#v; tbn

[magaprima]

@thecavclry gets The Thing

Perhaps she should have expected this, that something had been wrong. Not just because she had never returned to her, never returned home, for almost three years, but because no scrying spell of Lilith's had been able to locate her, not until now, and this had, essentially, been as much a case of chance as skill.

She'd been trapped here, in this dreary little town, believing herself one of this ordinary mortals, that her life was here and only here.

Fury battled with relief in Lilith's heart and she wasn't entirely sure which would win out; the desire to embrace this moment, or to seek vengeance for the origin of it. Although, if the state of the house and the entirely exploded door was anything to go by, apparently someone had already started.

"And who, exactly, did you believe you were for these..." Lilith took in their surrounding. "...three years?"

[abhorsenslives]

Cont from here @mistyjudgement

"Perhaps... not stop," she panted, her breath ragged from the effort. Barricading the door had been more of a workout than she was used to, and it showed.

After shoving the last table into place, she stepped back to assess their handiwork. "If this slows them down, I’ll count it as a victory." But she wasn’t even close to catching her breath. Her eyes darted around the room, scanning for another exit—anything that didn’t involve the front door.

"I don’t think they’re after us, but after one of us. I just haven’t figured out why yet." She couldn’t recognize the creatures outside. Despite all her years navigating both the physical and spiritual realms, Marianne had never encountered anything like them. They didn’t feel like spirits of the dead... they felt like something more unsettling.

Realizing she’d been too focused on the danger and not enough on her companion, Marianne finally turned to him, offering a tired but apologetic smile. "Sorry for the rush. Hard to think about introductions when monsters are chasing you." She exhaled a shaky breath. "I’m Marianne. I’d say 'nice to meet you,' but I think we’d both prefer to meet under better circumstances."

[potentialbreakupscng]

@signetrings liked for a one liner! ( ginny ! )

" -- What are you doing here?"

[clochanamarch]

so i fell down a rabbit hole and now i have the hunger ga.mes verse embellished a little more:

aisling is twelve when she's reaped, celebrates her thirteenth birthday in the arena (which is a snowy pine forest that year) and survives by memorizing poisonous and venomous plants and toxins, which she winds up using to inadvertently kill her fellow tribute, who consumes the tea without her knowing and goes on to kill the last career before dying himself, leaving aisling the victor.

the capitol decide not to send her on the victory tour bc a capitol psychologist (ajay) basically insisted aisling was way too traumatized and would ultimately portray the capitol in a negative light. the punishment ended up being ajay's husband getting killed and aisling's father facing the same fate, although not before managing to send her siblings to safety, leaving aisling an orphan and entirely alone.

it wasn't until three years later, when aisling turned sixteen, that an unexpected thing happened. the games didn't have a victor. or at least, the victor they had died shortly after leaving the arena. aisling being the victor's mentor, it was decided she would go in his place and have her own tour. the victor who died was fiachra.

now that aisling was in the limelight, and her talent highlighted in culinary arts, she quickly realized the intricacies of the political corruption in the capitol, and made a deal with the president. she would monitor the risks of an uprising in her district and control them, if he'd allow her to film a cooking show.

and so when she turned eighteen, aisling became the star of café capitol, a rustic and cozy cooking programme that became greatly beloved by the viewers. she cooked capitol dishes, dishes from the districts, fusion food, seasonal meals, you name it. but the most vital detail she refused to omit was her choice to talk about the other districts in detail.

now she had limits. but she still succeeded. "the fish i'm cooking today is a lovely salmon from district 4! it's absolutely beautiful there this time of year, i bet everyone is getting a really great tan!" or "today i'm smoking the bacon over a charred cedar from district 7! all my artistic chefs out there, i gotta tell you, the forests? so beautiful!"

never too much. but enough to get the capitol to start to look at the districts. she'd always do it in an off-hand way. but once the rebellion began, she began to adjust her tact. still friendly and warm, but the message shifted. "we found these blackberries growing near a lake out in district 11, but it's a good thing we made the jam last year, because i think the weather might be a little harsh for them to survive" (aka avoid any conflicts in district 11 as the peacekeepers are too plentiful")

