#we are so so blessed to witness his art

[hyunpic]

[miistersunshin3]

HIHI no clue if your requests r open but OMG I LOVED UR SAL X MEANGIRL!READER SMM 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ IS THERE A CHANCE WE CLD GET MOREE? 🫶🫶 🍰

Star struck pt. 2 ☆

Sal Fisher x meangirl!reader

a/n : part two yippeeee!! And yes my request are open so feel free to send more *\(^o^)/*

Enjoy!

-...he just couldn't keep staring as you slowly walked away, your hair swaying perfectly with each and every step, did you really just say that to him? it couldn't be, right? he must be dreaming

"sal, dude.. Sal! cmon bro we're gonna be late again, lets go" Larry said slightly annoyed, not having quite witnessed what just happened a few seconds ago.

Sal, having finally just snapped out of the trance you put him in, turned back around to face him and then coming at him with a little sarcastic

"pfft as if you care, weren't you the one that skipped first period today?"

"yeah yeah, lets just go now"

-needless to say you had that boy Star Struck (hihi see what I did there ^_−☆)

-even in the afternoon when the group hung out together, he just couldn't get his mind off of you and that stupid thing you said. Yet he was too nervous to tell his friends, knowing they were opposed to the idea of him liking.

-his friends, of course noticed his behavior, but decided to not comment on it thinking it was probably just him getting into his own head again.

.............................................................………………………

-at night, when everyone was fast asleep, he still caught himself thinking about you. you. you. you. and bless his poor soul, he just couldn't stop.

-with his mask off and his face in his pillow curling up in his bed, the duvet softly covering his body and hair falling freely, he couldn't help but wonder about your reaction to him without the mask. his face, his scarred broken then patched together again face, as he not so much liked to think about it.

-and god you were right, he's just so pathetic: laying in his bed thinking of you while a tear slowly makes its way down the less scarred side of his face. you and your friends make fun of him every day and yet he still feels so deeply connected to you, wanting you to hold him, to love him.

-once he does fall asleep, you even manage to follow him in his dreams: laying side by side together on his bed, with your arms around him and his head on your chest, he didn't have that uncomfortable border between the two of you, just his bare face touching the soft fabric of your shirt. your soft voice in his ears "you know Sal, for me you are truly the prettiest thing" it was like heaven...

-friday, the ninth of august, 06:45. is what the alarm clock read as he softly stirred awake despite not wanting to wake up from his dream. finally after so many nights of restless sleep, he had an actually dream, not one of those nightmares people would also only describe as dreams.

...................................................................…………………

-between periods, as Sal and Ash were making their way to art class, one of the few classes they share, they hear slight laughter and rambling behind them, knowing who it is by the obvious smell of perfume you always use. god it made him crazy.

-his thoughts were quickly disrupted by an obnoxious voice

"hey, you. yeah I'm talking to you blue hair and pigtails, you enjoy being a walking joke?" one of your friends snared.

"no wonder you only hang out with other weirdos, how about you all go back to the freak show your supposed to run?" another one joked making you laugh harder than you should have.

"oh yeah, you'd be the main attraction" you cockily say as you walk past him still smiling.

"fuckin' weirdos" the first one say as she purposefully bumps into Ashley while walking by.

-gosh why did you have to be so mean... and beautiful at the same time

....................................................................…………………

-its not that you hated Sal.. you didn't even dislike him. its just that... he's just so fun to mess with, I mean cmon he's the perfect target, mask and everything. you still weren't quite fond of his friends tho, but they were also okay.

-you did feel bad sometimes after saying something to him, even if he wouldn't react, your first thought with him was always 'did I take it to far now?' which was weird since you've never thought that when you'd do the same things with other people.

-but the sight you were going to witness in a few minutes was unbelievable to you..

..................................................................……………………

-this was truly the worst thing that could happen to him, he was defenseless. so vulnerable, so miserable, so pathetic.

-two of your male 'friends' had caught him alone in one of the storage rooms of the art classroom and decided they wanted to find out what lies under that mask of his.

-with one of them trying to take his prosthetic off and the other holding his hands so he couldn't defend himself even if he tried, he was done for... or so he thought.

-the creek of the door halted their movement only to reveal you, looking as beautiful as ever yet you had a bewildered looking on your face from seeing the scene in front of you.

"what the fuck do you think you're doing?" you say as you look the one wanting to take his mask in the eyes.

"oh cmon, we were just having some fun here, no need to ruin it" the other one spits.

"this is what you call fun? that's pretty sad if you ask me, I mean I get the verbal stuff but don't you think this is a bit too much?" you snap back.

"why the fuck are you defending him right now? he's fucking pathetic look at him" "and...? you know what I think, I think you're being just as if not more pathetic than he is right now, you are nothing (friends names), without me most people in this school probably wouldn't know you so shut it. and don't you dare tell anyone what happened here" you snarl.

"oh and what if we do tell, what are you gonna do, huh? tell your mommy? or the principal?" your other friend says in a fake whiny tone.

"I know what you did to that girl, you know she really did love you so much (friend name 1) it would be a shame if everyone knew that you're a lying cheating skank and not that you guys just broke up normally and oh (friend name 2) I didn't know you had room to talk when literally all you do is hook up with Mrs. Miller every Friday, do you wanna get kicked out of school, I don't think so. and trust me, once I confirm the rumors its over for you"

“You’re no fun” one of them says as they leave.

- silence. pure silence and you decide to break it.

“You okay?” You ask in a genuine tone. He takes a moment to reply speaking with a stutter “yeah, all good”

“Don’t worry I didn’t see anything” referring to his face, you cross your arms and lean against the door frame, he looks down at the ground in shame, his hands slightly shaking.

"do I make you nervous Sal?" you ask teasingly and after that you chuckle slightly as he's frozen in place "its okay, I get it"

a few moments pass when he finally has the courage to look at you again, god why was he like this when he was around you. "you owe me, big time" "yeah" he finally answers "what do you need?" he asks in a slightly nervous voice, he cannot talk to girls for the life of him (look at his first encounter with Ash in the game (=´∀｀))

you start to think, what do you need..? he then speaks again "I'll get you anything you want" nervousness still ringing in his voice "woah, don't get to ahead of yourself weirdo" you tease.

as you slowly leave the room you say "I'll think of something, sweetheart" you send him a quick smile while leaving and not to forget that wink you shot him once before.

-meanwhile he thinks he’s died because of that nickname, but don’t worry your smile brought him back to life, you just really know how to make his heart flutter. ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

..................................................................……………………

a/n : I hope you guys enjoyed(≧∀≦) if you have any wishes feel free to send me requests!! (P.s I love bullying Sal hihi)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

SCREECHiNG

WAKE UP HON WE GOT NEW OFFICIAL ROLLO CONTENT (thanks to curekibouka for the translation!) 😭 (Bless him, he came home so quickly at only 40 rolls…)

***Rollo profile, Groovy, vignettes, and chibi spoilers below the cut!!***

As you can see in the card art shown above, it looks like his official English name will be "Rollo Flamme", not some other variation.

His coffin icon has a bell on it! Very fitting.

Yes, he’s triple fire magic and has a Duo with Grim.

… LMAO his Buddies are Malleus, Idia, and Azul 🤡

He's a third-year student at Noble Bell College, Student Council President, (but we already knew this) and 18 years old

His birthday is Feb 2nd! (There was a mistake in the initial launch of the Rollo card and profile in which his birthday was incorrectly stated as Feb 4th, which is Cater's birthday. Man was so mad when he realized he shared a birthday with a NRC boy so he redid his birth certificate/j)

(Here are screenshots of before and after the change; I happened to take a picture before the update:)

178 cm tall (LMAO I guess he doesn't meet a certain Ghost Bride’s standards)

Right-handed

Comes from the Shaftlands (again, we already knew this)

HE'S IN THE HAND BELL CLUB????? TF... HE JUST STANDS THERE AND RINGS HIS LITTLE HAND BELL????? ? ???? ?? ???

Best subject is Potionology

His hobby is cleaning malewife trait

He obviously hates magic 😂

Favorite food is not, in fact, croissants; it's actually grapes

Least favorite food is savarin, which is a ring-shaped cake soaked in flavored syrup and then garnished with cream and fruit

HIS SPECIAL SKILL IS GARDENING WHICH MADE ME LAUGH OUT LOUD... considering what he used that skill for... 🤡

His official description in the profile states that Rollo is admired by his classmates for his seriousness and no-nonsense attitude, but he also has a tendency to be… neurotic 💀 gee, ya think

His vignettes are set at NBC, not Night Raven College. They seem to be set prior to the events of Glorious Masquerade.

It's said that the reason he is at NRC now is because he is there temporarily to study.

We see Rollo going about his daily routine. He tends to the Bell of Salvation and the gargoyles early in the morning when the sky is still dark which probably explains the dark eyebags. He’s able to witness the sun rising as he does his cleaning. Rollo finds the dawn peaceful! and loves listening to the bell ring.

OMG the gargoyles are so excited when he pays attention to them 😭 They hop around like excited little puppies… NOT ROLLO WANTING TO GET RID OF THEM

Rollo also has his duties as a regular student. I believe he discusses grades with his vice president. He thinks his classmates are stupid 😂 and finds it ironic that these people look up to him and see him as a top student and a great magician…

Rollo eats his lunches alone because he finds people noisy. Bruh, he has 2 croissants, 16 grapes and 1 cup of cafe au lait (coffee with milk) for lunch every day of the year…

He shops in the City of Flowers and has a routine of buying a plain letter set, only all white paper and envelopes—even if there is a better deal on other sets. If Rollo is one thing (besides angry), he’s consistent and likes to stick to a routine and to things that are certain!

LMAO Rollo hates the City of Flowers because it’s flowers blossom because of magic ✨

Rollo runs into some trouble when a community goat wants to chomp on rhe letter set he bought in town 😂 He’s calm at first but then gets mad because he considers the goat unsanitary and it’s trying to eat his robes…

I want to stress that this boy is suppressing his rage and disgust the entire time 🤡 He’s trying so hard to pass as well-adjusted… Man’s literally going to send this goat flying but stops because he realizes there are too many witnesses…

At the end, Rollo writes a letter to his parents to let them know he is doing fine. Apparently, they’ve been worrying about him ever since “that” incident 😔 The letter reads as very formal and stiff, as though he’s writing to strangers. Maybe he has emotionally distanced himself from his parents (perhaps as a result of “that” incident), although he isn’t outright rude about it.

HIS LITTLE EVIL SMIRK... IT'S EVEN MORE FUNNY WHEN PAIRED WITH HIS VOICE BECAUSE IT'S SO SOFT AND CALM, THE KIND OF VOICE YOU'D NORMALLY HEAR IN LIKE AN ASMR VIDEO 😭

The fact that he writes with a feather quill instead of a magical pen………… ….. ….. … … . .. . … … . . . . .. . … .. . . .

Also the fact that he's by default in his big, bulky uniform with tons of extra material that would make it TERRIBLE for P.E. 💀 and has nothing else to change into... The last screenshot of the group above also looks like Sebek has leaned over to Rollo's ear to spread the GOOD WORD of WAKASAMA and Rollo is trying to do his very best to ignore him...

P.S. I want everyone to know that he does THIS whenever he has a Perfect in Magic History... ROLLO'S LITERALLY A CARTOON VILLAIN PLOTTING REVENGE AGAINST HIS CLASSMATES.... .. . .......... . .. . . . . . . . . . yes, I stuck him in a class with Malleus, Idia, and Azul :))

AND NOW, WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, HIS GROOVY...

