#torn tapestries au

[shentheauthor]

FINE. I’LL DO THE LAMB BUNNYSUIT THING.

Below the cut bc I’m a coward

Side note, I never see people giving their lambs long tails! I know docking is common practice, but damn! Mine is the only long-tailed lamb I’ve seen!

[vikwrites]

" DAEMONUIUM " - Tony Stark

Chapter Summary ➣ The Fall of Stark Castle. Pairing ➣ Fallen Prince!Tony Stark x Reader Word Count ➣ 611 words Chapter Warnings ➣ Medieval! AU, Slow Burn, Violence, Major Character Death. Author's Notes ➣ An idea by @welldonekhushi, a bit different to what I usually write, next chapter will hopefully provide more context. Thank you to my lovely beta reader @nicoline1998enilocin <3

Prologue - Overture

The rope felt rough against the Prince’s neck.

Tapestries of silk, once proudly displaying the kingdom’s colours and emblems, have been shredded from their rods, some burnt into meagre piles of ash; the rest torn by the passage of time and faded by the harsh sun. 

The throne, once a shining beacon in the grand hall, now stands in solitude. Its layers of gold leaf have been stripped away, revealing the cold iron underneath. The brilliant gemstones that adorned its surface have been pillaged and looted, leaving only empty settings behind. The rows of stained glass windows, each depicting a moment of the kingdom's triumphs, are now shattered, their intricate designs marred into shards. 

The peasants stormed the palace. They came in hordes of near thousands, pitchforks and flames in hand. The grand doors splintered under their force, crashing open to reveal the opulent corridors within. The echoes of their cries reverberated off the stone walls as they surged forward, a seething mass of defiance against the monarchy. The nobles, once standing proud and untouchable, now cowered in their gilded chambers, the unfortunate ones having been slaughtered in cold blood.

The same could not be said for the Prince. For he ran, like a swift wind through every nook and cranny of the castle — up twisting stairwells, down spiralling towers — the peasant’s voices like cries of the damned — the walls quaking with emancipated rage, like the first leak in the wall of a dam, forewarning that nothing could hold for long. His patterned robe dragged upon the floor, stained red with blue blood.

His legs could only carry him so far; he found himself perched at the edge of the turret, overlooking the dark horizon and the sheer drop into the ocean below, the waves crashing against the splintered rocks. He could hear the peasants’ voices as they approached, drawing closer by the second. It dawned on him that death was not a matter of when, but how.

“ There he is, ”  — fear became a tangible, living force, creeping over his figure like some ravenous beast, holding him in a standstill — “ Seize him! ” 

The Prince was bound; not by silver shackles or golden chains, but by simple rope. He was marched like cattle out of the palace gates, being put on as a barbaric display of irreverence; a sovereign turned laughing stock in the span of a night. The peasants scrambled like rats, just for the chance to witness the spectacle. 

Amidst the crackling of bonfires and the scorching heat. His body trembled with cold, but his mind burned with anger — with memories of the firelight still drifting like phantoms in his brain. 

Tears fall from the Prince’s eyes. They meander down his cheeks. 

That fateful second before the floorboards dropped, the Prince pondered if he had anything left to save in death.  He stands in solitude on the gallows. While the Cardinal recited blessings in Latin, the words in the people’s mouths were nothing but curses, laced with vitriol and the name of the Devil, lashing out like a bitten and cornered dog, condemning him to the deepest rings of Hell.

The creak of the floorboards, the roar of the crowd — these were among the last things he would hear before he died. His eyes did not bear remorse; instead, they held shame, to be stripped from the high chambers of the castle and reduced to the same fate as a lowly outlaw. 

What he’d give to be a young prince again, adorned with jewels and veneration — now he’s traded in his necklace for a noose — 

The Prince took his last few straggling breaths, and the floor gave way beneath him.

⎊ back to masterlist

[eurydice-pens]

(Are you smiling? You can’t tell. You think you must look abhorrent.)

(But the way your friends are looking at you now, despite everything that’s happened…)

(Even though you’ve torn the tapestry to shreds.)

(Even though there isn’t one connected thread that you can mend back together, now.)

(Would it be okay to hope, just a little, that despite all that…)

(…you are still loved…?)

for @basilpaste ‘s of stitches in sequence au !!💚💚

[shentheauthor]

Me making Kore and Narinder kiss like action figures. Smacking their little faces together and going “doink”

I really enjoy how everyone has their own Narinders and Lambs, we all truly are playing dolls with our little blorbos

[luminecent-sky]

Fated beauty - The longing

A/n: i got argenti the moment his banner came up, let me simp for him. Along with some lore for the Aeon of fate au lmaoo, the Moirai title is used in a gn way here, so it's more of a title rather than a name.

He had been wandering the stars for as long as he could remember, chasing the fleeting visage of his Aeon.

Conflict and victory, joy and sadness, comraderies and betrayal.

He, like all the other knights had torn himself apart, molded himself anew, removed all imperfections and strived to live a life of beauty worthy of Idrila's gaze. Ocarina and lance in hand he continued on, using his experiences to better himself as a person, doing his best to spread the word of beauty across the universe.

Yet that gaze never fell on his form again, and another gaze soon focused on him.

One that filled him with warmth, for a moment he thought that Idrila's gaze had come back to him, but this one felt different, It felt like strings, wrapping around his limbs, not constricting, but steadying, like a tether keeping him on track.

Where was this gaze coming from? Why was it on him? What had he done to attract it?

Thoughts swirled around his mind before he felt it, the feeling of power coursing through his veins, his body growing stronger, mind sharper and will even more steadfast in its wake.

Faint whispers soon entered his mind, jolting his very soul.

"-home, he's finally here."

It was a voice once thought dead by the cosmos, or at least thought to be dormant, uncaring of the universe away from the everchanging strings of fate that binds everything.

The Aeon of Fate, Moirai, they had looked at him.

Why choose him? Why had the threads of fate tangled themselves so tightly around his form? Was he that important of a piece in the plot of the universe?

"...I need to make him stronger, he will be needed in the future."

Ah, that was the reason, but was he really important to the fate of the cosmos?

Important enough to become one of the Spools? One of the most important pieces of the cosmic tapestry?

