#wishing i could draw or otherwise find a way to share the Vision

[hal-assan]

thinking about how canonly, Yvair would wear a flowy green & gold outfit to the Winter Palace and a wooden halla mask with faint engravings painted in with gold

[thecameronchronicles]

Psychotic

TW: DarkRafe! Smut. Language.

SUMMARY: Rafe acts on his impulses.

*I got a bit carried away with this one… whoops ;) 

WORD COUNT: 3400

*Requested*

The reasons you fascinated Rafe Cameron were the same that terrified him. Your beauty, incomparable and unwavering in every detail to the specific hue drawing him to you from across any room and the illumination of your smile so pure that he wished to taint. Your passion in all things you held dear and the lengths you would go to in order to achieve your goals was synonymous to his own, even though his methods were avant-garde. But lastly, your demons that dared to dance with his own in the beckoning call of tears he found to tighten his fingers into fists at the thought of anyone but him being the cause of them. 

He had always existed as your shadow, a figure set within your peripheral vision that had gone unnoticed in majority. Of course, the way he was always just beyond your line of sight had made him somewhat of a dangerous enigma to your perfectly polished persona. Where you were composed and delicate, he was tainted with his privilege-a detail you shared, but you were simply able to hide behind a confident smile and feigned contentment. And yet a handful of silent conversations exchanged in only glances and you felt understood. But you were a product of the peer pressures surrounding you-which meant no matter how much his blue eyes weakened your virginal defenses or his silhouette beckoned you to test its limits, you never ventured into his aura of certain chaos. 

Until tonight. 

You became bored rather quickly by the same conversations of upcoming summer plans and a display of ‘keeping up with the Joneses’ of your friends you only kept for the sake of surviving high school. But with the imminence of college just around the corner, you braved this final bonfire in hopes of broadening your horizons well beyond their shallow and superficial lifestyles. This is what made you distance from them as their consumption of alcohol and inflammation of egos left them less than desirable to be around. Conversations too dull to keep focus had led you to notice him yet again-just on the outskirts of the party, simulating interest in his own friends, while looking at you every so often. 

“No empty cups, it’s a rule!” A boisterous voice called from your side as your solo cup that you’d simply nursed more than consumed was now forced to overflow by the pour of a beverage you would have been content without. And yet, this wouldn’t be enough for this abrasive yet nameless host as he would then force it towards your mouth. 

“Drink up, buttercup-” He forced as you tried to offer a polite rejection before ultimately finding the drink spilled on his shirt. 

“Bitch! This costs more than your extensions!” He cursed as you attempted to leave the scene and this drunken dolt behind, before he took hold of your wrist. 

“Maybe someone should fuck some sense into you-” Your jaw clenched at the thought of anyone in attendance of this party touching you in that way, let alone claiming that innocence so many had assumed made you a prude to keep close. In truth, there wasn’t anybody who excited you enough to want to cross that line-well, nobody but him as his eyes trained to you in reservation to act. 

“Like you could…” You shot back, hoping this unexpected rebuttal would be enough to warrant your release, only feeling him pulling you tighter. 

“All it takes is five seconds and I can ruin that fucking virtue-in case you forgot, only reason anyone puts up with you is TO fuck you…otherwise you’re just a waste of space-” His words, horribly cruel, were enough to pull every ounce of strength from your core as you pulled away from him. 

Tears brimming your eyes, you decided without a care of proper farewells to your supposed friends, that you had enough of tonight’s festivities. Yet due to the hour, you were forced to illuminate your path with your phone, whose battery was reaching its limit, as it was just enough to keep from falling into a ditch as you ventured home beneath the moonlight. Yet you wouldn’t be able to make it even a handful of feet before needing to return for your purse, which had been left inside the house. 

The sound of divided chanting had pulled your attention to the collection of peers wrapped around a rather graphic scene. The stranger who had insulted you was upon the ground, straddled by a figure you could identify by nothing more than his silhouette. Muscles tensed beneath a polo and retracted for yet another punch, Rafe Cameron had seemingly come to your defense. His victim was motionless beneath him and he continued his motions, prompting a few of the latter’s friends to pull him freely. 

You were mesmerized by him. The way his angelic features had been stained with blood had left you to question your own sanity. He was a contradiction between what you wanted and what you should want. You SHOULD want someone like Topper; composed and level-headed, even ambitious and cunning. And yet, you only found saturation for your panties at the sight of Rafe bloodied and heaving from recently released anger spent in your benefit. But he had done so under the belief you had left, which is why his eyes didn’t scan for you as they usually would have in any other instance. 

“What the fuck, Rafe!” Topper confronted his friend, who was now shaking off his knuckles, but enduring the pain of what you would find unbearable if having graced your own hands. 

“Get off-” Rafe charged before making his way back into the house, where you followed in order to retrieve your purse.

 But as you had made it to the room where you’d left it, you were intercepted by someone you actually considered a friend. After striking up a pleasant conversation, you could feel Rafe’s eyes linger on you from across the hall, having emerged from the bathroom to find you shamelessly loitering for what he assumed to be a further and intentional torment to him. But before you could understand why he had been so angry, he would push past you, purposely nudging your choice of conversationalist, before you said your farwell and made your way behind his steps. However, he had managed to disappear before you could find him through the crowd that had begun to disband due to the hour. 

Accepting that you would now have to walk home with the bitter cold of his reaction yet the exhilaration of knowing he had defended you, you groaned with each step made in the direction of your house. 

The sound of sticks rummaged and broken behind your back sent a chill up your spine as you wouldn’t need to turn and source your surroundings, as you knew exactly who caused this death to nature. And so you only continued your steps at a slower pace until your curiosity got the best of you and you finally turned to find validation in your assumption. But as you found him suddenly before you, eyes dilated by you daring to address him, you noticed in detail that his features were anything but. The full lips you’d thought of beyond what was appropriate had been stained and swollen with inflammation of his recent scuffle. But the most damage rested on his knuckles, torn and battered from his relentlessness in use of them. 

“Rafe…” His name from your lips, somewhere between frightened and aroused, prompted him to move forward, your body stiffening to the acceleration of his step. But as he saw you shudder, he’d retract, moving in a circle and lifting his fingers to his temples to speak with dramatic intent. 

“Do you EVER think about what you do?” This had been the first set of words he’d ever spoken to you, and they had been ones of a berating nature. You shouldn’t have been surprised as he was always aggressive with even those closest to him and you were nothing more than a piece of art from across the room. But you expected something different if a conversation would have transpired. Tension, of course-but not this…

“There is only SO many times I can protect you until your stupidity is something even I can’t stop-” Your eyes narrowed for a moment as you suddenly came to realize the reason you’d spent the entirety of your high school career single. 

Although half of this had been in a personal choice of those your age acting more intuitive for social status than compassion, there were a few crushes that had done just that once you were ghosted or they had seemingly lost interest by acting as if you didn’t exist. And you realized it wasn’t you. It was him. The reasons such rumors of your virtue were on the forefront, the reason those words were spoken to you tonight, and the reason you felt timid and even frightened to be with anyone was because of him. And it was enough to turn your admiration into aggravation as you glared at him. 

“I don’t need anyone to protect me-”

“So you just like them fucking you with their eyes all the time? Do you get off on it?” His head suddenly rose as an epiphany interrupted your attempts to deny him. 

“Oh shit, you do…don’t you?” He now stepped closer, any one of his former reservations fading as he closed the space between you. 

“You like the idea of everyone wanting you, but YOU get to decide who actually gets to…” His eyes darted from one of your sand into the other, awaiting for your response while enver actually granting you the time to offer it before he continued. 

“And you want to give it to HIM don’t you?”

“Who?”

“The boy in the hallway that was drooling over you.” You chuckled at the idea as he was nothing more than a childhood friend, completely platonic, but it didn't matter to Rafe who he was. He was an opponent simply because he was the opposite sex, a rival to him that even if you validated in every collection of words possible, he wouldn’t believe to be anything but the enemy. 

“He’s a friend-”

“A friend that wants to fuck you…and you did nothing to deter him-you never do…because you want it-”

“It’s not any of your business, Rafe-” He scoffed, lifting up his hands to remind you of how he had made it ‘his business’. 

“You think he deserves to be the first? You think he knows what you need? How to take care of you?” His words were now possessive, but just as intense as you’d always imagined. After all, you couldn’t possess a gaze like the one had for the months he’d used it without following through in everything from speech to behaviors to back it up. And he did so with effortless conviction. 

“HE wasn’t the one to defend you. HE wasn’t the one that’s kept you safe while you make stupid decision. And HE isn’t the one who gets to make you come-”

“Rafe-”

He was now standing close enough to where you could feel his breath and its quick inhale and hot exhale now against your face as he towered over you. 

“I do-” Before you could oppose, he was pulling you to the direction of the darkened shoulder of the road, a fallen log acting as your rest while he had forced you to sit. 

“I’ve wanted this for so fucking long…I’m gonna savor it…” He explained once leaning close enough to taste the alcohol on his breath until he retracted, “But first…” He began, lowering to his knees and running his fingers up your legs. Suddenly everything you’d thought of your first time was shifted into something darker. If it had been chocolate, it would be bittersweet in decadent dark and if it had been a song it would have been one too loud to ignore. Because of this, you were terrified. 

"But first, I'm gonna make you drip for me…" His fingers ran over your thighs, the delicate skin beneath his touch having risen shamelessly in his endeavors. 

"Please-" His hand suddenly wrapped around your throat, threatening to apply pressure but refraining from acting on it. At least for now. 

"We're not at the begging part of this yet. You only beg me when I'm inside of you, got it?" You were too drunk off of his dominance to respond verbally, which caused for him to tighten those fingers. 

"Answer me or so help me, I'll fuck you for myself. I don't want your first time to be rough, but if you keep acting like this, testing my patience, I'll use you for me." You nodded as his eyes awaited your submission. 

"Good." His dominant hand divided your legs further as he placed himself between this parting. 

"I don't care when you come or how many times…but I want you to tell me when you do-"

"But.." His eyes flashed to you in correction of your silence as you continued boldly. 

"But I've never-how will I know?"

"Trust me, sweetheart…you'll know…" He pulled his fingers to his lips, dousing them until they dripped, and worked them against your sex after your panties had been pushed to the side. But he had only done this once before drawing them to his lips. 

"I deserve this…" He explained while pulling your taste from his lips, an eye roll making your own eyes screw shut until he spoke again. 

"I deserve to be your first…to feel you clench around me…to hear you come…and you're gonna let me-"

"I-" His hand tightened to silence you as he worked his fingers inside, a slow penetration pulling your expression into immediate pleasure as he grinned. 

"Shit-youre gonna feel so good around me…" 

"Rafe!" 

"We're gonna do two fingers now-" He spoke more as a narration than a question before widening you with his pointer finger, the cold ring set as a parameter for his depth. 

"Rock into me while I work you, baby…" Your hand gripped his wrist, as your head fell slack in this overload of sensory stimulation. 

"Keep those eyes open baby…I want you to see everything I'm gonna do to you…" He would pull his fingers away, consuming your slick once more, before angling himself between your legs with his eyes stationed back up to you. 

"I wanna hear how good it feels. If you stop, so do I…" You weren't able to object before feeling his tongue running lines between your lower lips. He tested the delicate and untouched skin to savor the tang offered by his ambitions. Once your fingers ran through his hair and you began to work against his tongue, he pulled your legs over his shoulders and began to pleasure you with his quick flicks. 

"Rafe!"

"Hmmm?" He moaned into you as you struggled to react with grace. 

"It's too much!" You cried as he only shook his head and quickened that much faster. 

"Please! It's-" He suddenly stopped, pulling your hair until standing over you with one hand now undoing his belt. The erection threatening your face was sitting just beneath a thin fabric as you swallowed hard in knowing his intentions. 

"You don't wanna listen…you're gonna use that mouth for other things…"

"I've never-"

"Does it look like I care?" He scoffed. "I want to teach you to take MY cock…train your throat only for me…" You hesitated to hi words that excited you to a fault. 

"Stroke it."

You made small screwing motions over his smooth cock, watching him moan and relish how your small yet inexperienced hands were learning him. 

"Open your mouth and stick out your tongue." You obliged as he leaves into you, the head of his dick laid on your palette. 

"I'll make it quick for you. But it's gonna hurt and you're gonna cry for me." Your eyes widened. 

"But you're doing it because I deserve it…because I've earned it." You nodded as he took your hair atop your head and moved slowly to the back of your throat. 

"Don't worry… I'm only gonna come in that tight little pussy,okay?" You nodded as his eyes rolled in approval to your acquiescence as his motions increased. 

"Breathe through your nose." He guided as you listened as the perfect student you were. Before long, he was hammering your tonsils, making you gasp and gag to each thrust, as you took it well. Hollowed cheeks and tightened motions of your lips bringing him to an edge had him cursing your name to the sky above before he looked down to you with those teary eyes looking back up at him. 

"You cry so pretty…" He offered himself a handful of thrusts against your throat before withdrawing with your drool in ribbons to his shaft. 

"So good…" He breathed. 

"Straddle me, sweetheart..." He directed as he took the place of the trunk and proceeded to guide you over him. 

"Listen to me..." His hand cane to the back of your neck, pulling your hair as he saw fit, before ultimately holding you in place with care. 

"It's gonna hurt-" 

"Rafe..." 

"I can't help that...BUT, get through that for me and I promise I'll make you feel so good for me...okay?" You bobbed your head in a nervous nod before watching him prepare himself for you. 

"I know you're soaking wet, but I need to make sure it's enough...so spit-" You obliged as he directed you to salivate over his cock before finally aligning you. 

"Deep breath-" When you had, he inserted himself, quickly and with a heartless selfishness, before his hand came back to a clench at your neck. 

"It hurts! It’s-please stop!" 

"Gotta work you through it-" But you were frenzied against him. The pain truly intolerable despite the pleasure he seemed to feel at your expense. At yet, with each thrust, came his growing impatience until he gathered your hands at your back either one hand as the other came to your clit. 

"Stop!" You cried as he moved harder, deeper, and with enough force to split you in half if he willed it. 

"Keep begging, I'm not stopping-" You sobbed over him as his motions over your xlit were suddenly no longer in vain. That pain began to twist into pressure and finally pleasure as his hands loosened when your winces became whimpers. 

"Keep going-wanna make you cream over my cock baby girl..." Your eyes rolled as he gripped the back of your neck and pulled you at a slight angle. 

"Best pussy 've ever had and it's it's mine-SAY IT-" 

"Yours!" You obeyed, fearful of angering him. 

"What is, baby?" 

"You!" 

"Nope, try again..." He flexed inside of you, hinting to the word he wanted you to day as you could to oblige from your own desperations. 

"Your cock!" 

"That's right. I've earned this pussy like you deserve my cock. So give it what it wants...come on, sweetheart. Let go..." Your tempo was ungodly as he guided you over him. One by one,thrusts drew sloppy in succession as he fell victim to his own closing release. 

"I'm close-but you gotta come first..." 

"R-afe!" His name became broken, a stuffer of what was intended. 

"Tell me, baby..." 

"I'm gonna-" 

"Fucking tell me-" 

"I'm coming! I'm COMING!" And to this, you gave him the sight he needed before he rooted you in place and used your new angle for himself. The overstimulation was a role of ignorance for him as he reached his own climax to find you heaving over him.  

"Stand up slowly." He guided as you nodded, doing so with a struggle to stand as he looked down at his cock, a streak of blood validating your lost virginity. And your eyes focused as he pulled his finger over the blood, eyes locked to yours as he consumed everything between you in this simple suck. 

The thrill, the excitement, the danger, the pain and pleasure, the loss of your virginity but the gift of its satisfaction. Everything encompassed made you stand before him in disbelief of what had transpired and what you'd allowed. And it filled the emptiness inside of you that needed him to fill. And he did. Perfectly... every shade of grey, every line blurred, every sociopathic tendency quelled by your submission. And it was enough to know you were his just as much as he was yours...

Taglist:  @hopebaker @iovdrew @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @my-baexht-Is

[pumpkinstrawbrew]

I'M DONE

I have spent the last three hours looking for fanfiction on Scarebat that wasn't Nolanverse or Suckerpunch (I love it btw, it's so good, checking everyday for updates🙏🙏)

I didn't only look on Ao3 as you might think, I have looked on Tumblr, Wattpad, Fanfiction.net, Quotev, Deviantart, FUCKING FICWAD, and some others...😔😔 I BARELY MANAGED TO FIND SOME SCRAPS OF CONTENT ON ONLY A FEW OF THEM AND THERE WERE LIKE 3-4 FICS IN TOTAL, MAYBE LESS, DON'T REMEMBER EXACTLY

I need to write my own atp but I'm only half-decent at writing (planning to start practicing writing on Tumblr in the future) and I suck at writing two canon characters interacting with each other.... I would be unstoppable if I had the ability to do so

sorry for ranting in your asks, forgive me, but I think you're the only person who can understand this

-🐓

honestly, it’s kinda odd how over so many years, scarebat barely made rounds on the internet. despite how their whole personas an’ things that surround them as characters make a perfect set-up for a gothic romance. yet, somehow it keeps getting overlooked. batman’s most ideally tailored fuel just never gets enough fanon attention. 

an’ like, i wish that i could somehow share with you a link to some alt dimension, where scarebat was given all the attention it deserved. but as it is, we only have like yeah 3 fics an’ prob the same amount of arts. 

on the one hand, it does suck. i admit. but on other, it leaves a way larger fields to explore. way more opportunities to do smth new an’ different with those characters. i’d also go as far as to state, that when a ship is rare, it has a chance to stay somewhat true to source material or have more of different an’ individual approaches. when a ship is super popular, it’s usually slowly, but surely gets flanderized into the ground. after certain point all that you would see is a low-key copypasta of a fic, that you’ve already read about that pair, but from a different author. i had a couple of popular ships back in the day, an’ it had happened with every single one of them. 

so, in a way, i’m glad that those few scarebat fics are all at least different enough, even if i do say, that i kinda felt down by how it was labeled scarebat with it often being barely about the ship. or it was coming off as one-sided. different strokes for different folks, but it’s part of why i sat down an’ began writing my own fic, that would satisfy my own needs an’ my own vision. i just wanted scarebat romance times with some grittiness in between. which is why i do think, that you really should try to write your own story for them too! or even drabbles. anything that might tailor their dynamic in a way you see it. 

an', well, i do get the anxiety of not ‘being good enough’, or feeling insecure about how well you would be able to capture the ‘canon’ feel. or say, just generally thinking like your skill is not on the level you wish it was. i won’t bore you with details about my own uh, writing / art journey. but i will say, that due to a few reasons of my own, i also felt like i could never write an english fic *i'm a non-english speaker*, an’ even more so, i honestly thought that i could never ever draw anything, bc i simply had no idea how to draw at all. but i do kinda know how to draw now lol. an’ i can actually write things in english too. an’ the point of it not me being super good at it or even reaching some unknown highm no. the point is that i can do it an’ i can do it in my own ways. i can create smth, that prob would have never existed otherwise, an’ in the end of the day, it’s pretty cool. quality can be not top notch, but it's like...hey, it exists now. i've given smth back to my otp, that makes me happy an' have fun.

so as someone who was where you are, when it comes to feeling like you can’t do those things, i’d say, you sure can! anyone can! it might take some lil practice an’ a bit of ‘hmm, not what i wanted exactly, but close’, until you get to the level you might have wanted, but i promise, you'd be amazed at what you can truly do, once you get on 'wave'. it won’t be instant leap, but as someone who dealt *still does to a degree* with what i call ‘toxic perfectionism’, i’d say that you just let things go at their own pace. just have fun with the process. in the end, fan stuff should be existing for your own pleasure an' perhaps, it can also be this for some other people, which is always nice. you don't have to be 'professional' about it, if you don't want to.

either way, i’m fine with rants! i mean, i've just ranted back as well lol. i know, that the main theme of this message was being kinda well, dissapointed with lack of content, but i do think, that it's not all that gloom an' doom in the end of the day. it can't be helped, that we sometimes have to basically provide for ourselves in fandoms, but it also gives us chance to 'shine' too, i think.

an’ i also wanted to say, that i’m glad you liked my fic! suckerpunch is one of those works, that i’ve started on impulse an’ till 3th chapter actually had a very vague idea, where to take afterwards, but i was surprised to see way more people interested in this ship, than i thought. so really, for a rare ship, scarebat actually does have at least some audience. an’ that audience is pretty rad an’ cool one too, so it’s not all that bad!

i do get the pain tho. sometimes, i also wanna read an' look at arts of my otps, that aren't mine. but perhaps, with time scarebat will gain more active fans. maybe, one day, we will click on ao3 an' feel like we had walked into a candy store.

[monocaelia]

inazuma bound headcanons

their last goodbyes before you depart to the land of eternity.

feat. childe, diluc, kaeya, kazuha, xiao

warnings : inazuma spoilers, slight angst but mainly fluff

❀ childe

despite inazuma being a place not many have ventured to and from, childe isn't the slightest worried for your safety. he knows the dangers of the storming seas surrounding inazuma and of the situation the people of inazuma are in due to the vision hunt decree.

but he prides in the fact that you're strong enough to handle what inazuma has to offer to you. abyss, you've defeated him in battle, there's no way you can't handle a little thunderstorm.

the cheerful chirp of your name alerts your attention to the ginger haired harbinger as he approaches you on the streets of liyue harbor. you raise an eyebrow at him, knowing full well that he shouldn't be here and should be stationed at dragonspine.

before you can scold him about his responsibilities, he scoops you into his arms and spins you around. his laughter rings in your ears and you can't help but smile. any and all thoughts of being mad at him are washed away as soon as his eyes meet yours.

the rest of your day is spent with him, as he won't be able to see you off before your trip to inazuma. he buys you trinkets, food, slings an arm around your shoulders all so you could be reminded of him and how fun it is to spend time with him.

"you know, it's a shame i wasn't stationed in inazuma next. i would have loved to explore it with you and fight at your side for a while longer," childe muses to you as the streets of liyue begin to light up for the evening. his hand is in yours and you squeeze it in reassurance.

"i'll miss you, a lot." your heart swells at his words, pulling him into a comforting embrace. your lips curve into a smile when his arms tighten themselves around you and you can't help but think that you'll miss him too.

"don't forget to send me letters about your visit to inazuma! or else i'll go over there and hunt you down myself, [name]!"

❀ diluc

diluc is not too thrilled to hear that you're departing to inazuma. not that he has anything against the nation, but he knows how hard it is to enter and leave and he knows of the situation the people under the shogunate are in.

but he isn't going to harp you on making sure you can protect yourself. he has faith in you that you'll have a safe voyage over and stay alive while on your journey in the land of eternity. he's seen you singlehandedly defeat and restore dvalin; there's no need to worry about your wellbeing.

his hand brushes against your cheek, moving the hair that curtained your slumbering face. you look so peaceful, so at ease resting against his lap as if you aren't about to set off overseas with no guarantee of your safe return.

you stir from your short slumber, leaning into his touch and diluc cannot help the small smile forming on his lips. "did you sleep well?" he asks, watching you as you slowly get up from his lap. you hum in response and stretch your limbs.

"have you finished packing for your trip?" diluc's question earns a slight frown from you and he raises an eyebrow. "you didn't finish preparing for inazuma, even though you're leaving soon?" diluc's assumption is proven correct when you begin twiddling your fingers and struggling to find a good excuse.

a sigh leaves his lips, getting up and offering you a hand. you bashfully take it. diluc hoists you up and you let out a little laugh when he sends an unamused frown your way. "i'm sorry! i was supposed to finish my preparations today, but i wanted to see you before i had to go."

it's a good thing that diluc has a soft spot for you, otherwise he would have given you the scolding of a lifetime. instead, he gently grasps your hand and flicks your forehead with his free hand before leading you inside the dawn winery so you could properly prepare for your journey overseas.