WHY DOES iT MAKE ME WANT TO BULLY HIM INTO THE DIRT 😭 jUST Lo0OKK AT HIM, HE'S tryING sO HaRD THAT I T HAS THE OPPOSITE INTEndeD EFFECT AND HE COMES oFF AS A MOREN SKRUNGLY L0SEr INSTEAqd 2reqrbhyygo13ogyt68p9egflbagj;jlg.DIHOBbyOFSYSvtdDOVFEILBcsnkmg2myoeqofadnm,vd..go0i424ph13nifIUSFVsofsgotfFIUOFOVUEWVOQEGYVbiypfpb OTL

I'M SO NOT GOING TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS, I'M SO NOT GOING TO BE NORMAL

I aM SO ASPoRRY fOR THE PERsON I Am AbOUT To BecOME 🤡

[captainzigo]

Hi everypony!

My kofi is ko-fi.com/captainzigo if you enjoy my art, consider leaving me a tip! this is otherwise entirely a labor of love so,,,

you can also send a request with your tip! but if you choose to do so, please read the disclaimer later on in this post**

my non-art blog, where i accept asks is @snapewife-divorce-lawyer and my reblog-spam blog is @3amgaypotion also i am on bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/captainzigo.bsky.social

that's a bunch of pictures of my oc(/ponysona) Prickly Pear. she's a cowgirl

Frequent/noteworthy questions below the break

**on donations made to me:

i still dont take commissions currently, but if you send a request with a donation, there's a 99% chance i'll do it. and that remaining 1% i'll probably just ask you for a different request. if you send me a request with a donation you are not sending me a commision. you are making a donation, and i might do you a favor as a result. you do not own the resulting art. and I am under no obligation to complete it or to do it in the way that you like. you do not need to make a donation in order to make a request. i talk more about it here

hello mutuals!

If you are a mutual, DM me for an invite to discord server and subsequently to minecraft server

on sending me asks:

any asks you send me should be like Strongbad emails. one paragraph. no attachments. unless you are sending me refs.

in any interactions, please keep in mind that i am a stranger on the internet and act accordingly.

unless I have explicitly said otherwise, you can safely assume that I do not count you amongst my friends. it is nothing personal, it is in fact the opposite.

why am i like this?

i am autistic. i say this because representation matters, but also because i would like to ask that you please be very frank with me. i don't even really need your patience. just say what you mean and we will get along fine.

can you draw my ocs?

you most certainly can draw any of my ocs. i'd love that acually. tag me

on (re)posting my art:

do not post my art on other platforms. do not repost my art period. I don't really exist on other platforms since i deleted Twitter. So if you see my stuff on other platforms, it's not me. except for my bluesky.

transformative works are obviously allowed, at least here in america where i live. but if you want my blessing, please keep them SFW, and try to keep the spirit of the original artwork

is my blog SFW?

im in my twenties. i keep my blog SFW (as i define it) as a strict rule.

i do not consider the fact that sex exists, that some people enjoy it, or some innuendo to be NSFW. i also do not consider swearing, even as tho a sailor might, to be NSFW.

are NSFW interactions ok?

in short: no. while i have no aversion to to that sort of thing, and often actually enjoy it, i keep this blog SFW. the intention behind my art is to be SFW even when it might be skirting the line. in general, and especially, specifically with mlp, i do not wish to have NSFW interactions on the internet. please respect this boundary.

on shipping:

in my opinion, all romance real or fictional should be between people who are similar in age, doing age appropriate things, not closely related, and all with mutual consent. i am not interested in witnessing or interacting with anything outside of these parameters.

on my blue hair and pronouns:

i am a trans woman. i am also bisexual. i am also poly and demi since im listing things. i am out online becasue i know how important it is to know that you aren't alone.

do i take constructive criticism?

NO 🖕👹🖕 FUCK YOU!!!!!!! GET BLOCKED IDIOT!! unless you are a marginalized person who feels i have unintentionally made you uncomfortable somehow with my art or otherwise. in that case i am sorry and you do me a great favor by calling me out. OTHERWISE FUCK YOU DUMBASS IF YOU DONT LIKE MY ART GO DRAW YOUR OWN 🖕🖕🖕🖕

“i hate bronies”…

i don't necessarily hate you if you self identify with that label. i like to make myself off-putting to keep creeps away. i talk about it more in this post: https://www.tumblr.com/captainzigo/744131513208176640/when-i-say-i-hate-bronies-in-my-header-its

brony?

i don't hold a lot of nostalgia for old brony stuff. infact it's quite the opposite. i was a child when the show came out, and more than that i was a girl. i am not a brony.

do i like g5?

i like all generations of mip including the new stuff. gen 4 is just the one i grew up with

why is my header aurora, bori and alice from the best gift ever?

well that would be because i hate them like a mother hates a child. like the sun hates the moon. like sickly victorian child hates the slightest morsel of bread.

on flurryheart:

i often draw stuff about cozy glow x flurry heart. this is with the understanding that cozy glow spends about a decade turned to stone. nullifying the age gap.

🤓☝️ i think you mean effect, not affect

i am dyslexic. i spell stuff wrong all the time and i type weird. please don't bother correcting me. wooptydoo your brain is wired normally. sending you a medal.

on my username:

i've had the same username since i debuted on the internet. zigo is the name of an oc i made that i dont really talk much about anymore. zigo is a fine enough nickname, and at least one person calls me that irl.

[poisonlove]

The Princess and the Huntress | Jenna Ortega

y/n, a 19-year-old impoverished hunter, works alongside her father for the royal court, delivering game supplies to the king's kitchen. One day, while carrying out their routine duties at the royal court, y/n witnesses someone she shouldn't have – Jenna, a princess from the Ortega dynasty. Due to her captivating beauty, the king and queen wish to shield her from prying eyes, as she is destined to marry the duke of the neighboring realm to end the ongoing war and ensure lasting peace.

Disclaimer: Story set in the 1600s.

I close one eye to aim carefully, pointing the bow towards a rabbit timidly passing through those parts of the woods. A thin ray of sunlight filters through the branches, illuminating its thick gray fur. I breathe deeply, seeking the necessary concentration, feeling the warmth of the bow's wood in my hands.

The arrow is released, cutting through the silent air as it follows its trajectory towards the rabbit. A moment of anxiety dissolves into my smile when I see that I've hit it dead-on. The small animal lowers itself, and the forest seems to whisper my success.

An instant of gratification unfolds in my heart, a connection with nature and the mastery of hunting that has set my spirit free. I am Y/N, the huntress, and the forest is my kingdom.

I approach the rabbit slowly, smiling contentedly as I take it by the ears and carefully remove the arrow from its small body. The soft fur slides between my fingers, while the forest around seems to celebrate my fortunate hunt.

My gaze meets that of my father, who had approached silently. His proud smile reveals the joy of seeing his daughter demonstrate skill in hunting.

"Well done, Y/N," my father says, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You have incredible precision. The royal court will be grateful for this."

"I hope so, father," I reply humbly as we continue to prepare the prey. "This rabbit will be an excellent addition to the king's dinner."

Together, we look at the result of my hunt, a moment of connection between us and our mission at court. The forest guarding our secret and our skill.

"Y/N," my father says, handing me the rabbit to take it to the castle, "I'll head home and prepare our dinner. In the meantime, deliver the game to the royal court and make sure to ask for at least three gold coins as compensation. Our skill deserves proper recognition."

"I will, father," I respond with gratitude, accepting the load. "Thank you for teaching me the art of hunting and diplomacy."

My father smiles, placing a hand on my shoulder. "It's not just hunting you need to learn, Y/N. In the royal court, social skills are equally crucial. Go, and always remember who you are."

With a nod of agreement, I walk away, carrying not only the weight of the rabbit and the game but also my father's legacy. The forest has bestowed its blessing upon us, and now our task is to deliver the fruits of the hunt to the royal court.

I approached the majestic castle door. Turning to one of the guards, I asked if they knew where the game supplier was. "Have you happened to see William?" I inquired with a slight hint of curiosity.

The guard vaguely pointed down the hallway, but before providing a more precise answer, I followed my instincts and ventured into the heart of the castle. Walking through the silent corridors, tension grew in my chest.

While searching for William, I was drawn to a partially open door. Curious, I peered inside, and the scene that unfolded left me speechless: a girl seated by the window, immersed in reading a book. It was Jenna, the princess I had heard about but doubted her existence. However, I wasn't captivated by the legend of the king's daughter trapped in a golden prison but by the beauty she exuded.

Jenna was a vision of grace by the window, dark hair cascading softly over her shoulders. The room's soft light gently caressed her skin, highlighting her sparkling eyes, deep as wells of secrets. She wore a dress in delicate tones, snug to her form yet exuding an air of regal elegance.

The book in her hands seemed to be just an accessory for her, a portal to unknown worlds unfolding in the pages under the princess's attentive gaze. Slightly parted lips reflected an air of tranquility, as if she herself were a character stepping out of one of the stories she loved to read.

I accidentally kicked the door, catching her attention.

Our gazes locked, and a moment of intense connection unfolded between us. "Who are you?" Jenna asked, lifting her gaze from the book, while I, distracted,

"I'm Y/N, the huntress," I replied with a nervous smile.

Jenna raised an eyebrow slightly, a peculiar, dancing smile on her lips. "And what brings a huntress to my room?" she asked curiously, the book now closed in her hands.

I looked around, noting the richness of the furnishings, but my answer was genuine. "I was looking for William, the game supplier. I stumbled upon this room by chance."

Jenna chuckled slightly, the sound like a delicate melody in the air. "William isn't here, but I'm curious to know what would prompt a huntress to enter without knocking."

My gaze wandered, and I noticed the canopy bed in the center of the room, a masterpiece of dark wood and fine fabric. "It's a splendid room," I commented inadvertently, admiring the opulence of the place.

Jenna smiled, perhaps noticing my awe. "Thank you... it's a regular room," the brunette shrugged, and I looked at her with a smile on my lips. "Well... I wish mine were like this," I muttered, and Jenna smiled knowingly.

I noticed the book in Jenna's hands and, intrigued, asked, "What book is that?"

The princess lifted the volume with a mysterious smile. "It's 'The Prince' by Niccolò Machiavelli," she said, indicating the worn cover.

"Machiavelli," I repeated the name even though I wasn't quite sure who he was.

Jenna smiled and said, "Do you know Machiavelli?"

"Of course!" I responded with a smile, although I was actually lying.

"Oh, I'm surprised!" Jenna exclaimed amused. "What do you think of his work?"

Trying to maintain my charade, I replied with a thoughtful expression, "He's a profound author, undoubtedly with much wisdom to share."

Jenna laughed slightly, and the sound filled the room. "Interesting choice of words. Not many share this opinion on Machiavelli."

"It seems you're trying to hide something, Y/N. Do you really know who Machiavelli is?" I blush weakly, confessing my weakness. "Actually, no. I can't read." Jenna's smile widened, but there was no judgment in her eyes. "You don't need to hide anything here. Not everyone is a reader." Jenna smiled gently.

Noticing my embarrassment, Jenna asked kindly, "Do you want to learn to read, Y/N?"

I nodded timidly, feeling the warmth of the blush still on my cheeks. "Yes, I would like to."

The princess smiled warmly and pointed to a spot next to her. "Come here. We'll start with something simple."

I approached the window and sat next to Jenna, feeling nervous about her proximity. The room's soft light created an intimate atmosphere as I tried to focus on what Jenna was about to teach me.

The princess took a book, choosing one with clear and large letters. "First, the letters. This is A, this is B..."