However there was no room for his questions in the grander will of the cosmos, nor did he think that the Aeon would answer him if he could ask.

So he would allow himself to be used as a puppet of fate, if it would lead him to the answers to his questions, if it would let him spread the gospel of beauty across the universe.

If it would lead him to the gaze of Idrila once more.

But until then, he would follow the path of the strings wherever they would lead him.

It's all he can do at the moment.

[saltywritings]

Petals of the Dragon | Aemond Targaryen x Reader | Part Two

summary: a multipart beauty and the beast au.

part three

series warnings: suggestive commentary, foul language, violence, etc.

in the days that followed you slowly felt comfortable leaving your chambers each day. the time you spent with the beast, aemond as he was referred to often by the furniture that has become your companions, was minimal. something that you were genuinely grateful for. yet, as you strolled across the castle you were unable to keep your curiosity at bay. you wondered what could possibly be hidden away in the west wing of the castle? your feet danced along the stairs quietly, making sure to not pull any attention as you ventured into forbidden territory.  once reaching the top of the staircase your eyes were pulled to an open door. there was a part of you that was telling you to flee- to stay away from it. to go before you were caught. for you still had been uncertain what this beast was fully capable of, and yet? you pulled your feet to the open door, head poking in first to assure that he had not been nearby. however, the room was empty. a mess, but empty. the room was warm, perhaps the warmest part in the castle with roaring fire emerging from its fireplace. blankets were torn to shreds and scattered across the room, tossed over furniture, and the remnant of a bed frame was before you in the room. a torn tapestry rested against the wall, clinging onto one another by mere threads. you walked over to threads that clung together, you fingers nimbly held the fabric up to get a better look at what had been torn- and it resembled the beast you had seen in some light. the features were different, but the structure seemed the same. though, your attention was only brought to the tapestry momentarily.

it was only a mater of moments before a glow came upon the room. you turned to see what had been causing this sudden glow in the room and to the side of the bed near the balcony stood a rose on a table, under a glass dome. there had been something unexplainable that allured you to it. a natural pull. a part of you that was unable to resist. for it was only a matter of seconds before your hands were pulling up the glass dome that sheltered the rose; for your eyes looked to its glowing red petals with wonder. you managed to pluck the dome from the table, your eyes full of wonder, and blissfully unaware of the petals that had long wilted from the rose. one of your hands slowly moved to the rose, your fingers almost touching a petal when you felt a hand grab onto your arm. a harsh pull that caused you to stumble back on to the ground. you landed on your bum, looking up as the beast quickly placed the cover back over the rose.

“do you have any idea what you could have done!” the beast snapped turning to face you, towering over you as you attempted to stumble to your feet.

“i-i’m sorry-“ is all you could stutter out.

“i told you to never go to this wing of the castle!” he continued to scream, his face coming closer to yours as you continued to flinch in his presences. before you, aemond had begun wildling flipping over furniture, throwing things from the ground- a black crown tumbling down after.

“stop, please. stop.” you spluttered, beginning to beg now.

“get out!” he hissed, you were frozen for a moment but he repeated himself. “get out!” this time he was screaming and you did not hesitate again. quickly, you left the room. sprinting out of it and down the stairs. you were booking it for the door when you heard the clock, otto as he referred to himself, shout after you. you were rushing past him, knocking him over in your pass. 

“where are you going?!” otto shouted, you had reached the door.

“i’m leaving- oath or not, its not worth being locked in here.” you confessed your hand pulling at the handle for the door.

“you can’t leave-“ the candlestick, aegon as he so proudly called himself, called out almost helplessly.

“i’m sorry.” is all you were able to mutter before you went racing from the castle, the cold winter air ate at your skin through your dress.

your fingertips were nearly numb from the cold by the time you manage to pull your horse from the stable. you climbed on the back and attempted to ride far from the castle. in the dark of the night and in the blizzarding snow you attempted to race through the woods. your horse was quickly confused in the night and while you attempted to pull the reigns your horse listened to not commands. this time was short, however. for the growling of the wolves quickly rung in your ear. surrounding your horse had been the pack of wolves. your father once told you that the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. the thought came to your head only to realize how outnumbered you were. as the growling continued your horse took off. wildly thrashing through the woods. you were grasping on for your life. however, there had only been so long you were able to hold onto her before you were sent flying back- and your horse continued on without you.

panic spread across your soft features as the sound of growling grew louder and louder. it was in the pale moon light that you could see the dark wolves closing in on you. quickly, you stood to your feet hands grabbing on a near by branch as you attempted to keep the wolves from you. arms swinging violently as you the wolves nipped the air by your clothing. just missing you as you attempted to keep them away. however, the branch snapped and soon you were face to face with what would likely be your fate. you only hoped that the mother would give you a merciful death if this was the end. if this was how you met the stranger. you covered your face, expecting the worst. however, a loud grunt came from behind you as a yelp came from the wolves. behind you had been the very beast who had entrapped you. his claws coming down to pull the wolves, they bit at him and scratched him as he fought them. you stood in shock as aemond fought off the wolves- watching as they went scurrying away. aemond, however, only looked to you for a moment before he collapsed to the ground. covered in his own blood you rushed to him. there was a part of you telling yourself to leave. but you couldn’t. not after he had saved your life. therefore, you stood beside aemond as you manage to get him back to the castle.

you had aemond resting in a chair by the fireplace, alicent brought you warm water with a rag to help clean aemond’s wounds. the bowl rested in front of you and your hands dipped the cloth into the warm water before you brought it to the wound on aemond’s arm.

“hold still!” you insisted through gritted teeth, finally managing to place it down on the wound once you had a grip of his arm.

“i don’t need your help, you’re just trying to hurt me-” aemond spoke back to you attempting to pull his arm away from your grasp.

“it wouldn’t hurt so much if you would just hold still, i’m only trying to help-“ you were attempting to plead with him but aemond finally sat up in his chair. an ounce of energy overcoming him as he sat up to look at you with a powerful scold.

“i wouldn’t even be in such situation if you had not run away,” aemond attempted to gain the upper hand.

“i wouldn’t have run away if you hadn’t frightened me, if you would have controlled your tempter.” you fought with him, cloth still in hand.

“i forbid you from going to the west wing of the castle,” aemond reminded you.