"i can't accompany you to inazuma, unfortunately, but i'll wish you a safe journey. take care, [name], i'll see you when you return."

❀ kaeya

kaeya is intrigued when you tell him that you'd be leaving for inazuma anytime soon. it's not often that people willingly want to enter storming seas and a land that isn't fond of people traveling to and from.

if anything, kaeya wants to tag along and fight by your side in inazuma. there's not much to do in mondstadt anyways. with jean and diluc keeping everyone in check kaeya didn't really have anything to do besides stir up some drama between the people of mondstadt or provoke enemies of mondstadt.

but he knows that shirking from his duties as captain of the calvary just to accompany you to inazuma wouldn't fare well with jean.

"i'm sad to see that our journey together ends here," kaeya tells you during your final visit to angel's share, for a while anyways. you roll your eyes and gently shove him with your shoulder. you know he's trying to pull at your strings from the way his sapphire eye glimmers in mischief.

"it's not going to be forever, you know. i'll be back before you know it," you reply, taking a sip of your drink. "you're acting like i'm going to inazuma and dying there." you bite back a smile when kaeya sighs dramatically and leans his entire bodyweight on you. a groan leaves your lips from the pressure.

"it's like i can still hear their voice." you snort and shove kaeya off of you, earning a snicker from the taller male. "say, [name], why don't we leave the bar and have a night of our own? just the two of us before you leave."

you pretend to ponder at his question for a moment, but say yes. you don't miss the way his lips curl into a feline smile, or the way his hand encases your own as he leads you out of the tavern and into the chilly evening of mondstadt.

but the chill doesn't bother you. not with kaeya's warm hand intertwined with yours as the two of you laugh and chatter in the warm glow of the street lamps lining the streets.

"are you sure you don't want me to tag along? wouldn't want you to miss me, haha. come back soon. don't keep me waiting."

❀ kazuha

knowing you're about to take off to the nation he escaped from puts him on edge, if he's being honest here. he knows of how brutal raiden shogun can be, stealing the visions of the innocent so she can remain eternal.

yet, seeing the reassuring smile adorning your face calms his nerves. he knows of your strength, of the rumors and tales of you fighting a dragon and a fatui harbinger, but he can't help but worry nonetheless.

his hand gently grasps your own, his fingers drawing shapes along the curves of your knuckles and brushing over the callouses that have formed on your fingertips. your head rests atop his shoulders as the two of you sit on the deck of the crux underneath the stars.

"is something on your mind?" you ask when he pauses in his ministrations. kazuha sighs, pausing briefly before replying to you.

"will you be okay? alone in inazuma, i mean. my homeland is a beautiful and wonderful place, but there is a corrupt and unjust leader ruling over it. i fear you'll be harmed and-"

"and you won't see me again?" you smile and pull away to meet your companion's gaze. there is a storm of worry in kazuha's ruby eyes and you hold his jaw in your hand, thumb rubbing calming circles on his cheek when he leans into your touch and holds your wrist.

"i'm stronger than you think, you've seen that firsthand. i'll be okay, kazuha." your reassuring words seemingly relax the inazuman traveller, but you can still sense the uncertainty surrounding him.

kazuha presses a gentle kiss against your inner palm before sliding his hand up to interlock your hands together.

"should anything happen to you, the wind will guide us together and i shall protect you. stay safe, dear [name]."

❀ xiao

xiao is a bit... unsettled when you give him the news that you're leaving for inazuma in a few days. it isn't often that you get to see him due to his job as one of liyue's yakshas and your travels across teyvat's lands.

he knows you'll be okay in inazuma, but he has no jurisdiction nor power in inazuma. his responsibility lies in liyue and he cannot leave until his duty to protect the nation of contracts has been fulfilled. yet, he wants to accompany you so he can assure your safety and survival against the stormy seas of inazuma.

"oh, there you are," your voice calms the worrying adeptus, even more so when your presence is beside him. he doesn't respond to you verbally, but he spares you a glance before fixing his gaze back to guili plains.

there's a comfortable silence between the two of you, neither of you feeling the need to speak up. but xiao's gentle voice breaks it with a statement you've been anticipating. "it's not too late to stay in liyue so i can dispose of those who harm you."

you turn to face him, not surprised at all to see his piercing eyes already staring at you. "i have to, i need to find my sibling and meeting the shogunate is the only way forward." his lips form a thin line at your answer.

your fingers inch forward to touch xiao's hand; he flinches when your fingers graze his out of instinct. but he grasps your hand before it can retreat, squeezing it as if it would make you stay beside him.

but he knows you have to go, have to find answers on the whereabouts of your sibling even if it meant risking your life.

"if i can't protect you, promise me you'll protect yourself. if you were to get hurt... forget it. just make sure you stay alive."

[yinses]

make it a show

| gojo has been away for awhile and now he’s missed … times two |

gojo satoru/reader/geto suguru

rating: 18*

rqst: okay okay why choose between  geto and  gojo? why not just have both?

a/n: why not indeed.

it starts with an i miss you text.

gojo was on another long mission. his reputation often preceded him in the worst ways and popularity drew him across the country- and then some. for two weeks now he’d been in europe trying to clear out an infestation.

he still checked in when he could. sending short texts to probe about your day and shooting tourist pictures to showcase the better parts of his trips. he made sure to send different sets to suguru, giving you both the opportunity to snuggle close and share the crumbs your mutual boyfriend left behind.

its twenty minutes later, after said text, that gojo boasts about the free premium wifi upgrade that had come with his hotel reservation. and less than two minutes go by before he decides what he planned to do with that commodity.

above your head, gojo takes in the scene eagerly from the face of your phone.

“so what are you wearing?”

you make a choked sound somewhere stuck between a laugh and a moan as geto laps firmly at the dampening fabric of your panties. his fingers run along the elastic, cheekily plucking and letting it snap back against your skin with a smack.

undeterred, your other boyfriend mumbles something incomprehensible before latching onto your clit and toys with you through the fabric.

gojo’s bangs fall into his face as he huffs, electric blue eyes darkening with lust. “this isn’t just show and tell, you two. don’t ignore me.”

his whine is cute, you think as your back arches off the bed when geto adds suction to his play through. your gaze darts down when you feel a nibble to the inside of your thigh- a nudge to get those lips moving.

“i-uh… the purple one’s,” you manage. thankfully you’re still wearing them otherwise you wouldn’t have been able to properly reply.

“aw, why couldn’t you have worn the blue ones?”

because you sudden thrust this upon us, you wanted to remind him. nor were you exactly keen on dirting up a new pair just for some quick fun.

“drop your knee to the side, honey. i want to see suguru work.”

you comply, letting the limb framing geto’s head come to rest by his shoulders. it improves your view too, just catching his dark gaze before his head drops back down again. his fingers finally hook on the edge and drag the fabric down your legs and gojo whistles at the sight.

“i don’t know what’s wetter. your pussy or his lips. but i guess its a packaged deal given the circumstances.”

he’s the only one who chuckles at that, as usual.

geto adds fingers, slender limbs sliding through your slick and circle your entrance.

“if you’re going to eat her out properly, let me see too.” he directs his attention to you. “hold the phone up for me, sweetheart. at least do some of the work.”

its snarky enough that you almost don’t want to comply but then geto is pausing and you know its a command to follow. reaching behind, you grasp the device and settle the camera facing just below your navel. as the new sole source of focus, geto raises his head and gives a cheeky little grin.

gojo coos immediately at the sight,” hey, baby. fuck you look beautiful today.”

the frame of the phone obscures your vision a little but you swear you see geto blush at the compliment. how could he not. even in another country, gojo was a smooth man.

“wish i was behind you right now, making you feel as good as you’re making her.”

gojo was always good at this- the phone sex. but he exceeded the expectations whenever he was granted a visual.

“eat her out for me, yeah? fuck, i bet i could taste it.”

the audio picks up on the shifting of clothing as gojo shimminging his pants down his hips to free his cock. he keeps the camera at the perfect angle fit the slow fisting of his cock in the frame

“you’re not in charge here, satoru,” geto murmurs all while lowering his head anyway. his mouth latches back onto your throbbing heat and fits his tongue between your labia. the hands finding purchase at your hips urge you to grind down as the talented muscle flicks up. sparks of pleasure prickles your nerves and you reach around the phone to tug the band free from his bun. before the dark tresses could trickle down against you, you’re there to comb it back.

“fuck- toru .. he feels so good.”

there is a hitch to gojo’s voice, something of a light pant as he responds. “i can see him, honey. he spoils you so good.”

geto’s nose brushes your clit when you rock forward and you cry out at the unexpected friction. he pulls back enough to return his fingers to the slick of your sex, two fingers easily dipping into your core. your hand slides to the back of his skulls as his fingers adopt a rhythm.

gojo seems keen on torturing himself by edging his fingers along the sensitive head without providing the needed friction. the distorted pleasure in his voice sounds like something is caught but you know he’s just staving it off as long as he can. you wonder how flushed his face is right now, but you can’t bring yourself to interrupt geto enough to ask for an update.

“he’s going to fuck you so good, honey. bet you’re loose enough for it.” gojo swallows audibly and you can tell he’s pushed back yet another orgasm. “tell him you’re ready. … please.”

with a simpering plea like that how could you not comply.

the free hand not currently working you towards nirvana, slides up your stomach to cup the weight of your breast. unable to resist, your legs come up to squeeze around the protruding limb, shamelessly rocking against the muscle of his bicep.

“fucking hell, you’re such a dirty girl.”

you can only whine when geto flexes in response, or maybe its because of the fingers finally leaving you. the same wet fingers take the phone from you, leaving a tacky residue behind. the bed shifts as geto rises to his knees, shaking away your hold.

he’s looking at you properly now, mouth free. “i’m waiting on that begging.”

cheeks warm and lips bitten raw, you give his leg one last desperate hump, hoping eager desperation can smooth the way. “please fuck me. make gojo cum,” you add and to your satisfaction the man’s groan rumbles against your stomach.

geto leans over you to drag a free pillow closer. the phone mostly sinks into the plush fabric but he’s able to angle it in just right. from the corner of your eye you can finally see gojo, skin flushed and cock fat and leaking. his hand works in short jerks, thumb darting across the head the way he likes.

geto’s hands pry your legs apart again, but his attention is directed to the phone.” you going to hold out on us all night? this is a mutual exchange,” he teases.

your other boyfriend huffs, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of geto stripping bare. “i think i liked you better when your mouth is full.”

geto doesn’t miss a beat. “you normally do.”

he takes one of your thighs up and hooks it at his hip. geto takes you slowly, making you feel every inch and drag as he parts your folds with his cock. the burn is absent but the stretch persists as you babble. where gojo favored length, geto was graced with width. frankly they were right to call you spoiled, blessed with the best of both worlds.

“is he all the way in, princess?” gojo’s voice is strained as he asks as if he can’t see half of the cock still working its way in.

your tongue is thick and heavy but you manage, whimpers with eager hope the sounds might coax him to go faster. you could only ask, after all, geto rarely took kindly to unsolicited demands. “not yet, but i already feel so full, toru.”

“fuck yeah you do. always such a snug fit. can’t get enough of either of you.”

geto continues to ease himself deeper, confident and calculated, until the base nudges your clit. large hands caress the curve and down to your hip to squeeze the flesh. it marks the steady increase of his pace, hips drawing back nearly all the way before smacking back against you pelvis.

he wasn’t a quiet lover, but he knew when to take advantage of gojo’s presence. his shadow encompasses you as the edge of his teeth drag against your jaw. ”make it pretty for him, bunny,” he coos against the shell of your ear. “make him come home.” is emphasized by a firm thrust that rocks your entire body.

then he’s pulling back to haunches before gojo can complain about the obscured view.

your fingers grasp at the sheets when he thrusts into you at a sharper angle. the hand at your hip goes tighter as he fucks the tremble right out of you. you can still see gojo, teeth worrying his bottom lip as he matches the pace driving into you. able to catch the silent prayer in his gaze, you answer is with a broken whine.

“he’s really giving it to you ... and you’re taking it so well,” his breathing is short, heavy with his impending climax.

“he’s so deep, toru. i feel like there isn’t even room to squeeze him. geto groans when you try, hissing through his teeth as he picks up the pace. you try to maintain eye contact with the distant shaman but he’s not doing a good job either. blue eyes greedily take in everything there is to offer, darting from the jiggle of your breast to the bead of sweat forming on geto’s temple.

everyone’s tipping the edge. you can feel the palpable tension in the air on the brink of snapping.

your vision whites out the moment he starts to spurt, thick strands bringing the arc of his hips to a sloppy grind. the harsh pant against your lips is a brief warning before he swallows your tongue eagerly, groaning the remnants of his release into your mouth.

in your ear, gojo follows the sentiment, breathing heavily. you can imagine the mess he makes of himself, chest white with sticky streaks of cum. he is very much out of breath but chuckles anyway as geto pulls himself free.

“messaged received. i’ll try to get home soon.”

[dumbass-mha-simp]

Elliott x GN!Reader

Your New Playlist

Kinda sad? Ig angst but not actually like, bad angst yk.

1k words

Stardew Valley

Warnings: crying, mentally beating yourself over a crush, self-sacrificing but not in a death kinda way, cussing (I think like one f word), Elliott is a theater kid you can't convince me otherwise,

I wanna do a part two, would anyone be interested? I know how much us Elliott simps want fanfiction. I'm probably gonna start on it anyway lol.

Yes I actually made this playlist smh ikik, you don't have to listen to it ofc but his aesthetic really fits my music taste, at least I feel so. I write my fanfiction as gender neutral as I can but if you ever spot any mistakes I'd love to fix it!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elliott's POV

My feet took me across the path leading to Leah's house. The gentle cotton clouds stretching their wisps across the blue sky, bright enough to blind me as though it were the sun that it surrounds. The gentle new Spring breeze froze my cheeks lightly as my eyes closed to avoid the same chill from the past winter.

Fresh Spring flowers and hidden vegetables encircled her yard as I made my way to knock against the dark wood door that always seemed thunderingly loud.

Leah peaked through the window by her door before I can see her face light up and reach for the door.

"Hey, c'mon in!" She opens the door wider to let me pass through. "How are you doing?"

"If I'm honest, a little troubled." I sigh looking forlornly to the floor.

"Come sit." Leah pulls me to her table and sits in the accompanying seat. "Tell me what you're thinking."

"Leah, what does it feel like to you before you admit you fancy someone?" I look up into her listening eyes before her face changes into slight shock.

"Hmmm." She brings her hand up to her chin as she ponders. "Well, you miss being around them when they're gone. You constantly find ways to connect anything back to them, like `oh they'd love this`, or `I should check up on them.` You care about their opinion more than others and you want to learn about them, even if it's the uninteresting things."

I slide my arms down onto the table, placing my head on top of them. That sounded exactly like what's happening. I had read about it a million times, falling gently in love with a close friend. Perhaps that interest to become friends was always attraction.

"I can't get enough of Y/N." I muffled through my folded arms sighing once again as I turned my head to finally look back up at Leah, the light stinging my eyes.

"Well maybe I could help you with getting more of them?" Leah smirked as she grabbed her phone from her pocket.

I lifted my head slightly panicked. "What are you doing?" I rushed out.

"Relax, I'm not telling Y/N. But they shared something with me. They have a wide music taste yes?"

I had heard some of their music. While they made us lunch, while they partake in their hobbies, when they hum near silently late at night on the beach. I nodded back thinking of how they never seemed to be signing along to a song similar to the others. Unpredictable, and absolutely captivating.

"Well one of their tastes in music is very folk-y and they mentioned how those songs reminded them of you. So they made a playlist of songs that remind themselves of you." Leah said looking down and scrolling through her phone.

They made a playlist about me. They actively want to remember and listen to things that remind themselves of me. I feel I might faint. Was this something that was common among friends? Was this nothing more than an act of kindness? Or something they decided to do on a whim?

"Here give me your phone I'll send it to you." She holds her hand out expectantly.

I quickly go to pull out the hardly used device. I had never had much use for it but if it could bring me any step closer to Y/N I wouldn't hesitate to learn.

Leah downloaded a music app, laughing at how I had no applications. Before leaving it opened on the playlist. "The Lonely, Ocean-Accompanied, Writer." It read. I reread it a couple times to convince myself it was real. A lovely name, but is that how they see me?

"Chill out, Romeo." Leah giggled. "I can practically see you overthinking everything. Just relax and listen to the songs, maybe they'll tell you something."

I wrapped my arms around her neck, hugging her closely before leaving to listen to the playlist.

~~~

As I shut the door behind me I pressed my back against it. I've never felt so scattered before. I looked for the volume button, turning it up before hitting play.

The songs, quiet but emotional. As though you had just lie down on the grass to cry or relieve tension or reminisce. They felt like a memory I had trouble recalling.

The songs seemed to renew me, before I heard one I distinctly remembered hearing before. From high-school theater club, a time in my life that was fond to me. I do remember Y/N telling me they loved musicals, hearing them hum along to Heathers while I wrote.

A song unlike most others on this list.

"When He Sees Me" from Waitress.

~~~

Y/N's POV

"Oh, Yoba. What if when he sees me, I like him and he knows it? What if he opens up a door, And I can't close it?" I belted out the lyrics as loud as I wanted, the tears streaming down my face unwavering.

The good side to owning your own farm is you could scream along to your songs without people to complain. You had been replaying this part of the song for awhile now. He was all you could seem to think about.

Your head was swarmed with thoughts of Elliott. Some where he reciprocated your feelings and others where he shut you out. Every time you built a daydream where he loved you unconditionally you trampled it with the thoughts of his rejection.

You brought your knees up to your chest, resting your head between them as you cried.

~~~

Elliott's POV

We had had conversations about musicals, perhaps that's why they chose this song? Maybe they thought since my school had a play of Waitress that it'd fit. But I know they liked other Waitress songs, why weren't those added? Only this one.

After that song came another, "I Hear A Symphony" one I've never heard. As the song started all I could see was Y/N. I could hear them singing along, their smile, their eyes averting to mine for the thousandth time.

Y/N was my symphony.

The powerful, breathtaking ocean couldn't compare to the awkward farmer that ran across town just to give me their best sweet pea flowers and be the first thing I saw as I left my quaint cabin.

They brought the motivation and inspiration for 8 hour writing sessions, they brought me food when they knew I'd forgotten to eat between writing the book and planning on what to write next.

They were something I could never dream of losing. I wished to live the rest of my life with their support.

If telling them my feelings means I'd lose them, then I couldn't dream of making such a selfish decision.

~~~

Y/N's POV

I trudged my way into town. After last night's crying session my eyes still felt a bit dry, if I'm honest I cried when I woke up as well. The loneliness felt suffocating in such a lonely little house. But I needed some new seeds. The stone path drawing all my attention as I walked.

As I walked into Pierre's it wasn't hard to tell that people could see something was off. After buying my seeds I felt a hand on my shoulder, turning around to find Elliott.

"Y/N are you feeling alright? You look as though you've been distressed lately." You motion to him to follow you and walks out of the store behind you.

You take a deep breath as you start to tear up a bit more. He reaches for your face as he lifts it up, looking at the pooling tears.

So many things, the things you could have said. But they didn't come up. Instead a vision of his face of discomfort at your confession. You couldn't bear it. You couldn't tell him.

"I've just been stressed. I'm sorry for worrying you, Elliott." You sigh, attempting to put up a fake smile as you wipe your eyes. He retracts his hand as he looks guilty. Fuck does he feel like it's his fault?

"Well I'm willing to listen to your troubles if you ever need." He also puts on a strained smile as you both part ways.

"This is for the best." They both whisper as they leave.

[blindbeta]

Your Content and Accessibility For the Blind

Hello everyone! I was thinking about accessibility and wanted to make a post to help creators. This is going to cover general accessibility for blind people interacting with your content. Some of it may be obvious to some and this is by no means comprehensive, so feel free to add anything you think of that is helpful. Also, I wanted to include some ideas for DeafBlind people, but I am not DeafBlind or D/deaf, so I simply listed some general accessibility ideas. If anyone has any other tips or things to consider, please add them in a comment or message and I’ll include it here.

Remember, blindness exists on a spectrum. This post will focus on making things accessible for totally blind people, although these tips can also be beneficial for people with residual vision who use screen readers to reduce eye strain, for small text, for clarity, etc. D/deafness and DeafBlindness are also on spectrums. Some DeafBlind people have some hearing, some vision, a little of both, or none of either. If someone asks you for better or different accessibility services for your content, listen and try to accommodate them as best you can. I have provided some links and resources here to attempt to explain accessibility for blind people, which will include blind people who are DeafBlind. The point is accessibility issues can come from both sides whether it be the audio or visual sides.

Some general helpful links:

AFB’s Advice for image descriptions here

Screen-readers here

Improving Accessibility for the DeafBlind community here

How DeafBlind People Use Technology and The Importance of Braille and Transcripts: Understanding Assistive Technology

Online Content:

GIFs, Pictures, Fan-art, PSA and info posts, Memes, Screenshots of Text Posts or Screenshots of Twitter Threads- Provide an image description on your original post! This is the best option, as you probably know your content best and what you wish to draw attention to. More importantly, every reblog will include an image description, which means the blind person doesn’t need to hunt for an image description in the reblogs! If you know more than one language, include image descriptions in those languages.

Note: Always include descriptions when you post images with or about blind people or characters. Particularly fan-art you made of blind characters. If you don’t, consider why and think about how it would feel to be shut out of something about yourself.

What should you include?

Write Image Description in brackets and include End of Image Description at the end for clarification. As for what you should describe, it depends on what the picture is. Include where it is from. For example, “a screenshot of a Twitter thread by BlindBetaIsAwesome”. Include the text and describe any GIFs or images it includes. Write everything out as they appear. Describe emojis as well. When writing out screen names or hashtags, capitalize the first letter of each word. Otherwise screen-readers read it oddly. For example instead of #accessibilityfortheblind try #AccessibilityForTheBlind. If you think someone will want to search a name, include a link.

You should describe what is important in the image, especially for conveying information or humor. General ideas include: image origin, who is in the image, what they’re doing, any relevant colors or clothing, objects they’re holding, their facial expression, any emojis, and any text in the image. Blind people do like to know about color. For NSFW stuff, include ‘NSFW’ at the start, but other than that, yes, blind people also generally like NSFW things described.

Fanfiction:

Generally, fanfic is very accessible to screen-readers and Braille Displays. However, there are a few ways you can make it more accessible.

Pictures: Include alt-text for any images you post such as artwork or character social media posts. Describe it like you would any other image. Alt-text is different from an image description because instead of a screen-reader saying “image” when it finds an image, it will describe the image. An image description is the text included beneath the picture that everyone can see. Including some kind of description, especially for plot-relevant images, can allow all blind readers to experience the fic.

Chat conversations: Again, for hashtags and screen names, capitalize the first letter of each word for the ease of screen-readers. For characters who don’t use capitalization much, you can add a hyphen between each word to make it easier to read like this: blind-beta-likes-fanfic-too.

Emojis: Screen readers can’t fully read emojis like this one that uses keyboard slashes and symbols to create an image ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (image description: emoji of a person shrugging with both palms lifted upwards. End description.) However, they can read emojis that come on a phone such as 🧁which screen readers read as “cupcake”.