While Jenna patiently taught the basics of reading, I tried to pay attention, aware of the accelerated beating of my heart. It was a moment where the desire to learn to read intertwined with the emotion of being close to Jenna, creating a precious and vulnerable moment between us.

William's voice in the distance made me abruptly stand, feeling that it was time to interrupt our impromptu lesson. Jenna looked up with confusion as I smiled with embarrassment.

"I have to go... the task," I said with a hint of embarrassment in my voice.

Jenna genuinely smiled, understanding the situation. "Another time, then. Thank you for your company, Y/N."

I stood up with a smile and a nod of farewell. "Thank you, princess. It will be a pleasure to continue this lesson."

In a sudden impulse, as I was about to leave the room, I approached and planted a quick kiss on Jenna's cheek. The surprise on her face was evident, a moment that made my heart race even faster.

"It was a pleasure, Jenna," I said with a shy smile.

I headed towards the door, feeling my heart still slightly accelerated from being close to Jenna. As I walked away, I reflected on how that day had brought unexpected changes to my life as a huntress.

[explodo-smash]

End of manga sees Izuku create his own 'vestige realm' (theory)

[Originally written on Twitter by @wolvesandvisions]

This theory was something I'd kept close to my chest for some years now that I think may actually have the potential of coming to fruition.

I believe by the end of the manga Izuku is going to have created his own 'vestige world'. Alongside letting go of OFA, the “cursed” power, we'll see the birth of a new society. This will indicate the birth of truly making his power, his heroism, his own.

What we’re witnessing in the manga at the moment is the complete destruction of OFA as we know it. In a metaphorical sense and in the visual sense that Yoichi and the other holder’s prison is literally falling apart thanks to Shigaraki.

Now something I noticed, is that this visual of a park we kept seeing All Might at, I think may be the same one in the manga Chapter 96 (2016), redrawn in the anime, and referenced to again in an art by Umakoshi at Comiket (2019).

It keeps coming up. The chapter 96 version of this page reads as translated: “I wish that we could always sit and bask under the soft light filtering through the trees…☆Inherited spirit and pride!”

Izuku and Katsuki have absolutely inherited the spirit and pride of All Might, they are both the start of this new era. However, Izuku is the one with the burdens and wills of 9 people on his shoulder right now. At the end of the day… OFA is cursed, it can't stay the way it is.

Whether he’s quirkless by the end, or gets some crazy new power, the removal of OFA is also the removal of the curse/burden.

He needs to be able to be a hero on his own terms, without the beck and call of other people’s expectations in his ears. That’s why I think symbolically him truly “making the power his own” will entail him creating something entirely new with it.

@kikibats' language when I shared with her actually surmised it well:

“The part that’s OFA and AFO connected crumbles away, but Izuku’s own realm stays.”

And Chapter 412 just happened to give a ton of supporting information for this potential.

1) The idea that Izuku sees a correlation in ‘being without a personality’ and not having a human heart. His ability to overcome his feelings of worthlessness.

[X]

Choosing to believe in himself and others beyond that assertion IS his power.

2) Another thanks to @kaname_clan and @kikibats who helped me get a greater understanding of this; what we may be witnessing with Star and Stripes - and these odd lines - are Izuku “going beyond singularity”.

Which from my current understanding is the function of generational quirks becoming “too strong” or going beyond what the average human can take on the body.

Izuku appears to be on the verge of death, a big theme in this final arc of the manga has been everyone getting their quirk awakening. So far, every character but him has gotten one. He obviously got one in the most literal sense, but all of OFA’s various quirks aren’t his.

OFA, bless his heart, is like a series of hand-me-downs that in all his brilliance he made work for him. However...in a series about generational trauma, responsibility, and heroism, I think it's really his turn to overcome all of this.

I think the release of OFA will allow him to have a “quirk” awakening. The “awakening” of his personality, individuality, his heroism. And I do think this may visualize itself in his origins manifesting in that same park under the tree.

This is just what I'm thinking! Being hit with that visual of the park metaphorically or literally since 2016 has my eyes wide open...so we'll see!

[coldshrugs]

ffxivwrite - prompt 4: reticent

characters: estinien varlineau, hamignant varlineau, and featuring my wol, io laithe word count: 1921 rating: mature for mentions of bullying & death. summary: three short, heavily headcanoned scenes from estinien's life, at ages 12, 21, and 33. [middle section heavily inspired by this art] posted 9/5/24 | updated 10/11/24

“I challenge you, Ser, to a trial by combat! Take up your arms and fight me!”

“And what is my crime this time?”

Hamignant, small as he is, brandishes his stick threateningly, but all that swagger is betrayed by an answer that comes out slower than usual. Shaky, even. “You don’t play with me anymore.”

Estinien shifts his weight, leaning a bit more heavily on the tall crook. A stone of guilt sinks in his stomach, so he distracts himself by watching the shallow valley just below the hill they stand on and the sheep grazing there. It is late spring and their coats are full and fluffy, ready for shearing. His twelfth nameday was less than a moon ago and he is expected to help with the task this year. His parents rely on him more now, sending him on errands usually tended by his father, giving him additional fieldwork. It isn’t easy, but it feels good to be trusted.

In truth, he would very much like to continue playing with Hamignant. His little brother has a knack for making games of their chores, and should they be caught goofing off, his wit is quick enough to make even the most stern adult smile.

Estinien does not share his talent for conversation, but Hamignant never seems to mind. He is content to babble so long as Estinien is close by to listen.

The stick—his foraged sword—wriggles closer. Closer. Until it pokes into Estinien’s cheek.

His gaze slides sideways, to Hamignant’s dramatic stance. It would be funny if not for the serious set of his brow, the tight purse of his lips, and the sheen welling in his eyes. Halone bless him, he truly is upset…

Estinien shifts again, batting the stick away with his crook, and smiles at Hamignant. “Then fight me, little knight, but take care to hide your bruises from Mother and Father.”

With a cheer of delight and an expression that makes Estinien proud he put it there, Hamignant begins their spar. Their wooden weapons echo across the meadow, sharp cracks followed by the occasional shriek or grunt when their limbs take a hit.

“Ow!” Estinien pauses to nurse a sore knuckle in his mouth. Hamignant celebrates, jumping on the spot before reenacting the flashy maneuver in the air between them. His victory doesn’t last—Estinien topples him and sends them both rolling down the hill in a fit of laughter.

They land fulms away from the sheep. Some come over to sniff them, like curious friends checking for injuries. Hamignant reaches up to pet snouts, red cheeks stretched in an open smile.

Estinien lies back to catch his breath. Clouds drift overhead in lazy wisps, and the grass tickles his neck and ankles as a warm breeze passes through the meadow. He closes his eyes, listening to the soft bleating of his charges, and even though his knuckle still throbs, he is happy.

“We should make a pact, Es,” Hamignant says, and his excited voice does not negate the sense of peace. “When we grow up, let’s both be knights. We can live in Ishgard and wear armor, protect beautiful maidens from harm, and fight dragons!”

“Best not to wish for dragons, Hami, like Mother says.” He chews his bottom lip. “Besides, I don’t want to be a knight. I like living here. Someone must stay and care for the farm.”

Hamignant’s smile sags. “Fine,” he pouts, though he looks less defeated than before. “You can stay in Ferndale all your days, and I’ll be a great knight of Ishgard. I will come home every Starlight and tell you about my adventures. That could still be fun, right?”

Estinien grins and rights himself, then offers a hand to help his brother up as well. “The finest plan you’ve ever had.”

At age twenty-one, Estinien is still getting used to his height.

Hitting striking dummies with Alberic is one thing—they don’t dodge, and they don’t hit back. And sparring with his unit is pitiable right now, as many of them adjust to growing bodies. It is something else entirely to swing the unfamiliar length of his arm at a sneering face, or struggle to take an unwieldy step backward before the very real fist meets his cheek. To fight and defend himself seriously.

He hits the training yard dirt with a weak groan that is all but drowned out by a roar of laughter. His ears ring from the impact. Four soldiers, all fledglings like himself, still in a training unit, stand over him.

“And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay down, Varlineau.” The one that threw the punch. Taller than he is, and stronger, and probably some noble’s son or nephew. It’s been a few moons since his official enlistment, but Estinien has not learned their names. He is here for one reason, and he cannot make room for useless information. And why should he, when another puts a foot on his chest as he tries to stand?

They erupt again over such a hard-won victory.

“We heard you last night, whimpering in your bunk like a freshly-weened babe. That the Azure Dragoon should waste his time with you,” one scoffs.

“No better than an orphaned Brume brat. We should drag you back to Ferndale and let Nidhogg know he missed one—”

The ankle holding him down makes a sickening snap when he twists it. Striking dummies certainly don’t do that. The boy goes down with a pained scream.

Estinien stands. He says nothing, only wipes his bloody nose with the back of his hand, then swings. 

He spends three days in the gaol, and they do not bother him again.

He’s been in this room too long. His body is stiff from disuse, even with the daily practice of simple stretches. By chirurgeon’s orders, he has been forbidden from any activities that might reopen his wounds.

By fucking Halone and all the rest, he is bored.

At least he doesn’t want for company—that is not to say company has ever been a strong craving for him, of course. But Estinien could do worse than the Warrior of Light making her near-daily visit, even if it’s simply because this is the single place in Ishgard where she might escape the pitying gazes and prying questions about her… entanglement with Greystone. He enjoys a few hours of quiet, tolerable companionship, and she has a moment of privacy; an even exchange, in his mind.

Io sits in a ratty armchair, legs curled under her, by a sunny window so thickly lined with sympathy flowers, the room resembles the Holy Gardens of the Vault. Or, more kindly, the meadows ringing Ferndale in late spring. She wears the evidence of mourning around her eyes, red-rimmed and darkened bags from lack of decent sleep. He knows the look well. Still, the backdrop suits her.

Today, she knits, softly humming to herself in time to the rhythmic click of the needles. She’s lost in it, and her silence is appreciated. They talk during these visits, yes, but it isn’t like before. He thought her a friend before Aymeric’s mad plan shook their lives. Now… “friend” seems both too frivolous and too forward. They’re vulnerable in this room, Io grieving her lover, Estinien bandaged and weak—vulnerable, but distant.

He misses how they were before.

So he watches the wool slipping between her fingers with each meticulous loop, the way the half-formed garment hangs heavy from her hands. And all of it—the dappled light on the flowers, the repetitive scratch of Io’s work and wordless song, the weight of wool he used to know well, the herbaceous scent of medicinal salve rising from his wounds—dredges up the memory of another life. If Estinien closes his eyes, it could be twenty-one years ago. He could be there, if only for a moment, if only as a visitor.

Grief wails inside him. It is the roar he’s felt for years, through the Eye he used as a tool. Strange, to feel it now as part of himself, bottomless and inconsolable and so full of love. Stranger still to realize they were not so different in the end.

When was the last time he’s cried? Estinien is barely aware of where the tears trail down his cheeks, numb to everything but the homesick ache he has fought for half his life. He rubs his face before Io has the chance to see him.

“Io.” Estinien clears his throat. With her head still tilted towards her craft, Io’s eyes shift to meet his. “There is something I would ask.”

She pauses, waiting for his question.

“Why did you save me?”

Her answer comes in the form of a furrowed brow. She continues knitting without a word.

“I was ready. I was. And now? I don’t know how to be, I don’t know how to live without it. I’m unfit for anything else.”