“you still did not need react that way, aemond.” you scolded, however, the attention shifted.

“what did you say?” the silver haired beast continued to question, you did not answer. “where did you hear that?” he questioned you.

“the furniture, they call you aemond.” you explained, your eyes meeting his. there was a silence that followed as your eyes remained locked to his. “may i call you aemond?” you questioned, aware it had been his name and had begun quite tired of referring to him as a beast.

“you may-“ aemond granted the permission, breaking eye contact with you. carefully, he gave up handing his arm back over to you as you carefully pulled the warm cloth back to his wound.

“thank you, aemond.” you called his name softly. it felt foreign to him. his name coming off of your lips. there was a part of him that softened as you continued. “thank you for saving my life,” you expressed your tender hands continuing to clean his wound.

“you’re welcome, y/n” aemond called to you slumping into the chair slightly as his body relaxed.

you weren’t leaving here anytime soon.

[grapehyasynth]

Mystical/magical au where Simon is a traveling bard and one rainy night he takes shelter in the ruins of an old castle, but there's someone there - a solemn young man named Wilhelm who says this is his home and he's waiting for his family to get back. He seems trapped in the past: where Simon sees overgrowth and rubble, Wilhelm describes high glass windows and beautiful tapestries. Simon thinks maybe Wilhelm is a ghost, though he seems warm and solid enough. They spend the night talking and Simon gathers that Wilhelm was the younger son of a lord. When dawn comes, Simon tries to convince him to leave with him, but he says he can't risk missing his family on their return. Simon wonders how long he has been waiting.

When Simon reaches his next city, he spends hours in the university library researching nobility of the region. He learns that Wilhelm's entire family died in a tragic boating accident many years ago. And yet their son has remained, trapped in time, an ear out for their returning carriage.

His friends warn him not to go back to the ruins. They think Wilhelm is a dark spirit who is trying to lure Simon in and hold him there forever. But Simon goes back, spends more time with Wilhelm. He's torn about whether to tell him the truth about his family. Will it break Wilhelm's heart? Will Wilhelm vanish when his purpose is resolved? He can't decide. And he feels himself falling for Wilhelm, which can't work for either of them. In a panic he tries to leave in the middle of the night - but Wilhelm chases after him, and the second he steps outside the ruins, he remembers everything, he understands, he falls to his knees, the spell broken but Wilhelm still here, still young, still orphaned and devastated. Simon runs back to him, holds him, promises they'll take the next steps together

[shentheauthor]

AAAAAAAA THIS IS SO CUTE

Certified kore moment

MADE LAMBSONAS WITH MY FRIENDS AND I!!! ITS SO MUCH FUN I have a few more friends that still have yet to make theirs and imma make another page for them when the time comes!

We made them using this picrew! Made by @jobycewl

Also warning my girlfriend flew into town and it’s been a lot more busy than I thought so imma be going on another slight hiatus sorry! At least I have service this time 😩

[shentheauthor]

The Tiger

Nael, age 6

[didyoutrydynamite]

In Renegate AU, how would a game of "Remnant" go? Like the one from JNRZ durables. Would they gang up on Jaune, or are they so competitive that it is free for all? Does Neo use her semblance to cheat?

Renegades: *Currently into their third hour of Remnant the Game*

Cinder: *Playing as Atlas, currently occupying Vacuan soil, her immense armada's blockading Vale and Mistral as she continued her brutal invasion on Adam's territory.*

Ah, my dear Adam, you continue to fight against the inevitable. You see, your resistance is nothing more than a fleeting illusion, a feeble attempt to defy the natural order of power. You cannot prevail against the might I possess. Surrender now, and I may grant you a merciful end. Embrace the futility of your struggle and bask in the superiority of my dominance. I promise, under my rule this world will see a new age!

Adam: *Playing as Vacuo, has long ago activated his Faction's Special Condition, where despite losing his Capital, he now can continue fighting as long as his Leader is alive and he meets a certain Morale Threshold. He is now waging guerilla warfare on Cinder's invading forces, and has started instigating civil unrest in all other factions to increase Grimm count so no one can overrun his rebel cells.*

Your words may be laced with arrogance, but they cannot smother the flame of our determination. We refuse to be shackled by your oppressive rule, for we believe in the power of unity and the resilience of the Vacuan spirit. We will rise against your tyranny, forging a future where freedom reigns and your reign crumbles. *Stands up, knocking over his chair* So, prepare yourself, you demon, for we are the embodiment of hope, and no matter the odds, WE WILL NEVER YIELD! FREEDOOOOOOM!!!

Neo: *Playing as Mistral, cheating her ass off. With her Semblance, she's been disguising troop placements, switching cards, twisting the borders of territories, and fudging every dice roll. All other players have to constantly tap the board or flick her cards to shatter any possible illusions she conjures. It's to a point where not even Neo know's what's real anymore and has gone mad with power as a Goddess of Mischief and Deceit over their tiny flat world.*

(Behold, mortals, the one who dances in the shadows, the embodiment of chaos and cunning. I, Neo Politan, revel in the twisted tapestry of this world. Through deceit, I unravel the fabric of your feeble existence, leaving naught but confusion and despair in my wake! See how the world crumbles beneath my touch, a testament to my unstoppable might. Every thread of trust unraveled, every heart ensnared by my web of lies. Chaos, my eternal companion, dances with glee as I tear down the foundations of your fragile order. MWHAHAHAHAAH!)

Jaune: *Playing as trusty Vale, a bulwark of honor and courage stands against the war torn world of Remnant. Grimm thrive and grow fat with gluttony on the horrors these lands now face. He faces riots and unrest in his city streets thanks to Adam's revolutionaries, his people face hunger and famine thanks to Cinder's blockades, and now he can't even trust his own eyes thanks to the chaos and confusion of Neo's powers.*

Guys, this is by far the most fun game of Remnant I've ever had, I'm glad we're friends. 😊

[shentheauthor]

A very tall lamb approaches!

I think they’d want to play cards and/or knucklebones. They will gamble. Be warned, they’re very good at knucklebones!

They also haven’t seen a sheep since before they died like, a thousand years ago, so if it’s cool, they’d like a hug. They’re like 7 and a half feet tall, so it’s hard to hug them

A KISSING BOOTH?!? [1K celebration post!)