Podfics are also good for hearing people with no vision or reduced vision. Having a podfic with good quality (maybe one that can describe images found in the story) will reduce some of the issues listed here and give blind people another, fun way to interact with content. However, I would try to keep in mind the things I mentioned above for the sake of screen-readers and Braille Displays, which are particularly important for some DeafBlind people who may want to read your fanfic and may not be able to hear well enough to use a screen-reader.

Lastly, keep in mind that any kind of comic may be inaccessible to some blind people. Write with them in mind. Include a message at the start of the story, maybe that it contains material from the comic, graphic novel, or print cartoon. If you know of a comic dub, link to it. If there is none, include details in the story so that a non-manga or non-comic reader would be able to understand.

Web-Comics/Web-Graphic-Novels:

First, I did research and found a comic book store for the blind called Comics Empower. Unfortunately, when I click the link provided on Twitter and the articles I read, the site seems to be down.

However, this is about you all and sharing your comics with blind readers. You have a few options:

Alt-text. This is descriptions directly ‘inside’ the image, which is not visible to everyone. You can read about alt-text for comics specially here and you can read general info for alt-text for screen-readers and Braille Displays here.

Image descriptions. These are descriptions of each comic page (hopefully with a paragraph for each panel) that can be visible to anyone. You can describe your comic, who is in it, what they’re doing, and what they’re saying, probably beneath the image.

Comic Audio Performances. These are accessible to both blind and sighted audiences. These are videos using actors for the dialogue, sound effects, and moving comic panels. Pros for this style include increased viewership, increased accessibility for the blind, and perhaps more revenue if you have a way to monetize the content. Cons include that it is more work, could potentially cost money when hiring actors initially, may not be accessible to anyone with hearing loss, and may still require a bit of audio description for some panels that are hard to follow with only sound effects.

What can you do?

A few ideas I had were to use a combination of image descriptions and audio performances to make the comics accessible to a number of people who may be blind, or DeafBlind. Having options is helpful. For ther issue of some panels needing extra description in order to make sense, I thought of including time-stamps and descriptions in the description section, labeling it as image descriptions for the blind. Include dialogue for reference. Or an audio description could be added such as:

Audio narration: “Bee sits on a couch writing.”

Sound Effect of a purring cat.

Audio narration: “Blind Beta picks up an orange cat and puts him on the couch next to them.”

Dialogue: “I’m so glad I have a cat to cuddle with!”

I will touch on this in the video section, but while it is sadly not possible to add audio descriptions onto YouTube as of 2021, you can add them manually through websites you like YouDescribe. For your comics, I suggest, reading about YouDescribe, downloading the app, creating a narration transcript for your web comic performance, and posting the described audio performance onto YouDescribe. Post both versions as close to the same time as you can, and include a link to the described version in the YouTube description. A glance at YouDescribe will tell you not all videos are available with descriptions and not all blind people are aware of this service. Not all videos are searchable in their library either. However, it is an option I wanted to include.

You could also simply include the audio narration in your main YouTube video if you would like. Or any combination of my suggestions you feel comfortable with.

YouTube Videos/Video Clips:

I wanted to cover YouTube videos and video clips shared on websites like tumblr. For small clips, image descriptions and transcripts could probably be listed together. I have seen this done and it seems to help people.

Again, the original poster should post the description with the video. This is because they know the most important parts and because all reblogs of the post will include the description, so no one will have to hunt down a description that may not exist.

For the clip or clip compilation, mention where the clips come from, who is in them, and what they are doing. You could probably have a separate paragraph for each clip and include times-stamps if possible.

For videos you post on YouTube, descriptions can be very helpful! Unfortunately, YouTube does not support adding an audio description track at this time. Ideally, YouTube would have a description track one could turn on and off such as with subtitles. Until then, if you want to add a description, you should add one yourself when you post the video onto YouTube or any other website.

Before I get into how, let’s go over something else.

What videos need descriptions?

-Recipe videos - especially ones with only text. Ingredients, steps, measures, methods, any flourishes or special scenery (such as when shopping for ingredients) should be described. Blind people don’t just want you to read the recipe to them. They want to know what is happening in the video and how it is being done.

-Tutorials - These often contain a voice-over and accompanying images to demonstrate. A creator can opt to simply include more visual description along with the other information in the voice-over or add extra narration later (see the “How?” section below). For these videos, make sure to avoid or expand on any visually dependent parts such as “click here” or “fold here” or “when you finish, it should look like this”. Videos that contain only text and demonstration, however, will need a more traditional audio description the same as any other video.

-Silent aesthetic videos - Sometimes containing music or focusing on natural noise, these videos are usually vlogs with soothing activities or daily routines. They often show scenery, pretty things, or tours. Because these videos are silent, sometimes containing only text, they are not accessible. However, they can be easy to describe, perhaps in a soothing or educational fashion.

-Music videos - Because these videos are by nature visual, they may not be accessible. They may also have inconsistent, poor, or changing lighting for aesthetic purposes or set changes. This means audio descriptions would be helpful.

-Text-based videos - Obviously these are not accessible or may be difficult to read depending on font size, style, or background. For these, putting the text in the description may suffice. Label it so that blind people are aware they are getting the same material. If the text includes pictures or short clips, you could also simply include your own narration on the video itself or see the “How?” section below for another alternative.

-Game Play-Throughs - Games can sometimes be completely inaccessible pe very difficult depending on the person’s level of site. A lot of video games a not accessible or difficult to play, with quick-moving graphics, perhaps small text, or other difficulties. Because of this, blind people may enjoy game plays on YouTube for video games and mobile games.

-Skits or other performances - Think of these as Netflix shows with audio description tracks. Blind people may miss out on some visual humor, plot elements, or other fun visual aspects like costumes.

-Original Films, Animation, Clips From Shows - Again, think of it as any TV show that needs to description to cover visual aspects of what is happening. Scenery, characters, what they’re doing, any text, facial expressions, etc.

Pet videos- Because pets are cute and they should be described! Especially because these videos are sometimes hard to follow, such as a pet doing a trick.

How? How Do We Provide This?

There is always the option to add your own audio descriptions. However, that way confuse already-existing narration or may not be possible for already-published videos. You may also have trouble speaking and wish for someone else to provide audio descriptions. The video may be a music video or one you want to remain silent for the aesthetic. You may want to add a description to a video you enjoy that is not one you uploaded personally.

A free website and mobile app called YouDescribe can help with that. It allows people to add audio descriptions to videos on YouTube. You can even describe videos on a wishlist. Find out more here.

If you describe your video or have it described, be sure to link to the YouDescribe video in the description of your YouTube version so that people can find it easily, or note that it is available on YouDescribe.

Here is a link to the website

And a link to the app.

This site may be a bit too niche, but I figure if it helps one person, I’ll be happy. My entire blog is niche, when you think about it- targeting writers who specifically want to write and read about blind characters. It’ll be fine.

Keep in mind that audio descriptions may not be accessible to all DeafBlind people. An inclusive option could be to include a description under your video so people with Braille Displays can read it.

Print Books, Audiobooks, Large Print Books, or Braille Books?

Let’s get into something you writers might be interested in. Books! Let’s say you wrote a book with a blind character. How do you make sure it can be accessed by blind readers? You want to have a few options.

Print books - These are accessible to people with reduced vision. It is also possible to scan print books to read with voiceover, but I can’t imagine many people buying books simply to scan unless they borrowed/found it. So it could be an option, I suppose. Scanning books also takes time because you need to do each individual page.

Audiobooks - Audiobooks are great. They are accessible to blind people who can hear. They are cheaper to produce than Braille books, take up less space, and are better for the environment. They can be expensive when you buy them. Libraries have extensive collections now, however, because libraries don’t usually have any Braille books and very few large print books, not all blind people use them, even for digital access. However,many blind people love audiobooks so it a good way to make sure your content is accessible.

As of now, my library app is accessible with a screenreader, so reading audiobooks is possible. E-books are not currently accessible with a screen-reader on this particular app.

Make sure to release your print books and audiobooks at the same time or as soon as possible. It isn’t fair for blind people to have to wait, although there are cases where not having an audiobook is understandable. Keep in mind that the less options you have, the less accessible your content will be.

Large Print Books - I used to get large print books myself. I would say it is less likely publishers will want to publish large print books because they are, of course, larger and take up more space. (Not as much as Braille books, but we’ll get into that.) As you may assume, they are also less popular with readers. Publishers make exceptions for textbooks, so if you are making a textbook or an educational book, particularly one with drawings, publishers might allow it. They also might consider making large print editions of children’s books. Large print books can sometimes be found at libraries, although they are usually crammed into their own limited section. That shows how rare it is for large print books to be printed compared to regular-sized books. I have an extra note about this in the children’s book section, but for the most part, I think you can get away with not having a large print edition of your book.

Braille Books - I should you one doesn’t just make a Braille book. Feelings toward them are generally complicated. They can wear down over time, cost a lot, and take up a lot of space. One volume of a book is several volumes of Braille books. Libraries don’t generally have them- you have to request them from various places like The National Library Service for the Blind (NLS). For more information about obtaining or borrowing Braille books, look here.

Braille Books have largely been replaced by refreshable Braille displays and audiobooks. However, they are still important. They can also help DeafBlind people, if a book cannot be read on a Braille display (see the section on e-books below). My suggestion would be to skip Braille books unless you are writing for children (see the Children’s Books section) or your book contains many diagrams that need to be embossed.

Children’s Books -

I wanted to briefly discuss children’s books. With children’s books, you will, of course, want to have a print book and an audiobook available, perhaps even someone reading the book on YouTube. If the book has pictures, descriptions of the pictures would be nice. This is also where I think large print and Braille books may be not only possible or more likely, but important. Children are just learning to read and will continue to explore a love for reading. Therefore, a lack of reading material can be challenging.

If possible, you may want to consider asking your publisher if large print or Braille versions are possible. While websites are available so that children can get books, you may want to ask for your book to be published in these formats if your story has a blind MC.

Braille literacy is declining in the blind community, with children (and frankly many others) choosing to use VoiceOver and audiobooks to read rather than Braille. Being able to read helps reinforce spelling, grammar, meaning in ways that are not possible with having things read to you. That said, children should also be encouraged to learn technology and use audiobooks when they feel comfortable.

If you are publishing a children’s book, particularly with a blind MC, consider what your options are for increasing accessibility.

E-Books:

This is one of the more accessible options, as it can be read with a screen-reader or Braille display. E-books are also common enough that they are released at the same time as print books. The text can usually be adjusted and readers usually have a Search feature. However, accessibility is still a problem with e-books. While authors cannot fix this, they should be aware of it. You can read about accessibility issues here.

-

I hope all this helped somewhat. I provide sensitivity reading for blind characters for anyone who is interested.

[leonicscorpio]

Batboy Headcanons because I made this for me but you all can enjoy this too if want. (May contain mild NSFW)

Dick:

Has a weird relationship with unwanted gaze and the attention he receives because of his physique. He genuinely likes the attention but he draws the line when people start getting touchy. Just because he's shirtless working out doesn't mean he gave you consent to touch him.

Has good dieting skills but he's in his mid-late 20's and his metabolism has 0 signs of slowing down. He once ate a whole xl bag of M&M's in front of Steph and Babs and both said they wanted to murder him because he won't gain a pound.

Dick has ADHD and I'm sorry if you don't think otherwise. He has hyperactive type ADHD and while he's gotten better at controlling his symptoms he still stims stretching and flexing his arms and shaking his arms.

While not so much in Gotham, Dick is very politically active and volunteers at voter registration and working with organizations with the mission of police demilitarization in Blüdhaven.

Dick is a very sexually driven individual. However, I don't think it's entirely healthy. His ADHD also comes into play with this but Dick just needs to have a release at least twice a day or he'll feel physically sick.

I don't know if you all have seen male gymnasts. But Dick, like the rest of them, has FREAKSISHLY large biceps. Everyone talks about Dick has the best ass in the bat family and while Jason may be larger and stronger, Dick has the best physique.

Dick's apartment is littered with sticky notes in places such as the fridge/in front of his computer. If it's not written down and in a place where he can't ignore it, it's not going to get done.

I'm sorry I know everyone says his birthday is in March but I have to go to the older Nightwing comics and say his Birthday is December 1st. I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me this man doesn't give off Sagittarius energy. You can't. I respect you but you can't look at that and tell me that man isn't a Sagittarius or has super heavy Sag in his birth chart.

Dick's at home doing nothing but chilling? You best believe he's gonna be shirts off, tits out, and rocking some blue flannel PJ's.

Dick is currently the only member of the family asides from Barbara who is regularly attending therapy. And he actively encourages each of his brothers and sisters to go every time.

After his Agent 37 days. He sits down with Jason and talks about having to use a gun and how hard it was. And how having to kill people has affected him. When he had to kill the KGBeast (Agent 37 days he snapped his neck) I headcanon Dick just trauma v*mit*d. Jason hugged him and just consoled him.

It's canon that Dick has anger issues but to me, it's not explored or talked about enough and not a lot of people like to talk about it. Dick is very much the 'if I ignore it it'll go away' type when it comes to his anger and he can brush most insults or harassment off fine enough. But when he breaks, he makes Jason look like a saint. I'm talking slamming you into a wall and screaming in your face angry. He'll be profusely apologetic afterward but still.

Despite popular belief, I don't think he's that bad of a cook. He's just not very experimentative. He can follow a recipe and does look at some guides. But to me, Dick Grayson just is that guy who is like Chicken veggies and rice are a meal that I can cook 4-6 times a week.

Dick has a slight fear of dentists. He doesn't have bad teeth and has good dental health. He just doesn't like the idea of a drill going in his mouth and the few times Bruce has to take him to a dentist he had a panic attack every time.

Everyone lives for the fics where Jason beats the shit out of Tim and everyone is just like lol well Bruce and Dick just forgives him. No. When Dick found out it was Jason who beat Tim to the ground, Dick was literally seething and told Jason "Pick on someone your own size or else I'll make you wish you back in that f'ing coffin."

Dick's favorite foods (some based in Canon*): Milk Chocolate*, Cereal*, Asparagus, Bananas, Banana flavored candy, Hawaiian Pizza* (suffer its canon) Rum, thanksgiving Turkey.

Jason:

He may be the self-diagnosed black sheep (rightfully so) of the family, but Jason does genuinely love spending time with his siblings. Whether it be sharing memes with them on social media or just randomly showing up where they are and abducting them to go get ice cream/coffee/snacks.

He'd probably attempt to harm you if you told him this to his face. But he is the closest acting to Bruce out of all of the family. In terms of mannerisms and inherent warmth and kindness behind a dark façade.

Has two moods: either exceptionally, almost neat-freak levels of clean, or his life is completely falling apart and Jason can't tell you for sure what color his floors are because there's so much stuff scattered about.

Despite their initial hatred of each other, Jason truly feels closest to Tim and Tim is the only person asides from maybe Barbra who he can just talk to without feeling any judgment.

Jason only smokes when he's extremely nervous about an operation or a hit. For those who don't know criminal justice cigarettes are the fastest way to get genetic material on someone. That being said he does still like to smoke occasionally.

Me, plus a lot of people give him this sort of 'Lazarus Rage' as I like to call it. When he's in the heat of a mission or if he's getting upset/angry his vision will get blurred with green, and it feeds on his anger and just gets perpetually harder to contain until he releases it. Jason has gotten much better at controlling it. But as he will tell Tim or Babs, he's "seeing green" which means they need to be careful because Jason could kill.

Everyone says Dick is the mother hen. I see you, I accept you, but let me raise you. Jason came to realize that he died because of his rash decision to go after The Joker alone. If Jason finds any of his siblings out acting alone, or even at the very least without Oracle. Jason WILL forcefully interject himself and ask them what the fuck they think their doing.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. Trying to get close to Jason is hard. He will degrade you can attempt to try to get you to hate him before he lets you in (that cheeky Tsun of him)

He genuinely cares for and supports all of his siblings but has been rough on them needlessly. But if Bruce is being the distant or absent parent he is, you better believe if any of the siblings drops him a text or a call, Jason will be there in a heartbeat.

He's the most physically powerful of the whole Bat Family. You don't understand because of his time in the League, his time with the All-Caste, and having abused Venom for a time, he can snap an arm bone like it's a carrot with little effort.

Everyone in the family likes dogs and goes out of their way to gush over a dog, but Jason takes it to a whole new level. And even when he's masked up dogs just gravitate to Jason.

Can and has grown a beard in a matter of a few days. He usually likes to be clean shaven but some days he likes to wear a beard just to throw everyone off.

One time him, Steph, Tim, and Duke all went to a restaurant (Red Robin lol) and the waitress got his order wrong and his burger had raw tomatoes on it, Jason took the tomatoes off and ate it while looking absolutely miserable. Tim: Jay why did you eat that you didn't have to you know you could have asked the server to fix your burger. Jason, almost in tears: "She works really hard and she tried and I'm a scary dude I don't want to make her upset.." Duke: "... Jason you literally shot at a cop for looking at you funny the other day. But you're afraid of upsetting a waitress?!? I mean ACAB but dude.. "

Jason's happiest big brother moment™ was taking Tim and Damian to the shooting range and watching them both get their first bullseye.

You can't tell me Jason Todd was into the Emo/Screamo/Warped-Tour Scene. His favorite bands/Albums in no particular order, That's the Spirit (Literally the whole album is Jason Themed and I'm gonna die on this hill) & Sempiternal by Bring me the Horizon, Digital Renegade & Everyone's Safe in the Treehouse by I See Stars, The Resistance: Rise of the Runaways by Crown the Empire,

Jason Todd's favorite foods: (Also some based in Canon*) Burgers, Chili Dogs*, Lager-style beers, Freshly baked bread*, Neopolitan ice cream, grilled corn, and Chinese Chicken noodle soup with Duck.

Tim:

This boy *slaps car roof* gives off so much asexual energy. I know New 52 exists but I just feel like Tim is the person who really, REALLY has to trust you and like you before he's sexually active with you.

HYPERFIXATES. You also can't tell me Tim isn't on the spectrum/or has ADHD.

Is the only member of the family who regularly checks up on Jason and talks to him every day via text message. The two are memelords together and love to play pranks on the other members.

While Dick may give the most frequent hugs and Jason gives the tightest, most secure hugs, Tim's hugs are always the warmest and make you just feel good.

Tim's birthday is July 19th. Meaning he's a Cancer. Let that sink in.. no, really let that information just soak. (Note I have nothing against Cancer women, cancer men however....)

All of the bat boys really struggle with talking about their feelings. Dick will manipulate you into changing the subject via twisting it to be about you, Jason will just cut you off or will ignore you, Damian will deflect everything and harass you until you stop, Tim however, Tim is very emotional and while he's very calculated about who he's emotional with, he's not afraid to break down and cry if he trusts you.

Everyone who says he's the level headed Robin haha how's it feel to be WRONG. Tim is at best the least functional college student and at worst a lemming. 'No Tim, coffee isn't a meal I'm going to make you some food or I'm going to stick you in a room with Damian for an hour.' Richard (Dick) John Grayson.

People overblow how addicted to caffeine Tim is. But it's true. Just overblown. You can talk to him before he's had his caffeine just don't expect him to be anything but curt and blunt.

Everyone says Jason would be the worst at texting but it's Tim. He's the master of leaving you on read. While Jason may do it on purpose, Tim is just really bad at texting people and while he always will read your messages he forgets to respond unless it's really funny or really pressing.

Everyone sees Tim as this bean pole super skinny boy Robin. Tim may not be stacked like Dick or a freaking tank like Jason, but Tim is NOT super skinny. He's just as muscular and likes to work out as anyone, but he just is super lean, so he looks a lot bigger and his muscles are more defined because of how thin his skin is. He has those almost disgusting spider veins on his arm. Kind of gross to look at, but he's the dream of any nurse. This means Tim is also the king of accidentally sending/posting thirst traps.

He really is the glue of the Bat Family. Everyone kidnaps Tim for 'Tim Time'.

Dick likes to spar with and in general just hang out with Tim. Tim tried to teach Dick how to skateboard and you'd think the boy who mastered the trapeze would know how to skateboard but you'd be wrong.

Babs and Tim always hang out and talk about computer stuff and Babs knows she can vent to Tim about anything and he won't say a word.

Tim and Steph were a thing for a while and even though they're just friends now, they still are very close and the two have a very deep bond, liking to shop with each other and watch movies,

Cass just loves to be around Tim because of how calming he is but also she knows she can spar with him AND Cass can also skateboard with Tim too.

Even though him and Damian are always fighting, the two still end up being together and have this unspoken bond. They work great together on a team but other than that they still hate each other.

And while everyone still is hesitant around Jason, and despite the fact that Jason literally beat Tim to within an inch of his life, AND would still trigger Tim and taunt him about it. The two have this odd closeness that rivals even him and Steph. Tim will always be the first to bat for Jason. Jason was Tim's Robin. And despite the fact Jason literally beat it into Tim's head to "never meet your heroes." Tim will always be there for Jason should he ask. The two are just close. And it's hard to describe. Bruce has caught Tim and Jason just platonically sleeping next to each other or just doing their own things shoulder to shoulder silently, just enjoying each other's company.

Tim and Duke also have a really positive relationship with one another and the two can stay up all night just talking about anything. Their minds just mesh well together. The two also love to team up and prank the other members of the Batman Family.

Tim's favorite ASMR/Stim? Watching those Tik Toks of people cleaning computers or cleaning phones. The sound of an air duster is like music to his ears and if any of the Bats need their technology cleaned it secretly makes Tim so happy to help them.

Wear his hair up or wear his hair down? It depends! While Tim likes his long hair he also has gotten plenty of compliments for his short hair and likes to style it to suit any occasion.

My one pet-peeve with Tim is that he probably is that person who lets his privilege show from time to time. While he was essentially raised to just sit down, shut up, and be a perfect trophy son to the Drake's. The Drake's were in the same tax bracket as Bruce and Tim definitely was a rich kid. He never means to come across as spoiled, but sometimes Jason will give him harsh looks if Tim just throws away food he doesn't like or says things like Chipotle is 'poor people food'

Tim Drake's favorite foods (you know by now*) Donuts*, Shallot and Artichoke Pizza with Canadian Bacon* (odd choice but it could work) Artichokes in general are his favorite vegetable, Strawberries, and Beef Pho.

Damian:

I headcanon that he has the worst teeth of all of the Bat Boys and he actually has to use lingual braces. (Hence why you can't see his braces)

Canonically is a very good artist and while him and Tim don't get along, Tim introduced Damian to digital art and gave him a photoshop pack and a nice tablet for his birthday one year and Damian loved it so much.

Damian is a capricorn and I will die on this hill. A January capricorn too.

Now you want a good chef? You've got Damian. Having converted to veganism Damian has had to get creative whenever he goes out to eat so he tends to like to eat more home cooked foods. Damian loves all matters of mushrooms, eggplant, and bell peppers.

Damian really struggles the most with his wanting to just be a normal kid. Despite the fact he will dismiss you for it, anytime he gets to spend at Gotham Academy with Jon and the rest of the kids he's naturally the happiest.

Damian LOVES to give gifts. He loves the look on people's faces when they are shocked when they actually get something from Damian.

Despite the fact that he's been traumatized from both his times with Ra's and Talia as well as with Bruce. He just wants Bruce and Talia to be together because he loves them both equally.

While he's the least flexible and least gymnastic of the Robins do let your guard down around him. He is the fastest runner and the guy is rivaled only by Jason in terms of lethality.

So someone (Jason Todd & Duke Thomas) introduced Damian to trap music and ever since anytime his phone gets stolen people will be shocked to find he's listening to some combination of Lil' Yachty, X, Kendrick Lamar, Wiz, and Kodak.