Io’s lips thin a bit, tightening into a frustrated line, as she works. She shakes her head. Maybe she’s angry he asked. For all he lacks as a conversationalist, he is an expert in offending, even when he doesn’t mean to.

He lifts himself off the pillows piled at his back, ignoring the fire in his shoulder.

“You could’ve left me, or killed me. I feel him, Io. The echo of his loss; when it hits me… Io, you could’ve killed me.” The words leave him in a rush, riding the swell of pain that belongs to him and the adamant traces of Nidhogg that are part of him now.

Her sigh shames him. “Kill a man—my friend—when he doesn’t want to die? Let you fall to anguish and pain?" She lays the needles in her lap and her dark gaze all but dares him to argue. He’s never heard her speak with such a firm certainty. “No, Estinien, I could never have done that. Nidhogg’s isn’t the only grief you carry, nor are his memories the only ones worth saving.”

Silence encloses them, balancing on the knife’s edge of comfort and unease. Neither looks away. He counts the agitated rise and fall of Io’s chest until they are breathing in sync, then until both are steady.

With the softer tone he recognizes, she says, “We all need reminding that burdens, even ones as heavy as this, can be shared.” 

Her mere presence gives the lie to his words. He would’ve done the same, if it were her. He sags back into his pillows, exhaustion replacing the wyrm’s overwhelming emotion.

And they return to the shred of peace they fought for. Io hums, and the needles click, and that is enough. He listens, occasionally mustering a courageous glance, and thinks about the uncertain future until the rays of sunlight tilt his direction instead of hers.

“I think it’s time to get on.”

“Me?” Io’s lips stretch into a crooked smile over the yarn. “Fine, I’ll kill you next time.”

His laugh is rough and unfamiliar sounding, closer to a cough. It hurts his broken ribs.

Io’s raspy chuckle is a far more pleasant sound. “Where will you go?”

Estinien sighs. He knows where he wants to go. The question is whether he will be welcome. “If it’s all the same, that is my business alone.”

Io nods and does not push the matter. Hm. There is always another question… In the absence of one, something settles in him… A sense of solace he didn’t know he was allowed. 

So he confesses: “To make amends.”

[dulciechi]

Hello! I don't know if you're still interested in your COTL Witness AU, but I hope you don't mind me asking something. In one of your art piece of Witness AU, why was Narinder crying in the one depicting Apollyn offering him a flower crown? Was he reminiscing of some heavy past sorrow or frustration? Also, your "Wolf in Sheep's Clothing" is very fascinating! I hope both of your fics still interest you enough to keep writing for them without weighing you down, they're just wonderful to read!

Have a good sleep and meal!

The sermon ends just a bit past noon; rays of sunlight streaming through the cathedral windows until everything in the temple is drenched in blood. Narinder remains behind the pulpit hours after the last of his worshippers have left– unwilling to return to the Veil just yet.

He doesn’t remember what he said. It doesn’t matter. Sermons are a necessary part of mass and he has performed enough of them that it’s become muscle memory. Even if his belief falters, he will never show it.

Besides, what else could be said of Death that he hasn’t said before? What else could he offer them other than a promise of a calm afterlife?

Death is inevitable.

‘…It must be inevitable, or the foundation of our Faith will weaken. Everything else may change, but not Death.’

‘Never you.’

He should be grateful. Of all his siblings’ domains, his is the one that cannot be destroyed. Even gods eventually succumb to Death.

‘What more can you want? Our followers? Our Crowns?’

‘Don’t you have enough power?’

‘If you continue to pursue this path, know that we cannot accompany you through it.’

‘You will chase your destruction alone.’

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, echoes of his siblings’ and his words tossing and turning in his mind, unable to rest. Time is easy for gods to forget, so easy to ignore when neither hunger nor sleep are there to remind them of its passing.

In the end, a familiar voice is what rouses him from his trance.

“My love?”

Narinder turns from the window to find his Witness atop the pulpit, a tiny crown of flowers in their hands.

He blinks, and feels something wet slip down his cheeks. He raises a hand and touches his face, surprised to feel tears.

Ah. So that's why they hadn’t used his proper title. They knew he would’ve panicked at the thought of being seen by anyone else in this state. Incensed.

And they both knew only one creature was daring enough to refer to him so intimately.

Apollyon holds out the crown beseechingly, an ever-loving smile on their face, “Though paltry, I hope my offering pleases you. Let it be a reminder of what you have cultivated here, and of the paradise you will create in the future.”

“Should my Witness not be somewhere else of importance? I seem to recall assigning you to a mission right after the sermon.”

He should punish them for this. Gods should never appear so weak. But Apollyon is not just any follower, not just anyone at all. Even now, he can feel nothing but devotion pulsating through their soul. And Narinder is tired of shoulds.

“My duty is to serve you,” Apollyon replies, before tilting their head and giving him a mischievous smile, “My vow is to protect you… from everything that would hurt you. Even if that something is sadness itself. I won’t leave here until you smile, or else my heart would only weigh me down in battle. And that would make it harder to succeed in the mission.”

The crown is made entirely of camellias, his flower of devotion. Though the blooms are found in abundance around his temple, Apollyon had expressly forbidden anyone to use it as a gift to anyone other than him. Despite himself, Narinder feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips.

“And what an important mission it is. So I suppose I must ensure your victory,” He lifts his finger to them, pleased at the beaming grin that he knows only he can pull from his Witness, “I accept your offering, and offer you my blessing in return.”

Without further words, Apollyon slides the flowers down his finger like a ring, then places a reverent kiss on his hand. Just like every other time they’ve done this, Narinder feels a rush of warmth run through him, their vast devotion pouring through his veins like liquid gold.

He relishes the feeling, brimming with power. It’s giddying as ever, and he doesn’t resist the temptation to do what’s next.

After all, it’s greatly amusing to see his vicious little Witness turn bright red when his lips meet the top of their head.

“Go forth, my Witness, and spread our truths to Lands Beyond,” Narinder pauses, then throws caution to the wind, “--Show the heretics the glory and cruelty of Life and Death.”

If he must choose change alone, then so be it. Even without his siblings, Narinder knows that he’ll succeed.

Especially when Apollyon mirrors his bloodthirsty grin.

“As you wish.”

—————

I wrote this on a whim after seeing your message so it’s completely unedited lol. Sorry for any clunkiness. But yeah, Narinder was (subconsciously) crying from the frustration of having his siblings not recognize the ennui and imbalance his position was bringing him, and the realization that he might have to choose between them or his desires.

Apollyon ofc, supports their god’s rights and his wrongs 🤗

Tysm for the ask <3 I’m so happy to hear you’re enjoying my fics. I’m trying to finish a drawing rn, but I hope to update “Wolf in Lamb’s Clothing” right after! :D

I still like “Courting Death”, but it’s more of a snippet collection so I can only update it whenever I get ideas.

Happy Lunar New Year! 🧧✨🐉

[yellowymellon]

my crippling obsession with Elio is back at it again so here's some takes and theories

i think elio's main strength isnt his curse/blessing to see the future but his monster ability to analyze the situation accordingly and read people's emotions/thoughts. Since his ability only allows him to see the multiple possibilities of the future, that means he still has to maneuver his human resources optimally on his own.

He seems to be great at mind games, knows how to read people's hearts as sam said, and appears to be a pragmatist who doesn't mind sacrifice. i mean we're talking abt the guy who foresaw the crisis of the luofu long before the matrix could ever and did nothing, the one who orchestrated the fall of Jepella Brotherhood so that the Annihilation Gang succeeds it only for them to fall too and allow acheron into penacony, the one who foresaw sunday's plan and only acted last minute. all because the time had to be right.

and ofc i'm going to mention his concept art, i know it was a deal breaker for many but personally? I LOVE IT. A master manipulator hiding behind high trusting features and his young age? i know this point of view goes both ways but i think him being young (by anime logic he looks YA to me) actually adds more depth. Elio has always been fascinating exactly because he's mysterious, there's many possibilities to what he's truly like. A boy who witnessed the demise of the universe in nearly every possibility, doomed by fate yet fights against it. does he curse his powers? does he feel obliged to go through all this? or does he latch into that tiny hope he saw? does he not care for the innocent or is he like kevin who realized sacrifice is a must?

i also initially expected him to be an older man but im used to young anime prodigies lol if anything him being younger sets him for doom and tragedy.

Aside from his physical appearance, i think we all agree that Elio is the black cat, but lemme cook here....im 100% sure (would be funny if im wrong) that Elio doesnt physically move from his HQ. why? cuz they always avoid mentioning his appearance. not when he recruited kafka nor with SW, the only 2 so far that elio personally recruited.

"A man, a woman, a metal humanoid, and..."

"There is a chance she will stop to investigate the can. Then, take the chance to throw this ball at her feet. I will take over and converse with her from there. "

in kafka's case it's implied that elio would converse with her through the ball, and it also further implies that elio works with 'contractors' who arent part of the SH, some speculate the rest of the umbrellas on kafka's splashart might be them.

also, this is too funny to pass so ill put it here :

"There is also a chance that Kafka will ignore the can. In that case, just throw the ball away. You will die, but death will come for everyone. As for the future that you yearn for - I will realize it."

heck i even believe the rest of SH dont know what elio looks like. it makes sense that elio would be cautious and hide his identity, he even uses another alias. this world has factions that can manipulate and access memories after all.

About his powers...idk why there's this misconception in the fandom? but we can simply conclude from kafka who's the second in command and the only other person to swear loyalty to elio that both of them do not believe in a predetermined fate.

actually nvm i know where the confusion comes from, it's the script. how the script works is still a mystery but in kafka's companion question she answers by a no (truth) to whether fate is predetermined, that alone is the answer to elio's belief. if else why would he waste his time trying to change a fate that cannot be altered? So he's lying to his companions now? kafka says his powers see the many possibilities of choices that merge to make the present. i dont think the script is part of his powers but just his compiled knowledge of the actions ppl will take, and many of those choices and actions converge to create the same result, therefore there's a fate that can't be escaped and that is the script, and that's the only destiny that exists.

now in the SU, there's an interesting occurrence :

Fuli adresses us as Elio even though we are akivili in the SU, this lead to theories abt elio being akivili but i'd beg to differ. fuli also addresses us as nanook. so are we saying nanook is akivili and elio? i think this links fuli with elio more than anything and here's how :

We know that elio is trying to kill nanook, and to that he created TB with the help of an unknown aeon. Elio's powers might seem like they're a gift from terminus, the aeon of finality, elio could have the identity of an omen vanguard, but his design just like sunday's has some Order elements, making him a potential follower of the order. Fuli being on Elio's side makes sense. there's no way elio can know of ppl's existances in this very vast universe solely from watching intertwined fates. SW only caught his attention after she proved herself against screwllum, meaning he isnt able to know of everyone. and his ability doesnt allow him to peak to the past, so he cannot possibly be aware of everyone's deep desires right? thus fuli granting him their memories allows him to understand better how to reach out to them. let's take sunday's letter as example, how is elio aware of the dove and how much it meant to sunday?

i think fuli's message means something along the lines of time is running out. on the other occasion of fuli's appearance they show us a memory of kafka hmmmm

but wait! it gets better. i was reading fu xuan's lore and i couldn't believe the extra possibility, here's this :

"The girl did not open her eyes, yet she could already see the world around her condense into solid form from nebulous mist, see all possibilities fade and leave behind the solitary, absolute, and faultless "choice." "

isnt this awfully similar? indeed there's differences in their powers and how they use them. fu xuan uses the eye to see the one true possibility from all the others, with it she can keep exploring the many possibilities, this at least is very alike.

do you realize what that means? nous actually isnt just a space robot, they cook, they cook too good and they might be the one on elio's side which is CRAZY to say the least. if fuli can help elio see the past and know of things he otherwise cant know, then nous would be able to do the same because they know everything there's in the world, and can help modify TB to store the stellaron. ISNT IT CRAZY?? MAH BOI IS FAVORED! but that only convinces me that terminus is more and more useless lolz

also we see fu xuan possesing a third eye, in elio's case his eyes are totally changed, unworldly.

think it's worth mentioning that fu xuan isnt able to see TB's future meanwhile elio is able to and even a supposedly unreliable heliobi :

this isnt the first time we were compared to nanook or told that we will ascend i just don't have the proof lol, with that in mind what does elio want to accomplish? maybe TB was created in naook's image? from their memories? so that someday we overtake them...maybe Elio might've created a person who wouldn't deviate from his script to ensure their ascension. Kafka never told us the 3rd way to kill an aeon .