Chime and Eira Bell and Bing-Lamb are now open for kisses, cuddles and hugs for all creatures, big and small! (Though Bing-Lamb does have a preference for three eyed cats. Maybe Bell does too but they’ll never admit it)

You can also challenge Bell to a game of cards, who knows maybe if you win you’ll get a reward! (winning is picked at random)

I usually don’t participate in this sort of stuff but this one was too good not to have my piece of cake too!!!

To participate, simply ✨reblog✨ this post with your character, and what you’d like this sillies to do!

Heads up, Bell is a big party pooper so it’s extremely likely they’ll reject most requests. However, they do have a type. And the requests they accept will heavily depend on that. Yes, biased Bell. What’s the type tho. Who knows! They won’t tell me!

Now—

KEEP. IT. SFW. PLEASE

ANY EXPLICIT REQUESTS WILL BE IGNORED AND THE USER WHO SENT IT BLOCKED. Understood? Understood.

The post will be open for a couple days and once the event is over I’ll make an update stating so. That said, have fun! Cuz I sure did heeheehoo.

Let’s hope this don’t flop

[toon-tales]

Hiya, guys! As you can see, another one shot of the 'Branch has a child' au, cause I can't stop now! Anyway, just wanted to describe Rosiepuff, cause I suck at drawing. Ok, so, she has pastel yellow skin and coral, specifically peach pink, hair, and her nose is that salmon shade of red. Pastels, as you can see, because who doesn't like pastels?

Also, this takes place during THIH, after Branch's gift exploded

Anyway, enjoy!

Crafted bonds

It blew up as fast as it came together. That's probably why it blew up. Branch groaned, reaching out a shaky hand to the back of his head. Great, he thought sarcastically. Just great.

Then a small cough interrupted his thoughts.

His instincts kicked in, and the first thought that crossed his mind was Rosiepuff, his daughter. With the colorful dust still hanging in the air, he swiftly maneuvered through the scattered remnants of his grand gesture, his eyes searching for her familiar face. The bunker, usually a place of calm, was now a canvas of disarray, but all that mattered to Branch was Rosiepuff's safety.

He found her not far from the epicenter of the blast, her wide eyes reflecting the myriad of colors that had painted the place just seconds ago. She was startled, yes, but unharmed, her resilient spirit already turning the shock into curiosity. Seeing her guardian's concerned expression, Rosiepuff reached out, her small hands finding Branch's larger ones, a silent reassurance that all was well. Her smile, a little shaky but genuine, was enough to ease Branch's worry.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" he suddenly asked, pulling away from the hug and examining her, his hands moving with practiced ease to inspect for any injuries. "Legs? Arms? Feet? Anything?"

The girl shook her head. "I'm fine, Daddy," she muttered, slightly shaking as she buried her face in the older Troll's chest. Branch sighed in relief. His grip tightened around the smaller finger ever so slightly, careful not to hurt her.

"What are you going to get Aunt Poppy now?" Excellent question. Problem? Branch didn't know. He stood amidst the chaos, his heart sinking as his eyes fell upon the torn remnants of photographs scattered around him. Hands hesitant, they reached for the scattered pieces of pictures around him. They were split, torn, the once-taken-care-of's. Each picture was a captured moment, a memory of the laughter and love he shared with Poppy, now frayed at the edges and split by unintended mishaps. The vibrant colors of their past adventures seemed to fade before his eyes, overshadowed by the gray pall of regret that now hung in the air. He knelt down, gingerly picking up another piece of a photo, the edges rough against his fingertips. It was a snapshot of a picnic they had, with Poppy's radiant smile being the centerpiece of that sunny day. Another piece showed them mid-dance, lost in the music and in each other. Branch felt a lump form in his throat as he put them together.

He closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath, trying to center himself amidst the storm of emotions. When he opened them again, his resolve had hardened. With careful hands, he began to gather the pieces, laying them out like a tapestry of their time together. Some edges matched, while others did not, but each fragment was precious, as he placed them on the table.

With a determined spark in his eyes, Branch turned to Rosiepuff and declared, "We're going to make a scrapbook, Rosie. A scrapbook for all these memories."

Rosiepuff's face lit up with excitement, her tiny hands clapping in joy. "Scrapbooking with dad!" she squealed, bouncing on her toes. Together, they gathered the torn photographs, the glitter, and even the bits and pieces that were scattered around from the explosion. They laid everything out on the table, a canvas waiting to be transformed.

"Okay, sweetheart, we'll start by placing the photos here," Branch instructed, pointing to the empty pages of the notebook. Rosiepuff nodded eagerly, her fingers already picking up a photo of her and Poppy playing dress-up. "This one is my favorite. Can we add it?" she asked, waiting for permission to place the photo on the page.

Branch smiled. "We'll add whatever we want when we get to it." Another squeal escaped the young girl.

Branch chuckled as he sat next to her. "Now, what do you think we should add?"

Rosiepuff, needles to be told, had already gathered all the colorful papers she could find. She let them land on the table with a soft thud, and dust flew around them for a second. Her eyes beamed with joy. "Will those work?"

"You bet, sweetheart," her father replied with a 'let's get down to business' smile. "Let's start from the beginning."

"The trip to Bergen town?"

"The trip to Bergen town," Branch confirmed, handing her two different shades of purple pieces of paper and a pencil. "Can you draw a spider?"

She looked up at him. "Like the one you chased away with your hair?"

"That one."

"Yes!"

Branch smiled at her enthusiasm. He watched as she picked up her tools, drawing random lines across the paper before she began to draw the main outline. His gaze shifted to the tiny scraps in front of him. 'Branch and Poppy's great adventures' rang in his head. Simple, and beautiful. Perfect.

"Done!" a tiny voice cut through his thoughts, and a crocky drawing of a spider slipped under his face. "What do you think?"

"Amazing, Rosie," he praised. "We'll just have to cut it out and stick it."

And Rosiepuff wasted no second in grabbing the scissors. Which were gently taken from her grip.

"You're not allowed near scissors yet," Branch stated in a matter-of-factly tone. "You can draw something else while I cut it out, how about that?"

The younger pouted. "But Aunt Poppy lets me cut out the figures when we scrapbook together!"

Branch's eyes widened, the scissors' path coming to a halt. "Aunt Poppy does what?!"

