it aloud. " 'Wylan and Jesper are very happy with the goat. Inej continues to hunt slavers on her own ship, and now accepts the rewards. Me? I won't be alone now. Ketterdam is not just a city, but a lot of people. Watch your little ones when they go to play. My revenge has begun Zoya Nazyalensky, now I will educate your children, and while the others too, to be the best criminals. Think twice before; eight years ago, eight months, two weeks and three days, make me jump into a boat with your Little Science. Signed: Kaz Brekker, founder of the future ruling gang of The Barrel.' " The squaller crumpled the paper in her hands and threw it furiously to the ground. Damn Dirty Hands. "Breeker!"

—————

You can read the other parts in the list of my fanfics HERE.

[audioaujom]

25: Encountering Sachiko [wrong end 8 ★8]

Corpse Party Hub, < prev, next >

This is wrong end 8 ★8 from Book of Shadows Episode #5, and would most likely roughly take place at some point during Corpse Party Chapter 2 if memory serves.

Pairing: Bill, Aimee, Schlatt, Wilbur

Word Count: 2105

Chapter TWs: Blood and Gore, Graphic Depictions of Violence/Gore, Implied/Referenced Character Death

--

Whatever you do, don’t look behind you.

The note laid neatly beside the candle on the steps, causing Bill to scoff in annoyance.

“Oh, yeah?” He challenged aloud, almost immediately turning to look behind him in curiosity. What’s the worst that could happen?

He blinked as the familiar figure of Aimee emerged from the darkness below, calling his name out in relief as they recognized each other. “Bill…!” 

“Aimee! Where's Schlatt?” Bill asked immediately, recognizing that she wasn't alone when he'd left her at the pool earlier.

“I— I don't know. He was with me until a second ago, but then we found ourselves running from this man with… an axe, I think…? And we got separated.” She explained awkwardly, glancing back over her shoulder and down the stairs anxiously.

“Oh, shit… Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Bill was quick to step forward and start looking over her bloody clothes before she stopped him.

“I'm okay, I'm okay. This… isn't my blood.” She grimaced a little, before staring down at the floor. “It's just… this school… it's even more dangerous than I thought. Whoever that guy is, I'm sure he's been going around killing anyone who gets lost in here.”

Bill thought hard for a few long moments, before realizing he had no idea what she was talking about. “Well I've never met the guy, but I think the fact that he wields an axe is enough of a red flag for me.”

“Bill… I'm scared. I'm scared that… that if I'm by myself, he'll find me, and…” She trailed off, Bill’s imagination quickly filling in the gaps.

“...okay.” Bill nodded to himself, already set on a plan. “Then I'll stay with you!”

“Really…? Are you sure?”

“Why wouldn't I be?” Aimee seemed to perk up at that, Bill relaxing his shoulders to seem as casual as possible. “That way you won't be alone, and I can watch your back.”

“Thank you so much!” Aimee grinned in relief, throwing herself forward at Bill and latching onto one of his arms with an appreciative smile.

“H—Hey…!” Bill felt bad for the way he nearly immediately shook her off, but something about the way she held onto him made him feel uncomfortable.

“Ah, I'm sorry! You have a boyfriend already, don't you? I think you said his name was Ranboo?” Aimee apologized, blushing slightly and backing away from him.

“No no, we're not like that.” Bill tried to correct, shaking his head and his hands. “He's more like a brother to me, you know?”

“Ahh… I bet life would be a whole lot less boring if I had an older brother like you.” Aimee smiled almost dreamily, and Bill did his best to ignore the strange feeling that blossomed in his stomach.

“If by 'less boring' you mean utterly anarchic, then yeah, maybe!”

Methodically checking the next floor as carefully as they could for Schlatt, the two wandered around for quite a ways before the ambient light of the school seemed to dim greatly.

“It's gotten really fucking dark in here.” Bill commented, squinting in the low light only to see Aimee rummaging around her person for something. “...Aims? What's up?”