On another hand ppl are speculating that the one who talks in the dreamscape pass is elio, im not sure abt that tbh...they mentioned aha twice for me to think it might be sampo lol but elio makes sense, and if it's truly him then oh god he is silly lolol

some also say the voice of narrator at the end of penacony might be elio since CN recognized the va, i play in jp and i think it was shimono hiro? i was like this is too popular of a va to be giving to a narrator TT

Also it seems like some plot points are inspired from a game called ghost trick (IT'S GREAT!! AND I FEEL RLY EMPTY INSIDE) once I finished it I finally understood something that I didn't before, what it meant for terminus to go to the past to recite the prophecy of the future. Not spoilers dw

anyways i feel so much better now ty for reading all the way!

[storyofmychoices]

Tuneless Wonders

[Beckett Harrington x Emma Carlyle Masterlist] 

Pairing: Beckett Harrington x Emma Carlyle (F!MC) Book: The Elementalists Word Count: >600 Rating/Warnings: general, no warnings, all the fluff Prompts: @choicesjanuary2024 aurora (borealis); @choicesficwriterscreations

Synopsis: Emma shows Beckett that the tuneless world has magic of its own.

It has been FAR too long since I've commissioned art of these two. So I am very excited to have been able to commission this piece by the ever talented ArtByAinna (IG) to kick off our TE @choicesbookclub

The vibrant hues of the aurora borealis painted the sky in a mesmerizing dance of celestial colors. Beckett and Emma found themselves at a secluded spot, away from the prying eyes of their friends. The ethereal lights shimmered overhead, casting a magical glow upon the landscape.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Emma teased, lacing her fingers with his as she rested her head on his shoulder. “The tuneless world has its own magic.”

Beckett couldn’t help but be captivated by the enchanting display painting the sky. “Wow,” the only word he could manage slipped quietly from his lips, his gaze fixed on the celestial wonder above.

Emma’s eyes sparkled with a blend of awe and admiration. “Nature's magic is unparalleled. Earth has her own set of spells that she blesses us with."

A surge of appreciation for a magic he had never considered before washed over him. Beckett had read of this natural event in books, of course, but he never imagined them quite like this. In his readings, it was simple. It was science, just a bit of chemistry—an interaction of particles, solar wind, and the Earth’s magnetic field—nothing special. Yet, the reality of what he thought nothing of, now, left him breathless.

Emma’s words continued to resonate with him as he stood entranced. He couldn’t deny the magnificent enchantment surrounding them. He slowly breathed in the cold air, letting it fill his lungs, the moment overwhelming him in the best way. As he exhaled, Beckett attempted to let go of the complexities of magical academia he had spent his life mastering, allowing room for this new appreciation for the tuneless wonders he never would have understood without her.

“It’s breathtaking,” he whispered, his words of reverence drifting from his lips in wisps of warmth against the cold air.

Emma’s gaze met his cool, grey eyes, which shimmered with the colors of the heavens. “Perhaps nature’s magic is the truest form. No spells, no textbooks—just the raw, untamed beauty of the world. Maybe that’s where it all started. Maybe this and other examples of Earth’s magic is the origin of all other magick we know.”

“Thank you.” His fingers brushed tenderly across her cheek as he cradled her face.

“For what?” She smiled softly.

“For sharing this with me—” he began, his gaze drifting once more to the beautiful dance above them. "—for convincing me that there are wonders and magic I still don't understand—" His words were quieter now, “—and... for being smarter than me.”

“What was that?” Emma’s brow quirked with mischief. "I couldn’t quite hear you—"

“You heard me well enough.”

She considered it for a moment. “I think I heard you say I was smarter than you—the one and only, Beckett Harrington. Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” She rested the back of her hand against his forehead.

He shook his head. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Well, if you want me to stop, you know what you have to do.” She grabbed the lapel of his navy peacoat, pulling him closer, their noses brushing together.

His freckled cheeks flushed at her gesture. “You’re impossible.” Beckett’s words were lost as he closed the gap between them. As their lips met, the warmth of her kiss seeped deep into him, a radiant glow that warmed him inside and out, like the gentle embrace of the soothing sun on a cold winters day.

The celestial lights above bore witness to their kiss, a moment of pure magic that rivaled the magic of this world and the magick of their studies.

I haven't written Beckett in... I honestly don't know how long 2, maybe 3??? years!?! I hope that our Book Club replay of TE will inspire some more Beckett and Emma stories. So far, I really only ever wrote them in my Detention Series.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!

[cap-ironman]

2023 Cap-Iron Man Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts Creators Reveals & Masterpost

This year, 39 wonderful works were created for our annual event!

Thank you all very much for participating, whether it was by writing, arting, submitting the prompts for the Community Gifts, cheerleading the creators, beta reading, leaving comments on works or guessing the creators! We hope you had lots of fun.

Here, finally, is the masterlist revealing the creators of each work created for the Cap-IM Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts event! Please remember to mind the tags and warnings for individual works, and leave kudos and comments on those you've enjoyed!

Drumroll please!

★ 10th Time's the Charm by zappedbysnow for Neverever (Avengers-ambiguous fandom, art)

When you've been trying to propose for months and villains keep ruining your moment, you just gotta take the chance at any opportune moment.

★ All We Doby Naivelittleprincess for tinystark616 (MCU, 9556 words)

Tony doesn't mean for anyone to find those recordings. Steve doesn't mean to see them. Between the two of them, there were never the right words spoken, so this just might be a blessing in disguise.

★ annex 11 by soliloquent for Cap Iron Man Community (MCU, 1300 words)

Trapped together during a snowstorm in the middle of a mission, Steve attempts to soothe Tony’s growing anxiety, only to discover that Tony had the solution all along.

★ Arm Candy by KandiSheek for BladeoftheNebula (MCU, 2329 words)

When Tony off-handedly asks Steve to be his arm candy for the night, he's not expecting Steve to actually follow through.

★ Arrangements by Neverever for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2692 words)

Tony has a no-strings attached, no-personal information, all-sex relationship with Steve. But things can change, can't they?

★ Behind the Mask by gottalovev for starvels (Marvel Noir, 8156 words)

The circumstances on how Tony met Captain Steve Rogers on the eve of Operation Rebirth were strange enough, but the captain's secrets have secrets, and it's driving Tony crazy.

★ Can I stay here forever (I need you in my arms) by Mistymoon27 for Nixie_DeAngel (MCU, 1047 words)

Cuddling together under the stars out in the country, either on vacation or stranded on mission.

★ Christmas Stockings by superdecibels for robertdowneyjjr (MCU, Art)

Steve makes stockings for their little family and Tony falls a little more in love with him for it.

★ Conductivity by felisnocturna for Cap-IM Community (1872/616, 4243 words)

The train taking Tony to California breaks down in the seemingly abandoned ghost town of Timely. Or: After Steve's death on the courthouse steps, Tony is about to witness another tragedy. This time, he sees it coming, but even that might not change anything - not least because he is pretty sure that it's all just a hallucination.

★ Father and Sonby Perlmutt for starksnack (MCU, 5205 words)

Peter should have seen it coming. All hell breaks loose when his secret identity as Spider-Man is revealed. His parents take the news about as well as you'd imagine, and it escalates all too quickly. But his family wouldn't be his family if they didn't work through it. Together.

★ The first time I met you (I already had a drawing of you) Laslus for zappedbysnow (MCU, 2397 words)

Kissing Tony was a bit like sparing, pushing and pulling and stumbling against furniture. He had no idea why a billionaire cared enough to be this strong, and it was hard to keep in mind he had to pull back his own strength. or Tony meets a cute artist in at a Gala event, Steve tries to get over Iron Man, and Bucky just enjoys watching his best friend be a little stupid sometimes.

★ For You, I Willby tinystark616 for Becci_chan (MCU, 2350 words)

It's Steve's first Christmas away from Tony after the events of Civil War, and Steve misses him every single day. Little does he know that Tony misses him too.

★ A ghost for Christmas by gottalovev for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 8125 words)

When she died, Peggy left Steve an old house in Connecticut. When he decides to spend Christmas there, Steve finds out that it's already inhabited... by a very handsome and kind of annoying ghost.

★ Hot Rod Red by FrankTheSnek for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 37,070 words)

Steve has been single since the abrupt end of his engagement 5 years ago (despite the efforts of his friends). When he accidentally stumbles across an attractive cam model online, the idea of having a virtual booty call on hand seems appealing. The only problem, Tony is far more charming than Steve would have imagined and there is more to him than a pretty smile and a nice body. Too bad all their interactions are just part of Tony's job… or are they?

★ I have promises to keep by Missy_dee811 for gottalovev (Ultimates, 2290 words)

After a mission goes south, Steve and Tony trek through the woods to a safe house to which Tony has a personal connection.

★ i’m fine all alone (but it’s nice to be here with you) by soliloquent for Thahire (MCU, 9467 words)

Two months after the Battle of Earth, Tony, grappling with post-retirement uncertainty and an identity crisis, invites Steve on a Christmas trip to Jamaica.

★ in the storm, we stay clear by Thahire for KandiSheek (MCU, 4432 words)

Beside him, Tony’s getting comfortable, too, unknotting his tie with one hand, the other tapping away on his phone. The light from his phone illuminates his profile. Steve forces his gaze way when he realizes he’s been staring at Tony’s mouth for a solid five seconds. It’s going to be a long wait.

★ Let's to Sea by Ginevra_Benci for a_freaking_lenon (MCU, 8177 words)

Samuel Wilson, Lieutenant, Royal Navy, is the newest crewman aboard the Starry Shield. The famed pirate hunting vessel, captained by the famed Captain Rogers and locked these several years in eternal pursuit of the legendary Iron Captain, is... not what Sam expects. The legendary Iron Captain, when Sam finally meets him, is even less so.

★ loaf actually by robertdowneyjjr for Naivelittleprincess (MCU, 2165 words)

After his embarrassing attempt at cooking for their team holiday potluck dinner the year before, Steve is afraid to try again. Luckily, he has Tony to help him out this time around.

★ Lost Causes (or How the Avengers Didn’t Ruin Christmas) by Fluffypanda for littleblackbow (Avengers Assemble, 2875 words)

Sam, Scott, Clint, Natasha, Thor, and Hulk go on a quest to save Steve's Christmas present for Tony (which they totally didn't destroy).

★ Love makes fools of us all by BladeoftheNebula for Ginevra_Benci (MCU, 3,682 words)

“I am doing this to protect you. I rather take the ‘long may he reign’ part pretty seriously, unlike you.” Steve plucked at the material again. “And you could’ve told me your father’s jester was nearly half my height.” The bells jingled when he huffed, making Tony’s smile wider. "Where would be the fun in that, my love?” Tony murmured, grinning as he stepped in the great hall, the room falling silent at his presence. Steve would do anything to protect his King - no matter how humiliating.