Rosiepuff avoided his gaze, and she murmured a soft, "Aunt Poppy lets me hold the scissors…" as her finger traced along the wooden table.

The dull troll looked at her as if she had said she murdered someone. He sighed. "Well, from now on, you're not allowed near anything sharp. Got it?"

"But-"

"No buts, I can't risk you getting injured while I'm not here." He took out another red paper. "You can draw something else while I do the cutting."

She huffed. "Alright…" She picked up her pencil. "What should I draw?"

Branch pondered for a moment. "Hmm… how about… the moment Poppy got crowned?"

"Ay ay, Dad!" And with that, the young girl began her work.

—------------

"Stick the rest of the pictures while I decorate the cover, can you do that?"

Rosiepuff sat with a fascinated glint in her eyes, surrounded by a sea of colorful paper, glitter, and more memories waiting to be immortalized in the scrapbook. Branch, with his gentle guidance, showed her how to select the perfect moments that captured the essence of their adventures with Poppy. He taught her the value of each memory, explaining why some moments shone brighter in their hearts. The pastel-yellow girl listened intently, her little hands carefully placing photos, her concentration palpable as she decided where each piece belonged.

"Write a little note," Branch said softly, nodding towards the shot of Poppy and his daughter playing dress-up.

Rosiepuff giggled, a small squeak escaping her lips as she wrote letters Branch couldn't quite make out. Not that his handwriting was any better.

"We're out of glue."

His eyes widened. "What? We still have so much to do!"

His daughter looked at him with an innocent smile. "Want me to borrow some from Aunt Poppy?"

"No, she'll suspect something is up…"

"We can use tape!"

He took the tape from her hand. It won't be as good, but at least it's better than leaving half of the pages empty. And besides, Poppy wouldn't suspect anything if they didn't ask for glue. "Alright, let's see."

Branch watched as her tiny hands reached for the scissors once more, only for him to win the race and have them in his grip again. A proud smile tugged at his lips, while a disappointment pout appeared on her face, as he saw her creativity bloom, despite grumpy. He offered suggestions, but more often than not, he found himself learning from Rosiepuff's uninhibited approach to the scrapbook. She mixed colors with abandon, pairs the unlikeliest of memories, and somehow, it all came together beautifully. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from her.

"Now, let's add some…" he trailed off, gagging slightly, "glitter around it," he muttered, handing her a jar of glitter. Rosiepuff's face broke into a wide grin as she sprinkled the glitter over the page, turning it into a shimmering masterpiece.

Hours passed, and the scrapbook began to take shape, each page a collage of their lives. There were pages filled with laughter, pages that sparkled with the magic of their world, and pages that simply showed the everyday moments that, when pieced together, told the story of a family.

Finally, as they placed the last photo, Rosiepuff leaned back and admired their work. "It's beautiful, Daddy. Aunt Poppy is going to love it!" she exclaimed, her voice full of pride.

Branch wrapped an arm around Rosiepuff's shoulders, pulling her close. "She will, Rosie. And it's all thanks to you," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

[piecesofeden11]

17 and 29 from the ao3 wrapped!

Thank you so much for playing <3 (from this ao3 wrapped ) 17. You favorite character to write this year? - I really liked writing Obi-Wan and like to think I managed to get his voice/tone done pretty well. Surprisingly, I also had a blast with Ahsoka in Half-Pass but she might gave gotten a little more AU treatment and thus being a little less "in character" 29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? From my first entry to the Obianidala Week: (Cut for length)

+1

Fate spins yarn. It spins and spins and spins and does not ask permission. Nor does it offer explanations or excuses. Fate would stand neutral in the face of tragedy, watching yet another failed tapestry rip apart and burn because Fate can only spin yarn, not intervene where darker Forces are at play.

"I loved you!"

"I hate you!"

"There's good in him."

They would have made a beautiful tapestry. Of Gold and Silver and Copper, bright as the suns and the moons and the stars. A strong one, too. Had they only begun to weave, intertwining their strands earlier, two strings lending strength when one would falter, perhaps their tapestry would now be the size of the heavens themselves.

But they had only just begun to realize their potential before the Darkness had cut in and torn the delicate fabric to shreds, burning it on the molten cliffs of Mustafar.

A shame.

Fate is used to failure. Fate can only spin yarn and hope it gets turned into something beautiful.

But perhaps Fate thinks I shall try something different this time.

And Fate begins to spin new yarn, twin threads, in twisting Silver, Gold and Copper.

Perhaps Fate thinks this will become the tapestry they could have been.

[fratboykate]

💀💀 poor baby nat 😂😂

I'm looking at your new AU bodyguard and loving it, widowed Yelena and celeb Kate ufff the angst BRING IT and I know you can man that CFAU chapter 👀🤚🫠🙃 so much you can work with this AU specially that they get divorced like 😬😵 yeah anymore you can share I'll be here 😄❤️

Well, y'all were begging for wedding stuff the past couple of days so here...have 3k of BGAU wedding things 😈

---

Yelena navigates the now familiar, labyrinthine ways of the vast military cemetery. The mid-morning sun casts a gentle glow over the seemingly endless rows of pristine white tombstones that stand with unwavering decorum. A soft spring breeze makes the hair that escapes from the blonde's braid dance in the wind. In the distance, a flag flutters with dignified grace, its stars and stripes unfurling proudly against the azure canvas of the sky.

Yelena clutches a delicate bouquet of lilies and roses as she approaches the particular resting place she's come to know intimately amidst the sea of marble markers. She places the stunning bouquet atop the headstone, feeling the coolness of the marble against her fingertips.

"Hey...Sorry that it's been a second and that I can't stay for long. Things have gotten a little...crazy."

Yelena's shoulders tense up, a subtle but unmistakable sign of her nervousness. She rolls them in response, trying to loosen them up.

"Tomorrow’s the day. It's weird...yeah. It's weird. When I say 'my wife' after tomorrow, it's not going to be about you anymore."

Yelena pauses then chuckles.