[guidefaithed]

@arc-77

The room they were in was covered in large mirrors and provided comfortable mats on the ground. It was used for all kinds of training and T'Pring had booked it for her and Fordo's endeavor regarding the nerve pinch. She had never thaught it to someone, especially a non-Vulcan. But she recalled exactly how she had been thaught and planned to replicate the process. She gestured at the dummy currently laying on one of the mats. "Since you have expressed apprehension at practising on me, you can practise on this dummy instead. It was made precisely for this purpose. The head will glow red if the pinch was performed successfully. However, before we can start on the dummy, you should see where the correct spots are. Preferably on your own body." T'Pring raised an elegant hand and gestured towards him. "You may undress now."

[gloomfaithed]

@regulus-regent / cont. X

Really, could she be faulted for honing in on him? It had taken only one good look and a curious gauge in the Force to know that he was the most powerful individual in this bar. He also had a tail.

Talon too had just come here for a quick refreshment, and this bar was the least grimy. It was preferable compared to the other options. There was no sign of any disturbance or trouble either, so when she had entered the establishment, she would not have expected to be met with such an impressive presence. Interesting. Perhaps he was some kind of bounty hunter? His attire was difficult to assign to any planet known to her.

For now she just sat down at a safe distance right at the bar counter, yellow eyes focused on him and meeting his gaze. He was intimidating, but she had trust in her own capabilities. Besides, he, as much as her, seemingly just wanted a break.

When the barkeep asked her what she wanted to drink, she was momentarily distracted and ordered an alcohol free beverage.

[lightfaithed]

@saburaito

The ship looked like it was only held together by dreams and wishes, but on a remote and poor planet like Tatooine beggars can't be choosers. Finding a transport to the mid rim was already a task in itself and managing to secure a spot doubly so. So even though Obi-Wan didn't feel comfortable boarding the ship, he had no choice if he wanted to travel.

It wasn't too big, holding only six passengers total. Obi-Wan sat down on a seat by the window and crossed his arms. The journey was going to take long, because the ship was a charter flight stopping at other locations first. When all seats were taken, the pilot took off. At the first stop, four passengers got off, leaving only him and another man. The ship took off again to continue the journey.

He had just begun to think that perhaps this journey was not bound to be a great disaster, when they dropped out of hyperspace and practically into the lap of what had to be a large pirate vessel. Obi-Wan fell out of his seat when the pilot made a very sharp turn, dipping the entire ship with a shocked cry.

Obi-Wan only barely managed to keep the other passenger from crashing into him and against the wall by using the Force. It had been a spur of the moment, a quick decision that his muscle memory had basically made without asking him first. He slowed the other's fall. "I got you! I got you."

[abhorsenslives]

Morgan chuckled at the reaction, clearly anticipating it. "I'm not going to do anything to your feathery friend—though I can't say the same about Cleo." His Sphynx cat, crouched behind the counter, was poised as if ready to pounce on the bird. She halted mid-motion when her name was called, her furless ears perking up. She glanced in Morgan's direction, almost as if asking for further instructions.

"Come here, Cleo. We both know he's far too big a prize for you." He chuckled softly. Cleo, small and not much of a hunter, let out a disgruntled meow but obediently bounded over to Morgan’s lap, purring contentedly as he scratched behind her ears.

Feigning offense, Morgan gasped at her remark about his flirting skills. "Judged before I’ve even had the chance to try? How unfair!" His emerald eyes gleamed with amusement as they flicked to the questionable drink she was holding. He smirked, grabbed the glass, and reached for an empty one from Kale’s growing pile, dividing the contents between them. "After you," he said, raising his glass in a playful challenge.

"Or," he continued with a teasing glint in his eye, "if that’s too much for you, maybe you’d like to prepare two glasses of your favorite drink instead. We could share." Two could play that game.