★ Magical Moments by Becci_chan for soliloquent (MCU, 5081 words)

It hadn’t been Steve’s best idea when he’d asked Tony to go with him to the Christmas market. Steve had only needed someone to keep him company, because sometimes crowded places still made him nervous. And because he liked Tony. A lot.

★ make this gingerbread house a home by starksnack for Reioka (MCU, 5000 words)

Steve is determined to make this Christmas the best one Tony has ever had. With gingerbread cookies, home alone, and maybe a little mistletoe.

★ may the angels bow down for you by soliloquent for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2000 words)

He hides. When the Demon gets loud, when He drinks His poison and tries to hurt him with His palm, or His words, or His power—he hides. Burgundy. Oak. Shattered glass.

★ (my heart is burning) holes in the ground by felisnocturna for Cap-IM Community (Noir, 1317 words)

In the end, it's a scent that leads them back home, like Ariadne's thread in a labyrinth of illusions.

★ a relaxing morning in by starvels for Carsonian (616, 2349 words)

Steve and Tony try to have a relaxing morning in. The universe conspires to bring them to Northern Saskatchewan instead.

★ Reverseverance by Veldeia for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 24,041 words)

Steve wakes up to find out that he's gone through something called a severance procedure, which splits a person's consciousness in half. While he's stuck spending all his time in what's essentially a luxurious prison, his other half, the part of his mind that has all their memories, goes to work in the outside world. Steve may not remember a thing about who he is outside, but he knows one thing for sure: he doesn't want to live like this. Not even with Tony, the fellow inmate who's caught his eye. They have to find a way out. Preferably together.

★ Since We've No Place to Go by Carsonian for superdecibels (MCU, 5,904 words)

Friends with benefits Omega!Tony and Alpha!Steve confront their hidden feelings for each other when they get snowed in together.

★ sixth time is the charm by a_freaking_lenon for Laslus (MCU, 1437 words)

Older Peggy keeps trying to set dates for Steve that keep failing until she sets him with her godson Tony.

★ Softer Landing by Naivelittleprincess for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2410 words)

In which there is a snowstorm, Tony has had a terrible week and Steve might be an idiot.

★ Something On My Mind by Thahire for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 2179 words)

During a team game of Never Have I Ever, Tony finds out that Steve has done—some things with men. Things spiral from there.

★ Soothe My Darker Thoughts With Your Warmth by Nixie_DeAngel for picturecat (Marvel 3490, 1329 words)

Some days Steve's go on a darker path than he'd like. Lucky for him, Natasha is there to remind him that sometimes peoples brains are wrong and dumb and she's always right... (at least always right about how she feels about Steve.)

★ Take My Handby littleblackbow for ishipallthings (Avengers Assemble, Art

Steve is assigned to protect Tony Stark, son of Howard Stark, the famous inventor. Proud to a fault, Tony is reluctant to accept his bodyguard, but somehow, there's this one request he just can't deny.

★ temporary configuration of disrupted stars by picturecat for Perlmutt (MCU, 3043 words)

There's a lot for Steve to learn about the 21st century. And himself.

★ Unexpected Thaw by Neverever for Missy_dee811 (Ultimates, 3808 words)

Steve has a rough ride through the multiverse and ends up questioning his relationship with Tony.

★ Walk the Forbidden Road by Reioka for Fluffypanda (MCU, 13,239 words)

Tony is the last person willing to partner with Steve to hunt vampires. Steve should be grateful. And he might be, if Tony wasn't such an asshole.

★ where you already belong by ishipallthings for Mistymoon27 (MCU, 1380 words)

Tony looks down, and blinks in surprise when he sees Steve Rogers’ ever-blue eyes gazing sleepily back at him, his head resting lightly on Tony’s chest. “Well,” he says finally, wincing a little at the dryness in his throat. “I’m not sure I ever figured you for a cuddler, Cap.”

★ Working Late by tinystark616 for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 1632 words)

Some nights, Tony stays up late, building and rebuilding and upgrading his suits, until Steve walks into the workshop, usually already in his pajamas, and wraps his arms around Tony, kissing him until he forgets what he was doing and then dragging him to bed.

★ You Can Take My Breath Away by FrankTheSnek for Cap-IM Community (MCU, 6587 words)

Tony has been impotent since his abduction in Afghanistan. Years have passed and he's grown to accept it, but things start to change when Steve enters his life. It's more than physical need reawakening, and Tony doesn't know how to handle it. He's forgotten what intimacy feels like, and it's a damn scary thing.

Were your guesses right? Are you surprised at something? You can post your reactions in our Cap-IM Discord server here!

And finally, if you participated in the event, feel free to post your work wherever you want now! We will be reblogging every tumblr post tagged with #capimexchange in one of the first five tags.

Thank you for a great event to start 2024 on!

🖤 Navaan, Neverever and starksnack Your 2023 Holiday Exchange and Community Gifts mods

[i-did-not-mean-to]

YOTP - June

It's around @russingon-week after all, I think...

Have some Russingon for your nerves :)

Now with art by @chechula!!! Go give them a follow!

Pairing: Maedhros x Fingon

Prompts: Wedding/Proposal, Saving the world, (accidental) love confession, “You aren’t what I expected”, Downpour, Soulmate AU

Words: 2 510

Warnings: Injury, prophetic dreams, gender confusion, soulmate AU, blood and rain

Nelyafinwë flexed his right hand absent-mindedly—he’d had another highly confusing dream in which a hand that seemed to be his own was pointing wildly at a blurry landscape in the distance.

Even now, hours after waking, he could not shake the gnawing sensation that he knew the outline of the faraway city, nestled at the foot of a mighty mountain, but, no matter how fiercely he frowned, the liberating recognition escaped him stubbornly.

“There you are,” his father exclaimed impatiently upon finding him ambulating under a quiet colonnade. “Your tutor is awaiting you!”

Nelyafinwë looked up, tempted momentarily to ask Fëanáro about the city in his dreams, but he didn’t dare.

Ever since his childhood, his family had owned and inhabited this vast estate. Nelyafinwë had, nevertheless, always been aware that they’d removed themselves from an entirely different, unknown society for reasons his parents adamantly refused to discuss.

He couldn’t shake the sensation that this imposed exile was somehow linked to him, and so he’d done his best to honour his family’s sacrifice by fulfilling his father’s every ambitious project and exaggerated expectation.

He was, Nelyafinwë thought as he ducked into the library, after all the oldest son, and he owed it to his brothers to be the best role model he could possibly be.

With the fanfare of hasty steps and rustling paper started this most fateful of days, looking much like countless ones before, which would end in the inevitable victory of fate over willpower.

In the afternoon, as he took another wistful stroll, Nelyafinwë passed by his father’s study and was struck by the high-pitched trill in his mother’s anxious voice.

His steps faltered for it was not in Nerdanel’s stolid nature to sound so distressed and breathless, not even in the presence of her formidable husband.

“He’s almost reached the age—” she whispered urgently. “Soon…”

“I care nought about the fate of the world,” Fëanáro thundered. “We’ve gone away so far that none even remember him—surely, whatever destiny that hooded, skeletal soothsayer has foretold for my son, shall not come to pass.”

“You have seven sons,” Nerdanel bellowed. “And if the Kingdom, your Kingdom, falls—what is to become of them? I’m afeared, ‘Náro. Can we truly outrun fate once it has been spoken into the world?”

Nelyafinwë did not hear what answer, if any, his esteemed father made to that passionate exclamation, for he was already racing headlong across the atrium towards the gate, desperate to escape the familial country home and lose himself amongst the old groves surrounding their estate.

All his darkest, most torturous suspicions had been confirmed, and he tended to agree with his mother—nobody, not even his father, could circumvent destiny.

The olive trees loomed dark and fertile on a nearby hill, and he plunged into the blessed shadow as fast as his long, toned legs would carry him.

Nobody should witness him as he came to terms with the terrible doom hanging over his helpless head—even a wretched fool had his pride.

Soon, though, he resented himself for his irrational, puerile reaction. He hadn’t even ascertained the nature of the prophecy that had so distressed his parents, and he knew only too well that being aware of the impending danger was ever preferable if one sought to ward it off.

Nevertheless, he was certain that nothing less than unbearable, unacceptable misery could have made his proud father leave his hitherto unmentioned family to hide away in the countryside.

His head was spinning with the devastating answers to old questions and new contradictions; surely, Fëanáro could not be part of the Royal House, could he?

This absurd revelation conjured up a new avalanche of guilt and despair in the young man; if his mother had spoken true, his father would have deserted his duty and deprived the whole family of a luxurious life for the sake of his oldest son alone.

At once, Nelyafinwë understood the deeper meaning of Nerdanel’s harsh words, and his eyes filled with tears of self-loathing and impuissant rage.

“Cry not, little princeling.”

Nelyafinwë looked up sharply upon hearing the ingratiating tone and the mellow voice coming from deep within the shade of the ancient trees.

“Who goes there?” he called, getting back to his feet to meet any intruder or foe head-on.

“I mean you no harm,” the voice resounded once more, followed by the discreet rustling of leaves and crunching of dry earth underfoot.

A moment later, a tall, beautiful stranger appeared, his mouth curled into a friendly smile—Nelyafinwë shivered in vague prescience.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact matter of contention, but something about that man struck him as odd and eerily uncanny.

“Did you have a falling out with your parents?”

Slowly backing away, Nelyafinwë stared at the long-fingered, broad hand extended towards him as one hypnotised by a snake about to strike.

“You cannot outrun them—you cannot outrun me!” Springing forth suddenly, the stranger grabbed the prince’s shoulders and shook him lightly.

Darkness—asphyxiating and absolute—descended upon Nelyafinwë’s senses, and he fell, insensate, into the waiting embrace of his terrifyingly charming captor.

Visions of his severed hand—pointing now to the sky, now to the dark abyss below his dangling feet—haunted his restless unconsciousness, and he struggled through bone-breaking agony back to the cold, glassy surface of the waking world.

As soon as he opened his eyes, Nelyafinwë understood that, as per usual, his mother had been right—there had never been the slightest chance of escaping his fate.

Thus, he was much less horrified than he should have been when he realised that he was chained to the sheer flank of a small mountain by his treacherous hand.

Somewhere overhead, he thought he could hear someone laughing wildly—Nelyafinwë was far too tired and proud to rile against predestination.

He hung his head and waited.

Findekáno awoke bright and early.

“The time has nearly come,” his mother said mournfully as she slowly poured fresh water from an earthen carafe into his goblet.

“I shall be ready!” he assured her confidently. His bright eyes were drawn to a ridge of faraway hills which separated the city from the remote wilds of the countryside. “I feel the need to travel, alone, to gather my spirits and strengthen my flesh.”

Anairë’s gaze grew soft, and she bent over her beloved firstborn to breathe a devoted kiss onto the crown of braided hair tenderly. “So it shall be then,” she whispered, smiling wistfully.

When she’d been heavy with child, a soothsayer had been brought to her, foretelling great feats of valour and puissance for her yet unborn child, and Anairë had never deemed it necessary to subsequently hide that momentous prophecy from her joyous, optimistic son.

“He shall save the kingdom by his fortitude, and true love shall be granted to him as a boon.”

Even now, as she took a sip of her honeyed wine, she could hear the scratchy, unfathomable voice of the hooded stranger echoing through her weary mind.