"You're probably laughing at me right now. I can hear you laughing...I can still remember your laugh...She's not...She's not replacing you. But she's good for me. At least, I think she is. She drives me crazy and her entire life is a circus. Being in the circus is definitely not easy, but I still think she's good for me. Your dad says she is. He’s met her. I didn't force him or anything. He insisted...They get along really well too and it weirds me out a little every time. Maybe I should’ve told you before I introduced my new...before I introduced her to your dad. It was strange...All of this is strange."

Yelena glances at her watch, her eyes briefly fixating on the time.

"I have to go. I still need to pick up my suit. Cutting it close, I know. It was too long last week, so they had to keep working on it."

Yelena lingers, torn between the urgency to leave and a reluctance to part ways.

"I'm not replacing you."

The statement is more for her sake than anyone else's. It's a reminder as much as a declaration to the empty space around her. The words echo within Yelena's mind, a mantra she silently repeats as a desperate plea of self-assurance. She clings to the hope that if she continues to tell herself, and if she says it enough times, it will become her truth.

"I have to go."

Yelena takes a deliberate step forward and kneels in front of the headstone, her movements guided by a mixture of reverence and trepidation. Her fingers trace the intricate inscription etched into the smooth marble.

"Natasha Alianovna Belova. Daughter, wife, friend, and hero."

The words, carefully carved in elegant script, encapsulate the essence of a love that transcends the boundaries of time and mortality. Yelena's eyes fixate on the word "wife”, her hand hesitating above it, suspended in a fleeting moment of contemplation.

Feelings surge and collide within Yelena's heart, an elaborate dance of love and loss that intertwines with cherished and painful memories.

The weight of the past, the yearning for what could have been, and the dogged embrace of the future combine to create an emotional tapestry that envelops her very being. She leans her forehead against the cool marble, finding solace in the connection she can still feel with the woman that lies here. With a deep breath, Yelena rises before turning and walking away.

Tomorrow, she starts a new chapter, one that Natasha will never be a part of. Although the profound legacy of their love is intricately woven into each of Yelena’s atoms, Natasha cannot be a part of Yelena’s new life. Their story officially ends here, but Yelena’s now continues with someone else.

As she steps away, leaving a piece of her heart behind, Yelena dries her eyes with the back of her hands to stop the tears that threaten to escape from falling.

---

Yelena drives past the imposing security gate leading into the sprawling three-story mansion she now calls home. This multimillion-dollar masterpiece nestled in the Hollywood Hills embodies luxury, from its meticulously manicured grounds to its lavish interiors adorned with exquisite artwork and breathtaking architectural details. Every facet of this palatial residence exudes opulence, serving as a testament to Kate's unrivaled success. Basically, it’s everything Yelena is not.

The house buzzes with a frenzy of activity as Kate’s staff scrambles to orchestrate the final touches for the wedding of the year. The air is filled with the hum of spirited conversations and the rhythmic click of high heels against the polished marble floors. Amidst the commotion, Sam, Kate's trusted and efficient assistant, materializes by Yelena's side, radiating a sense of urgency and purpose.

Yelena braces herself, fully aware that her fiancée's emotions have been wildly unpredictable over the past few weeks.

"Kate's freaking out."

"What about this time?"

"The flowers. Planner sent her a picture of the venue as an update, and Kate hates the flowers."

"Solutions?"

“We have less than twenty-four hours. There are none. She wants to change them to gardenias. Where are we going to find five thousand gardenias today?"

They look at each other, both understanding the enormity of the task.

"You need me to talk her down."

"We need you to talk her down."

Yelena chuckles and shakes her head.

"Where is she?"

"Studio."

"Let me talk to her. I’ll check in when I have an answer for you."

Sam nods, visibly relieved.

"How many gardenias do you think we can realistically get today?"

"I've called every florist in LA County. Between them all, maybe a thousand."

"Do you have the pictures Kate saw?”

Sam rummages through her pocket, retrieving her phone and pulling up the pictures. Yelena examines them intently.

"Okay."

Yelena turns and walks away, ready to find a way to salvage the situation.

---

Yelena enters the state of the art home studio and finds Kate, her forehead pressed against the piano, repeatedly tapping a single key with her pointer finger. Yelena can't help but cackle at the sight.

Kate turns to the door and offers a depressing grimace.

"Why did you let me pick hydrangeas?”, Kate laments.

Yelena chuckles and shakes her head while approaching. She tenderly runs her hand down the brunette’s back as she takes a seat on the empty corner of the piano bench.

"The hydrangeas look fine."

Yelena reassures her, leaning in to gently kiss Kate's lips. But Kate's frown only deepens, and she gives Yelena the most pitiful puppy eyes.

"Our wedding is going to look like ass and everyone is going to be there. Oprah's coming!"

"Don't remind me, please, or I'll start insisting on eloping again." Yelena teases, trying to lighten the mood.

"It has to look perfect." Kate retorts, her voice tinged with anxiety.

"It will. It does. I saw the pictures. It looks beautiful."

"It looks awful."

"I think you're spiraling again."

"I'm not." Kate whines pathetically. "Where were you? I was texting you."

"Last minute errands." Yelena replies, hoping to deflect the question.

"Did you get your suit?"

“Uhum. All ready."

"Is it perfect?"

"I look very hot." Yelena tells her in jest with a playful smile.

"It's easy to make you look hot. I need to know if it's perfect now."

“Kate Bishop, the suit is perfect. They fixed everything and it looks great.”

"Good. I can only handle one disaster at a time."

Kate sighs and Yelena repositions herself to face Kate directly, gently cupping her face in her hands.

"Hey..." Yelena speaks softly and tenderly. "I'm no flower expert, but I think they look great."

"Sam snitched, didn't she." Kate grumbles.

"I may have seen her on my way here." Yelena admits with a rascally grin.

"She's getting fired when we come back from the honeymoon." Kate declares, but her tone makes it clear she’s (mostly) joking.

Yelena chuckles.

"You love Sam. Don't fire Sam. What if we mixed in gardenias with the hydrangeas instead of replacing them completely? Would that help?"

"I don't know...........maybe???”

"Can I tell Sam to get on that? It's getting late, and I'm sure they're going to need time to make it all happen."

"I gueeeesssssss."

Kate looks at her fiancée pathetically, with a mixture of helplessness and whining in her voice. Yelena fishes her phone out of her jacket pocket and sends a quick text to Kate's assistant.

"See? Dealt with. Problem solved. I'm sure Oprah will approve."