If any random person tries to hug Damian he'll immediately push them away, he'll bitch and moan about just about anyone hugging him other than Bruce & Dick.

Damian loves to go to the beach/the ocean. He just thinks it's so vast and he loves the brineness of the air. Also being half white, quarter middle-eastern and quarter Chinese (Yes everyone forgets Talia is half Chinese) Damian gets DARK. And although he's just okay as a swimmer he still likes bogeyboarding and eventually wants to learn how to surf.

I'm genuinely afraid once Puberty is done with this kid and everyone in the family is. He has Bruce Wayne AND Talia Al-Ghouls genes and those are two SEXY human beings. Damian's gonna grow a beard one day and people aren't going to know how to act.

Damian secretly plays Fortnight and not even Jon knows. He doesn't want to get shamed. He'd rather lose a match and ruin his streaks than deal with the shame of anyone in that family finding out he plays Fortnight.

Damian Wayne's favorite foods (canon*) Cereal*, Avocados, Grilled Tempeh, his mom's Tabbouleh, Mushroom Tacos, and Vegan Sushi rolls, and grape juice.

Duke Thomas

Duke is like, freakishly good with a piano, and he picked it up naturally!

Also everyone says Tim brews the best pot of coffee in the Bat Family, cue to everyone's surprise when Tim was sick one day and couldn't make a pot. Only to find the coffee was freaking amazing. Duke didn't take any credit at first until Alfred let it slip that Duke was the one who brewed the pot.

Duke being the only Meta of the family originally thought he was the double-token because he was a Meta and a black boy. Needless to say his fears were seriously unfounded the moment he got to know everyone.

Although he somewhat fears Jason and his temper initially, he and Jason have one of the closest relationships in the family. If Tim isn't around to bat for Jason, Duke will happily take his spot. The two work on each other's bikes and grew to share the same taste in music.

Duke uses his Photokenetic powers as a force for good and for shenanigans. Jason wants to play a prank on Dick and Damian while Dick is reading Damian a story? Duke will hide Jason in the shadows and will cover up his shadow. Alfred dropped something in the dark? You better believe Duke will find it in 3 seconds or less.

Duke makes it a point to visit his parents every weekend to talk to them. Although they are making some progress in their recoveries, it's still slow going. Eventually, he starts bringing members of the family to see his parents. It started with Cass, then Jason, and the rest followed suit.

Duke loves playing video games with Damian and even helps Damian beat some tougher levels when Damian is about to rage and destroy the console.

Duke is into Magic the Gathering and you cannot tell me otherwise. Duke also is the DM for the Bat Kids annual D&D games. I can and will make a D&D Batfam Headcanons if asked.

Loves Pho just as much as Cass and Tim and they all call it a date night every now and then where they can go to a hole in the wall pho place. It's really a secret between the three of them.

DUKE THOMAS IS THE BEST SWIMMER OF THE BAT BOYS AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL. HE JUST THRIVES IN THE WATER.

Finding out his birth father is a supervillain was really tough for him. He went into a shell for a little bit afterwards. Cass and Steph were there to help talk him out of his funk.

Duke Thomas's favorite foods (lol what canon DC hasn't acknowleged our boy in a while..) Chicken Pho, Thai Iced Tea, Papaya, Crab Cakes, Italian Hoagies, his mom's Lemon Poundcake, mint chocolate chip ice cream.

I hope y'all enjoyed! Up next (eventually) will be the Bat Girls!

[clefairymuke]

regrets | chapter ten

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairings: levi ackerman x reader / eren jaeger x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 2135

You took a few steps on your own today. It was fleeting before you fell on your ass, but it was progress nonetheless. You were grateful to hear Hange's excited squeals, and Jean and Connie's brotherly encouragement, but it felt difficult to allow a smile to cross your face. Something was bothering you today.

When Jean dropped you off, you saw no sign of Levi despite the setting sun. You were alone with your thoughts for what felt like the first time in a while; six days felt so long to you for some reason, and the past month felt like at least a year. Something had been nagging at the back of your mind all day -- distracting you from your physical therapy, preventing you from laughing with your friends, allowing unneeded stress into your already overwhelmed mind.

That morning, on your way to meet Hange, you were hanging from Jean's arm as you limped through the growing grass. He was still making jokes about Levi, now calling him your boyfriend, but you entertained it. The two of you could barely get any words in between your howls of laughter, until a single pair of green eyes managed to ruin your mood completely. Eren was sat atop a wooden fence, Armin sitting crosslegged on one side of him while Mikasa stood on the other. You let your eyes dance freely over to him for a second, but that was an awful decision. He was already looking at you intently. He offered you a small smile, but you could see that his eyes were sad. You smiled back.

Even if you didn't want to be with Eren, it still hurt that he never came back to talk to you. As you stared at the ceiling above, you wondered if you were a bad person. Eren was a good guy, you thought, and you did lead him on to some extent. You wondered for a moment if you should've given it a chance, then shook your head at yourself. It would be completely unfair to him to pretend you felt something that you didn't; then again, the current situation wasn't fair to him either. You were perpetually trapped between a rock and a hard place.

You rubbed your eyes before running both hands through your hair, pulling just slightly. You found yourself, strangely enough, wishing that Levi was there. It was nice to have someone that you could talk endlessly to and yet still share long, comfortable silences. He was decent company. Your ears and face perked up as you heard the door start open, but it wasn't Levi.

"Hey, can we talk?" Eren stood timidly in the doorway awaiting your answer, his face drawn in like he was expecting a harsh "no." Blood rushed to your cheeks, and you sat up hurriedly. You were sure that your anxiety was prominent on your face.

"Yeah, of course," you answered calmly, attempting to regain your composure. Eren walked in and took a seat in Levi's chair, looking down. It reminded you of how he looked when you rejected him -- defeated, yet still attempting to maintain his pride. He opened his mouth many times before he actually began to speak, leaving you wondering if you should be the one to start this dreaded conversation.

"I'm sorry for leaving like that, and for not coming back. I --" he coughed like something was caught in his throat. "Um, sorry. This is a little bit awkward for me," he chuckled uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. "I just wanted to take a few minutes to talk about it."

"Yeah, for sure," you gulped. Your vision flitted desperately around the room for anything to latch onto besides his sad green eyes. "I wanted to say I'm sorry, you know. I didn't know you felt that way; honestly, I didn't know if I felt that way, either. I liked things the way they were. I never meant to hurt you," you told him, your racing heart beginning to beat a smidgen more slowly. You tried your best to smile at him. It likely came off as more of a frown.

He nodded slowly, his eyes still brimming with melancholy and his face still tense as stone. "I liked things the way they were, too. I shouldn't have tried to take it further; I guess I just felt like we were going somewhere.  I shouldn't have left you here like that either. I just wish none of this would've ever happened," he admitted, rubbing between his glassy eyes with his right hand. "The time we spent together was always really nice, wasn't it?"

Your breath caught in your throat as you nodded. "It was." You could feel it coming before it came, a feeling of pure dread washing over you as he leaned closer toward you. You felt the smallest bit of curiosity join in, too.

"I miss you," he confessed quietly as his lips closed in on yours. When you allowed him to kiss you, you didn't expect it to be so passionate. His hand caressed your cheek so gently, and his lips slid past yours so softly. His other hand rested on your thigh, his thumb drawing circles. It all felt so -- wrong. When he pulled away, you knew without a doubt how you felt. Entertaining it would help nothing. You sighed internally, wondering how to let him down a second time.

"Eren, I don't know --" He shushed you, clearly misunderstanding your tone. He started to lean in again, and you swallowed. "Eren, I don't want this." He leaned away quickly, taking his hands away from your body to land defeatedly in his lap.

You saw a tinge of anger in his eyes before he cast them to the floor. You fidgeted awkwardly and wondered what to say next, but he beat you to it. "You're hard to read, you know. It seemed like you really wanted me -- before I said I wanted you, at least. Is that what did it? Did I move too fast?"

If there's anything you knew, it was to take an out when you had one. "Yeah, honestly. I'm not sure what would have happened if you hadn't. Regardless, though, I don't feel that way about you. I'm not sure if I would have, but honestly, probably not." It was the truth; you considered for a moment that he had you all figured out. Then again, how could he know more about you than you did? The two of you had messed around for what, a week and a half?

"Ouch." You watched his previously soft and sad face harden into anger. "I wish you wouldn't have led me on like this. I wouldn't have done anything with you if I didn't feel at least something small. You should be ashamed."

You drew in a quick breath, bordering on a gasp, as your mind raced to find a suitable reply. The hatred dripping from his voice left your mouth slightly agape, hundreds of words forming behind your tongue but never reaching past your lips. You felt small tears prick at your eyes; whether they were from sadness, anger, or shame was unknown to you.

"I think it may be time to go, Eren," you heard Levi speak from the door, two teacups in one hand and the pot in the other. How incriminating. You figured Levi thought nothing of it -- he rarely ever saw the same nuance behind certain gestures that others tended to notice, like a young, female soldier having nightly tea with her superior after being reprimanded for having sex with another scout while on duty. You hoped Eren was too angry to notice.

He wasn't. He looked up at you, eyes still full of anger but his mouth drawn up in disgust. He got up rather roughly, the chair rattling a bit as he stalked toward the door. "Thanks for the talk. Goodnight, Captain," he muttered as he left.

Levi strode in like nothing had happened, setting up the table and taking a seat, as he had done five times before. You stared at him, knowing your eyes were still widened. When he began to pour the tea, you struggled to hold in a laugh. He paused, looking over at you inquisitively. "Did I do something funny?" he asked, concerned. You watched the eyebrow lift. Always that eyebrow.

"Oh, Levi," you sighed. "You brought a tea set to my infirmary room when no one is typically here, and someone saw you. The fact that you showed up at all is incriminating."

Levi scoffed, continuing to pour the tea. "I thought something serious was happening. Not everyone has a mind like you and Jean. I doubt that it would be anyone's first thought." He set the pot down and looked back up at you. He rested his arms on either side of the cup, shaking his head.

"It was the first thought in Eren's. Didn't you see how angry he looked?" you questioned. Surely, you thought, he wasn't that oblivious.

"Sure it was. Eren's always angry. Plus, he was jealous," he said bluntly, finally taking a sip of his tea. Everything he did was so nonchalant.

It stung a little, being pulled back to your conversation with Eren. You hated how angry he was, but you figured nothing could be done. You nodded, sighing, and lifted your cup in response to him. "Yeah, he was pretty upset."

"He wasn't upset, he was pissed. He wasn't being very polite to you, and you looked like you were about to cry. How long had he been on like that?" One thing you had learned about Levi that you didn't know before is that he was incredibly curious.

"You showed up pretty much as soon as he got angry. Before that he was all sad and stuff. It took him a while to actually understand what I was trying to tell him," you told him, the tiniest bit embarrassed. Talking to Levi was easy, but not without its reservations.

"And you were trying to tell him . . .?"

"When I first got hurt, Eren came to see me. He started talking about how I meant a lot to him. I guess you could say it freaked me out. I told him I didn't feel the same way and basically broke things off," you began, one hand tugging at your hair. Levi listened intently.

"That's a valid reaction," he commented as he sipped his tea. "I would do the same."

Joke or otherwise, it drew a laugh out of you before you continued. "He stormed out, and I hadn't spoken to him since, until today. He showed up unannounced and told me he wanted to talk. I was a little embarrassed and anxious, but I didn't mind it. I didn't have any issues with him being here."

"Of course not."

"So we talked about it. I was trying to avoid hurting his feelings, but I think he completely misunderstood. I was trying to tell him that I don't feel that way about him. Instead of getting that and moving on, he goes the other route and tells me he misses me. Then he kissed me. I started to tell him that I didn't know if I was comfortable with that, but he just tried to kiss me again. He finally got it when I told him no, and that's when he got pissed off. That's when you showed up." You drank from your cup, waiting for Levi's response. It was unlikely, you thought, but maybe he had some advice.

He sat there for a moment, thinking. After a few long seconds, he set down his teacup and reached his hand out to you. The gesture was foreign, but not nearly as foreign as the feeling when his fingers brushed your knuckles and his palm came to rest on the back of your hand. None of the rest of his body moved, no leaning in or smirking lips. Just a single comforting touch. "Are you okay?" he asked as you stared conspicuously at his hand atop yours.

You nodded your head at him. "I'm fine. I just wasn't looking forward to that conversation. It didn't go nearly as well as I had hoped," you admitted, chewing the inside of your lip. "It was pretty upsetting when he spoke to me that way."

He pulled his hand away and went back to his tea, his eyes understanding. "It'll be fine. I don't think you were in the wrong, if that helps anything."

You weren't really listening, still staring down at your hand. The warmth from his hand was fading, but something else wasn't. It tingled all over, in every spot he had touched.

How strange.

[the-lady-of-stars]

In Another Life

Fives x Jedi ! Reader

Requested by: @marvel-starwars-nerd​ and an anon (I combined your prompts, hope thats okay!)  “I don’t want this to end” and “Whatever you do don’t cry, because if you cry I’ll start crying too”

A/N: Sorry in advance, troopers.

A traitor to the Republic. That’s what they’d called him. They had said that Fives was conspiring against them, accusing the Kaminoans of planting chips in the clones’ brains to control them.

The chip, which Fives had broken protocol to remove from Tup, was called an ‘inhibitor chip’ by the Kaminoans. Something to keep them from adopting Fett’s strong will and violence. Fives insisted otherwise, leading you to this very moment on the lower levels of Coruscant.

With Anakin and Rex by your side you slowly edged into the darkened warehouse, calling out for Fives as you went. The lightsaber ignited in your hands was merely standard protocol. You knew that Fives would never hurt you, but the Republic branding him as a dangerous individual meant you had to keep up the act. The excuse of Fives being your boyfriend wasn’t exactly something that could be put on the reports.

The deeper you went into the building, the more you could sense him. The force signiature coming off of Fives was something you would normally bask in and draw peace from, but not today. He radiated nothing but fear, anger and mistrust, still not showing himself to you and your companions. The boys all knew about the relationship between you and Fives. He wasn’t quite the most secretive man in the galaxy, and had the tendency to brag.

Anakin, clearly sensing the pure worry and unease radiating from you, sent you a reasurring look, although it never met his eyes.

“Fives,” you called out, trying to pinpoint his location. “It’s okay, we’re not here to hurt you. Just come out, everything will be okay.”

“Thank you, thank you for trusting me,” Fives’ voice echoed through the crate-filled warehouse, making it hard to figure out where it had come from. The three of you span slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of the rogue trooper. His voice was shaky, the notes wavering in his throat. “Have you come without troops?” He insisted, too nervous to keep his fear hidden.

“We have,” Anakin reassured, voice steady so as not to startle Fives.

“Put down your weapons then!” Fives sounded frantic, like a loth cat cornered by hungry varactyls. You felt your heart twist at the notion that your own boyfriend felt the need to defend himself against you, his brother and his friend.

Anakin, casting aside emotion to stick to military protocol, denied Fives’ request, still slightly on edge about his accusations about the Jedi and the chips.

“Please sir, please- I’m unarmed,” Fives pleaded. You turned to find Rex and Anakin both with expressions of sorrow that matched your own.

With a nod, Anakin sheathed his saber, and Rex set his pistols down on a nearby crate. You copied them, attaching your saber to its hilt at your belt.

“What are we here for, Fives?” Anakin pressed, knowing that every moment they wasted was a moment the Coruscant Guard gained on them, and he knew they wouldn’t be as willing to accomodate.

“I need your help,” he called, desperation thick in his words.

Anakin reassured the trooper that he was here to help, telling Fives that he understood he ‘wasn’t well.’ Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say, as Fives suddenly became upset, voice raising.

“I’m not crazy! Please- just hear what I have to say,” he begged, voice growing clearer, allowing you to pinpoint him behind two stacks of crates.

With one last shared look, the three of you drew closer to Fives’ location. Before you could reach him, Fives entrapped you all in a ray shield, then finally emerged once he knew you couldn’t harm him.

Anakin, knowing this wouldn’t do Fives any good once the Coruscant Guard arrived, slammed his fist against the shield in anger. He already knew how low the chances were for his friend, the Kaminoans were fond of reconditioning for even the slightest misbehaviour, but this would only serve to make things ten times worse.

“I just need you to listen to me,” Fives reassured, raising his empty hands to show that he meant no harm. “Please!” he cried out.

“I’m not really sure we have any other choice!” Anakin snapped, worry for Fives turning into anger due to his lack of control in the situation.

Fives’ voice broke, almost whimpering as he yelled “I was framed- because I know the truth! The truth about a plot- a massive deception!”

Fives’ body was shaking, arms restless as he panicked, pacing fearfully, clutching his head and tensing his fists. He looked wildly overwhelmed, almost in pain at how he couldn’t get anyone to believe him.

“There’s a sinister plot,” he shouted, “in the works, against the Jedi! I have proof of it! I can prove- that everything that I know is true beyond a shadow of a doubt!”

“Fives, please-” you tried to speak calmly but you were nearly in tears over seeing your Fives like this, your voice trembling. His eyes raced from side to side, peeled wide in terror, desperation in every breath he took.

Anakin interrupted you, voice stern. “Show me the evidence.”

Fives dug his fingers back into his head, as though he were trying to rip the thoughts out of his brain. Pink marks crowned his head from the way he was scratching into it.

“The evidence- it’s- it’s in here-” Fives pointed aggressively at his brain, fully aware that the Kaminoans had injected him with something to make him lose his memories before he could speak to the Chancellor. His eyes held nothing but devastation, gleaming with unshed tears and pain. “It’s in all of us!” he recalled, desperately trying to explain, “every clone!”

“What is it?” Rex pushed, trying to extract clear words from his brother.

“Organic chips- built into our genetic code,” Fives said, defeat swallowing up his voice. He leaned exhausted to rest on a stack of crates, pressing his arm and forehead against them. “To make us do whatever someone wants.” Fives felt powerless in that moment. The Republic had always made him feel like a pawn, but this was the first time Fives truly understood what his older brothers meant when they spoke about being nothing but property. What difference could one clone make, especially one who had the entire coruscant guard and a Jedi on the hunt for him. “Even kill the Jedi. It’s all in here-” he repeated in a frenzy, poking his head again and again.

Anakin scowled, not believing Fives’ words. You turned to look at Rex, seeing how upset he looked. He ran his hand over his hair in stress, sending you a dejected look when he caught your gaze.

“Let’s just get you some help first then we can review everything,” Anakin spoke, trying to deescalate the situation. “It’ll be okay, Fives, we’ll sort this out.” Anakin said the words as though nothing major were happening, as if everything was fine.

Fives finally reached his limit, feeling shattered at the lack of understanding.

“You don’t believe me!” he howled.

“Fives,” Rex tried to soothe him, brotherly instinct overwhelming him. “We are listening to you. We only want to help.”

“How do I know you’re not tricking me?” Fives asked rapidly. “How do I know it won’t be a trap?”

You couldn’t stand back and listen any more.

“Fives, please, look at me. You know for a fact that not one of us would lay a finger on you. We all care about you Fives, and we want to hear everything you have to say. I mean it. We’ll listen,” you pleaded with him, pressing one hand up against the ray shield.

Fives shakily stumbled forward, lifting a trembling hand to press it against where yours lay on the other side of the shield. He looked deep into your eyes, the look he gave you making you want to sweep him away and hold him for the rest of your life. You wished more than anything that you could take him away from all of this. Why did it have to be your Fives getting caught up in this mess. If only you could take him to some outer-rim planet where you would never be found, and soothe all of his worries with tender kisses and soft spoken words.

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

“Princess?”

“Yeah, Fives?”

“You ever thought about after the war?”

“What about it?”

You lay secure on Fives’ chest in your bed, resting your eyes as he swept patterns into the skin of your back.

“What you’d like life to be like, I mean. Like, I d’uno, a family maybe?”

Maybe you were just tired, but you were sure you could detect a hint of hopefulness in his words.

“A family, huh? Yeah, I s’pose have. Is that something you’d like?”

“Y-yeah,” Fives felt himself flush. Get it together, trooper. “W-with you, I mean. Maybe a kid or two if you want. We could have a little house out on Naboo. It could be in the countryside. We could go swimming in the waterfalls. I’m sure General Skywalker could set us up with a place. Get- get married maybe?” Fives subtly wiped his sweaty palms on the sheets, hoping you wouldn’t notice how nervous the proposition made him.

“I’d like that.”

He let out a sigh.

“I’d like that a lot.”

If you had secretly been awake when Fives had whispered “gn’a make you my wife,” he didn’t need to find out.

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

Fives gasped, thinking about what would happen if the clones were ordered to take out the Jedi. Even the brief thought of him mindlessly shooting you caused him to jolt back. He began to explain how he thought everything linked back to the Chancellor, how every part of his intuition told him to believe it.

“He’s capable of it, I swear to you, General,” he tried to reason with Anakin, but before he could get another word in the Coruscant Guard leapt out from behind some crates, pointing their blasters at Fives.

Calls of “stand down, trooper” and “get on your knees” rang through the building. You watched in horror as Fives turned his gaze to Rex’s abandoned pistols.

“Fives, no- stop!” you screamed, but it was too late.

He lunged for the pistols, clutching one with a yell of “get away from me!”

Then silence, deafening silence. Your vision turned to slow-motion as Commander Fox fired a shot square into Fives’ chest. You felt a cry escape your throat but never heard it, feeling like you were about to faint.

Fives collapsed, hitting the ground in a position which allowed you to see the large short-range blaster shot staining the pure white duraplast of his armour. Rex beat his hands against the barrier, desperatley trying to break through to hold his brother. The second a member of the Guard shot the shield down you fell to your knees at his side, Rex at your side.

“Fives,” you sobbed, tears flowing freely. You reached over to cup his cheek, bringing his gaze to look at you. Fives was dazed, feeling the life force drain from him as he bled out on the duracrete floor. The blood loss began to make him dizzy, his thoughts no longer focused on the conspiracy, turning to you instead. You were crying. His girl was crying and he wasn’t doing anything about it. He’d always hated seeing you cry.

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

“Hey, Princess, I’m hom- woah, woah, woah-” Fives froze, startled by the image of you curled up in a ball on the floor leaning against your bed while crying your eyes out. He immediately ran over, sliding to his knees by your side. “Hey, what’s the matter?” he cooed, reaching to pull your hands from your eyes. He felt his heart tighten at the sight of your reddened eyes, the tears clinging to your eyelashes. “Oh, shhh,” he soothed, bringing you into his chest as you sobbed wildly. Fives sat and rocked you gently in his arms until your sobs slowed into hiccups and gasps, murmuring sweet nothings tenderly into your ear.

“Feelin’ better?” he spoke softly, punctuating his question with a kiss to your cheek.

“Mmhmm,” you nodded, leaning into his touch as he wiped away your tears.

“That’s my girl. You’re okay, Princess. I’ve got you. I’ll always take care of you I swear. Now, make a promise for me?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to state his promise.

“I need you to promise me that you won’t cry alone ever again. Next time you need to cry, come find me or send me a quick comm and I swear I’ll be right there to hold you. Promise?”

You smiled lovingly, “promise.”

“Thas’ my girl.”

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

“H-hey- hey, don’t you go crying on me now, pretty thing. ‘Cos if you cry I’ll start cryin’, you hear me?”

This only made you weep harder, clutching at his shoulder.

“Fives, no, no- don’t do this. Don’t. You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be fine. I’m here, Rex is here, we’ve got you,” your voice shook heavily as you barely managed to get the words out between choked sobs.

Fives chuckled after a gasp, shooting a beaming smile in your direction.

“C’mon, you’re a clever girl. You and I both know this is the end of the line for me. I’m not gonna be here too much longer, Princess, but you remember that promise you made me, yeah? When I’m gone, you’re not gonna spend your time cryin’ over me. You’re gonna go find a friend, someone you trust, and cry it out with them so they can look after you. Okay?”

You burst into tears again, unable to respond to him.

“I’ll look after her, vod. I swear it, you have my word. We’ll look after eachother,” Rex choked, tears flowing down his face. He reached over and grasped his brother’s hand tightly, squeezing it in reassurance.

Fives smiled, a look of peace overcoming him at the thought of his girl and his brother looking out for eachother when he wasn’t there to do it himself.

“Thas’ good. Mmm. Good.” Fives blinked, finding the idea of sinking into the darkness more and more tempting every second.

“Fives, no, don’t go. Please- I don’t want this to end. I love you, I love you so much Fives, please don’t leave me!”

Fives mustered up all the energy he had left to grin at you, the cheeky grin that showed off his teeth he’d always give you when he’d make fun of you.

“I love you too, Princess. I always will. I’m sorry I have to go, but I promise I’ll see you again some day. Even in another life, I’ll find you. You’ll always be my girl.”

And with that, Fives slipped away, succumbing to the peace that was sinking into his heart. He’d find you again. In another life.

[calenheniel]

In Fantasy, a frozen fanfic | Chapter 1

Frozen | Alternate Universe | Hans x Elsa | Romance, Drama | G+

In a desperate bid to save their country from political and financial ruin, King Agnarr and Queen Iduna of Arendelle strike a deal with a former foe, King Albert of the Southern Isles. His price? That their firstborn daughter marry his thirteenth son.

Previous installments: Prologue

Follow updates: #InFantasyFrozen

For Helsa Week 2021, Day 1: Parenthood. @helsaweekmasterlist

Author's Note: This is a draft, exclusively available on Tumblr. I have literally the outline for every single chapter following this written, but not fleshed out into readable form yet... so this is all you are going to see for a while. It took me a while to write, as you can probably tell. Enjoy and please leave feedback.

»»————-　❈　————-««

Chapter 1

Snow pattered soundlessly against the arched window of the king’s study as he and his wife sat across from one another at his desk, reviewing the morning’s mail by candlelight. The fire crackled loudly in the hearth a few feet away, bringing a warm glow to the otherwise dim and drab space.

Iduna looked out briefly through the glass panes, the outside world obscured by the total darkness of the winter months. She was just able to make out the snow flurries of white and gray, and beyond that, under the lanterns lining the walkway to the castle gates, she imagined she could see the slow and halting movements of the castle’s servants as they shuttled through the gates and back. The town square, and the fjord beyond it, were entirely hidden from her view.

She shivered, drawing her heavy fur robe closer around her frame, and the small movement was enough to cause her to lose her grip on the letter opener in her other hand. It cut the side of her thumb as it clattered to the desk, and she released a small cry of surprise and pain as droplets of her blood fell on the envelope at the top of the unread stack, staining it red.

“Oh, dear,” Agnarr sighed, pulling a handkerchief from his chest pocket and wrapping it around her open wound. “You must be more careful with that.” He eyed her chattering teeth with concern. “Is the new robe helping even a little bit?”

Iduna looked away. “You know how difficult my… condition has been,” she said, gazing down at her swollen belly. “Even in rooms with the best-tended fires, I’m always cold.” She touched the collar of the robe, shooting him a small glare, and added: “Anyway, it’s not as if you paid for this yourself.”

Agnarr frowned but said nothing, returning his attention to the mail after another sharp look from his wife. His eyes widened as he examined the seal, and he paused, causing Iduna to glance at it with curiosity.

“Who is it from?”

He swallowed and began to open the letter, avoiding Iduna’s still-drying blood splatters. “The Southern Isles,” he said at length, causing her face to darken.

“Speak of the devil,” she grumbled.

He read it in silence to himself at first, but at Iduna’s unnerved expression, he passed the paper to her. She reluctantly accepted it.

Dearest Agnarr and Iduna,

Allow me to pass on my belated congratulations to you both for the auspicious news of your first child’s coming! While I was surprised to hear that the delivery date is so soon, you cannot imagine the happiness this has brought my family and I, and especially to my youngest son, Hans. He is eager to meet his future wife and in-laws. Rest assured that we will be the first guests to arrive for her christening.

I have ordered a small gift for my future daughter-in-law which you should receive in about one month, just in time for her birth. Please accept this as a token of our continued friendship and soon-to-be unbreakable bonds of family. I look forward to hearing what you think of it when we meet again in person soon.

Yours respectfully,

Albert

Iduna scowled and crumpled the letter in her unbandaged hand. “How can he be so sure it will be a girl?” she muttered. “The nerve of that man! We should never have told him that I am with child.”

“He would’ve found out eventually, whether we did or not,” Agnarr pointed out, sighing. “And besides, we did wait a while – probably too long – to write to him about it. Which he obviously picked up on.” He gestured for Iduna to hand him the ball of paper, which she did while sporting a glower. “I’m not sure there’s any need to be so sullen, dear. Nils said it was likely to be a boy.”

Iduna opened her lips as if to speak, but her face suddenly paled, and she collapsed from her seat to the floor, holding herself up on all fours. She groaned with pain as her husband rushed to her side, panic flashing across his eyes.

“Agnarr,” she moaned, “I think—I think it’s time…”

»» —— ««

Agnarr paced outside the bedroom, his features hollow and drawn from sleeplessness. Iduna’s moaning echoed from inside the room out into the hallways, and the sight of various attending ladies scurrying in and out of the room with fresh sheets and bowls of water did little to ease his worried mind.

He had long since dismissed his councilors from the scene, finding their hovering presence unnecessary at best—and unsettling at worst. Their questions about the queen’s health, while infrequent, were regular enough to cause the king to lose his temper and bark that it would not improve just because a gallery of onlookers wished it so. Sympathetic to their young monarch, they had left him in the care of the servants, and so he had waited, alone, for many hours to hear a spot of better news.

The grandfather clock at the end of the hall struck ten just as the door reopened to reveal the royal physician, who wore an equally exhausted expression. His hands, though recently washed, still had specks of the queen’s blood dotting the wrists and under his fingernails.

“Nils! It’s been an age. What’s going on?” he demanded, pulling the older man aside.

The physician stifled a frown. “I don’t have much news to share right now, Your Majesty. She is still in labor, just as before. We are doing everything we can to keep her comfortable.”

Another groan from Iduna resounded in the background, and Agnarr shot Nils a dark look. “You call that ‘comfortable’?”

The noise began to wane as they listened to the head maidservant, Gerda, whisper to the queen inside the room. The king’s expression softened. “Please, Nils,” he began again, “you’ve been here since my father was a young man. I know you’ve seen almost everything in your time.” He placed a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Just give me your honest assessment of what’s happening. I need to know if she—”

Agnarr broke off, swallowing a sob that threatened to choke him. Nils patted the king’s hand on his shoulder, taking it into his own, and sighed. “It’s difficult when the baby comes this early, Your Majesty. And with Her Majesty being in labor for so long…” He paused, squeezing the king’s hand. “I will do everything I can to keep her and your child alive. That you can rest assured of.”

Agnarr looked back at him with tears straining his vision, his lips just barely forming the beginnings of a grateful smile before a terrible cry erupted from inside the bedroom.

“All of you, out!” Iduna screamed, and then said something else in a voice too quiet to be heard. A flurry of attending ladies rushed out of the room, and the king broke away from Nils to rush to the doorway.

He was met there by a tired, distraught, but somehow still defiant Gerda. “No,” she said, stopping him in his tracks. “She needs to rest for a moment. I’m sorry, Your Majesty.”

Agnarr scowled. “Gerda, for God’s sake, let me in—”

Nils placed his hand on Agnarr’s shoulder, silencing him, and nodded to Gerda. The older woman shot the king a frown, and then sent a grateful look to the physician as she walked away from the door.

Agnarr turned on him. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Fru Gerda is correct, Your Majesty. It is not your place to intervene.” At the king’s heated look, the physician dropped his hand from his shoulder, resting it on the doorknob as he took a step inside the room. “I’ll bring you more news as soon as I have it, but for now… please, try to get some rest.”

Agnarr watched in defeat as the physician closed the door behind him, and finally slumped into an armchair beside the room, his head lolling forward as he began to drift towards slumber.

»» —— ««

“Your Majesty?”

The king awoke to the gentle shaking of his shoulders, and his eyes blinked open slowly. He groaned as his vision finally cleared, seeing Nils. “How long have I been asleep?”

The physician smiled. “Only a few hours.”

Agnarr nodded, placing his aching head in his palms, and then with a suddenness that took Nils aback, it shot up in alarm and stared at the bedroom door. “It’s so quiet—what’s happened?” He stood from the armchair, grabbing the physician by both shoulders. “Is she all right?”

The strange, new sound of an infant’s babbles surfaced from behind the door. The king’s eyes widened as his grip relaxed, and he stared at Nils in wonder.

“Is that…?”

The old man’s smile widened. “Yes, Your Majesty. And Her Majesty is fine now, enjoying a well-deserved rest.” He sighed with contentment. “It truly is a miracle for the child to have been born so healthy, and of normal weight and size, in spite of everything.” He took one of the king’s hands in his own, patting it. “Would you like to meet your newborn daughter?”

Agnarr’s face paled. “Daughter?”

Nils nodded, and looked sheepish. “Yes, Your Majesty. I’m afraid my prediction of her sex was rather inaccurate.”

The king paused, and plastered on a smile, though light droplets of sweat beaded at his forehead. “No matter,” he said, and inhaled as he nodded towards the bedroom. “Lead the way.”

Agnarr entered to find his new daughter in Gerda’s arms, bundled up and half-asleep, a smattering of light blonde hair visible on her soft scalp. Iduna lay in the bed just a few feet away, sleeping quietly, the only visible sign of the previous day’s strain being the pallor of her skin.

The older woman smiled at his coming despite her obvious fatigue, meeting him halfway across the room. “Should I make arrangements to announce the birth of the princess, Your Majesty?” she whispered, looking with fondness down at the infant.

Agnarr shook his head. “Not yet,” he replied after a moment, unable to tear his eyes away from the girl. “At least, not until the queen awakens, and can meet her daughter properly.”

Gerda nodded, casting a pitying glance at Iduna. “Quite right, Your Majesty. The poor woman was barely able to speak a word to the child before drifting off.” She gently handed the baby to its father. “We’ll leave you three alone for a little while. I’ll be back with refreshments for everyone soon.”

At this cue, she and Nils exited the room, closing the door behind them. Agnarr sat in a rocking chair beside the fireplace, his gaze fixed to the sleeping babe in his arms, and his apprehension and fear gave way to a warm, glowing smile.

“Don’t worry, child,” he murmured, and tucked the sleeping bundle closer to his heart. “I’ll protect you.”

»» —— ««

The queen awoke to the same darkness that had greeted her the morning before, but also to the sound of creaking wood. She squinted and saw, with delighted surprise, her husband and daughter sitting together by the hearth.

“Agnarr?” she called in a soft, weary voice.

He looked up with dark circles under his eyes, but his expression was radiant as he walked to her bedside. “My dearest, you’re finally awake!” He handed her their child with infinite tenderness, sitting next to her. “I think she looks like you,” he remarked.

Iduna gazed down at the still-sleeping infant with some bittersweetness, and then back up at her husband. “Has the birth been announced yet?” she asked, unable to hide the anxiousness from her voice.

He shook his head. “No. I wanted to hold off until you were awake.”

“Good,” Iduna sighed with relief, brushing stray strands of the white-golden locks from the child’s eyes. Her nose wrinkled. “I can’t believe that old bastard was right all along,” she muttered. “How did he know?”

Agnarr wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Don’t think of such things now,” he chided her, and returned his attention to the baby. “What shall we name her?”

Iduna frowned. “I hadn’t thought of any names for a girl.”

“I know, but…” He paused. “What about Elsa?”

Iduna blinked. “Elsa?”

He nodded. “Yes. It was the name of my favorite cousin. She died when I was still a boy—fell through ice while skating. This could be a good way to honor her memory.”

His wife frowned. “Agnarr!” she protested. “That’s far too morbid. Can’t you think of anything else?”

Before the king could reply, the infant nuzzled up against her mother’s breast and hiccuped, drawing her parents’ attention away from their dispute. Agnarr glanced at his wife with a cheeky smile. “I think she approves of her name.”

Iduna sighed, and could not help but smile in return. “Fine. Elsa it is, then,” she agreed.

They watched her for a while longer before Agnarr glanced up at the clock on the bedside table. “I should have Nils check on her, and make sure everything’s all right,” he said, and stood.

Iduna grabbed his hand and brought him back to his seat. “Not yet,” she said. “I want to enjoy this time we have with her, before all the hullabaloo starts up.” She patted his hand before letting it go. “But do fetch us something to eat. I’m famished.”

He bowed his head. “Of course, dear.”

She nodded her thanks. As he opened the door, he looked back on the blissful sight of his wife and daughter together, perfectly content, and smiled.

»» —— ««

Agnarr carried the tray of biscuits and tea with deliberate and careful steps as he made his way down the hallway from the kitchens back to the bedroom, chastened after nearly dropping the whole set a few minutes before in his unfamiliarity with the task.

Gerda, walking behind him, fretted over his apparent clumsiness. “Your Majesty, please, won’t you let me bring it to the queen?”

“It’s fine, Gerda,” he refused, trying to wear a reassuring smile even as it was clear he was concentrating intently in order not to trip. “I won’t break anything, I promise.”

The older woman muttered under her breath, following him despite his protests until they were a few paces from the bedroom door. At that point, after a sharp glance from the king, she relented and left him to his own devices.

Alone again, he sighed, placing the set down gingerly on the armchair by the door. “I’m coming in!” he called to Iduna, resting his hand on the doorknob.

A shriek from the queen, followed by the sound of their baby’s wailing, almost made the king fall back in surprise. He rushed into the room in alarm—only to find himself frozen in place by the sight that greeted him.

Their child lay crying on its back on the bed, a swirl of snow surrounding its tiny body. The queen was pressed up against the wall beside it, her entire frame shaking as she stared at the girl in open terror.

Agnarr regained his bearings long enough to close and lock the door behind him, drowning out the distant cries of worry from Gerda down the hall, and then sprinted towards his daughter. He gathered her up and pressed her into his chest even as a cold wind and snow whipped around them both, making him shiver.

As his warmth slowly enveloped her, however, so too did the strange elemental effects dissipate, until finally the baby was quiet again.

He sighed as he sat on the bed in exhaustion, and nodded for Iduna to join him. “Everything’s all right now,” he assured her. The baby whined a little. “She just needs to be fed.”

The queen returned to his side with caution, her face still drawn, and eventually took the child back into her arms. With a trembling hand, she unbuttoned and pulled aside a flap of her nightgown, pressing the infant to her exposed breast.

To both parents’ surprise – and relief – the child suckled without further dramatics, and Iduna released a long, shuddering sigh.

»» —— ««

Several minutes and harried exchanges with Gerda later, the child was asleep again in her mother’s arms. Her innocent, peaceful face gave no indication that she was aware of the fuss that had just taken place around her.

Once she was sure that the child would not stir, Iduna placed her on the bed, nestling her among the pillows and fresh sheets that Gerda had insisted upon providing (even though she had been disallowed from setting them up within the room herself, much to the woman’s displeasure). She remained sat on the edge of the bed, silent, taking little comfort in their temporary respite.

Agnarr had been quiet since the baby’s extraordinary display, pacing between the hearth to warm himself, and the door to shoo any interruptions away from the room.

She swallowed, and spoke at length. “It’s because of me,” she whispered, looking at the ground with shame. “It is my blood that has caused this.”

The king paused in his nervous walk to look at his wife, perplexed. “What do you mean?”

She would not meet his stare. “Do you remember how we first met?” she asked.

His head cocked to the side as he walked towards her, stopping just short of the bed. “Of course,” he replied. “I was sixteen, making the rounds with my father meeting townsfolk, and you were selling bread at market… but what does that have to do with anything?”

She hesitated at the question. “That… wasn’t actually the first time we met.”

He frowned, crossing his arms. “What are you talking about, Iduna?”

The queen pressed her hands together in front of her, her brows stitched in thought, and finally met her husband’s gaze. “It was during the battle in the Enchanted Forest. You were knocked unconscious when some large rock came loose, and I…” She reddened. “I got us out of there before the forest was sealed off, and left you with some soldiers who had managed to escape. They brought you back home, and I fled into the mountains.”

Her vision misted over as the memories returned to her. “Luckily, I was found by a kindly older woman and her husband there. They were never able to have children of their own, if you remember,” she said, “so they took me in, without question, and taught me their trade.”

The king stared at her in dumbstruck silence; after a time, his arms uncrossed, and he pulled over the rocking chair from the fireplace towards the bed, sitting down again. “When we met at market,” he drawled, “I asked you if I’d seen you before. Do you remember?”

She blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “You denied it at the time,” Agnarr noted, one eyebrow raised.

Iduna grimaced. “I was afraid you would find out the truth.”

He connected the threads with sudden clarity. “That you were one of them,” he said, his eyes wide. “One of the Northuldrans.”

Her face grew hot. “Yes,” she admitted. “I never told you before, because I know the history between our peoples. Because of what happened to your—”

At Agnarr’s darkening expression, she stopped, curling her fingers around the cloth of her nightgown in her lap. At length, the king turned his stare on the sleeping child in the bed next to her. “And what of our child’s powers?” he asked. He eyed Iduna with suspicion. “Did you know she would be born with such abilities?”

Iduna sighed, shaking her head. “No,” she said. “It was just as much a surprise to me as it was to you. None of the Northuldrans have had such powers—not for several generations, at least.” Her brow grew furrowed. “In the old days, it is said that some of my people gained them through their relationship with the spirits of the Forest. I don’t know how, but it seems as if Elsa has inherited some of this magic.”

The king said nothing, and stared blankly at the painted blue wall behind the bed.

Iduna trembled. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, tears trickling down her cheeks. “I should never have kept this hidden from you.” Her eyes were full of fear as he remained silent. “Please, Agnarr, say something, lest I lose all hope.”

Her husband’s frame was taut, and his expression betrayed nothing even as he began to speak. “Do you know what happened to my mother—Queen Rita?”

Iduna was taken aback by the question at first, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Only that she disappeared when you were still a child, never to be seen again,” she recalled, eyeing Agnarr with a growing sense of dread. “Your father blamed it on evil spirits, if I remember correctly.”

Agnarr’s lips were pressed together in a thin line. “He was already a superstitious man before that happened, and afterwards…” The king sighed, and slumped forward in the chair. “He considered the mere existence of an ‘enchanted’ forest anywhere within his realm to be a personal insult, even if its inhabitants exhibited no special powers.” He looked at her morosely. “And you know how that ended.”

Iduna swallowed, and made no reply.

The king looked pained by his memories. “I still don’t know what really happened to her,” he said, “though I think I understand why she left. My father thought that buying her trinkets was enough to demonstrate his affections, but… she missed home, and her family. And he never grasped that.” He frowned. “In fact, he took offense at it. Which only made her more miserable.”

Agnarr paused for a while, and weariness overwhelmed his previously stern countenance. “My father was wretched with grief and anger for years after she left, and I cannot blame him for that. I imagine I would feel much the same if I lost you.”

Iduna stared at her husband in surprise, and then her lip quivered as she threw herself into his embrace, burying her weeping face in the crook of his shoulder. He held her shuddering body tightly, his eyes closed as he kissed her exposed cheek.

“Oh, Agnarr,” she said through muffled sobs, “I’m so sorry.”

He held her as he waited for her crying to subside, and then asked in a gentler manner: “Do you know anything about our daughter’s magic, Iduna? Are there any stories about such powers among the Northul—your people?”

His self-correction made Iduna smile, and she glanced back at their child. “I’ve forgotten most of those stories, truth be told,” she said. “I’ve been in Arendelle too long, I think.”

Agnarr nodded in understanding. “That’s all right, dear, I was only wondering—”

“Wait,” Iduna interrupted, sitting up in her husband’s lap with a start. “There was one old Northuldran legend, about a Snow Queen… she was said to have frozen over entire kingdoms that refused to obey her will.”

At the king’s paling expression, Iduna nervously added: “It was probably just a fairytale made up to scare children, and teach us right from wrong. I doubt our little Elsa would ever be so powerful as to do such fantastical things.”

Agnarr’s lips twisted into a frown, and he raised Iduna off his lap and onto the bed as he stood, pacing again. “We cannot be sure,” he said, his hands clasping behind him. He stared at Elsa with concern. “My father did a fine job of scaring the wits out of everyone in the kingdom with his tales of the evils of magic, and inculcating the same prejudices in them which he held himself. Even if her powers never reached such heights as the stories describe, the fact that she has them at all is—” He shook his head, his troubles mounting. “We’ve only just forged a hard-won peace with Weselton, and secured some new trade routes that had previously been closed to us, no thanks to my father. And all of that would be at risk if they knew, let alone…”

Iduna caught his meaning as he stopped in his tracks, and the two exchanged a long, uncomfortable look.

“Albert,” she finished for him, her mouth dry. “He cannot know about this, Agnarr.”

The king’s expression was bleak. “No,” he agreed, “he cannot.”

Iduna trembled. “Well, that settles it,” she said, trying to sound resolute. “We’ll teach Elsa how to conceal her powers, so that no one ever finds out about them. That way—”

“It’s impossible, Iduna,” Agnarr cut in, pressing a hand to his forehead. “We cannot keep such magic in check forever. And besides, it… would be too cruel to ask that of her. She will not understand.”

“It’s the only way, Agnarr,” his wife insisted, though her lips quivered. She bit them to keep them still. “If we explain to her why it’s necessary, and keep her safe within the castle, away from the town—” Iduna broke off, unable even to convince herself of the workability of her plan, and tears began to collect in her eyes once more.

Agnarr could not keep the despair from his own voice. “Even if we could manage it, and keep her hidden away until she comes of age,” he murmured, resting a hand on her shoulder, “how, then, could we ensure that she would not reveal her powers to her future husband?” He frowned. “If that boy is anything like his father, he would no doubt try to manipulate her, and use this great power to suit his and Albert’s purposes.” He shuddered. “I cannot allow that to happen.”

Iduna stared at the child, her brow bearing the weight of defeat. “But what can we do, Agnarr?”

The king stood stock-still in contemplation, relying on every fiber of his remaining self-composure not to collapse back into the chair. A creeping shadow of gloom crawled across his face, darkening his brow. “There may be a way,” he said, swallowing.

At Iduna’s forlorn, questioning look, he continued: “Before my mother left, when she was at the height of her suffering, she would talk sometimes about a magical race of creatures that had the power to ‘heal’ her.” He paused, and clarified: “Trolls, apparently, living in a valley somewhere in the mountains above Arendelle. She said they could perform all manner of spells, and I heard her talk in her sleep once or twice about wanting to go see them.”

Iduna stared at her husband in disbelief. “Trolls.”

He reddened. “Yes, well,” he said, “I realize how absurd this sounds, Iduna, but…” He glanced at Elsa. “Now that I’ve seen what our child is capable of, the idea of magical trolls doesn’t seem so farfetched.”

“What are you saying, Agnarr?” Iduna snapped, shaking her head. “That your mother went to see them? That they helped her… ‘disappear’?”

His shoulders raised in defensiveness. “I don’t know,” he conceded, “but what if that were the case? What if…” He sat back down in the rocking chair suddenly, staring at Iduna with clear eyes. “They erased her memory.”

Iduna frowned. “How can you be sure?”

“I’m not,” Agnarr admitted, “but if the trolls are as powerful as she said, then… it might explain where she ran off to, and why she never came back.” He sulked. “I wonder if father knew.”

Iduna took in this speculation with confusion and annoyance, pressing a hand to her right temple as she sighed. “Even if that is what happened,” she began, trying to keep the impatience from her voice, “what does any of this have to do with Elsa?”

Agnarr struggled to answer for a time, unable to articulate his thoughts. At his wife’s expectant stare, he offered: “We could take her to them, and ask them to… remove her powers.”

The queen shot up in alarm. “Have you gone mad?” she hissed. “Do you have any idea how sacred and special her magic is?” Fury alit in her blue irises. “It is a gift, Agnarr. No matter what your father – or anyone else – thinks or says, it is a part of her eternal soul. To take it away from her would be akin to spitting in the eye of God himself.”

“Then what do you suggest?” the king retorted, exasperated. “What other choice do we have?”

Iduna’s anger faded as she contemplated the question, and her expression grew melancholic. Agnarr, sensing the shift in her mood, placed one hand on hers. He noted that it had gone cold.

“What is it, Iduna?”

She stared at him in quiet desperation, and before she could stop herself, her face sunk into her hands, and she wept.

»» —— ««

“Is everything alright, Your Majesty?”

The question weighed on Agnarr more than the physician expected, and the latter exchanged a glance with Gerda as the doors to the king’s private study were closed behind them by a guard. The dark, windowless room seemed impossibly small, lit up only by a candelabra on the desk between the king and his guests, though a keen observer could notice its impressive depth and height through the flames.

Agnarr’s head was bowed for a moment, and when the silence grew too difficult to bear, he released a shaky exhale. When his gaze met theirs, they were stunned to find it fresh with tears.

“The child passed this morning, in the queen’s arms,” he said, his voice tremulous from grief. “Just after we named her—Elsa.”

Gerda’s hands flew to her mouth to suppress a cry, though she began to sob into her handkerchief soon after. Nils entered a state of shock, staring at the king in utter bemusement.

“But, Your Majesty… how is this possible? I saw the princess just a few hours ago, healthy as a newborn could be.” He shook his head. “How could her condition deteriorate so suddenly? Why…” He frowned deeply. “Why did you not call for me sooner, if she was—”

Agnarr rose his hand, quieting the physician. “It all happened very suddenly, I assure you,” he murmured. “It seems you were right after all, Nils, about the dangers of premature birth.” He closed his eyes, and his lips trembled. “I only wish we had not glimpsed what could have been, before the end.”

Nils’s frown eased, but only slightly. “Your Majesty,” he began more gently, “please, let me see the child. It will help me to better ascertain what happened, and be sure of Her Majesty’s health as well…”

The physician trailed off as he realized that the cold determination in the king’s eyes would not allow for further argument. “She needs time alone with the child – with Elsa – to grieve, in her own way,” Agnarr said. “Then, we will relinquish it and make preparations for the funeral.”

“But sire,” Gerda mustered the strength to speak through her tears, “it’s not proper. The child’s body, it will—” The woman gave in to a fitful sob at the thought before continuing. “It will cause Her Majesty great sorrow to see the princess that way.”

Nils did not speak, but his grim expression indicated his agreement with the maidservant.

Agnarr’s mouth pressed into a thin, firm line. “These are the queen’s wishes,” he stated, “and it would only cause her greater sorrow to take the child from her so soon.”

Gerda hid her moan of anguish in her handkerchief, and Nils patted her on the back, his frown etched into his wizened features as he stared at the king. “Very well,” he relented, bowing his head. “We will wait until Her Majesty’s mourning period is over.”

Agnarr gave a faint nod of thanks. “I appreciate both of you – your service, and your care – through all of this,” he said. Turning to Gerda, he added: “Leave any meals outside of the room for the evening. I will bring them to her myself.”

The older woman managed a nod in return, the cloth in her hands barely stifling her constant sniffles.

He turned his back on them, his hands clasped behind him. “You may go,” he said.

Agnarr waited until he was sure that they had left to release a deep, shaking sigh. He gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white, and then exhaled again, turning his attention to the tiered bookshelves which lined either side of the room, stretching out into the darkness of the far wall.

With sudden and frantic energy, the king began to rifle through the books, coughing and sneezing through the clouds of dust and cobwebs which greeted him as he pulled them off the shelves with little regard for their long-undisturbed state. His initial, methodical skimming of the first shelf was quickly replaced by mere glances as he ripped books from the successive ones, clearing out rung after rung, unsure even of what he was seeking.

Long minutes that felt like hours passed in this way, and by the time Agnarr reached the far end of the room – though he was only halfway through the stacks – he leaned back against it, spent of his energies and despairing of the futility of his quest, resting the candle in his hand down on the floor.

He sat there in the gloom of his father’s former study, now his own, caught in a state of bewildered insomnia when he brushed his hand against the candle, causing it to tip over to the ground. Luckily, he reacted fast enough to put out the flame that began to catch on a nearby loose sheaf of paper, and turn the candle back upright. As the remaining smoke tendrils rose from the burnt page, he sighed, accepting even this small bit of relief.

Agnarr.

The king’s back was rigid at the familiar voice, and he stared out into the darkness with terror in his eyes.

“Who—who’s there?” he whispered, looking to and fro. When nothing answered him, he curled his hand around the candleholder at his side, though he dared not move from his seat. His lip quivered. “Show yourself!” he demanded, unnerved.

A sighing wisp of a sound encircled him, causing the flame of his candle to flicker and dance, and then seemed to disappear into a corner of the room to his left. Agnarr followed its path with wide eyes, seeing it end somewhere at the very bottom shelf on the other, untouched side of the room. He grabbed his candle, ignoring the burn of hot wax as it dripped onto his bare hands, and held it towards the spot where the voice had led him.

There, nestled between inconspicuous volumes bound in the same, dark brown leather as most of the other tomes in the room, was a slightly larger and red-colored spine. He pulled it out with greater care than he had for any other book in the study, surprised by its heft, and gently laid it down on the wooden floor below. He blew away the dust that obscured the text on its cover.

Even when it became legible, however, the king found that it was comprised of ancient runes in which he had no education or training, and so he could make little sense of what its contents might be. When he opened it to the first few pages, paragraphs upon paragraphs of the same, unreadable runes greeted him.

“Very helpful,” he muttered to himself, glaring at the candle’s steady flame in his hand. “I must be going mad,” he said, sighing, and moved to place it back on the shelf.

Forgetting its weight, the book fell from Agnarr’s hands as if in protest, and as it banged onto the hard floor, it opened to a section that he had not yet seen. He held the candle with trepidation and curiosity over the pages, careful not to drip any wax onto them, and his eyes widened as he got a better look at their contents.

On the left was a page of runic script, but on the right was a faded illustration of a mysterious, dark creature with narrow, yellow eyes, its hands raised to the sky. Below it lay the sleeping body of a man on a carved stone bench – a nobleman, or perhaps even a king, Agnarr thought, from the looks of his fine raiment and armor – and from the man’s head, extending into the sky, were swirls of smoke and clouds of fantastic colors, all intermingling to create a stark and foreboding image.

The king shuddered at the sight even as he was unsure of its meaning, and he ran his hand over the lines of the drawing. He paused over the head of the sleeping king, feeling an unusual groove on the surface of the page; smoothing his fingers down, he realized it ran all the way to the bottom, and he quickly turned to the next page.

Folded and tucked into the centerfold of the book was a loose paper, sandwiched between another page of text and what looked like an illustration of a white stag. Agnarr ignored the picture, and busied himself with unfolding the paper. Flattening it out against the other pages with one hand, he felt his jaw go slack in surprise, and he had to hold tightly onto the candle to keep it from falling over again.

It was a map, with the fjord and castle of Arendelle drawn prominently in the bottom left corner, encircled on all sides by nondescript forests and mountains colored beige, brown, and dark green. From the castle was demarcated a clear path in red dashes through the mountains, to a spot at the top right corner of the page marked with a large “X.” Next to it was, Agnarr assumed, the name of the location; and though it was written in the same runes as the rest of the book within which the map had been hidden, the first two letters gave him some clue as to what – or who – could be found at the final destination.

“Trolls,” he murmured. The candle flickered, seemingly in agreement. He eyed it with wonder, and then looked up at the ceiling, seeing nothing more than total darkness… but sensing much more beyond it.

Collecting his wits, Agnarr folded the map back up and slid it into his breast pocket, and then closed the red book and slid it back onto the shelf. Standing with newfound strength from the floor, he walked back with brisk purpose towards the entrance. Once there, he lingered in the doorway to look back with a sad smile, disregarding the disarray his manic search had caused in the room.

“Thank you, mother,” he whispered, and left.

»» —— ««

The path to the stables was as shrouded in December’s eternal nightfall as every other part of the kingdom, and Agnarr was thankful for having traveled there enough times in daylight to know his way in the dark. He adjusted the sling against his chest so that it faced more towards him, and the deep, royal blue color of its cloth was well-disguised beneath his plain brown riding cloak.

His steward followed close behind with a lantern, though the light did little to illuminate their path. When they reached their destination, the older man gave a sigh of relief, holding aloft the light so that the king might better see the harness and gates guarding his prized horse, Sigurd. He eyed the king’s costume questioningly, but Agnarr would not answer the look as he untied his steed, leading it out of its stall with the trained hands of a horseman.

After carefully laying the saddle atop its broad back, he nodded to the steward, who waited expectantly, bracing himself. The king grabbed the older man’s shoulder, using the leverage to slide his foot into the stirrup and mount Sigurd.

A small, babbling sound escaped the bundle slung across Agnarr’s chest; the older man stared at it for a moment, but said nothing. The king almost sighed with relief, but elected instead to nod at the gesture of discretion in thanks.

The steward could not help but demonstrate some concern. “Are you sure about this, Your Majesty? There have been reports of brigands in the mountains as of late, and I can easily send one of the guards to go with you—”

“There are some sensitive matters I must discuss with the tradesmen there—too sensitive for company,” Agnarr interrupted in an authoritative tone, though his face reddened with embarrassment at his own vagueness. He adjusted the sling again, and continued in a more conciliatory way: “I will return before sunrise, Kai.”

The steward’s skeptical expression was obvious even in the dim lighting, but he did not press the king further on the matter, and stepped back from the horse.

The king could not bring himself to address the man’s suspicion, and whispered into Sigurd’s ear. The horse gave a whinny of comprehension, and the two set off down the path to the gates at a quick pace, disappearing into the night.

»» —— ««

Agnarr arrived at the location marked on the map – or where he thought it should be, based on his knowledge of the mountains – with a weariness etched into his brow that made him appear far older than his twenty-one years.

He had come upon a clearing in the forest resembling a Roman amphitheater, and the full moon above shone on the stage and surrounding theatron, which were covered in moss as if from long disuse. From his vantage point at the edge of the forest path leading into it, he could also make out countless stone orbs of various shapes and sizes, all draped with moss that matched their surroundings, scattered throughout the rows.

The king eyed this warily, clutching the bundle across his chest close to him as he dismounted Sigurd. He tied the horse to a tree nearby, and proceeded with caution into the center of the arena. “Hello?” he called out.

When nothing answered him, he swallowed, and made a second attempt in a more confident voice. “I am King Agnarr of Arendelle,” he announced, “and I have come seeking help.”

His statement was met with another bout of silence, and sweat beaded at his forehead as the bundle across his chest started to wriggle, making small mewling noises.

“Please,” he said, looking around at the empty valley in desperation, his eyes growing misty from the threat of tears, “I have no one else to turn to. The very fate of Arendelle is at stake.”

Finally, at this plea, Agnarr began to hear – and feel – a series of rumblings all around him, the very earth quaking beneath his feet. He looked down to plant them more firmly and keep himself from tripping, and in the background Sigurd whinnied with fright, bucking against his restraints. When the king lifted his gaze again, he was shocked to find that the same static, stone orbs he had observed before were rolling down the theatron of their own accord, until they were completely encircling him.

No sooner had he adjusted to the notion of self-propelling rocks than they began to take the forms of living beings, one by one uncurling into equally circular, stocky trolls.

At first, they seemed all alike in their terrifying newness to Agnarr: a small mop of bedraggled hair atop their heads, smocks or tunics made of moss covering their small bodies, jewelry containing precious minerals and stones strung around their necks and wrists, and impossibly large eyes that stared at him and caused him to shrink under their scrutiny. Sigurd’s incessant, fearful whinnying in the background did nothing to dispel his own fear, and he stood stock-still, unable to move.

After a minute or so, however, the king found their collection of eyes more curious than threatening, and was slowly able to differentiate the creatures from one another by the color of their necklaces, or the particular partings of their mossy hair. This calmed him, and as his breathing returned to a more normal rhythm, so too did his steed quiet in the background.

The trolls began to clear a path amongst themselves, and through it, one approached Agnarr with a slow, deliberate gait. Judging by the length of its mane, its long moss cloak, and the ostentatious, heavy decorations of green baubles strung about its chest, the king guessed that it was their elder.

“Your Majesty,” it said, bowing as much as its age would allow. Agnarr nodded in return. “I am known as Grand Pabbie among our folk. It is a pleasure to meet the son of Her Majesty, Queen Rita, after so many years.” The troll paused, registering the surprise on the king’s face at the mention of his mother. “But tell me, what brings you to the Valley of the Living Rock?”

Agnarr hesitated, but soon found himself pulling back his cloak and drawing down the top of the blue cloth to reveal his daughter’s waking features. Her bright blue eyes and soft coos were met with a chorus of “ooh”s and “aah”s from the crowd, who gathered in closer around the king to catch a glimpse of the newborn.

He was both comforted and unsettled by the attention, and unconsciously stepped back with Elsa. Pabbie, sensing this, gave him an encouraging nod to continue. “It’s all right, Your Majesty,” he reassured the king.

Agnarr swallowed. “I’ve come with a difficult – unthinkable – request,” he corrected himself, his voice shaking. “I only make it out of desperation, for the safety and life of the princess.”

At the encouraging and concerned looks of the trolls, he looked down at his child, and laid out the account of his coming to the valley in detail: how he met the queen; her true heritage, and the magic present amongst her folk; the conflict between her people and his father; the fear of magic in Arendelle; the unusual and difficult pregnancy, as well as the premature birth of the princess; and, finally, how Elsa’s powers had manifested earlier that same day.

When he finished, Pabbie asked: “May I take a look, Your Majesty?”

Before Agnarr could inquire as to what he meant, the elder troll conjured a cloud of fine, purple dust that seemed to seep out of the king’s forehead into the air above them, recalling to him the illustration he had seen in the red book. The cloud began to take shape, revealing Agnarr’s memory of seeing Elsa’s powers for the first time. The trolls tittered in astonishment at the magic, and the king watched the scene replay with the same dread and awe as he had just a few hours before.

As the spell came to a close and the cloud faded away, Pabbie looked with wonder upon the babe in the king’s arms. “Truly remarkable,” he murmured.

Agnarr shifted uncomfortably at the remark, and continued: “Yes. And Iduna and I could have borne all of these difficulties, but for one: Elsa has been betrothed to a prince from the Southern Isles since before her birth, as this was the price named by its king for his support in rebuilding Arendelle after the war.” He shook his head. “And that is not one we are willing to pay, after discovering her powers.”

The elder’s brows furrowed. “Why do you fear this king, sire?”

Agnarr frowned. “He is cruel, Grand Pabbie, prone to exploiting whatever unsavory opportunities he can to give himself the greatest advantage over others. While I know my father’s flaws full well, his mistrust of Albert was not one of them. That man…” He sucked in a breath. “He had his own brother killed to hold onto the throne, and has had the audacity to claim the death was a ‘tragic accident’ ever since.”

The trolls murmured to each other with wide eyes at this revelation, but Pabbie’s brow merely rose while he otherwise remained calm. “And you fear that he would bring the same harm to the princess, or otherwise seek to use her to bad ends,” he surmised.

Agnarr nodded. “Yes. We’re quite certain he would, which is why…” He trailed off, staring down at his child through a veil of mourning, and then looked back up at the troll with unspeakable grief. “We do not have the means to conceal her powers forever, nor would we even know how to do so.” His eyes closed, and he trembled. “It was by the queen’s request that I come here, and ask that you look after Elsa in our place. I had hoped we could ask you to remove her powers instead, but my wife forbid it.”

The trolls gave a collective gasp at this admission, with consternated whispers traveling through the crowd. Pabbie raised his hand, quieting the ruckus. “And Her Majesty was right to do so,” he affirmed. “Though, truth be told, it would’ve been impossible for me to fulfill such a request, even if you had asked it of me. There exists no such power in this world.” He paused, glancing at the child. “Does anyone else know that you’ve brought her here?”

“No,” Agnarr replied. “Her birth had not been announced, and I told the physician and servants that the princess died shortly after her birth.” He reddened. “Truthfully, I’m not sure they believed it.”

The elder was quiet for a while at this, and stared with sympathy at the child, who continued to flitter between sleep and wakefulness. “Her power will only grow with time,” he said. “There is beauty in her magic, but also great danger.” He gazed up at the king. “You did the right thing in bringing her to us, Your Majesty. We can raise her as one of our own, and teach her to use this great power for good. But…” The troll’s eyes softened. “Are you sure you want to do this? For if you do, she will never know you as her father, nor the queen as her mother—nor will you be able to see her again, lest you risk raising suspicions about her parentage.”

With tears trickling down his cheeks, Agnarr assented with a tiny nod. “Yes,” he murmured.

Pabbie bowed his head. “So be it.”

The trolls watched in silence, waiting; Agnarr, shaking, held onto his child for as long as he could, and then knelt down, his tears falling onto her cheek. He removed one riding glove to wipe it away, and then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. Removing the scarf from around his neck, he wrapped it around the princess as he drew her up from the sling, and whispered:

“Goodbye, my sweet Elsa.”

With weak hands, he handed her to an older, matronly troll who had stepped forward from the crowd to stand beside Pabbie. As the exchange was completed, the king stifled his sobs, as did the trolls surrounding him, who watched the scene with oddly human tears streaming down their stony features.

Pabbie placed a surprisingly warm hand on his shoulder. “It will be all right, Your Majesty. Rest assured that she will live well and happily in the Valley, in harmony with nature and her magic.”

The gesture was of little comfort to Agnarr, who continued to cry. At length, Pabbie took the king’s ungloved hand in his, and with the other he removed one of the jewels from his necklace. He chanted a brief incantation under his breath that turned the mineral from green to purple, and then pressed it into Agnarr’s palm.

“Crush this gem into fine powder when you return to the castle,” he instructed, “and mix just a few grains of that into the drink or food of anyone who saw the princess alive. It will ensure that their memories of her are erased, and confirm your story about the queen’s miscarriage.”

Agnarr wiped his tears away with the heel of his gloved palm. “I will,” he nodded. “Thank you.” After a moment, he felt his lips quivering again. “Grand Pabbie…”

The troll was attentive, holding the king’s hand. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

The king swallowed uneasily. “I hate to ask this, or even think of it yet, but… if Iduna and I have another child, will it also—”

“Have powers?” Pabbie finished. Agnarr nodded, red-faced. “No, sire,” the troll assured him. “It is highly unlikely. Such magic only comes along once in a generation, if at all.”

“You’re sure of this?” Agnarr asked.

“Yes,” the troll repeated, and added in a kinder tone: “You needn’t worry.”

The king could not help but release a small sigh of relief, though it was soon replaced by a deep look of regret as he heard the princess gurgle from within the scarf with which she had been wrapped.

He stood, turning away. “I should go, now, before my presence is missed,” he murmured, and the trolls parted to clear a path for him back to Sigurd. The horse watched his return with impatience, knocking the ground beneath him with one hoof for emphasis, and Agnarr quickly untied him.

As the king slotted one foot into a spur, he was surprised to find Pabbie before him again, staring with understanding and warmth so pure that it caused him to shudder.

“Your Majesty,” the troll said softly, “I promise that we will keep her safe.”

Agnarr paused for a moment, staring down at the elder. The dried tracks of his tears were still visible on his face under the moonlight.

“Tell me, Pabbie,” he murmured, “did my mother hesitate, before you erased her memories?”

The troll’s expression lifted in surprise, and then turned wistful. “She loved you very much, sire,” he said. “Were it not for her fear of your father’s reprisal, she would have taken you with her.”

Fresh tears brimmed in Agnarr’s eyes. “Answer the question, Pabbie.”

The old troll sighed. “Of course she did. To give up a child… it is the most difficult decision in the world. But she knew you would suffer more, if she raised you in her condition.” He gazed up at the king with a knowing expression. “I know it probably never made much sense to you before, though perhaps it does now.”

Agnarr’s lip quivered, and he found he could not challenge the assertion. Without speaking another word, he swung onto Sigurd’s saddle in one swift, practiced motion, and allowed himself one last glance at his daughter.

“Tell her we loved her,” he said at last, turning away. “Tell her we’ll never forget her.”

Pabbie bowed his head, and the king threw his hood back over his head. Guiding his steed towards the path into the forest, the two set off towards Arendelle at a clip.

In the distance, the child began to cry.

[anonthenullifier]

Tommy get caught making out with his girlfriend pls

Thanks for the ask! I hope you enjoy!

———

With a soft click the last light on the main floor extinguishes, leaving Vision to bask in the serenity of lumenless solitude. It’s a simple joy he gets each night after the others are in bed. Satisfied with the main floor, he rises an inch off the ground, hovering above each step instead of touching it, ostensibly to keep the wood from creaking and waking either of the boys, but truthfully he finds it soothing. 

At the top of the stairs he glances to the right, checking that the doors are shut and the lights off, particularly the bathroom since Tommy has a habit of leaving everything illuminated. It is all blissfully shrouded in night. Vision’s lips curve ever so slightly up, the evening remarkably calm, no squabbles between their sons or unnecessary name calling. Even Tommy managed a mumbled Love you on his way up the stairs. It’s almost too calm. 

Vision shakes away the thought, not even certain where it came from, and begins to head towards his own bedroom. That’s when he hears a pathetic whine from behind, body whipping around until he spots the culprit. “Did he shut you out?” Sparky's ears perk up at the attention, little tail giving a forlorn wag. “That is an easy fix.” Vision hovers back to Tommy’s door and goes to open it, except the handle doesn’t move. “How odd.” They don’t have a locked room policy but neither of their sons has ever locked anyone (especially Sparky) out, likely because a locked door stands little chance against any of their powers. 

As if attuned to his own confusion, Sparky stares up at Vision, head cocked to the side in anticipation of his solution. He could easily phase the lock open, but privacy is a right he wishes to allow his sons. “I suppose you can sleep with us tonight,” the words are meaningless to the dog, head still held at an adorable forty seven degree tilt, one fine tuned to get treats and balls thrown. “Come along,” Vision nods towards the master bedroom, the joyful tapping of nails on the hardwoods hard not to smile at. When they get to the door, Vision sets a single cheeky ground rule, “Keep your paws off my wife, understood?” 

A little sniffle and wag of his tail accepts the rule and Vision opens the door, Sparky racing in and immediately leaping into the bed, trouncing across the duvet until he is laying with his head on Wanda’s stomach and paws on her arm. “Why hello there you handsome man,” Wanda pets his head and Vision provides a good-natured glare at the rule breaker who lacks any sense of regret, or so the lolling tongue suggests, “and hello to you as well Sparky.” Vision shouldn’t feel a sense of victory over a dog, but he can’t help it, especially when Wanda’s eyes alight in flirtatious glee that draws him to sit on the bed. 

“You can thank Thomas for our company.”

Her “Oh?” is cooed at the dog, who has flopped sideways for a belly rub, his back paws discourteously shoved into Vision’s pillow. 

“He locked him out.”

Wanda leans down so that her nose is almost touching Sparky’s as her fingers scrunch behind his ears. “That wasn’t very nice of him.” If one were to imagine the expression of a customer being pampered at the world's most luxurious spa, it would no doubt pale in comparison the overflowing exuberance on the dog’s face. “Probably safest not to be in there anyway.” 

The comment is said with an air of knowingness and a tinge of innuendo. Vision had not even thought about that possibility, truthfully he hadn’t even thought much of the door being locked but it’s likely not an unfair assumption, the boys are teens now, a time he has read is filled with raging hormones and exploration. Perhaps they’ll need to have another talk about boundaries if this becomes the norm.  For now he’ll simply not think anymore about it. 

“Sparky, may I,” he attempts to scoot the paws away from his pillow, but they spring back immediately, forcing Vision to lay down farther than he’d like from Wanda. “This is why he sleeps with Tommy.”

Wanda shrugs, still playing the role of world's best masseuse, “I’m comfy.” 

“That is a relief.” A throw pillow is tossed at his face with a flick of her wrist, except, having been married for so long and understanding the statistical patterns of her reactions, he is able to catch it, pointedly fluffing it before sliding it behind his neck. “Thank you, darling.” What he expects to see next is the purse of her lips, a sign she is striving not to laugh. Her lips are pinched together but there is no amusement to be found on her face, even her hand stalling in petting Sparky. “Is something wrong?”

A tilt of her head to the side sends his autonomic system into action. “Did you check the perimeter?”

“Of course.” He waits for more and when it stays locked behind her lips, he presses on. “Why?”

Scarlet wavers along the blanket, her fingers rising and falling like a puppeteer until she seems to reach a conclusion. “There’s an extra mind in Tommy’s room.” 

The locked door becomes menacing instead of a minor annoyance. “I will check the outside and you—“

“Inside, yep.” 

Vision leans back, phasing through the bed and the wall until he is eight feet above their deck. Through controlled trial and error he knows the best density for stealth, his molecules bursting into a frenzy until he is lighter than air. Only then does he dare fly towards Tommy’s window. It is wide open, concerning and not economical since it will increase their energy costs, not that it is a concern at the moment, but for later.  Window ajar. 

Door still locked. Confirmed second mind in his room. Not Billy. 

If Wanda recognized the mind, she would alert him. I will proceed inside. Vision breathes in, always wanting just a second to settle all raging thoughts, and then he phases into the room, Mindstone glowing faintly so as not to alert the intruder. With hushed breath, Vision inches forward, noting what appears to be Tommy on his side, pajama clad back facing him. 

Nothing seems amiss, other than the open window and extra mind. It is unsettling. Vision increases his auricular and ocular sensors as he continues to investigate, hands lifting into stance #5 of Natasha’s recommended hand to hand combat defenses.

There is a quiet smacking noise, a recognizable one though he can not place it, and then there is a...giggle, not belonging to his son. It is when he notices the splay of dark hair on the pillow that it all clicks. Oh. Vision begins to back up, not desiring to intrude further even if he also has this instinctive need to interrupt, but he quells that. 

I’m coming in. The three quarters of a second it takes him to process Wanda’s comment is half a second too long, his abort mission not arriving until after the door opens with a very noticeable click 

This is when everything erupts into chaos.

A pillow is thrown through his face simultaneously with a, “What the fuck, dad!” and what sounds like a shriek from Tommy’s bedfellow. Then a blur of green fills the room, Tommy grabbing onto Vision’s semi-transparent waist and hauling him towards the door, just as Vision’s politeness kicks in with a cheerful, “Terribly sorry for interrupting.”

And then they are in the hallway, the door shut behind Tommy, whose face is contorted in rage and breath is uneven. Wanda stands frozen, hands raised and shimmering, her eyes bouncing between Tommy and himself. Tommy only looks at Vision, voice shaking, “What are you doing coming through my wall?”

“Was that,” Vision mentally reconstructs everything as best he can, “was Lisa in there with you?”

All at once the anger is knocked off their son’s face and replaced with a completely fake innocence, “Who’s Lisa?” It doesn’t even take the entire time for Vision’s brows to rise for Tommy to realize the misstep. “I um meant, um,” 

Wanda doesn’t allow him to flounder, oddly. “Is she still in there?”

Perhaps it is the Young Avenger’s training on being interrogated or the fact Tommy’s thoughts are always racing away from responsibility, but he won’t even answer this question, “I don’t um know what you’re talking about.”

A deep, disappointed sigh comes from his wife before she wraps Tommy in red and drags him from the door. “I’m taking her home.” With that she disappears into the room, light peeking out from under the door and muffled words floating through the wood. 

All Vision can do is stare at Tommy, lost in what exactly to say in this situation. Unfortunately, Tommy doesn’t share the same hesitation. “You know Billy does this all the time,” the door to his twin’s room opens slightly, “he just can block mom’s powers from noticing” and then it shuts with an aggrieved click. Wonderful. 

“Um well,” Vision isn’t sure why he falters so gloriously, as a father he’s expected to handle these things and yet this wasn’t in the books he read while Wanda was pregnant nor in the literature on problem behaviors at school, “perhaps you help your mother take Lisa home and we will discuss this in the morning.”

-----

“I think we just ground him for a couple days,” the last word is muffled and more syllables than necessary, ending only when Wanda stifles her yawn. 

This is what she suggested before leaving to take Lisa home and what he has been mulling over until she returned. “But under what rule is he being punished?”

There is not actually any rule thus far uttered in the Maximoff household concerning sneaking in significant others. An oversight, clearly, and yet Vision knows that what happened is wrong, he just cannot find a suitable reason beyond that it feels wrong. “Curfew?”

This he considered. Unless otherwise specified, the boys must be back by 9pm on a school night and 12am on the weekends. “But he was home and we never explicitly specified that curfew applies to their friends or partners.”

Wanda does not suffer this sort of agonizing rumination, “He was hiding it, he knew it was wrong.”

A truth and annoyance because it’s not like they don’t allow their sons alone time when their significant other is over. He recalls and empathizes with the thrill of young love and the need for solitude. Which brings him to the next point of scrutiny, “But does it not feel hypocritical to punish him for this when we broke international law to do the same thing?” 

“I thought you said that was a false equivalency?”

It is, insofar as there are too many confounding variables for their lawbreaking tryst to be considered equal with the current indiscretion and yet…”Tommy will leverage it against us.”

“Good thing he doesn’t know how often we break compound PDA rules...”

Another hypocrisy if they hand down a harsh sentence. “Again, does it not feel incongruous to punish him when we commit the same offense? We did sully the billiard table last week…”

“That was fun.”

“It was.” The way she stretches out, head propped up on her hand and robe fluttering open along her thigh, he’d recidivate in a heartbeat. Which is why he stops his heart long enough to finish their conversation. “But how can we hold him to a higher standard than us, when we, as cognitively mature individuals act similarly? Authoritative parenting requires us to explain the logic of our punishments.”

Their eyes meet in joint contemplation, the weight of the topic forming endearing wrinkles on his wife’s brow. “You say we act similarly,” her voice is steady, distant as if it is hauling the reasoning in though isn’t sure it will make it, “but you always calculate our odds of being caught or harming someone else with our actions.”

It is a structural equation model he keeps to himself, one that even the thought of calculating sends electric thrills along his spine. “I do and we tend to have a threshold set of when it is and is not acceptable.” The billiard table, for instance, had an 87% chance of not being caught and, with proper sanitation, a relatively low impact on others. 

“Do you think Tommy put much thought into tonight?” Knowing their son the extent of effortful planning was likely how to get her into the house. “He seemed surprised when Lisa’s dad was furious.” 

Vision isn’t surprised at the man’s reaction but is perturbed that was not even a thought to Tommy. When entering all the variables into his model, Tommy had a dismal 10% chance of success and a rather high 87.5% chance of harming someone else. “How do we handle this alongside the accusation lobbed at Billy?”

Deviousness parts her lips, hair dancing along her shoulders as she nods, “I have a great idea.”

----

This formation, with mom and dad in the armchairs, hands linked over the chasm between the armrests, and Billy next to him on the couch is the formation of doom. The silence that lays heavy over the room is the warm up to the interrogation. Tommy braces himself for what’s to come. 

“Would you like to explain your reasoning for last night’s actions?” Dad is always so damn calm, irises not even budging to betray any sign of how bad this will go. 

Tommy knows there isn’t a right answer here, and honestly, he doesn’t exactly have a good reason and annoyingly Billy played dumb last night when he begged him for advice. Apparently throwing him under the bus was an asshole move. After the bad lie last night, Who’s Lisa a fantastic way to piss everyone off (especially Lisa), he defaults to short and sweet (fingers crossed) honesty. “Thought it would be fun.” It was, until dad interrupted. 

There’s no immediate response, not even a blink, the entire room focused on his continued idiocy. “I see.” That’s never what he wants to hear from dad. 

“You two have to understand that!” His arms sputter about, trying to drag their attention to what they all know. “At least I’m not breaking the law.”

Mom scowls. Shit. “Very different circumstances.” 

“Yeah, yours was way worse.” No no no, why can he not just shut up like Billy, that Grecian statue next to him, ramrod straight and eyes dead to the world. 

The shared look, one that means the infamous mind voodoo is at play, an entire conversation occurring between mom and dad that only he can’t access, assuming Billy is brave enough to tap into it. If he is, he’s not sharing with Tommy. “You are right.”

Wait…”What?”

Dad isn’t capable of something so casual as a shrug, but the leisurely blink of his eyes and dip of his chin is roughly equivalent. “We understand the reasoning. Your mother and I are intimately,” gross, “familiar with the thrill of skirting rules of affection.”

If this isn’t his punishment, heaven help him. “No details needed.”

Billy’s “Please,” is practically silent. 

Mom smirks and he fears the worst, until she speaks, “Which is why we aren’t grounding you,” hallelujah, “this time,” fair enough. “But going forward you can’t do this. Either of you.” 

An I hate you drops into his mind. Tommy tries to send back a No you don’t but Billy has already shuttered their connection. “Agreed, so…” Tommy stands from the couch, hands brushing away the discomfort of the meeting, “we’re good, right?”

Dad’s “No,” ties itself around his waist and yanks him back onto the cushion. “Given Lisa was not so fortunate in her punishment,” she’s been forbidden from seeing him again, but Tommy isn’t planning on abiding by that, assuming she wants to see him again, “I believe a long talk about respect for your partner and the need for consensual, in depth decision making when it comes to risk taking is in order. You both are still too young and cognitively immature to fully weigh impulsiveness and so we would like to walk through a variety of scenarios to work through this topic.”

He’d rather die. “Can I just be grounded instead?”

Scarlet outlines mom’s pupils as she stares him down, “No.”

Dad clears his throat, needlessly pulling a painfully thick packet of stapled papers from behind him. The transition into his academic voice is only the first sign that their torture will be unrelenting. “Scenario 1: you and your paramour are driving down the road when they suggest a rather risqué activity…”

Tommy accepts that today marks the loss of his soul and all ability to feel alive, all to the chorus of Billy’s reaffirmation in his mind: I hate you so much. 

[spilledkauffie]

I Feel It Again, The Pull. . .

Pairing: Ben Solo x ForceSensitive!Reader Word Count: 2.4k T/W: intrusive thoughts, physical harm (blood, bruises), death idealisation, fluff at the end A/N:  vent fic, yiiikes! (song I binged)

Please read at your own discretion, Loves! Don’t read if it’ll trigger you! Take care of yourself and your mental health first!

Your visions brought you back to the same place, yet you never knew exactly where you were. It was dark, always dark and you were always alone. There was a stillness surrounding you, but the air was uneasy, wind whipped against you. Small granules of salt scraped across the surface of your skin, if you stood there long enough, you were certain they’d begin to leave reddening scratches; somehow burning while remaining cold. Looking down, you saw the familiar cove of water, it crashed against the rocks methodically, violently. Sea foam climbed the rocks as if they were hands reaching up for you. For a moment the rocks looked soft and frothy, like clouds against a dark background. But when the water receded the sharp points were again revealed. So there you stood.

When the visions had first begun you were scared. They frightened you, even within them you had tried to escape, run, call for help, something. But now it scared you more that you didn’t mind being stuck within them, at times they had seemed better than reality. You’d become familiar with standing on the edge of what you didn’t know, and had given up trying to find out. Crossing your arms around each other, as if hugging yourself, you breathed. This time you didn’t look down, you closed your eyes and swayed with the wind, it was pushing you, calling to you, “come.” You exhaled and let the wind sweep you off your feet, beginning to fall forward--

A gentle, but firm touch brought you back. . . to the marketplace. Your eyes were wide and your breathing was silently heavy in your chest. Turning your head slightly, you met Ben’s face. He looked worried. You suddenly became aware of the pain you were inflicting on yourself; your nails dug deep into the skin of your forearm. Releasing your grip, minorly shocked yourself that you hadn’t felt it sooner, your hand hovered shakily over the place it had just been attached to. Little purple crescents were already forming from where your nails had been. 

Looking up, you hoped you hadn’t been gone for very long, “y-yes?” You asked, feeling as though you’d missed an important question. 

Ben was still for a moment, eyebrows knitting a little further together, before he tried to return to a normal expression best he could, “I just asked if you saw the necklaces?” 

His voice was soft and quiet, sounding like a much softer space you could get lost in. He pointed with the opposite hand that wasn’t touching you to the small little ugnaught holding out a necklace out towards you. She was trying very hard to make the best possible display of the gathered shells.

“Oh,” you followed his point, seeing the small figure stretching out its arms up at you, trying her best to show you the necklace, you exhaled, “yes,” forcing a smile, that you desperately wanted to be real, “they’re so lovely. I’d like to get this one specifically.” 

The child smiled and giggled, overjoyed with her first sale. Rushing back to her parents at the booth with the credits you had handed her, they quickly, but gently, reminded her that she’d forgotten to actually give you the item in her excitement. With a blushed shyness she walked back towards you a little. 

“It’s okay,” you assured her, ironic, those words coming out of your mouth.

She draped the shells in your hand and skipped back to find a new one to showcase for her new found public. You glanced down at your hand, the voice you had heard in your vision spoke again, this time in a whisper, crush them, break them, you don’t deserve something so precious, you never should have taken them from that innocent child— you twitched your head to the side for a moment as if in pain; it was rare that it spoke to you outside of the visions and that still frightened you. Ben’s hand was still on your arm and you felt his hand slip down into yours, softly bringing you to walk with him again. You tucked the necklace safely into your satchel, before you actually did anything. 

“They said it’s the rarest shells in the whole desert,” Ben explained as you walked along, “she made it herself.”

“They did?” You asked, to yourself, wondering how much more you’d missed, “they’re lovely.”

Ben turned to look at you, curious at the repetition that was usually not like you. He noticed the dazed look across your face. Then flicked his gaze down to your arm, where the partially swollen crescents were turning into bruises. Your hand was loose in his, you made no attempt to hold his back. Your head was somewhere else. Ben tried to connect with you, but he just saw darkness, to him it was quiet, he didn’t see what you did and he never heard the voice you heard. He tried again, but nothing. Looking to you for any sign of...well, anything he found nothing. He saw you wince and furrow your eyebrows again.

“Are you feeling okay? You look a little tired,” He asked, no answer, “we’ve been in the sun for a while maybe we should-“

“I’m fine Kylo,” you snapped, faster than you thought about the words. He swallowed at hearing that name again; both of you paused. Lowering your head swiftly, you bit your tongue, slowly until you tasted traces blood. Already you were hurting other people, just as you feared; a sudden longing for that darkened fall came to mind, was that selfish? “Ben, I meant Ben.”

Knowing he didn’t mean to, he gave you a smirk that made you feel worse, “it’s getting late anyway,” he gestured towards the suns, shrugging, “we should head home.”

You nodded, not wanting to say another thing, for fear of knives coming out instead of words. In the beginning you wondered why he hadn’t been able to sense it all inside your head, then you realised no one could ever understand what was really going on inside of you. Methodically, you followed Ben’s steps home, hand still in his. The evening was silent, you kept to yourself as much as possible despite how Ben tried to continually draw you into conversations, you answered in short and insisted it was simple because ‘he was right earlier’ and you were just ‘tired.’

You retired to your shared bedroom early, but as much as you tried to find sleep, it evaded you. Staring at the wall in the dark, you almost forgot to blink, you were so lost in your mind. Darkness came when you least wanted it, but when you actually wanted it as relief it was as if it didn’t exist, only making you long for it further. Knowing it was wrong, you tried to think of all the beautiful things in your life. You realised they didn’t necessarily need you, ‘life would go on, you’d be-, you tried, harder than ever to push the voice back. Your eyes burned from not blinking now, why were you doing this to yourself? 

It was such an effort mentally that it physically affected you; finding your lip quivering and eyes watering you held your breath when Ben came to bed. You felt the bed shift as he carefully as he tried not to disturb you. He leaned over to you, kissing your cheek with a soft, “I love you,” before he turned to settle on his side of the bed.

Exhaling, you blinked. Those were just the words you needed. Hearing his voice saying those words sounded better than any voice in your head could offer. Ben’s words reminded you that you were loved, you were needed, and you were priceless to him. His life would not just ‘go on’ without you. . . 

However, the peace only lasted a moment, the voice still tried to convince you otherwise. A momentary, but vivid, vision pulled you in. The wind was stronger this time, the voice was louder, not a whisper but a scream. Even as you tried to keep your feet steady on the edge it nudged you forward. Snapping back to reality just before the fall, you found sleep to be pointless and abandoned any attempt at it. Getting up, you made your way to the bathroom where you stared into the mirror.

It took the breath out of you. This vision wasn’t over, your reflection wasn’t your own, or at least not how you wanted to see yourself. There was a brewing darkness. The eyes staring back at you were tinged with a glowing amber, ‘come closer,’ your reflection spoke. You felt it, a pull, a physical pull, to the glass. ‘You’re no good there,’ the reflection told you, ‘come,’ you lifted your hand, but stopped; a rescuing “I love you” rang louder for once. 

Before you knew what was happening you heard your name being yelled fervidly. Looking to your left you found Ben, disheveled and out of breath in the doorway. Glancing to the mirror, there was nothing there anymore. You then followed Ben’s glance down to the hand you had in front of you. Your fingers were balled into a fist, it was streaked with red droplets making their way down your forearm. 

Breathing heavily you swallowed, “Ben?” you asked, as if really asking what had happened.

“You’re okay, it’ll be okay,” he immediately rushed to you, only the slightest worry in his voice, “it’s okay.” 

You practically fell into his arms, dazed. He sat you on the edge of the tub and crouched down to your level, dark messy hair in his face. You watched as he gently used the force to pull any glass from your skin, after that he blotted your forearm down before touching you, transferring some healing force into you. The wound healed in no time and you wished the wounds in your mind could be patched that easy. There were tears in your eyes that you hadn’t even felt form, but they were there and they were streaming down your cheek.

“You’re okay. . .you’re okay,” Ben said repeatedly, as he looked up, caressing your hand and pressing his lips against your skin; in truth he was more so assuring himself that you were okay. He let the silence settle before he spoke, “can- can you tell me what happened?”

You avoided his eyes, absolutely stunned that you didn’t even remember hitting the mirror.

“Sweetheart-” he was about to try again, when you softly cut him off.

“There’s a dark violence, a voice, within me,” you explained, quietly and slowly for fear of sounding crazier than you already felt, “I thought it was gone for a while, but it’s back and it’s more powerful than I think I can handle alone.”

You looked to meet his eyes, they were warm, they always were when he looked at you. He didn’t look at you like you were crazy, he didn’t look at you and pretend to understand everything, he looked at you because he was listening. The first person you’d ever met who just listened, so you let him in more.

“I have these thoughts,” you took a deep breath, “I’m standing at an edge, and sometimes I give in, sometimes I stay still, but sometimes it drags me down,” you looked directly to him, “but...this last time, I couldn’t stop it, I didn’t have a choice,” your chest heaved; you felt the tears form this time, and you were reminded how much you hated crying, “I’m scared, Ben,” you admitted, attempting to steady your voice, “I’m more scared than I’ve ever been before.”

He nodded, hand still holding yours, the other resting atop your knee softly, just to let you know he was physically there and so were you. 

“I want to help you, in any way I can,” Ben began, “but I will not pretend to know how to do that.”

You sniffled a little, looking down and nodding subtly, silently thanking him for being honest, instead of pretending he had answers.

“I can tell you how much I don’t want you to take that step though,” Ben lifted your chin with a finger, “I don’t want you to go, you’re still needed here, you’re loved here and,” he lifted his eyebrows, softly smiling, “and maybe I’m selfish, but I need you here more than you know.” 

You shook your head, “that’s not selfish,” suddenly your throat felt tight again, as if the tears were caught there, stopping you from breathing, “that’s just love I don’t deserve.”

Ben hushed a quiet, ‘no, no, sweetheart,’ caressing your cheek as you lowered your face crying. Your forehead pressed down against his, he felt your tears against his cheek and heard you try to soften your cries best you could.

Trying not to cry himself at seeing you in such a pain he could not understand nor see himself, he assured you with his presence, “you deserve more love than you know and even more than I can give, that’s why I need you to show yourself some too.”

You pulled back slightly confused, and Ben continued, “I can’t see inside your mind, but I do know that these visions do not define you,” He brought both his hands to your face, thumbs wiping away your tears, even though they continued to fall, “I know that it is really hard to believe you’re something better than your worst parts, but there’s so much more to you that I want you to see it.”

You didn’t know how to respond, you just stared at him, tear stained skin and wet eyes, reddened from crying. For once you didn’t think about how you looked, because you were feeling something you’d never felt before, a true genuine care, that you’d never even given yourself.

“And that’s what I can be here to do,” he smiled, “to remind you that there’s so much love in you; you need to give yourself some of it. Can you do that, for yourself, for me?”

“I can try,” you responded.

“That’s enough,” he said immediately, “your trying is tougher than you know.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice slightly hoarse from all the previous crying.

He lifted himself slightly, just enough to wrap his arms around you, bringing you closely and softly into a hug. You responded, slipping your arms around him, pressing your face into the side of his neck. The tips of his hair tickled your nose as you nuzzled against his warm skin. You clung to him, and relaxed in his embrace, exhaling a breath you felt had been trapped in you for years. 

He felt so safe, he felt like home.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Hjarta (Ivar’s PoV)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Hjarta: heart (Old Norse)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: Ivar’s perspective between the moment before he whispers “Kiss me” in chapter 31 to right before the beginning of chapter 32

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: The usual, sub soft Ivar, I hope you don’t mind

A/N: About the gif choice, no, he doesn’t say that yet, I just love that gif.

So, a lovely anon put the idea in my head of giving you guys Ivar’s perspective on the ending of yesterday’s chapter. Here goes nothin’ :)

Also, a few times I reference something, a line or a feeling, from Ivar’s thoughts during þrá, the first PoV I wrote of him. YOU CAN FIND IT HERE

You end the kiss with a tenderness that keeps him tethered, dangling at the edge of a cliff and willing to lean forward without a second thought if he could just have you kiss him again.

He curses his weakness. He curses himself for not killing who he once was, desperate for love and softness. He���

His eyes open and meet yours. There’s unfamiliar affection in the way your hand still on his face caresses his skin; there’s familiar madness, familiar fire, in the smile you offer him.

And more than ever it all feels like a mirage.

The mirage of red he saw across a battlefield, words of love for a dead man on her lips before the softness was shed in exchange for the war cry of a Valkyrie.

The mirage of red that stood across from him with a bloodied ring on her finger, smiling at him like the world was just this, kissing him like in another life she’d loved him.

And now once again, the vision draped in red that makes a current go through his body at her touch, that robs him of breath and of thought and of control; stands before him.

And Ivar knows if he moves the illusion will fade, the mirage will vanish before his eyes.

He’s frozen, tethered.

“Kiss me.”

And you do, taking his breath and his heart and his sanity, but giving back so much more.

His hands find purchase wherever they can, however they can to keep you here, keep you with him.

After months -a lifetime- of longing, of madness, of desperation; he kisses you hungrily. Ivar is greedy for every touch of your tongue, for every breath you share, for every sound he can earn for himself.

He knows he should slow down, treasure this, put thoughts back in his head and stave off the bubble of panic inside of him that whispers this is a mirage, this will fade, this is nothing. But he can’t, he’s ravished and desperate and right now -a chimera or not- there’s only you and the painful ecstasy of finally having you within reach.

Your voice echoes in his head with a moan of his name, breathy and soft.

His chest hurts, as if his heart, wild and no-longer-his, wants to give in to the lull of your voice.

But your lips are a breath away from his, your weight is soft against his legs but you still hold yourself up, his wife looks at him with what he could fool himself into thinking is love in her eyes but he’s made the promise to let you go.

And he isn’t enough. Enough to have you kiss him again, enough to be able to hold your weight against him, enough to make you stay.

Enough to give you what you want from him, enough to be what you want.

And he is suddenly again a weak and pathetic boy trying to will his prick to work before a woman that looks on in disgust, he’s desperate and angry and wants the Gods to answer why.

You scramble off of him when he pushes you, and he wishes there weren’t a seat at his back because more than anything he wants to move away, further way from you, from this…this want.

He tells you, or tries to. Tries reminding you that the man you married cannot satisfy a woman, that you vowed to be the wife to one cursed by the Gods themselves.

But you don’t listen, of course you don’t. Stubborn, maddening woman.

He can’t look at you when he admits his shame, his failing, but he still feels you step forward again, and you render him helpless with but a touch, forcing his eyes to meet yours, guiding his face up so he can meet your kiss.

Ivar cannot keep himself from sighing against your lips, surrendering to the heady feeling of your mouth softly pressing against his, finding quiet in the moment where your breaths are one, forgetting everything at the soft curve of your smile.

Your eyes meet his, and you quieten his protests, his warnings, his pleas that you let him make sense of the world by accepting this -him- isn’t truly something you can want; with a stubborn shake of your head, as if the answer is simple, as if anything is simple even now that you both stand before something new.

“What I need is you,” You whisper, your hand leaving a burning trail down his chest before your palm presses against his heart. Ivar is certain you can feel it beating wildly under your touch, and his eyes search yours desperately as you press your brow to his. Your voice is low and that familiar blend of soft and fierce when you whisper, “What I want is this.”

____

You’ve moved back from him and settled in bed a few moments ago, but once the daze of being pliant and safe in your embrace vanishes Ivar cannot help but start questioning what just happened, what new enemy his facing, what height the cliff he just jumped off -you pushed him off- of was.

Your words from earlier taunt him, your own thoughts are what drives you mad most of the time; and he knows you’re probably -insufferably- right.

Ivar uses his arms to move himself onto the bed, somewhat unmoored by the revelation of being what you want -need- and the hesitation of admitting you are what he wants -needs-; but still finding comfort in the strange familiarity of this routine where both of you live in each other’s space like it is nothing, like you’re bound by the same thread.

From where you are, already settled on your side of the bed, he notices you playing with the golden snake he gifted you a while ago, the bracelet you wear so often he wonders if he should buy you something else.

It is usually not a good thing when you’re quiet. Your voice seems to be perpetually stuck in his head for a while now, and so Ivar cannot help but notice with jarring discomfort each time you’re unusually quiet.

“What are you thinking about?”

You put the bracelet on the small table by your side of the bed, before you turn to him and shrug.

“You.”

You are sitting up on your knees next to him, and the touch of your hand in his is familiar. Ivar dares think it means the same to you as he watches your gaze lower to your joined hands.

When once again lift your face, he notices your attention travel to his lips for a moment, and it fills him with a strange pride, a thrilling warmth, to know you want him.

It is a barely a moment, a blink of his eyes and it is gone, but he sees in your eyes the same darkness he saw when he tasted your blood on his tongue earlier tonight.

“I want you, Ivar,” You say, and with the way the simple words make his chest hurt, his heart falter, all he can offer is a hum. A sound, that sounds distant and muffled as his heart beats madly in his ears. You lean closer, lips a breath’s width from his, “However I can have you.”

Not even the binds that keep Fenrir in place would have kept him from kissing you then.

He is on his back on the bed, just like then, and his hands are trembling, just like then. But the press of your body against his is as soothing as it is maddening, and you seal promises that this isn’t a mirage, that this is not yet another failure, against his lips.

For all the months he couldn’t, for all the moments you pulled away, for all the years he’s spent without you, Ivar pulls you to him, claims your mouth and with his hands he draws you closer.

The length of your body is pressed against his, one of your hands tentatively reaching under his shirt and making him wish he had the words to tell you how you don’t have to hesitate, how he wishes you to devour him, to undo him and leave nothing but want in its place, to claim the body that is yours to do as you wish as ruthlessly as you’ve claimed his heart.

Nothing has ever felt like this, this maddening whirlwind of feeling nothing but you and your taste and your smell and the feel of you against him, thinking nothing but how to get you to be closer.

And once again, he knows he should slow down, he knows he should treasure this, but you rob him of every thought, of every breath, of every ounce of control.

And he cannot stop himself, he feels untethered and yet bound, and he kisses and licks and bites and sucks and…Gods, he’s wanted this for so long, wanted you for so long. Ivar moans against your skin, and a satisfied laugh that sounds dark and hoarse leaves your lips, leaving a current to run down his spine.

It is without a warning your hand tightens on his hair, a gasp on your lips that is lost in the moan you draw out of Ivar. You move back, using your grip on his hair to move him back too and look at him, and it takes all of his resolve for Ivar to keep his eyes from fluttering shut.

But, of course, you notice regardless.

“You like it when I pull on your hair, don’t you?” You ask, voice hoarse and yet annoyingly smug when you smile down at him.

“How can you-…” How can you just talk, even now? For a moment Ivar feels the sudden apprehension that this doesn’t mean the same to you, that he doesn’t affect you the way you do him, that you don’t want him like he wants you. But your shoulders rise and fall quickly, and the evidence of him is written in the faint marks on your neck, on your lips that still bear the mark of his kiss. Ivar’s mouth curves as he runs his thumb over your bottom lip. “You never shut up, do you?”

“Not even this could shut me up, you should know better than to expect otherwise.” You mumble in response, before your gaze falls from his and you are seemingly distracted, leaning down and starting a maddening and burning trail of kisses down the column of his throat.

Ivar feels like Gleipnir binds him, makes him give in to your will, and he can’t keep his head from tilting back to give you more access to his skin the same way the wolf cannot break free.

“This,” He repeats, and you only hum in response, not giving anything away. Ivar feels the familiar tinge of anger at being put on the spot, forced to voice his thoughts. But he has to know. “Why now? What changed? I-I don’t understand.”

You stop the maddening trail of your lips on his skin, but you don’t move back just yet, torturing Ivar with the caress of your breaths on the skin your attention made feel hot and flushed.

“Everything changed, or nothing did,” You reply after a few moments, repeating words from before. Leaning back and meeting his eyes, you explain, “I told you once that if you had asked, I would have said yes,” Ivar grits his teeth at the reminder, at the memory of the coldness that took hold of him that night, when you kissed him and with bitter words promised him he could have had everything he’d ever wanted if only he had done things differently. You continue, a slight smile on your lips, “It took me…it took me time, and change, but…I realized I didn’t need you to ask, I didn’t need you to demand. I needed only to make my choice to…”

“Cave?” He supplies with a smile, succeeding in making you roll your eyes.

“I don’t cave.” You remind him, but the smile that curves your mouth gives you away, and after a moment you breathe a laugh.

Ivar chuckles quietly at the sight of you, exasperated yet soft as you look at him.

And with that lightness, with that quick beating of the heart that isn’t his anymore, he kisses you again.

____

Ivar loses track of time in the thrill of this, so he wouldn’t be able to say how long it has been, or how far the dawn is. All he knows is that he remains tethered in this dance where you get close enough you burn him from his hollow chest to the tips of his fingers only to then move back and leave him feeling the softness of the dull warmth that soaks into his very bones.

Now he’s enveloped by warmth, your small hand playing with the amulet of Thor that hangs from his neck, your soft breaths and the crackling of the fire the only sound in the room.

His fingers trail up and down the skin of your back, because he can, because he wants to, because…how many times did he wish to be able to do just this?

How many times in all the mornings and nights since you started that little ritual where he helps you with your dress has Ivar imagined what it would be like to give in, to have the steadiness to touch you freely, to be allowed to soak up your warmth and your softness?

You sigh, content, and move closer to him. You’re on your side and so is he, and when you move your legs brush against his, and Ivar cannot help the pang of cold, of old anger, of hesitation and pathetic fear.

But he doesn’t move away, he just continues the soft exploration of his hand on your back, and tries dispelling thoughts that remind him of what he is, of what cannot be, of many things he doesn’t want to think about.

Ivar feels the roughened skin that bears the mark of the fire the Christians lit trying to silence you, and yet against all that the sharp-tongued and arrogant Priestess he brought to Kattegat was, you don’t pull back, you remain content and warm in his embrace.

He remembers now with incredulity and more than a bit of anger at himself how he once thought he’d have this once he brought you to Kattegat with him, even if he kept you at his side in chains.

Now, he knows better. And he may have not seen many things clearly when he first brought you to Kattegat, when he first decided to make you his wife, to keep you at his side; but he does know he was right about one thing: one way or another, the Gods Fated this. One way or another, his heart was yours long before he knew it.

____ ____

I had so much fun writing this one, I hope you liked it!

Btw, Gleipnir is the rope with which the Gods bound Fenrir. Stronger than iron, as thin as silk. And yes, it filled me with utterly impure thoughts to think of Ivar and the bindings of Fenrir. C’mon, Ivar tied up with something silky and soft, but not breaking the binds because of something stronger than iron that makes him submit? C’monnnnn (I may or may not be working on a one shot about Ivar and bondage, it may or may not be inspired by the Binding of Fenrir, and that may or may not seep into everything I write atm, sorry lmao)

I hope you liked it, would love to hear your thoughts on this! Thank you so much for reading!! Love ya!

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[askhubertvonvestra]

Which Genshin Impact Vision (elemental abilities) would fit the Black Eagles?

It’s strange, but I do believe this will vary from those elements used by Benders. I imagine it’s due to the perceived facets of the elements that go beyond a simple definition.

Bernadetta von Varley: Dendro. There may be an insightfulness typically associated with those in possession of this Vision that one may not see in Bernadetta at a glance, given her isolated nature. However, I would argue that she is able to find perceive more than others might on account of her prolonged time spent alone with the ability to reflect in peace. She often brings a unique perspective to matters that one might not have considered otherwise, and I do believe that warrants the interest of a being claiming to rule wisdom. As well, the abilities provided by this Vision would cater to her interests in the most unusual plants, I should think. Poisonous creatures would likely strike her as adorable.

Caspar von Bergliez: Pyro. Largely on account of his fearlessness in the face of a challenge, he would make a natural choice for the Lady of Fire to bestow her Vision upon. Not that he would require it, of course. His passion and fervor are more than sufficient without supposedly divine intervention. It is also rather fitting that Pyro can easily interact with every other variety of Vision within this realm. I’ve not met anyone yet who can’t find a way to collaborate with Caspar, despite his boundless enthusiasm that some may find overwhelming. His friendship with Linhardt has shown how adaptable and accommodating he can be of people who, on the surface, appear as his very opposite.

Dorothea Arnault: Anemo. A free spirit is a defining characteristic of Dorothea’s, and I’m certain the being overseeing these Visions would recognize that swiftly. His decision not to smother his people with oppressive rule and permit them worship if they so choose would also resonate with her, no doubt. The talents of Anemo are not as immediately apparent as more combative and responsive Visions, yet the capacity it does have is undeniable should one care to notice. With Dorothea’s own talents concealed behind her showmanship for those who gloss over her based on assumptions, only to later realize their mistake, Anemo is a promising reflection of her character.

Edelgard von Hresvelg: Cryo. The power of prismatic ice, applied in any manner of protection or devastating attacks, is a perfect parallel to Her Majesty’s own considerable strength. Tsaritsa, Archon of Cryo, is one who may also understand the decisions that Lady Edelgard has had to make for the better of humanity. Hers is a compassionate heart that she was forced to harden in the name of her people, so that peace may truly be secured and not merely pretended at by false gods and greedy nobles. Of course, her propensity for powerful strikes for staggering physical damage does support the elemental reactions of this Vision neatly.

Ferdinand von Aegir: Pyro. Similarly to Caspar, he brings a formidable drive to whatever task he undertakes that would presumably still appeal to the entity associated with this vision. His temper would likely draw in the Lady of Fire as well, given her reputation, but one should expect a self-proclaimed god to be so short-sighted. In particular, his ability to change as a situation demands complements the elemental reactions for Pyro. Large damage in a single blow, steady damage as determined by surrounding events, or even a shield to guard allies... Yes, the versatility of Pyro suits Ferdinand quite well.

Hubert von Vestra: Geo. For this realm, Geo seems most suitable for my disposition. The extremely limited range of elemental reactions aside, it seems that a Vision is provided largely due to the individual themselves, unlike the magic of Fódlan. Between the Geo Archon’s own attentive and methodical habits and the protective qualities of Geo, this would be chosen for me rather than being my choice. I’m confident I could find a way to apply this Vision to my combat strategies for the best outcome nonetheless.

Jeritza von Hrym: Electro. The fact that these are no longer being distributed by the Archon, and indeed actively hunted down, almost makes it more ideal for Jeritza, in all honesty. His is a rare resolve, after all. One that arguably exceeds the self-importance and aggrandized air of this Vision’s Archon. She could attempt to wrench it from him if she wished to, and I doubt she would succeed. The emphasis on power and indomitable force affiliated with the Electro Vision does lend itself to Jeritza’s own combative prowess, however. He simply did not let the mentality of that overpower him as wholly as the conceited Archon for Electro did. The powers resulting from Electro are notably more tactical than the Death Knight might employ... Yet I believe Jeritza himself could find them useful.

Linhardt von Hevring: Hydro. Not simply for the healing abilities found with Hydro, this Vision is exceptional for Linhardt. Its reliance on elemental reactions with other Visions to have significant effects in combat would please him, I’m certain. The more distance between him and battle, the better. I presume he learned Physic for that reason. The commitment to equal judgment by the Hydro Archon would also speak to his own nature, I believe. He cares little for the empty perceptions or accusations of others, but he would accept criticisms that had any measure of value to him.

Petra Macneary: Anemo. Much like Dorothea, her open-minded and free nature is undeniable. It is uncharacteristically passive as a Vision for Petra, similarly to how Geo is for me, but she is likewise more than capable of compensating for that by her own merits in battle. I imagine the abilities it provides her would blend seamlessly into her agile fighting style. Truthfully, it would likely be a sight to behold. Her path to freedom for herself and her people has been complex in several aspects, yet she never relents. It is this commitment to free will and the human spirit all people share that empowers her, both in regards to this Vision as well as her position as Princess of Brigid.

[cavalierious-whim]

Kaedehara Kazuha writes poetry and comes to terms with the fact that he's in love.

#

Kazuha came home and I love him. Read here on AO3 for better quality, and follow me here on Twitter!

#

When was the last time he felt the rain upon his face, wondered Kazuha.

“When I allowed myself to,” he said to himself, leaning low over the woodpile as he struck a match over his flint. The sparks were welcome warmth, just like the fire that brewed slowly. Kazuha closed his eyes as he listened to the crackling of leaves, the dry kindling he’d set together.

“Sun-tipped red leaves.” A low murmur as he reached out to hold his fingers near the flames. Basking in the warm glow. It was chilly that night, the dark cover of the stars bringing the cold with it. Liyue was often unpredictable in its climate, much like Inuzama. Sometimes cold, sometimes hot. Always the undercurrent of rain on the wind, humidity settling deep into his bones.

“Burning fire in my soul,” he continued, sighing softly as he watched the orange glow of his campfire. A tired moment after a long day of wandering. Soon he would find his way back to the fleet, but until then, he would enjoy the quiet.

The calm before the storm, as he often said, the wind settling across the vast horizon. The smell of the grass comforted him, but there was rain on the way. In a day or so.

Much like the wind he coveted so much, Kaedehara Kazuha had traveled the world. Floated through time and space, like a soft and subtle breeze as he observed all those around him. It was enjoyable, of course. A young master with a name to claim, he always craved freedom more than the bounty of his family’s wealth.

But, the more that he traveled, the more he longed to settle down. To find companions. To understand the poetry of love. These things weren’t synonymous with the freedom that he sought, his flight on the breath of the world as he flitted from one place to the next.

So, those ideals remained that: merely ideals. Thoughts that he spun into poems on lonely nights like such as this. Whether it was on the Alcor, or here in the Guili Plains, Kazuha’s respite was found in weaving together words as he articulated his careful thoughts into volumes of poetry.

He sat upon a stump. Watched the fire roar. The first two lines of his haiku were fully formed and only waiting for a conclusion. He held his notebook in one hand, graphite in another. The book was heavy with words weighed down with feelings. Nearly full and close to the end until he inevitably started another.

Beidou teased him about his collection in his barracks on the ship. Kazuha only ever smiled back, his quiet grin speaking more volumes than words ever would.

“Sun-tipped red leaves,” he said, repeating his earlier lines, carefully woven together with tranquil intent. “Burning fire in my soul.”

He paused, tapping the graphite against his lip. Nothing came to him, thoughts empty like a dry husk.

You cannot force it, he thought as he set aside his notebook. Kazuha instead, decided to make tea. Pinched together an appropriate amount of leaves and tossed them into a small tin cup settled over the fire. Water from his canteen.

He and Beidou have often fought over this, the proper way to brew something. Cultures were intriguing things.

Kazuha found inspiration the moment he sipped at his tea. Sitting there on his stump as he watched the leaves on the trees rustle. Their colors have only just started to turn with the season.

“Autumn lingers,” he finished, tasting the words on his tongue.

He jotted the poem down entirely, his composition for the night finished.

#

He woke in the middle of the night, thinking of Beidou and the Traveler.

The latter, such an odd one. At first, Kazuha thought him quiet, but Aether turned out to have a devilishly branded sense of humor. Different than Kazuha’s quaint nature. Still, Kazuha had smelled the wind upon him and tasted the breeze.

Perhaps they were kindred souls in that way, craving for freedom in its purest form. Kazuha didn’t know what Aether wanted in Inuzama, but he feared for his safety. There was admiration, of course. Kazuha always found inspiration in those that burned so brightly in their conviction.

But many times, those people were fools. Kazuha was laying under the open stars as he thought of Aether. So similar to his friend of old, the one he’d lost to such foolishness. There wasn’t a doubt in Kazuha’s mind that a similar fate would befall Aether.

Beidou, of course, was the encouraging kind. All smiles and pats on the back if she thought that she could benefit from whatever arrangement was procured. “An eye for an eye,” she often said to Kazuha.

It wasn’t a bad philosophy. Still, it wasn’t always applicable and sometimes wreaked havoc instead of brought boon.

“Electric mayhem,” said Kazuha softly. He lifted a hand and gauged the deep night sky. Measured the stars and the galaxies between his fingers. “Ignites the sparks of fire, amid the darkened skies.”

Another haiku for another moment of observation. Kazuha was tired, deep in his thoughts. The fire was nothing but low-burning embers and he pulled his quilt tighter around him.

I will write it down tomorrow, he thought. The twinkling stars were a better show anyhow.

#

Kazuha had met Aether more times than he did most. Beidou’s gaze was a sly thing earlier that day as she watched them, thumb against her chin.

He didn’t like that look. It was her scheming one, and it bred more damage than it did good. Kazuha wasn’t in the mood to clean up any messes.

They were dispatched together to handle a minor inconvenience. Kazuha felt honored to watch Aether fight again. To taste the power he wielded so effortlessly on his tongue. Visionless, but no less a vision himself.

Kazuha watched, his throat going dry. Swallowing was hard. Looking away was harder. Instead, he watched Aether for most of the day, stringing together word after word in his mind. Aether’s form was poetic in its nature, so much like Kazuha’s own.

Aether moved with subtle and serene grace, weapons held aloft as he danced around their foes. He didn’t like to fight, didn’t like to draw his blade. That was something they shared.

Later that night, while sitting around a shared fire, Aether turned to him and said, “You were quiet today.”

“I am often,” said Kazuha in return.

“Beidou said otherwise.”

Kazuha smiled at that. “Beidou’s first and foremost trait is that she is always contrary.”

Aether hummed as he considered this. “There are worse things, I suppose. She’s upfront with her distrust.”

“Not distrust; Beidou just always has another motive, usually one that benefits herself.”

Their silence for most of the night was comforting. Aether was just as content to watch nature, as Kazuha was to pen his thoughts. His little notebook was a permanent fixture in his fingers as of late.

Particularly due to Aether’s enduring presence. Kazuha couldn’t help but think of the man. They’d spent much time together over the weeks, confirming Kazuha’s initial inklings: Aether was just like his old friend.

Perhaps a little more cautious. If there was a person who could end the Shogun, he might be it, though Kazuha wouldn’t hold his breath.

Beidou asked him a few days back. “What would you do if he challenged her straight on?” Perceptive as always, Kazuha had thought.

“Nothing,” he’d told her, though the words were hollow the moment they left his mouth. Fetid and ill. And she knew it too, her lips tugged into a neat little frown.

Beidou didn’t tell him what to do, though. She wouldn’t. He was a visitor to her fleet, a guest. Not one of her own. It came and went as he pleased, which meant that he could follow Aether to his doom if Kazuha so wished.

He hadn’t decided yet.

Kazuha focused on the moment instead, their tiny pocket of stillness in a vast world of contempt. The floating creature was off on her own, playing with the nature around them. Aether sat on a stump and drank his tea without complaint.

“What are you writing tonight?” asked Aether eventually, genuinely curious.

Kazuha paused. He rubbed his thumb over the rough page, his thumb smearing the graphite around, smudging his words slightly. Aether wouldn’t care about the content. Kazuha had learned that he just liked to hear his soft voice read the poems aloud.

“Behold our desires,” said Kazuha quietly, his voice gentle like the night breeze. “Like hot eyes of flame inside, Who will quench the fire?”

Aether, of course, thought Kazuha. He often looked at people, but always objectively. Not like this, where his heart was seized by such feeling that he had to pen it. The slow-stoked fire that burned low in his gut, widening further and further.

It would be bad luck to liken it to a forest fire, but that was what it felt like, the raging heat within his core. Before long it would be all-consuming.

Aether watched him carefully with a hint of a smile and his eyes calm and reflective. Then, he reached out, his hand stopping just short of Kazuha. “Come with me to Inuzama,” said Aether. Straight and to the point, as always.

Kazuha was the type to roam free on the winds, but there came a time where every breeze settled. Perhaps love and adventure truly could coexist. His hand found Aether’s, grasping it gently.

Perhaps it was his time.