Aomora had been content just sipping her rum for a while as the club quieted down for the night. Her macaw companion, Kale, was flip flopping his feet around the counter now that the noise had died down significantly. He would grab the empty glasses off the counter and stack them before scurrying back to find another glass. Aomora had been pouring the leftovers from these glasses into a singular one along the way to help him, creating a nasty cocktail of, well, a little bit of everything.

❝ Good boy, Kale, come here. ❞ Aomora cooed, holding a hand up to offer the bird some neck scratches once he came closer. Her elven senses did pick up on another person nearby, especially once they drew close enough to be heard.

@abhorsenslives is a comedic genius, apparently : "Cats do like birds...for dinner."

The dancer blinked her eyes for a second. Whatever she thought she'd expected to hear, it was most certainly not that. A brow was raised at the other, then, lime green eyes giving Morgan a careful look-over. ❝ Is that a threat? I wouldn't try it, if I were you. ❞ Aomora guided Kale a little closer to herself, instinctively.

❝ Besides, Kale here is a bit of a mouthful, I'd wager. Plus he won't go down without a fight . . . ❞

For a moment, Aomora pondered, particularly about the meaning of those words. She pursed her lips in thought, before giving her spider bites a few flicks with her tongue behind her lip. Her eyes, which had drifted towards her trusty companion once again while she wondered, swiftly found their way back to the stranger.

❝ But . . . If you're referring to my tattoos, I'd say that was a poor attempt at a flirt, perhaps. ❞ She grinned subtly, just the corners of her mouth curling upwards a tad. ❝ Still, an attempt is an attempt. Can I interest you in a drink during this late hour? I've got a toxic mixture brewing here, but I suppose anything on the shelf also works if you're boring. ❞ She made sure to offer a fanged grin at the final part.

[manicpanicaddict]

“This part of town isn’t a good place to be at this time of night.” - Jimmy hxuntedshxdows

Egon looked about, not sure at first if was him the comment was directed to. He offered the stranger a glance once he was sure it was only the two of them.

He wasn't exactly sure what to say back; he stood there and absently twisted the curly hair on the nape of his neck between his fingers. In his hometown people seemed to know better than to speak to him. And he didn't really mind that. It was easier that way.

And so only after the silence grew to be more painful than not replying, he did.

"...I don't believe any place is a good place to be at any time of day. We're in Ohio."

[thedeadthree]

I THINK I HAVE A NAME FOR THE W*ITCHER FIC OH MY DARN TOOTIN GODDDD !!!!!!!!!!!!

[quietresistance]

continued from here ╲ ( @songandflame )

                     the muck of the streets threatened to soak through the leather of her boots, but naught but a shove into it might daunt her from her purpose.   frigid fingers of breeze crept about the edges of her coat, seeping even through the layers of wool which clad her from head to toe.   so many of those about her were not clothed with half as much warmth, an ache forming within at the mere thought.   danger too laid in wait.   if she had not been with several companions, all on the same mission, even she would have baulked at exploration.

                     adventure, however, remained the furthest concept from her mind.   the state of some quarters of the city had tugged at more heartstrings at the embassy than her own, a welcome discovery.   in the midst of it all, it seemed so entirely hopeless, even pretentious, but that only gave her the slightest of pauses.

                     no matter how paltry a few thick, new blankets, a few assorted medicines, and bread might be, it might provide some brief comfort.

                     was it how despondent the woman appeared compared to her compatriots?   or the bluish tint to her fingers which katherine could spot even in the dusk?   perhaps she could not have ever said herself, but the woman was the first that katherine approached, wrapping a woolen blanket about her shoulders as words choked in the american’s throat.  

                     it was not merely her first reaction, but then how the woman insisted she would pay for her daughter, clearly intending to give the blanket to the child, thankfully nowhere to be seen on the icy street.   one mitten wrapped about the corner of the blanket, ensuring it would not fall from the woman’s shoulders, katherine set the other atop the woman’s hands, a slight shake of her bonneted head punctuating her accented insistence.     ❝  no, no, madame, it is a gift.   no charge, i swear.  ❞

[valsilverhand-archive]