Kate grouses some more.

"What if everyone thinks our wedding is lame?"

"Kate, I've seen how much this wedding cost. I'm pretty sure it's impossible for anything involving that many zeroes to be ‘lame’."

"You obviously think it's lame." Kate pouts.

"Lame? Not at all. Excessive? Entirely. I would've been fine with an officiant in the backyard."

"That definitely would've been lame."

They look at each other and burst out laughing.

"Oprah would've judged us." Yelena quips with a teasing smile.

"Not at all Oprah-approved.”

"Does it make me sound like a jerk if I say I don't care what any of them think? As far as I'm concerned, tomorrow is about you, and if you're happy, then we did good."

"Just about me?" Kate questions, scanning Yelena's eyes, trying to find even an ounce of hesitation in them.

"Revisit my previous point about the trashy poolside wedding."

"I know. I know. You hate that I'm making you do this."

"Hate is a strong word. Simply not what would've been my first choice."

"You hate it."

"I don't, but I can't pretend I'm not looking forward to putting it behind us. It's been a little intense."

"I'll make it up to you during the honeymoon." Kate suggests with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Well, when you put it like that...it's been TORTURE, borderline traumatic. So much to make up for. So, soooo much."

Yelena jokes, playing along. Kate smiles, finally relaxing in Yelena's embrace.

"Don't take advantage now." Kate surveys Yelena's face attentively. "By this time tomorrow, you'll be my wife."

Yelena nods, a soft smile on her lips.

"Unless you get cold feet...or Oprah objects."

"I'd punch Oprah in the face if she did. I've been trained by the best now. Can land a very good punch."

Yelena chuckles.

"I'll be sure to warn her to keep her opinions to herself then because you HAVE been trained by the best and that black eye you gave me proves it."

"You said 'swing like you mean it', so I did." Kate shrugs with a smile.

"All those hours of training...so you could knock out the most beloved woman on TV. Who knew?" Yelena laughs.

"Can't say I'm not putting everything you taught me to good use." Kate replies with a smirk.

"Of course."

"Of course."

Kate leans her head against Yelena's chest while Yelena wraps her arms around her, pulling her closer.

"We can still call it off."

Yelena suggests and Kate raises an eyebrow, looking up at her curiously.

"You want to call off the wedding?"

"No. Not the whole thing. We could take the jet to Vegas or something. I'd still be your wife by this time tomorrow but with zero of the stress."

"But I want to show you off! Are you kidding me? The super hot Special Ops Marine said 'Yes' when I asked her to marry me. I want the whole world to know. I also want the world to know how sexy you look in that uniform."

"I only enlisted because I knew I'd look sexy in uniform."

"Duh," Kate responds with a playful eye-roll.

"Obviously."

They burst into laughter.

"I’m sure I’m being insane but I just want tomorrow to be perfect," Kate confesses earnestly.

"It will," Yelena assures her.

"Promise?"

"If it isn't, we can blame Oprah."

Kate’s lips curve upward before she pulls Yelena’s face down toward her and delivers a soft kiss.

"Deal."

The kiss quickly escalates. As clothes start to come off and their movements grow more urgent, Kate and Yelena’s hands and limbs inadvertently press the piano keys, producing melodies that reverberate through the room and serve as the soundtrack to their last romp before becoming wives. The rhythm of their lovemaking harmonizes with the playful notes, their bodies becoming one with the music.

---

Kate Bishop's wedding to her former bodyguard is a lavish extravaganza that surpasses all expectations, cementing its status as the wedding of the decade. The sprawling California estate is adorned with opulent decorations and surrounded by pristine gardens, transforming the venue into a fairytale paradise. The air crackles with electric anticipation as an extraordinary ensemble of celebrities — A-List Hollywood icons, chart-topping musicians, the occasional royalty, and other influential figures — effortlessly mingle, exuding an aura of elegance in their exquisite attire and dazzling jewelry. Aware that this is a gathering for the crème de la crème of the entertainment industry, paparazzi strategically line the venue's perimeter, stealthily capturing candid moments of the exclusive guest list. Across social media platforms, a frenzy erupts as hashtags and trending topics ignite, capturing and disseminating every glamorous detail, ultimately ensconcing the wedding as the hottest topic in town.

The ceremony takes place under a magnificent floral arch of hydrangeas and gardenias. Yelena, resplendent in her crisp Marine Dress Blues, stands at the altar, radiating confidence. Her breath catches in her throat the moment Kate makes her entrance, a vision of ethereal beauty in a custom-designed gown that seems to make the world pause. Gasps of awe ripple through the crowd as Kate glides down the aisle, her presence commanding attention and stealing hearts.

The moment they stand face to face, their eyes lock and suddenly, the stress of the last few months feels justified. The exchange of vows is a series of heartfelt promises, spoken with the utmost sincerity, accompanied by tears of elation from both the couple and their guests. As the officiant pronounces them partners for life, the new wives seal their commitment with a passionate kiss.

The outdoor reception space is a sight to behold, adorned with cascading, sumptuous floral arrangements and ornate table settings. Kate and Yelena enter the reception, each wearing a different custom-made outfit than the ones they wore at the ceremony. Kate opts for a party-friendly short, form-fitting dress, while Yelena looks dashing in her flawlessly tailored suit. The room buzzes with laughter and animated conversations that continue for hours.

A seemingly endless array of culinary delights awaits the guests, each dish a work of art meticulously crafted by world-class chefs to delight the senses. Exquisite champagne and top-shelf liquor flow freely, with heartfelt toasts raised to the newlyweds and the beginning of their remarkable life together. The dance floor transforms into a spectacle of elegance and high energy as celebrities showcase their moves to the tunes spun by a world-class DJ. Special performances by all of Kate's favorite artists add an extra touch of star-studded thrills to the celebration.

Long after the moon casts its glow upon the brides and their guests, the wedding reception draws to a close. As the echoes of laughter, music, and other people gradually fade, Kate and Yelena find themselves in a quiet corner, locked in a silent embrace, savoring the intimacy of the moment. With whispered words and lingering touches, they bid farewell to the spirited celebration that marks the beginning of their forever.

The next day, Kate and Yelena set off on their much-awaited three-week honeymoon to the idyllic paradise of the Seychelles. The secluded beaches of their villa’s private island offer a sanctuary from the world, and after months of hectic wedding prep, they finally get time to revel in each other. Surrounded by lush tropical landscapes, they find themselves immersed in a haven of serenity and romance. Here, they surrender to their deepest desires, exploring the depths of passion and intimacy. They have sex. Lots of it. But their honeymoon extends beyond the confines of their bedroom. They embark on adventures, including snorkeling coral reefs teeming with life, sailing through crystal-clear waters, and basking in the sun's warmth on secluded beaches. As the days pass, the Seychelles becomes the backdrop for their growing bond. Their love deepens with every stolen glance, every tender caress, and every heartfelt conversation shared under the open skies.

When their three weeks draw to a close, Kate and Yelena return home, eagerly anticipating the road ahead, knowing that their love will continue to blossom and thrive as they start a lifetime of shared escapades and boundless happiness.

---

Unfortunately, that "lifetime" they envisioned proved to be depressingly short-lived. A mere thirteen months after their wedding, Kate finds herself in her studio, sitting at the same piano where they made love the night before their wedding, except instead of basking in the warmth of Yelena's body, she now clutches a pen and her trembling hand hovers above a stack of divorce papers.

Tears cascade down Kate's cheeks. Everything here is a painful reminder of the dreams and promises that unraveled over time. Once filled with ecstasy, the room now reverberates with the distressed sounds of her anguished sobs. And amidst the suffocating weight of heartbreak, Kate is forced to confront an agonizing truth — she doesn’t even have anyone else to blame. She’s the reason why they’re here.

[meritonosu]

Knicks Fanfiction AU Jalen Brunson x Oc X Julius Randle

The vibrant energy of Madison Square Garden set the stage for a game that would not only showcase the skills of the New York Knicks but also unfold an intricate love story. Madison, an avid sports journalist, found herself drawn into the captivating dynamics between two of the Knicks' star players, Julius Randle and Jalen Brunson, as subtle currents of connection sparked beneath the surface.

From the opening plays, Madison observed the undeniable chemistry between Julius and Jalen, a connection that went beyond the typical camaraderie of teammates. The two players moved on the court with an unspoken understanding, their synchronized efforts creating a synergy that left spectators in awe. Madison's journalistic instincts kicked in as she picked up on the subtle glances and shared smiles that hinted at a deeper connection.

Post-game interviews became moments of intrigue for Madison. Julius's powerful presence and Jalen's charismatic charm added layers of complexity to their interactions, leaving a lingering tension that couldn't be easily defined. The trio's growing friendship was tinted with subtle undercurrents, creating a dynamic that Madison found both captivating and perplexing.

One evening, after a victorious game, the trio celebrated at a local bar, the city lights twinkling in the background. As they laughed and shared stories, Madison couldn't ignore the subtle touches between Julius and Jalen. A brush of hands here, a shared look there – moments that hinted at an unspoken connection, hidden beneath the surface of their camaraderie.

The homoerotic tension remained understated but palpable during late-night practices. Madison observed the unspoken glances exchanged between Julius and Jalen, the shared intensity of the game lingering in the air. The locker room became a space where the lines blurred between friendship and something more, leaving Madison in the midst of an emotional tug-of-war.

The turning point arrived during a quiet rooftop gathering overlooking the city. In a vulnerable moment, Julius and Jalen acknowledged the complexities of their connection, subtly alluding to desires that ran beneath the surface. Madison, though aware of the nuances, found herself navigating the intricacies of the love triangle that had quietly unfolded.

As the season progressed, Madison grappled with her growing feelings for both Julius and Jalen. The trio, acknowledging the subtle currents that had woven through their relationships, chose to redefine their dynamics. They prioritized their bond as teammates and friends, recognizing that the unspoken desires were part of the intricate tapestry of their connection.

Madison's heart, still torn between the magnetic pull of Julius and Jalen, found solace in the delicate understanding they shared. The season unfolded with passion, friendship, and the nuanced beauty of embracing the complexities of love in a world where desires ran deeper than the surface. The story became a testament to the unpredictable nature of relationships, where the subtlest of undercurrents could lead to a serendipitous ending on and off the court.

[vivid-asphodelia]

\\English below//

Être seule dans le cercle, condenser l'énergie, appeler l'esprit du lieu, l'esprit des ancêtres, les directions, les éléments. Se recentrer, retenir son souffle, faire jaillir le son. Tournoyer. Immobilité. Le voile se déchire. Ne plus être si seule, remplir l'espace et le temps qui s'effiloche. apparaît en creux, pour être hors de l'un et hors de l'autre. Fixer la flamme de la bougie, fermer les yeux et la voir encore, rouge bordé de jaune et de vert. Répéter les mots sacrés, dire les prières, faire le vide. Le noir, le sombre, et la vision se tisse, se consolide, tapisserie sur une trame. Je pourrais chanter, je pourrais danser, mais je me concentre. Je me connecte, je tire et noue les fils, en défait d'autres. L'eau est fraîche, la fumée lourde. Les cartes pétillent sous mes doigts. Les symboles se dessinent. Les offrandes sont faites. Les remerciements sont dits. Le cercle est défait, dissous. Les énergies se déposent au sol, de mon front, elles s'écoulent vers le sol, vers la Terre. Retour à l'ici et maintenant. La magie reste. -----------

Being alone in the circle, condensing the energy, calling up the spirit of the place, the spirit of the ancestors, the directions, the elements. Refocus, hold your breath, let the sound spring forth. Spinning. Stillness. The veil is torn. No longer so alone, filling the space and time that are unravelling. appearing in hollows, to be out of one and out of the other. Staring at the candle flame, closing our eyes and seeing it again, red edged with yellow and green. Repeating the sacred words, saying the prayers, clearing the air. The black, the dark, and the vision weaves, consolidates, tapestry on a weft. I could sing, I could dance, but I concentrate. I connect, pull and knot threads, unravel others. The water is cool, the smoke heavy. The cards sparkle under my fingers. The symbols take shape. Offerings are made. Thanks are said. The circle is broken, dissolved. The energies are deposited on the ground, on my forehead, flowing towards the ground, towards the Earth. Back to the here and now. The magic remains.

Image source: Photo of Erik Stine on Unsplash