Often, she had wondered whether she should have spared Findekáno the terrible knowledge of a vague trial awaiting him, especially upon seeing how single-mindedly and grimly he trained to be prepared for every gruesome eventuality.

“It’s almost time—I can sense it. My dreams have been increasingly troubling as of late,” he confessed under his breath.

“The red-haired maiden with the silver eyes again?” Anairë asked understandingly, yearning to lay her cool hand on the feverish brow of her child as she’d once done through seemingly endless nights of debilitating fear. He’d since grown so strong that she doubted he’d ever need her support and comfort again—the thought pained her, but her gentle smile never wavered.

“I cannot see her clearly,” Findekáno mumbled. “She’s always somewhere very high up, blurred by clouds and mist, and yet I know her.”

He stood abruptly. “Please tell father that I wish him well and kiss my siblings in my stead. I shall return soon. I must go at once!”

“May you be victorious, my darling son,” Anairë sighed as she watched him go. Since the day he’d left the protection of her body, she’d not felt so scared on his behalf, so she lifted her head and squared her shoulders resolutely.

She would not quail in the face of destiny—she’d prepare for her son’s triumphant return.

Findekáno set out without delay, a light pack slung across his back, and made for the distant horizon resolutely.

His mind was still entranced with the blurry vision of a person he’d never met and yet had known all his life—he could not recall when the long-limbed, red-haired stranger had first slipped into his most intimate and intense dreams, but he could not consciously remember her ever not having been part of his hopes and fears either.

Maybe, she’d always been there. Maybe, she was a part of himself. Either way, he was determined to find her, and—if possible—fulfil his mother’s tender hopes by courting her.

By the time he re-emerged from his distracted musings about things that belonged to the realm of potential and phantasms instead of careful planning and saving wisdom, Findekáno had left the city far behind him and was clambering over rocks and down virgin gorges.

Still, his heart did not despond, and so he pressed on indefatigably until he reached a bare, forbidding cliff, its jagged outcrops drawing menacing shadows onto the mossy forest floor.

As he turned his gaze upwards in search of he knew not what, Findekáno saw dark clouds gather ominously, and—a mere moment later—heavy rain started falling like passionate, angry tears from the marred sky.

Through the sudden downpour, he could make out a flash of red, glimmering like a defiant torch behind the curtain of shivering grey.

Momentarily, he considered his trusty bow, but he could not trust his aim in the present meteorological conditions, and he didn’t know how feeble his fated lover would be from her ordeal.

“You always knew that it wouldn’t be that easy,” he chided himself, casting off his pack and weapons and clawing his bare fingers into the slippery face of the wet rock.

The ascent was as perilous as it was arduous, but long years of devoted preparation and stubborn training had made Findekáno far stronger and more resilient than any random, benighted wanderer who might have chanced upon so strange and shocking a sight.

At last, he reached a narrow ledge on which he could stand and rest.

Tilting his face upward, he let his eyes travel along dirty, bare feet and long, shapely calves in captivated speechlessness.

This wretched captive, he knew instinctively, was the person of whom he’d been dreaming his whole life…only, those alluring calves melted into bony knees and seemingly endless thighs.

Impatient by nature, he let his gaze move across narrow hips and a taut, pale stomach hastily until it came to rest, astonished and aghast, on a well-defined but unmistakably flat chest.

Findekáno’s stomach somersaulted and his bleeding, aching fingers went numb; he’d found the love of his life, the person who’d right all the countless wrongs of their realm, the very embodiment of his own elusive fate at long last.

His impervious, bold heart stuttered in his heaving chest. Who was he to question fate? Destiny made no mistakes, and he’d risked too much and come too far to turn back now without at least trying to meet this last exquisite challenge head-on.

“You’re not what I expected,” he blurted out.

“I’m ever so sorry if my impersonation of a deviously beguiled and betrayed abductee is not to your liking,” the other rasped, grey eyes flashing in tandem with the churning sky behind him.

“No, I am sorry,” Findekáno replied courteously. “I…surmised that you’d be a woman, but no matter. I’ve been waiting, hoping, wishing for you. My name is Findekáno.”

“I’d shake your hand, but…” the literal hanger-on smiled sharply. “My name is Nelyafinwë. I’ve learned…was it today? Yesterday? A month ago? I know not…that I was a prince. Before I could fulfil my glorious purpose, though, I found myself…between a rock and a hard place, if you will forgive my grim sense of humour.”

Findekáno nodded feelingly; he’d not brought any crafting tools, and even if he was to climb down again to fetch his bow and his dwindling food supplies, he wasn’t confident that he’d then be better equipped to free what was, in all likelihood, his soulmate.

Already, he felt the eerie but irresistible pull of a power far beyond his understanding or control ensnare every fibre of his being.

Instinctively, he understood that the time of struggle and fight was at an end—he wholeheartedly yielded to the warm chains of a nascent bond taking hold of him and rooting him to the bare rock underfoot.

“Have you come to a conclusion?” he then asked cautiously, ready and willing to follow his fated lover’s wishes and commands.

“The hand has to go,” Nelyafinwë replied dryly. “Unfortunately, I seem to be unable to pull myself up for long enough to gnaw it off.”

Horrified, Findekáno patted his belt. “I have a knife if that is of any use to you?”

Like all people who spent their lives waiting for one very specific event to happen, he was thoroughly overwhelmed and discombobulated by the sheer speed and chaotic violence with which that monumental incident tore through his existence like an avalanche.

Unafraid even in the face of certain devastation, Findekáno straightened in a touching imitation of his mother’s steadfast stance of devoted resolution.

“Hand it over!” Nelyafinwë groaned, stretching out a blood-stained, long-fingered hand.

“Will you marry me?” Findekáno asked, holding the lethal blade out of reach.

He knew not why these words had burst from his lips so uncouthly—he’d always envisioned a long courtship full of peaceful walks and tense repasts in flowering meadows—but he couldn’t deny that it felt right.

Surely, Nelyafinwë also sensed their uncanny link. Didn’t he?

Imprudent and nonsensical as his paroxysm of desperate affection was, he stood firm under the bemused scrutiny of those gorgeous, stormy eyes.

“Is that a proposal? Once I’m out of here, I’ll literally give you my hand in marriage,” Nelyafinwë chuckled darkly.

“Don’t you have to consult your parents?”

“You have no idea how much they’ve hidden from me,” the other commented with an exasperated sigh. “Serves them well. I can’t shake the feeling that this, gruesome as it is, was meant to happen. So, may I have your knife as a token of your suit?”

Surrendering the weapon wordlessly, Findekáno felt his heart soar—he slung his strong arms around the cool, slick legs of his fiancé to steady him and keep him from plummeting to his death as soon as he’d escaped his bonds.

It was wrong, he knew, but—standing on the edge of disaster while blood and rain plastered his tunic to his heaving chest—he was perfectly happy.

Thank you for reading!

-> Masterlist

[crimson-and-clover-1717]

This is a brilliant description of Donald Trump (from 2020):

Someone on Quora asked "Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?" Nate White, an articulate and witty writer from England wrote the following response:

A few things spring to mind.

Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed.

So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump's limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.

Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. I don't say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it's a fact. He doesn't even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.

Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn't just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness. There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It's all surface.

Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don't. We see it as having no inner world, no soul.

And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He's not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He's more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.

And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully.

That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead.

There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.

So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think 'Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy' is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:

Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.

You don't need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.

This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it's impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum.

God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart.

In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump. And a remorseful Doctor Frankenstein would clutch out big clumpfuls of hair and scream in anguish:

'My God… what… have… I… created?

If being a twat was a TV show, Trump would be the boxed set.

Source: jobsanger: British Writer Pens The Best Description Of Trump I've Read

[nattinatalia]

Jack Harlow x Reader x Daughter Instagram AU

A/N : Mía is 18 here 💗☺️ appearances by my babies @hoodharlow and @heavyhitterheaux 🫶🏻😘

Liked by yourusername, jackharlow, cassiewyatt, ezharlow, and 6,345,986 others

alizemiaharlow When the gringa from sixth grade who hated you and apparently your dads music, walks into his event and asks for a picture and autograph. Should I drag her???

View all 1,200 comments

ezharlow 🙄

alizemiaharlow You’re just mad because you wanted to get with her.

ezharlow And have mom and dad disown me? Na I’m good of that.

cassiewyatt LMAAAOOOO MIAAAA STAHP 😭😭😭😭😭 she literally walked in all happy but once she seen you, her entire face changed.

alizemiaharlow 💀💀💀💀💀

blancahood Sobrina pórtate bien…..

ezharlow Tia B, you’re telling Mia to behave? You???? The one who chooses violence first and asks questions later????

blancahood I was being sarcastic tonto

reeburrow 😭😭😭 This is why your parents demanded we be supervised while baby sitting y’all.

jackharlow No lies were told. You two and your men took them to the zoo and lost EZ in the penguin sanctuary and blamed it on Druski, he wasn’t even in town!!!!!

blancahood We rented out the zoo, so he wasn’t in actual danger. He was bound to be found.

jackharlow Not helping your case 🙄

reeburrow Don’t worry, we’ve changed, so we’ll be ready for the Harlow Twins.

blancahood Speak for yourself Ree, I don’t want any part of the demon spawns.

ezharlow WHY DOES AUNT B GET TO CALL THEM THAT AND NOT ME?????

•

Liked by yourusername, urbanwyatt, ezharlow, cassiewyatt, blancahood, reeburrow, and 6,876,356 others

alizemiaharlow Happy birthday to 2 of my favorite men in this entire universe. All the airplanes, photo shoots, concerts, and crazy schedules was worth it, I’m happy and blessed I was able to witness your art at such a young age. At 18 I’m still learning and understanding through you two. Forever blessed with the best father and godfather. Little Mia Bug is crying and is very proud of your legacy. I love you daddy and nino, for life 🤞🏼💗

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yourusername Bug, you already made him cry this morning, he’s about to cry in the middle of the party.

reeburrow His ass stays crying 😭

blancahood Es un chillon

yourusername LEAVE MY MAN ALONE.

jackharlow Princess 🥺

jackharlow Your mama is right, I’m about to cry again. You kids have been making me cry since the moment you were born. I love you so much daughter of mine. Thank you for being the best.

urbanwyatt 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹 I’m not gonna cry. I’m not gonna cry, I’m not gonna cry.

urbanwyatt OK I’M CRYING!!!!! I love you. My partner in crime for life.

cassiewyatt 🥺🥺 Happy birthday to the bestest uncle and dad a girl could ever ask for.

ezharlow Damn they’re old

urbanwyatt I hate you

ezharlow We’ve established that you are a terrible liar.

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yourusername 🫶🏻 My babies

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jackharlow 🥺💜

alizemiaharlow Twins 👯‍♀️

allabouttheharlows I remember this used to be their thing 😭 she’d be watching the show and they’d do this to each other.

yourusername Ughhh right on the feels.

ezharlow Damn

ezharlow Your favoritism is showing ama

yourusername Boy sit down

ezharlow This is why I’m aunt Ree and tia Blanca’s favorite.

alizemiaharlow THEY LOST YOU AT THE ZOO, BUT OK

reeburrow See what we’re not gonna do is bring up old stuff up 😭😭😭

blancahood You’re my favorite? Since when?

cassiewyatt THEY LIKE ME BETTER

reeburrow CORRECT 😘💗

druski Ez you’re my favorite

reeburrow Even when he caked you all those years ago?

druski I TAKE IT BACK

blancahood 😭😭😭

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alizemiaharlow When they start asking you about your parents instead of your actual work 🙄 I get it, my parents are the shit, but let’s discuss my projects yeah??? K thanks.