TFW your worm is a short king

[illwriteatragedy]

I Am going to say five times kissed BC lil bby Roman and forehead kisses???

first.

phil coulson talks, and roman bragin listens. he will not speak unless something is directed to him, and he will not elaborate on anything further, testing the limits of phil's patience. he watches. and he waits. and he listens, because he has always been good at that, even in the midst of violence and chaos.

but phil does not get angry with him. he does not call him stupid, and he does not raise his hand when roman refuses to look at him, does not make a scene when he crosses his arms and doesn't answer his questions.

the first few days go like this. roman waits, expectant that it will come, but it never does. his guard is lowered, his hopes wavering into dangerous territory ( that maybe someone can be like this, after all. ) when phil places the covers over him that night, and presses a kiss to his hair, he calls to him before he leaves the room, voice small.

" goodnight, phil. " it is the first time he has said anything to him without being asked, first.

second.

he has a knack for languages. it is what phil has told him, what the other agent he that is tutoring him has said, but --

" i have to hurt people? " there is hesitation there. phil stands opposite of him, dressed in his gym clothes. they have been training together for months now, building up his strength, working on his body. martial arts was next. they would see which form would fit him best, but mma was where they would start.

you have to be able to defend yourself, no matter the cost. phil circles him as he speaks, forcing roman to spin his head to watch him. there will be people who want to take your life because of who you are. whether it be where you came from, whether it be because of shield, whether it be because of me --

phil stands in front of him now, and crouches down on one knee. he brushes the hair from his face and looks him in the eye. i will always have your back. but you need to survive, roman. that means hurting people. even killing them. do you understand?

there is a heavy gravity here that roman can feel, a pressure that separates his head from his heart. but phil looks at him with such intensity that roman can only nod. " i understand. " phil nods too, kisses his hair, and sends him flat on the floor.

third.

roman sits on the counter so he can see better. this time, he is the one who asks questions, leaning with his palms pressed on the marble. " do you think i'll get tall? " he asks after a barrage of cooking questions, still much shorter than phil's 6'5 height.

phil laughs, ruffles his curls up, nearly knocking him over. twelve is the perfect age for a growth spurt, he says, you've got a foot since eleven.

" a foot is nothing. " roman complains, watching the sauce thicken in the pan. " if you were my real dad i would have -- " he stops, clamps his mouth shut, the tips of his ears turning red. the kitchen goes quiet for a moment. in the other room, he can hear carol move around, painfully aware.

the fire on the pan is turned off. phil turns to him, leans against the counter. before he can say anything, roman is the one who speaks first. " i know -- you're my handler. not my dad. " he exits the kitchen in a hurry, going to his room.

( they have dinner that night. carol keeps looking at phil, waiting for him to say something, but he doesn't. when he goes to bed, he can feel phil sit on the side of the bed, but his back is turned -- the gentle kiss to his hair is ignored, and they both say nothing about it the next morning. )

fourth.

they're at a baseball game. the soda tastes wrong.

that's not right. it's the sharp metallic taste of blood. but -- there's the sun, and it's shining --

that's not right either. it's the fluorescent light fixture overhead. he has to focus, he just has to focus ---

but everything for just a minute is warm, and he's happy, and it might just be better if he stayed this way --

roman !

they're shining lights in his eyes. he can feel his body being moved, can hear them discussing what to do next. it all sounds jumbled in wrong. but amidst it all, he can hear one voice better than the rest, because he knows that voice --

you don't understand, that's my boy, you need to let me --

he realizes, with sudden jolting clarity, that he is in the hospital. a shock of pain rushes through him, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. through whatever they have shoved in his mouth, he tries to speak, voice weak. " i want my dad. " he manages to spit out whatever is in there. " i want my dad -- i want my dad -- "

everything after that is a blur. he knows that phil got to him, that he held his face, that they were able to do what they needed to do after he saw them. that he fell into a coma for a few days after to heal. that they both didn't talk about that, either, because it seemed they were always going to be good at not saying the things they needed to say.

fifth.

he is twenty-two, almost twenty-three, when he tells phil that he met a girl. roman only blushes when phil asks if she's blonde, and laughs when he says yes.

that's my boy, phil says, arm around his shoulder, a kiss to his temple, roman only three inches shorter now, that height he had always wanted to be. just like your old man.

[potentialbreakupscng]

it was her first christmas in years that she hadn't had her husband -- lucius by her side. she'd had her own money -- being the only black sister alive who hadn't been disowned so she inherited everything that bellatrix had when she died, because she hadn't had any children to pass it off to. she inherited her parents home, and never really had a use for it until she left the malfoy manor. distant memories haunted the halls -- ones that were filled with shrieks of laughter from her and her sisters, and others that were filled with shrieks and sobs from just how temperamental her parents could be when any of them took a step out of line

if only they were alive now. they'd be extremely disappointed.

narcissa couldn't sleep -- she hadn't been sleeping well since the space beside her had been empty. she had been so used to sleeping beside someone for several decades, she didn't know how to sleep alone anymore. she knew leaving was for the better -- it hurt more to imagine a life where her son wasn't apart of it. lucius was normally outwardly a cold man, but the divorce had been the first time he'd ever been toward her. despite the ache in her chest, good had come from it. she hadn't missed any moment with her son -- and andromeda had reached out. she'd never gotten to meet her niece, but she got to meet her great nephew.

abnormally dressed down -- a jumper and a pair of pyjamas and her hair messily tied up on the top of her head -- her eyes flicked over the stockings that hung over the fireplace. five of them. the most she'd ever had at a time whenever she hosted christmas (usually three because bella had never been around for them to have christmas together because she was in azkaban). a lit cigarette dangles from between her fingers, bringing it up to her lips to take a long drag from it before a sound behind her startles her. she turned, a hand clutched to her chest and letting out a soft sigh when she saw aurora standing there.

"you really mustn't sneak up on people." a pause when she realized how she must have looked. the thought of looking unkempt in front of anyone made her stomach churn and her chest tightened. perfection was something she had always been taught to strive for. "ah -- don't tell draco about this." with a wave of her wand, the end of the cigarette was put out and set to the side for her take care of. "you should be in bed. you wouldn't want father christmas to put coal in your stocking."

@bornofthedawn sent ¹³⁾ fireplaces laden with stockings for narcissa (u mentioned in-law so this is what u get)

[peacefaithed]

Padmé knew that the galaxy was full of wonders and she had seen quite a few of them on her travels. This sight still ranked high above everything else though. One moment ago she had been seated on the couch in her apartment, a good flimsi-book in hand, the next she had a visitor standing in the room out, of the blue.

She was looking at herself. It was her, but she was here! How was this possible? It wasn't any crude projection-trick either, because her duplicate wore different garments, but Padmé knew she owned these too. When the other Padmé moved, the fabric and folds of her garments adjusted, perfectly natural.

"Hello." It was a timid and cautious greeting, but Padmé didn't know what to expect. Half the galaxy wanted her dead, it wouldn't be too outlandish to assume that this may be a clever ploy to murder her. And should this really be another...her, then her counterpart must be terrified. "Padmé Amidala?"

@alootus

[guidefaithed]

@cosmorot (Aphrodite)

One of the most difficult relationships in the galaxy was the one between Vulcans and love. Love couldn't be any further removed from logic. Yet it was still something every Vulcan felt. To T'Pring it was the hardest emotion to subdue and also the hardest not to act on. A lot of her behaviour was born out of love, but she, like most Vulcans, dressed it up in the garment of rationality. Rehabilitating criminals was now a clear boon to society, instead of T'Pring simply caring for others and knowing she can make a difference in their lives.

She was unsure why, but her present company compelled her to be more honest about the topic than she was used to. "I find it difficult to express romantic affection without being too overbearing. I don't mean to suffocate a partner." Her wants were funnily enough more in line with how humans handled their romantic entanglements, something a Vulcan partner may not find very appealing. "Do you know of those moments where you wish to pursue someone but you fear it could cause them to become more estranged from you?"