“Give me a sec... I have a light.” Aimee took her time gathering darkened things in her hands while grumbling, “It's not just dark, but cold, too…”

“Yeah... We should turn back. This hallway gives me the creeps.” Bill shuddered a little, though he wasn't sure if it was his ever increasing nerves or the chill in the air.

“But… the way back is gone.” Aimee pointed back behind the two, Bill’s eyes finally adjusting to the darkness enough to see that yes—in fact—the wooden floor behind them had seemingly rotted and caved in, preventing them from going back, short of jumping the gap.

“Ah, shit…” He groaned, knowing that it would be better to continue on forward than to try any sort of crazy acrobatics, before suddenly turning to his companion with an idea. “Hey, Aimee. Do you still have that alcohol lamp?”

“Sorry, that didn't quite make it.” Aimee apologized, before holding out her hands that held a matchbox and a few candles with a small smile. “I have plenty of candles, though!”

“Oh, I don't know if they'll be enough.” Bill dismissed, her rolling her eyes before begrudgingly putting the items back to where they came from.

“Well… look! There's a room.” Aimee tugged a little on one of Bill’s sleeves, pointing off into the darkness at something he couldn't see. “Let's go see what's inside. Okay?”

“Hey wait, it might not be safe! We need to—!” Bill tried to stop her, but in the process of the two of them heading in different directions and grabbing at each other, they ended up topping over the floor with loud shouts of surprise. As soon as Bill realized he was on top of her, he quickly tried to scramble away as an uncomfortable blush settled across his face and down his neck. He got up to his hands and knees as quickly as he could, panicked as Aimee stared back up at him with a strange look on her face. “Shit, my bad... I didn't hurt you, did I?” 

“I'm just fine.” Aimee seemed all too comfortable where she landed, biting a little at her bottom lip—much to Bill’s confusion.

“Hey, don't get the wrong idea... I— I didn't mean to.” Bill tried to explain, but she shook her head lightly and blinked slowly up at him with a coy smile.

“Never mind that. What say we have a little chat?”

“...huh…?” Bill wanted to get as far away from her as he possibly could, but stayed rooted to the spot as his brain tried to follow her off-putting offer.

“Don't you like me… Billy…?” Aimee’s voice seemed to change pitch suddenly, becoming deeper as her eyes bore holes straight up into him. He felt himself flinch, opening his mouth to shut her down only to notice the first drops of blood forming in the corners of her eyes. 

Any words he had to say died in his throat as tear tracks of blood ran down her face, more blood beading out of her nose and dripping over her lips, a sense of horror washing over him as he came to the conclusion that something was very, very wrong. “Wh—Who… are you?”

“Who do you think I am, Billy?” Despite the blood now pouring out of her mouth, her words weren’t garbled at all, Bill shaking his head as the horror gave way to dread in the pit of his stomach.

“Cut it out…” He tried to play it off and get back to his feet as the words of—Don't call me that!—got stuck in his throat, then pushing off of the floor with his hands only for her to tightly grab both of his wrists to keep him down on top of her. “L—Let me go! How do you know about me? About Ranboo?!”

Whoever this was—it most certainly wasn’t Aimee, at least not anymore—only giggled, a swirling panic beginning in his stomach as he tried to pull away. Her grip on him was unnaturally strong as it bruised his wrists, no amount of yanking able to break the grip for several long moments until a particularly hard tug got one of his hands free, his arm then swinging wide and smacking one of the girl’s bloodstained cheeks.

“Oww! How dare you raise your hand to a girl… Billy…” Her voice distorted as she giggled again, thick trails of blood starting to leak out of every available orifice of her face: eyes, nose, ears, and even more from her mouth. The skin of Aimee’s face began to peel back like burning paper, curling away from the waterfalls of crimson and flaking off in disgusting, bloody patches. A new, blue tinted face was emerging from underneath the peeling, flayed skin—it was young, child-like, and covered in slimy guts and more blood. Whatever was left of Aimee disintegrated to the sides as the rest of the young girl’s figure emerged, though staying half-submerged in the floorboards. Long, dark hair framed the sides of her face, a long red dress covering her body that began to shimmer in the low light of the hallway to make her seem to glow as she grinned up at Bill, his mind finally catching up with the carnage surrounding him as the rank smell of death started wafting up from the piled remains and ever growing lake of blood around him. The girl still held onto him, him swallowing back vomit as the two stared at each other, waiting for someone to make a move.

“You… were you always… her?” Bill stumbled out, anger boiling up fast as he exploded, “You— You bitch! What the hell did you do to Ranboo?”

“Now what did I do to him? Hmm. I remember he wouldn't shut up.” Sachiko mused, giggling to herself as Bill only glared harder at her. “He kept chirping 'Bill!', 'Bill!', 'Bill!', like a bird. But he's not chirping anymore! Wanna see for yourself?”

“Oh, you're so full of shit!” Bill exclaimed, finally able to break the girl’s hold on him and swing a wild punch to her face.

She blinked in honest surprise as his hit connected and forced her head all the way off to one side—as if forgetting she was corporeal at all—before her dull eyes began to flicker red with rage. “I guess I can’t have any fun with you after all.”

His next wild swing missed as she ducked out of the way, rising up out of the floor to grab him by the throat with both hands. He instantly tried to grab her hold and yank him off, but she was now even stronger than when she’d held him down against the floor.

“Shit—!” He clawed desperately at her hands to get any amount of air back into his lungs, dark spots dancing in his vision as—Ah shit, she’s gonna choke me out. What a fuckin’ way to go.

She knocked them both over and pinned him down to the floor, her face gleeful as his attempts to buck her off were slowly starting to weaken. 

He was incredibly dizzy from the fall and lack of air—his vision was swimming and his hearing was turning to a rather discordant ringing—so he almost missed a familiar voice calling out from down the hallway.

Almost.

“Whoa, Bill? That you?” 

Bill craned his head back as the girl slackened her grip in surprise, seeing Schlatt and Wilbur standing shoulder to shoulder in the hall and staring at him in confusion. Schlatt was the one to call out, continuing, “You sure look like you’ve got your hands full!” with a sarcastic snicker.

“A little—! help—! assholes—!” Bill fumed, the brief slight reprieve from the choking giving him enough air to fight against the girl with a renewed vigor.

“She looks rather strong for a primary schooler.” Wilbur commented as the two ran forward, Schlatt rolling his eyes.

“Actually, you're in America, so she'd be an elementary schooler, you Brit.” Schlatt chastised, Wilbur smacking him before kicking the girl hard in the stomach.

“And here I was expecting you to call me a slur.”

Schlatt laughed as he grabbed the girl by the back of the dress in her moment of confusion from being kicked, yanking her off of Bill in one swift movement and throwing her to the side where she landed like a blood-covered ragdoll. “You good, man?”

“Now I am.” Bill panted, taking Wilbur’s offered hand to get back up to his feet. “Thanks.”

“What happened?” Wilbur turned a side eye to the ghost, who glared at them and slowly sank down through the floor. 

“It’s… a bit of a long story.” Bill trailed off, rubbing at his throat carefully. “Wait, where’s Aimee?”

“We got separated at the pool by this psycho with an ax.” Schlatt shrugged, though Bill could see the lines of concern in his face. “After that I got lost an just happened to run into Wil.”

“Well that crazy ghost was… wearing her skin.” Bill gulped a little as he spoke, the slick blood and guts still piled on the floor.

“Oh! Oh shit!” Schlatt coughed, both him and Wilbur recoiling from the smell they were suddenly aware of.

“Let's get out of here before she comes back, yeah?”

Bill instantly nodded, following the two older boys down the hall, trying to ignore his still aching lungs and the burning panic in his chest.

God, this place is fucked…