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reeburrow SEND THEM MY WAY

alizemiaharlow Ohhh can I????

blancahood panchito is still around, should we let him loose on these losers?

alizemiaharlow Yes please.

jackharlow I’m sorry bug 😢

yourusername I love you 😘💕

ezharlow Knock them out, it’s what I do

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[downtherabbithole-tumbleedition]

Momento Mori, Momento Vivere

A Tom Riddle x OC Fanfiction

Remember you must die, so remember to live.

-

'Til death do we part'. For how long should such a vow be honoured? Through thick and thin, sickness and in health... but what about when her husband turns into the most sinister Dark Lord wizarding Britain has ever seen? What about when death is no longer an option for her?

What if she has to choose between the boy she raised and the man she swore to always love?

(Cross posted on A03)

It didn't take Sabrina long to decide immortality was a twisted, haunting thing. Perhaps the idea of it was appealing; living forever in the prime of your life, an untouched form of art immune to time itself... to be the very thing men waged wars over. But it should have remained an idea, a hypothetical, an untouchable wish. Would she curse such a reality on her worst enemy?

There were perks to it, of course, it wasn't so sought after for nothing. Sabrina remained perfect, pristine, barely a wrinkle in sight, her hair as shining as it always had been rather than painted white by the cruel truth of time. Those around her spent galleons upon galleons on spells, charms or potions to undo what time had done to them, to reclaim their youth, to appear even a fraction as young as she did.

A fickle and vain thing, perhaps, but she had wondered many times if she would shatter on the inside if her beauty was stolen from her. It wasn't something she had always had, certainly not gifted to her from birth... People who have been beautiful their whole lives do not know what it's like to be unwanted, so they have no fear of being ugly. But when good looks are gained through age, one grips onto them to the point of claw marks.

But no mortal set the world on fire for youth, no, they wanted to evade death himself.

That was the point, wasn't it? The only reason Sabrina was immortal was because someone decided they couldn't bear to see her die; a selfless act, one would believe, but Sabrina knew she was only alive out of pure selfishness, the refusal to grieve her.

Death wasn't evil, he was a gift. Mortals have a lifespan for a reason, after all. There is only so much loss and grief a heart can take before it breaks, perhaps it still pumped blood into her veins and kept her body functioning, but the pitiful organ had died many years before... one too many corpses, few too many smiles. Sabrina had certainly thought she was immune to death, that the news of a friend going cold could no longer pull on her severed heart strings.

But they were so young.

Lily and James Potter had been some of her favourite students - Lily with her brilliance, James with his mischief. Sabrina really did not believe herself to have a maternal bone in her body, but even she couldn't deny the tender spot the two had carved for themselves in her heart. Green eyes, wild black hair... She loved the two like her children.

And they were gone, their souls cast away from their bodies with only a simple green spell, all because of a crazed man and a stupid prophecy. Something she could have prevented perhaps, had she tried hard enough.

So, no, Sabrina did not consider immortality to be a blessing or something worth destroying worlds for, not when she had witnessed every person she had ever loved die or fall to ruin. It was a terrible, inevitable thing - better to not love at all than have your heart beaten and abused.

“Sirius Black has been found guilty of conspiring with the Dark Lord.”

That was just salt in the wound, the blood leaving Sabrina’s face quickly enough to rival a ghost. She’d thought she was going mad when Albus first told her or that he was playing some twisted joke on her, but there was not a trace of humour on the old man’s face.

“You don’t actually believe that, do you?” Sabrina questioned him, tone drowning in disbelief, grip almost tight enough to break the delicate tea cup.

Albus was silent, no longer even sparing her glance - the old man had always been impossible to read but she figured it was either grief or guilt, granted the two often went hand and hand for the puppeteer that was Albus Dumbledore.

Sabrina fought tooth and nail to prove Sirius’ innocence, revealing every card she had available, pulling every trick she ever knew, anything to save him from such a fate. But without Albus vouching for him, it was basically useless.

There was still that horrible feeling in her stomach, that sickening sludge of guilt and mourning - a sensation she didn’t know was possible until Sirius looked at her with those grey eyes, usually so dauntless, laced with tears and fear. He’d wrapped himself around her like a child running to their mother after hearing a scary story, as if he believed she could protect him. She had failed him and lost a third child.

Sabrina didn’t want to see Albus, not after what he’d done (or failed to do), but there was still a question lingering on her tongue. Truth be told, she didn’t want to ask it; knowing would only lead her to complications and remorse, until the guilt inside of her became too much and overflowed to impulsive actions of sympathy.

Still, it had to be asked.

“What of the boy?”

Harry James Potter, only a year old and somehow the catalyst for so much tragedy. But oftentimes a catalyst is never willing to be part of destructive schemes.

Surprisingly, Albus told her the truth about Harry (perhaps that should have been her first sign that something was amiss because the man was hardly ever truthful), but she almost wished she hadn’t known. His honesty had done nothing to ease the growing rage inside of her, only adding fuel to flame.

He didn’t put up a fight when she said she wouldn’t allow Harry to grow up in such an environment, not before she ensured it was safe with her own eyes.

It wasn’t.

On the surface, the Dursley’s seemed like a lovely family. White picket fence, loving marriage, healthy son they spoiled rotten - muggles often examined things at a surface level, leaving well enough alone lest they pry into something ugly. But Vernon and Petunia Dursley held a sinister secret, and it was the screaming baby they left in the upstairs bedroom.

Sabrina wasn’t certain how such a noise didn’t alert the entire neighborhood, but she supposed the eighties weren’t so different from the forties; people swept things under the rug, ignored them unless they were right in their face. Maybe the Dursley’s neighbors willingly ignored the neglected baby boy, or perhaps they did not care enough to hear in the first place.

She lost her breath when she saw him; forest green eyes, hair as black as night… An unforgettable scar that was sure to cause him a lot of harm as he grew older.

Sabrina had promised herself she would finally harden her heart to the world, but how could she when the boy in front of her was innocent to the world, when his only crime was being born? Would she be any better than Albus Dumbledore if she simply allowed him to suffer his entire life?

Having already made up her mind, Sabrina gently cradled the boy, silently promising to never let any harm befall him.

She didn’t know how difficult it would be to keep such a promise.

[lifeintheworldtocome]

WELL HE COLLAPSED WITH STEVENS-JOHNSON SYNDROME ON THE ER FLOOR PANIC ATTACKED ANAPHYLACTIC AND ATAXIC WELL THE WAY HE SPUN HIS BUTTERFLY RISKED ALL SIX HIS PHALANGES ROMAN CANDLES AT BOTH ENDS AT HIS SYNAPSIS AND THE MATTER WITH WHICH HE RECYCLED HIS HUMORS TROJAN HORSED HIS BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER AND RAISED THE LD-50 YES YES AND THROUGH FIGHT OR FLIGHT REVELATIONS SHAME THE BLACKBOXWARRIOR HE SKIPPED THIS TOWN AND HEADED STRAIGHT DOWN HISTORY SHIELDS HIMSELF FROM REASON IN A KEVLAR BABY-BLUE TUXEDO QUILTED FROM THE FINEST FIBERS FLESH AND FIBERGLASS AND FLOWERS HIS EGO A MOSQUITO EVIL INCARNATE GOOD INCOGNITO POPS PLACEBOS FOR LIBIDOS SCREAMING BLESS THE TORPEDOS FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH IF IT WAS GONNA KILL YOU BOY IT WOULD HAVE BY NOW FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH THERES NO MORE LOOKING BACK ITS LOOKING UP OR LOOKING DOWN WELL HE WAS WEARING STOLEN RUBBER SHOES AND WRAPPED A POISON IVY NOOSE AROUND HIS LOTUS JUGULAR WHEN THEY CAME WELL THEY FOUND HIM WITH A MAP TO EVERY VICTIM OF HIS LOVE AND A TATTOO OF A BLUE JAY ON HIS FACE AND THEY WAITED FOR HIS VITAL SIGNS TO LIE AND LET A FLATLINE CRY A HYMN OUT IN HUNGARIAN HARMONIC BUT HE COCKED HIS NOGGIN THROUGH HIS STOMA SANG FOR AULD LANG SYNE HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE SUCCULENTS ILL DYE YOUR HYDROPONICS HIS RIBCAGE WAS A HORNETS NEST PALPITATIONS SET THE BEAT HIS VAGUS NERVES A TURKS HEAD KNOT AN AXEL HITCH A CARRICK BEND HE WONDERED IF CHRIST CONSCIOUSNESS WOULD CHARGE A CANCELLATION FEE AUF WIEDERSEHEN AU REVOIR HE GRIPPED HIS WITS RIGHT BY THEIR ENDS FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH IF IT WAS GONNA KILL YOU BOY IT WOULD HAVE BY NOW FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH THERES NO MORE LOOKING UP ITS LOOKING UP OR LOOKING DOWN hello welcome why dont you take a seat get comfortable relax take a second if you need to now whats bothering you well why dont we start at the beginning growing up how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence? did you have xenon orchid sinews spilling down the outer center of your blooming escher/mandelbrot head? and how about claustrophillic tendrils clapping caskets closed on seven-knuckle thumbs did you get along well with the gideon bugler pineal glands your projector eyes casting scifis on your strd strands? tell me about your nerve to steal nerves of steel from under bacchuses bloody nose did namibian himbas tiedye you your ears pierced with a phineas gage flagpole? did you die before your day? well thursday traction tuesday titration now my hope is to assess through my objective report of your subjective conjecture whether this proprietary blend of expertise and seasoning works as well as this transorbital ice pick holistic ballistics what you got a better idea? well its about the best we could come up with what you think ideas spread because theyre good? no they spread because people like them so now here we are once again holding as it were a mirror up to your mirror i guess its just something people do A BLOODY KNIFE TO SPLIT YOUR INFRASTRUCTURE WINE TO REV YOUR MOTOR FUNCTIONS COITAL MACHINATIONS OF THE DEAD WELL YOU MAINLINE YOUR ANIMUS KARATE CHOP YOUR ABACUS AND LEARN TO BE AN ANIMAL INSTEAD BUT I NEVER DID THINK YOU BETTER THAN THIS YOUR MODUS OPERANDI CAUSES NAZI/SKOPTZYISM AND SUICIDE WHY TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE WHEN IT IS YOU WHO ART THE PROBLEM NOT THE THINGS YOU DO BUT SOMETHING SICK INSIDE LITHIUM AND DIALECTICS BOY YOU REALLY IS DEFECTIVE CBT DONT SEEM EFFECTIVE FOR THE CLUSTER B ACCEPT IT OFFER UP YOUR INNOCENCE PLEASE IGNORE THE SIDE EFFECTS YOUVE LOST YOUR MIND AND ALMOST LOST YOUR LIFE BEFORE SO YOULL BE FINE FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH IF IT WAS GONNA GET YOU BOY IT WOULD HAVE BY NOW FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT? FOR WHAT ITS WORTH THERES NO MORE LOOKING BACK AND WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO LOOK BACK I MEAN ITS NO GOOD LOOKING BACK SO TRY TO LOOK FORWARD NOW FOR WHAT FOR WHAT FOR WHAT ITS WORTH IF IT WAS GONNA KILL YOU BOY IT WOULD HAVE BY NOW FOR WHAT FOR WHAT FOR WHAT ITS WORTH THERES NO MORE LOOKING BACK ITS LOOKING UP OR LOOKING DOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWNNNNNNNNNNNN