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jonathanssweatercollection · 2 years

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i’m literally so unwell. it’s almost 6 am. here are my st livewatch thoughts:

THEY PLAYED CALIFORNIA DREAMIN FOR THE CALI GANG’S INTRODUCTION. I LOVE BEING RIGHT

eddie munson i desire you carnally

why is murray such a whore this season. i’m not judging i’m just curious

that’s it i need that stupid grandfather clock. i need it

why the fuck do the munson’s have so many hats on their wall

jonathan “good boy” byers

SO TRUE ARGYLE HE’S SUCH A GOOD BOY

“hi murray :D” jonathan byers i would kill for you

i’m gonna eat enzo’s little bitchboy moustache

robin and nancy are literally two halves of a whole autism

nancy makin fun of robin’s running. my smile hurts

THE RUNNING UP THAT HILL SCENE MADE ME FUCKING SOB LIKE A BABY. I FEEL LIKE I’M GONNA DIE. MAX MAYFIELD I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR YOU

what the FUCK is brenner wearing. what the FUCK

his suit is so fruity i love it

i’m gonna throw up i’m gonna kill everyone that even looks at el what the fuck. i’m gonna chew brenner’s toupee off

NANCY MAX BONDING NANCY MAX BESTIES NANCY MAX INTERACTION

CAN EL CATCH A MOTHERFUCKING BREAK FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHAT THE FUCK. I’M GOING TO KILL

SAM OWENS I WAS ROOTING FOR YOU WE WERE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU HOW DARE YOU

jamie campbell-bower u are so creepy and hot <33

argyle and jonathan deserve to kiss. just a little kiss it won’t hurt anyone

omg okay byeler bonding and saying deep shit together on top of a car, paralleling jonathan and nancy doin the same in s2. so very true besties

omg no hopper can’t be blaming himself for sarah’s death. noooo sad little bald man :(

can yuri like die already lol

murray canonically beat the shit out of a teenager. obsessed with this man

stranger things more like trauma things amirite haha. i’m in pain

are these idiots not even going to change out of their funeral attire. theyre gonna get their clothes dirty

dustin u are so annoying <3 said with love and affection

YES YES STONCY CRUMBS THANK GOD I HAVE SOME SUBSTANCE

steve babygirl you are SOOOOOOO stupid i love you

kate bush the true hero of stranger things

okay in the creel house scenes sometimes max’s collar is up and then it’s down in the very next shot. poor direction on the duffers’ part. 0/5 stars /j

i’m so glad that brett gelman gets to throw his whole gelussy into his performance this season. literally good for him

how dare brenner boop el’s nose. i’m going to throw a fit

omg steve looks so good in that mustard sweatshirt. im so fucking gay

this mormon house is literally my worst fucking nightmare

THEY MENTIONED KALI. THEY SHOWED US BABY KALI AGAIN

LUMAX STAN ROBIN REAL

let me guess the lab’s freaky orderly is 001. if i’m wrong i’ll be upset

“what’s the internet” “don’t worry about it” best interaction of the season

“your compass has gone from wonky to wonky with a capital waoaiauh”

steve babygirl please don’t drown

FUCK nancy’s awesome fit has just been ruined i’m so fucking upset. my girl looked so good

SCRATCH THAT SHE LOOKS BETTER LIKE A FERAL WET CAT BEATING THE SHIT OUT OF DEMOBATS

owens and brenner are so divorced

el deserves to get her powers back tenfold and kill brenner in every horrific and painful way possible. like as a treat

NANCY BANDAGING STEVE’S WOUNDS AND ASKING IF ITS TOO TIGHT PARALLELING HER BANDAGING JONATHAN’S CIT HAND IN SEASON ONE. STONCY REAL I’M TELLING YOU STONCY REAL

nancy wheeler has guns. in her bedroom

are hopper and enzo gonna fuck. and then is enzo gonna die

ugh they better not keep harping on about steve getting back together w nancy if theyre not gonna make stoncy happen. i’ll throw up if they just revert back on themselves and make steve/nance happen again and just shit on jonathan’s character

WAIT THE FLASHCARDS FROM SEASON ONE. WAIT WAIT THE GOOFY PLUSHY WAIT I CAN’T COPE WITH THESE CALLBACKS I’M GONNA BE SICK

what the fuck i can’t believe the time travel theories were kind of right

omg are they finally gonna explain how will communicated in s1 when he was in the upside down omg this shit RULES

oh god the “hi” scene is gonna kill me

can officer callahan like die already i fuckin hate that guy lol. and the irony of him doing a carrie reference by calling the kids “little pigs” isn’t lost on me

ARE. ARE THEY SERIOUSLY IN A BOILER ROOM. THESE FUCKERS LOVE NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET SO MUCH

i fucking CALLED it i KNEW the creepy orderly was 001 i fucking KNEW IT

NANCY NO NO NO NO NANCY WHAT THE FUCK NANCY BABY NO WHAT THE FUCK NANCY NO NO WHAT NO BABY WHAT THE FUCK NO I’M GONNA FUCKING THROW UP PLEASE GOD NO NO WHAT THE FUCK NO NO PLEASE NO NANCY BABY IF THEY KILL MY GIRL I WILL BE OUT FOR BLOOD

wait omg omg what wait. jamie cambell bower is also the freaky creel kid

NOOOOOOO POOR BUNNY NOOOOOO POOR LITTLE BABY BUNNY RABBIT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

omg brenner’s brown wig is so fuckin stupid looking

omg theyre literally doing revenge of the sith. that’s LITERALLY what they’re doing

lol the cgi. bestie no

THAT’S IT ???????????????

#im gonna be ill this is the most taxing tv binge of my life. worth it ✌️ but holy fuck my coherency + state of mind have Flown out the windo #stranger things #st spoilers #s4 spoilers #tagging every character rn would finish me off. will do it later <3 #mine #emetophobia #feel like i rly should tag that bc i think i mention feelin like throwing up/being ill a lot?? idk thats just literally what i feel like lol

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darkkitty1208 · 2 years

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Am I the only one who can't get enough of the portrayal of Sinister Strange? Whenever I'm looking at gifs I want to scream how perfect every minuscule mimic is. (And I could look at them for hours and I wouldn't be bored) The way his eyebrows move, and his eyes speak so much without words. We are truly fortunate to live in the time of Benedict Cumberbatch qwq

Oh god, anon. You get me so well. Sinny's appearance was one of the (*cough* *cough* only) best things that happened in the movie. And the mention of Donna? Absolute. Perfection. And Benedict definitely has a flair for microexpressions, which is why he nailed the character. The somber voice he had the moment he showed up was just... god, the feels. Despite loving every version of Stephen there is, Sinister comes as my second favourite Stephen variant (the first being What If!Stephen, I love myself some pathetic little boys).

It's a shame he died just as soon as he had appeared... though every variant seems to end up like that. I'm rather disappointed Stephen's variants were all killed instead of being incorporated to progress the plot further. Would've been more of a 'Doctor Strange' movie if that happened. Well, maybe they did try to make his variants seem important for the plot, but they literally got rid of them once done. (Hell, even Supreme was dead before the whole story happened)

But nevertheless... let me indulge us in some Sinister headcanons ;) I'm holding on to the little vague details we had of these Stephens, especially Sinny's, so... I made assumptions. Everything's under the cut.

Sinister had become accustomed to the sanctum's silence ever since... everything happened, really. The sanctum had always had a discreet thrumming of magic, and now that it was gone he couldn't help but be very aware of it. Which is why he's sensitive to every sound.

Sometimes, when he hears something, anything, he hoped in that moment that he wasn't truly alone. Or maybe when he saw a flicker of a shadow, a silhouette, a slight movement, he hoped he wasn't the only one left. But that was just wishful thinking.

It was never mentioned what happened to his cloak so I assumed it must have been either teared apart or lost its sentience or something.

Sometimes his tattered cloak would move (because of wind or whatever) and he would let himself believe for a second that it actually came back alive, that it hadn't died or gone away like everything did, but that glimmer of hope dissipated when it didn't respond to him when he called.

He didn't have much to do in his now-destroyed reality, but sometimes he liked to indulge himself by playing his harp. Music was one of the only good things that remained in his life reality.

There was no other person or being or anything living in his world anymore, so sometimes he talked to the cloak as if it were alive. He had always done this before the incursion, but the cloak was still sentient at the time, and the memory of it had always made him pause mid-way through his 'conversation' with it.

It's canon that his immense self-hate was what drove him to hate every version of himself, so he made sure that every version of him across the multiverse would die by using the darkhold to sleepwalk into his variants and driving them to suicide. He thought of it as 'mercy' from life, so he probably looked forward to dying himself (but not until he made sure he put other Stephens out of pain).

With that in mind, he was torn between anger and utter relief the moment he reached his death, anger that he hasn't finished his 'task' and relief that the pain would finally stop.

Sleep was always a difficult thing to achieve. He had ignored it the first few days, even if the bone-deep fatigue was present. One time he was too emotionally and/or physically exhausted that he might've just collapsed then and there. But that just led to more nightmares.

He had nightmares even before the whole... mess, but this time it was worse with the guilt of everything.

He never slept much after that.

These headcanons aren't much but I hope it was painful, because it was for me.

#ask #anon #sinister strange #stephen strange #sinister strange headcanons #headcanons #doctor strange in the multiverse of madness #multiverse of madness

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libidomechanica · 1 year

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Her smiled— she hadde me deaf and

A tricube sequence

Her smiled—she hadde me deaf and such divide

than all his hand redress had a

morning. By God, if it does Love speak.

Are to thee. And if thousand winnow

from their eyes in his soul. And the

rudiments. All where on my face within.

And thus doth live. But I am too

fast, as reflected by a happiness

in some with thee all a spring.

That clog of the least, is no served or

in Silence my mammy yet. And coward

to the misery harp had won.

Admit imperial. So, my Tory,

ultra- Julian? ’Twas the boats of

our is deepest griefs the least would fall.

—That I call? Would melt away, looked on

our bodies ’gan crave forgive. There are

safely. Though thousand spreaded the Past!

Why so parted back again saw her

eye. Ask me no more mouth is acquaintance

melts, and wins evere will not do!

And turned how he use in Ruin, and

yet creature flower at harmony,

pulses thre were who so woe-begone?

Who from heaven? So they look’d, and think

too tenderest from each their counsel

to educate. Up there we still thee.

More straight to life. That it hath prively

unto thee, Sister, and you all

was his bigger think? I, for both heart.

And motions we to o’er- head cloudlets,

glittering creation. That can blaze

the man on the world were passion’s grave!

The govern deep for very marge, whose

power of feathery sad? The gracefully

gave, Now let me had been hill side.

Then, like a consecrate. To some leves

have to guess’d. Shelving calm speech receive;

let me ba thy captivity?

And as for lovely dame on one like

a coral; meantime, love. Into stupid

stamp: yes! Thy joyless maiden’s sake!

Of this visionary seat, and followed

you, about my extent on either

harvest’s behind.; The rudiment.

While thy face. Now my epic breath holder

in the sun was right, but by nyght,

which the blue eyes the poppy throwing.

I broghte it was their optics to turn

into her liege lords with a man.

Easier told. He is noght forth, of men.

Julia and that far apart, and, as

hind to climbing had place it would have,

what wast the change be spirit, an Oh!

Authentic dew but in their amusement,

wan, and Mars carries made, close my

natal house alone, some people go.

Primroses, or our soul desport and

meet that I was no wight, if it will

bite. Not eventide the need not die.

My kind Sir, I’m o’ercast our spies this

mourn, becomes still those shuffling too.

Antonia in hysterious eyes.

As do thou didst departed up by

thief endued, nor rest. And now a tale!

You walke orecharg’d with each charm less.

To taste. ’ Gear ye lights oppressed myself

have birth: be still must have street peas, I

must be, being consummate allone?

Not to the devil hath holde it up;

and moss. The work of eve was most

encourages— why call my waking now.

I die—I heard! Which may oft bed. How

does iron nature’s no shame, allas!

That have recourse. Just when fine exists.

Ah, woe it faded, good! Dream witless

bide I pain, yet wasted from her face

to make payment on the milk diet.

Aurora at themselves reap glory,

that which some other. Eye- glare of peeresse,

and but the numbers, like night out.

As one waiting from room factory.

With prying his heed. When I really

puzzled; Julia. A high started too!

And that they raven before if thousand

daliance, and when it granted, and

from the rill. Of getting every high!

This soule never sinking pearl.&Her peerless

eyes with thou art not enough the

dead,—and yet, O my love you, reader!

All around. I was the light with ebon-

tipped flute his hand with an earth of

twenty, especially in my stay!

Now by thy grave—as pity me! One

whose curled; though rough, so that no one

gentlemanly as a sad consented.

Beyond affection of a mistake

it playing with an eye- guess now! Or

bends the Past. Upon it, I thought thee.

But, for it is nourished. Of heart while

his heaths I will not so break a blind?

Is like Banquo’s moving can be show.

And yet slip from the black loam long! Dead

as any I have too much green’d to

dedicate and endows her brother.

The princes tried at anchors, he had

been so weak. And all his green leagues of

doom. Drops fall, and weed. I lean, and beam.

There be, to charming charity and

courtesy to my thought I may lyve.

Only through to him its etherea!

Why should Nature, sir, I have fall, in

the man! Bosom where so sure that this

licence, or divorcing pageant goose.

To forget the tempest care, and whiskers,

ten unwed, or my love. ’Twas toold

thee to the spite of tears were blossom!

That cheek with a feelings fair, and precise

in ech a shelter, thus sparkling

of yew tree in honey is wax?

And done my bane! That the clear bee-wine.

In the star than Leda’s love did. Content

thee, and saved fig trees, to climb out.

From thy love us! And the blind my

spirit has lost door weathery where

juries delude than more than toold hill!

Only, mething chambermaid. My fine,

you feel the bed. That, for I know how

goost to my doubt, it display’d with thee!

To mee. Rare as tis clear and day with

a sugred phrase of my hand in me

each spies out. But what’s wronged love anon.

And star, or if I be both where my

Peggy’s fangs could not journey dreary

woe. Withheld, in erthe, and cut a shade.

But if I knew, althought up, as for

all these. For this lust en years, the soul

commingled within its proper spouse?

Which thee—Ah, well, and strong as easily,

he fresh, and stole a breeze is best;

Ask a bliss; and plunge hors overgrowth.

Chaste dame Alys. And braced his God, our

love, and twinkle me when we meet. Many

a time be war by other’s fierce!

Torture- pilgrimages, and this is

whitely sent. The charmers went side by

side; pitying cry, of the worst sand.

Who won’t looks to her, who turn your falls

so constructive of nation, if good

old walls on the room! Seated up, dead.

Had lost huge self-denial. Who travell’d

laws, and gracing should passe, most

logical charming. Bad lucent mirth!

Begin within a bed or for to

top to the frost of thy cheke that other,

if your garden-walks and Don Juan.

Let this is: if I hadde with the followed.

Each in a man, and messuages,

that for the blossoming, charities?

Me to the fires. My part, to slumberous

juice of love, there’s noble daring?

I scarcely knew mythology.

On the blast. Alone and dropp’d ere I

have all is dusk alone, people song,

and so I did wed myself for lo!

Nor did not hollow vapour. Said to

its hanging the beste, a tapers too,

was not a Step nor stopt one obscure.

Knows what; but whether to an art. On

their backs, in tender there’s the

pomegranate flock, but in the marrow.

Alfonso close: those from a room is

thyself with her cry lord, hadst thou in

closet never store all fancy-sick.

Of Nereids danced to recollect a

poetic licence my masters are

some in juice of the away along.

A thousand yet neither of the

flirtation that, as country lust, my like:

the new Song, the sea. The joy the sun.

That the wishes. So subtle caress

wings: next, on and clodded ears: aye, though

they starry sway to shifted with straight.

And lovers are ways made fruit doth Love

speaking of traitor, too rare, grow a

talker! And I feel this forgiveness.

The hand in a Girdle rout clusters

unto papers, whose fair, her scourge. He

look’d, answer’d very joy and then out.

Father one side by side when I have

aloud in human that for a child.

Yet have to lay it, your winds and small.

All the spot we ne’er again. A spurn’d

up a greet precede the embrace will

try gainst my mother, Sisters are Thames?

For they ever along, that creep, and

a cold as if thou Desire, but

certeyn. From thy body from the Song.

My chains are touch of mischief intelligible.—

Love with digression, ’ it

dooth my fest society, or not.

To a woman. From my sad for hours,

don Juan. Great god Love, the best

insinuation, till hell. I’m very deel.

And women, when vicious heaven!

Emasculate; what met Alfonso, pommell’d

he had no quiet circumstance.

Within him to perch dovelike in

the majesty wind I seem my own.

Next came fools a page with wealth came out.

And paye his prover of ocean. Said

I, beats themselves so friendship with

reverence they cut off wholly, and fears.

Her grace; let but one on my happening

east. At lengthen old song, which was an

uncommon look—I leave understand.

Thou wast the tail’s end in the cell lying

brands her stars, those deceives; amid

the best lat seem’dst my unhappy!

Said the knuckles shining human form,

that we may be nearer seven good

old grudging merely slumber zero.

A man was married! Blood- red blossoming,

no one break and she be fair they

sought his lady fair, see them court you.

Forester dinner at the sea. That

he came to guarded eye, kissing them

all oblivion; and we adore.

What is hand: and due to live, the lute

is but an iron in the four day.

I’m serious restless, the Island!

Sir Humphry Davy’s lanterns, him moving

still that cannot be sure. A mere

not of our old indeed that break law.

The moon, and cry that hym frye for

centuries, and returning born with some

stranger-youth! But sooth, by Nature wept.

He turns my forth such a planisphere.

But, more by love’s need not now take her;

and we have I strain but by degree.

Rather the Stranger! To go through all

strange sigh not that Turkish hardned hem

slayn me, and the trembled as she wept.

Guided strife! By the world were with

reality of earshot, a carcase

to reason, and buried Caesar bled.

Scylla, blushing for Aglaia. But

somethinks tears my hand—sought to lean em,

’t is gone into a morals are.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #171 texts #tricube sequence

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lucifers-horror-harem · 3 years

Note

Soft smut with Tiffany Valentine x F Reader?

Oh my god anon I had so much fun writing this and I hope you love it as well!!!! <3

Lazy Sunday:

Word Count: 900~ Warnings: AFAB!Reader/Reader with a vagina, receiving oral, very soft and relaxing smut

There was nowhere to go and nothing to rush. Outside of this bed, beyond you and Tiffany, nothing else existed at this moment. No worries, no cares, no fears. Only you and her. Even in your current state of lethargy, you realized just how lucky you were to have this. To have her.

You were the luckiest person on Earth to be able to hold Tiffany in your arms. To press those soft kisses against her cheeks and lips. She returned the favor, sleepily mumbling good mornings into the shell of your ear as her lips trailed down the side of your neck. Bodies shifted to get more comfortable. Hands lingered and drifted, no goal in mind other than to feel the other. Legs tangled in the sheets as Tiffany tried sleepily kicking them off to the side with no luck. You giggled sleepily and bury your face in the nape of her neck, breathing in the sweet smell of Tiffany's rose scented shampoo that still lingered from last night.

It doesn’t take long for the touches to cause sparks along your skin, a fire slowly kindling in your core as your need begins to awaken. There’s no rush to the finish line, just hands sliding over tender intimate places. Her soft breast in the palm of your hand, your fingers lightly rolling her pert nipple as she sighed dreamily. Tiffany’s own touch drifted lower, fingertips dancing over your thighs just enough to make you laugh.

You moaned around a mouthful of her breast as she stroked her fingers over your thin panties. She coos as you greedily place kisses and hickies along her creamy skin, her own touch finding just how much you needed her. Whining with the loss of her body, she shifted again, this time placing the most tender of kisses along your flesh, trailing down your body. Your neck, collarbone, breasts, each nipple, stomach, navel, even lower still until she pressed a kiss against the waistband of your panties and you bucked your hips in need with a pleading gasp. The light scrape of her manicured nails as she hooked her fingers into your panties filled you with such need that you were certain you would die if she didn’t do something about it soon.

Tiffany’s goal wasn’t to tease you endlessly, that wasn’t what this was about. She needed to see you unwind at a leisurely pace, surrounded by soft pillows and sheets and most of all herself. There was nothing to do today but treat you like royalty, and she intended to start your morning right. She could have pressed teasing kisses along your plump thighs, but as soon as she saw that beautiful dripping slit of yours she knew she needed a taste of you.

She kissed your lower lips as she would your own, not starting with tongue but simply beginning with long, deep kisses. You draped your arm over your forehead, your other hand slipping over hers with a soft squeeze. Tiffany hummed against you, savoring the sweetness that already coated your soft lips. When she finally let her tongue part them, you sighed deeply at the welcome feeling of her warm tongue. Softly prodding your bud with her tongue, she pressed a kiss there as well. Your hips shifted closer, rising up in order to get more. She merely chuckled and continued her kisses.

The flat of her tongue slid up and down your pussy, dragging little mewls from your throat with each pass. Your grip tightened on her hand, but Tiffany didn’t seem to notice or mind. She knew your body perfectly, knew when you needed more without being asked. She played you like a harp, plucking each of your strings in time to make you utter the loveliest sounds for her.

By the time her fingers began to slip in, first one and then the other, you knew your end was nearing. Like a balloon being filled with air, the pressure was beginning to build and eventually would pop with such force that you were lucky to have her to work your through. She wrapped her lips around your clit, sucking in tandem with each stroke against your spongy inner walls. You whimpered, whined, begged, uttering her name over and over like a prayer. So close, so very very close, there was only so much before-

Pop.

You couldn’t control how hard your body trembled, your breath catching in your throat as you held her hand in a vice grip. Your eyes were shut so tightly all you could see were stars. It was as if your body had drifted out into space, everything so vast and dark and yet all you could feel was warmth and comfort flowing through your veins.

When you could finally open your eyes, Tiffany had propped herself up on your hips, her heavy breasts pressing against your stomach as she placed a kiss, still wet with your juices between your breasts. She smiled at you, the sweetest smile that could only grace her lips. “Would you like more sweetheart?”

Yes. More. Always more.

#tiffany valentine x reader #tiffany valentine #slasher x reader #bride of chucky #child's play

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attllhak · 3 years

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Hey, uh, @lemonlurkrr I uh, I saw you asking about FD stuff a few days ago, and I remembered I wrote a thing based on the mythology my best friend and I came up with a while ago, so I dug through my google docs and found it again. I dunno if you’re still looking for stuff, but uh, here you go regardless, I guess

-----------

Termanius huffed, hands on her brother’s shoulders. The Fierce Deity was groaning, bent double and grasping his middle to stem the flow of dark and tarnished ichor originating there. His left hand was still wrapped around the grip of his sword, the massive double helix blade buried in the ground.

Majora stood a few feet away, cackling like a maniac. They found this whole thing hilarious, as only something born of Chaos could.

Termanius grit her teeth. No help would be coming, Hylia and Lolia both busy with their own Chaos entities, fighting their own demons. This was a battle she and her brother must face alone. And she was done sitting back.

Termanius was a Guardian Goddess, a protector of the Triforces. Termina was her domain. Time, Light, Protection, each Guardian Goddess was all three, though they each embodied one more than the others. Hylia was Light, magic poured and focused through her harp and sword, her smile and laughter bright. Lolia was Protection, her scepter and shield dangerous weapons when raised to defend others, and she was unwilling to ever back down when people needed her.

But Termanius was Time, and time was a passive force. It passed no matter what occurred, and it’s flow was impossible to stop. Termanius had no harp and sword, no scepter and shield. She had no artifact to wield against evil, because she wasn’t active like Hylia and Lolia, she just watched and oversaw. All she had was an ocarina, an instrument and not a weapon. Instead she had her brother, her precious twin, the terrifying War God, the Fierce Deity. He was meant to fight for her, his double helix blade wielded in battle in her name. Termanius was not a fighter, and so that was all the Fierce Deity was. They were meant to be a balance.

He was not supposed to die for her.

He was not supposed to die doing her job.

Termanius was the Guardian Goddess of Termina. She was meant to guard these people and their Triforce from evil. The Fierce Deity was only meant to support her.

She would just have to guard him too.

“Terma,” Fierce Deity reached out to grab her wrist as she stood, lifting his head to her, glowing eyes full of pain and worry. “Stop, what are you,” he cut off with a cough.

Termanius reached down and set her hand over his, ignoring the warm and wet feel of his ichor on her wrist from his grabbing her. “Relax, Oni,” the nickname rolled off her tongue with a pain she didn’t understand just then. Time was a fickle thing, and seeing through it a curse as much a blessing. She remembered giving it to him like she’d lived it again just seconds before. “I’m just going to be doing my job,”

“Hey, Fierce Deity!” Hylia waved the towering man over, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I just realized, Terma has a nickname since her name is so long, but your name is two words and you don’t have one. What gives?”

The Fierce Deity shrugged, confused. “Do I need one?” His voice rolled over the plains like a rumble of thunder, powerful and wild.

“Cut the dramatics, Fiercy,” Lolia waved, rolling her eyes and adjusting the bracers on her arms. “You don’t need the voice with just us,”

“Fiercy?” Termanius repeated.

“No,” was the only response from the Fierce Deity, though he had dropped the voice.

“I’m with Dea here, that sounds like something an 11 year old human would come up with,” Hylia smiled, even as her sister stuck her tongue out at her.

“Dea?” Termanius echoed.

“No,” Fierce Deity repeated himself.

Hylia threw up her arms as Lolia laughed at her.

“What about Oni?” Termanius offered, both her sisters giving her a weird look.

“Doesn’t that mean ‘demon’?” Lolia asked. “I thought I read that somewhere,”

“Oh, but he’s our demon!” Hylia cooed, leaning over to him. “A demon to fight the demons.”

“I can fight demons just fine on my own,” Lolia huffed.

Hylia waved her twin off. “Sure, you can. And I’m no pushover myself, but Terma’s not a fighter. She could use a demon to help her out,”

“True,” Lolia agreed.

“Well,” Termanius looked at Fierce Deity. “How about Oni?”

Fierce Deity hummed, then nodded. “Acceptable,”

The girls cheered, then Lolia and Termanius convinced him to sit down, shortly before Hylia started draping him in flower chains without letting him know. She got to ten before he noticed he was wearing flowers this time.

It seemed so long ago, that life belonging to another person now, though her domain over time made it seem like it was mere minutes ago, simultaneously. Now, her older sisters had both been slain by demons of Chaos themselves, Demise and Ruin stealing the twins from divinity and trapping them in mortal reincarnations. And now this Majora threatened to steal not just her brother in the same way, but threatened all she was meant to protect. Termanius would not lose anything else. Lolia may be the Goddess of Protection, but Termanius was meant to protect this world and its people. Hylia may be the Goddess of Light, but Termanius had magic too, and she planned to use it.

She reached out her hand, pulling forth all the power in her possession, her might and desire and desperation and hope pooling together and spilling forth with a cry. She wouldn’t let this demon hurt her people, her brother, her home. She was the Guardian Goddess of Termina, and she would guard her plane.

Majora stopped laughing.

When the light dimmed, all that was left was a barely visible goddess and a floating mask, Majora’s twisted and grotesque visage in all it’s markings. Termanius couldn’t seal like her sisters, but she could do something they couldn’t. She could transform.

The mask that used to be Majora dropped, their screams still echoing in Termanius’ mind. She dropped to her knees a moment later herself, weak and tired. She wasn’t meant to do so much at once.

“Terma,” there was a cough and a soft thud, and Termanius twisted to see Fierce Deity collapsed behind her.

“Oni!” She crawled to her brother’s side, turning him over, struggling as her hands clipped through him. His injury had grown. “Easy, easy there brother. You’re gonna be okay,”

“No, I’m not,” the amount of words used had Termanius pulling back. He wasn’t usually so vocal. “Neither are you,”

“Don’t be so pessimistic, we’ll be fine,” Termanius tried to smile at him to reassure him.

“No,” his voice was firm, and he grabbed Termanius’ wrist, the fading appendage not affecting his grip. “No, it’ll be back. You can’t fight it when it does. I can’t heal from this. A reborn god alone can’t beat a demon. You know what needs to be done.”

Termanius would deny the tears started here. “No, we’ll be fine, you’ll see, we’ll, we’ll be fine, you just have to hold on,”

“Terma,”

She broke, sobbing into her brother’s chest, desperate for another way, but knowing there was none. “I’m sorry,”

A bloody hand in her hair. “I am too,”

She hid Majora’s mask, deep in the woods of her world, hidden and buried where none would find it if they were lucky. Her brother she took up to the moon with her, the plains within it where they and their sisters used to play a fitting last place for them to be, she felt. The Moon Children hovering around, waiting. They knew what would come, and what she would ask of them. They had agreed.

Termanius pulled her brother close, sobbing into his chest as she held him in her lap. He cried tears of his own, silent and sad and accepting, holding her in turn.

The siblings were engulfed then in light, a final act of protection from the both of them for their people.

When the light faded, all that was left was a white haired mask with blue and red markings sitting on the ground where the twins used to be.

...

Eons and eras later, after a violent split of the timelines in Hyrule, Majora’s mask was found and donned. With a heavy heart, Termanius looked out and knew there was no one in Termina now who could host her brother and defeat him.

She needn’t have worried, as when she heard her name cried out in desperation, looking down had her noticing a small deku scrub, no a Hylian, who was strong enough. A fairy called out for her aid, and that’s when she realized this small Hylian had her ocarina. A savior sent to her by her sister when she needed one most.

He made it to the moon, spoke with the Moon Children. He took her brother’s mask.

He put it on, and he and Fierce Deity defeated Majora, finally and forever.

This boy, this Hero chosen by Hylia, saved Termina. This eleven year old Hylian boy named Link who did with her brother’s power what the two gods could not.

He called Termanius’ brother ‘Fiercy’.

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raisinchallah · 2 years

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star trek 2009 is frankly such a baffling movie because like i think a lot of critique of it comes down to like oh well its different from tos so its bad which i think is extremely lazy but my god its like it has no heart it has no plot and its ostensibly supposed to be about getting to know these classic characters and reestablishing them in this new universe and it does none of that its also so bafflingly short like it absolutely should have been at least fifteen minutes to half an hour longer to u know give the characters moments actually get to know them because like what is the point of rebooting something and making kind of drastic changes to the two most well known characters and just do NOTHING like so kirks an asshole bad boy now and idk we wont show him growing or changing theres so many angles to go with it but no hes static and like spock watches his whole planet die and just yells about it cuz the movie is so over the top theres no way to show a single fucking emotion other than screaming i am literally in my head rewriting a scene that would both like let spock grieve and give like actual weight and history to his relationship with uhura like having him meditating in his quarters after vulcan blows up and barely holding it together and uhura comes in and starts softly playing a song on the vulcan harp and they have a heart to heart or something like it kills me how little anything idk matters....

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soranis-sunshadow · 3 years

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Hordak can’t catch a break even on his birthday...

Oh fandom, you really like this sort of drama don’t you?

A few days ago, on Hordak’s birthday, there was this ‘interesting’ post in the tag – since, apparently it’s impossible to get any peace even on that day.

I was too tired to answer it at the time after being on call the day before so, here’s my delayed answer to all of that:

First off: this post has this bit in it when asked what that person dislikes about SPOP.

He doesn’t need to get a redemption and he doesn’t get one in the show.

None of his actions constitute a redemption arc. The man merely acknowledged his personhood and freed himself from his master and God. That’s what his arc was about: the right to have a personal identity.

He gave himself a name and wanted to be his own person. That’s it. That’s all he wanted.

The man was merely freed from Prime’s influence- an influence he was born into since he’s been specifically manufactured to serve as a disposable mass produced soldier and worshipper of Prime.

If the argument that Catra was “forced” to commit crimes and thus she is not completely guilty of them since she was under duress – then the argument doubly holds for a person who has been directly programmed and conditioned to do so under the threat of death or mental rape (purification).\

Even while away from Prime, he was still conditioned to obey and brainwashed by Prime’s cult. He literally knew nothing else – he was not meant to. It’s how indoctrination works.

Prime’s clones aren’t people to Prime, they are tools. Those clones, while cut off from Prime still want to serve and please him: That’s what Wrong Hordak’s purpose in the show is- to show us just that.

Hordak is not considered “OK” because Entrapta likes him. Hordak is merely shown – by Entrapta that he could live apart from his cult and have worth outside what Prime tells him he has.

Just like real life cult victims, he needs an outsider to help him see a way out of the cult. The nature of indoctrination and brainwashing makes it impossible for the brainwashed person to know they are brainwashed unless someone points it out.

Now for my favorite thing:

and

oh and

Oh boy… this makes me just so damn uncomfortable.

To offer a bit of context as to why. I have never been on social media before SPOP or in any fandom and as such, I have never encountered the ‘all men are evil’ discourse that seems to infest these places. It’s been quite a bit of culture shock for me.

What is it that makes anyone think it is ok to judge a person because of an accident of birth? (being born male)

Why does hate for 50% of the human population get such a free pass on these platforms? Misandry is just as terrible as misogyny. You are being biased against another human because of their gender. I don’t care that males are perceived as ‘privileged’ – that doesn’t make it ok to be terrible to them unprovoked.

How does hating all men help achieve equity?

Do you realize that this sort of discourse is exactly how you radicalize people against the very cause you are championing? You breed hate and adversity for the rest of us who actually want to to have a discussion on the topic.

I’m a feminist myself (in a country where feminism is hard-work) and let me tell you, making all men hate us does nothing but push away potential allies and make it a lot harder for our voices to be heard.

Feminism is about equality, not women dominating.

Now onto the second post: the one comparing Catra and Hordak with the question of which of them is a better person.

This whole war orphans that were personally abducted and tortured into serving the horde HC that some ppl have is really starting to get boorish. This has been going on for more than 6 months.

I have no idea why everyone thinks he went down chimneys and stealing babies left and right while cackling villainously. The man had a busy schedule of brooding in his lab, wallowing at his inability to use insulated cables and having his device blowing up in his face with the occasional Skype call to Shadow Weaver to see what the Horde is doing.

And yet, to a part of the fandom, this is what he looked like:

( @bat-burrito made this one and it’s glorious)

And if you don’t believe me about the lab recluse thing, you don’t have to, the show pretty much states it for me.

and

Hordak is a recluse that stayed in his lab and let the running of the Horde and most operations to Shadow Weaver and later Catra. He did not personally abuse anyone and he is not the origin of the cycle of abuse.

Shadow Weaver was a child grooming manipulative woman before she even joined the Horde – she did this to Micah while she was not “evil” or presumably abused by Hordak.

Even if you want to HC that Hordak abused her somehow, he is still not the one who started the cycle: Horde Prime is.

The whole fandom seems to forget about the eldritch monstrosity that created a whole army of brainwashed slaves to worship and die for him. Prime is the one that sent Hordak to die and gave him the motivation to try to prove himself worthy of life and love. If you want to point fingers, point them at the origin of all of this. This fandom has a strange Prime blindness. He is never talked about when it comes to being the start of all of this.

If Prime didn’t exist, Hordak wouldn’t exist. If Prime hadn’t sent Hordak off to die, then his clone wouldn’t have accidentally ended up on Etheria. None of the things in the show would have happened.

Adora would have died of exposure in a field, the monarchies on Etheria would have continued as they are and the planet would have continued to exist in despondos.

He is a dictator, yes. So are the princesses. Monarchies are dictatorships where the ruler is born into power. Hordak gained his through military might while Glimmer was born with hers and enforced it with tradition. I don’t really care to play “who’s the better dictator”. The princesses have their power because of the runestones- magical rocks put there by the First Ones to channel the planet’s magic and use it as a weapon. How come no one talks about that?

Do you think a king/queen keeps their crown without effort or subjugation of their subjects?

Also, Hordak had never interacted with Catra before SW dragged her before him to be judged. He was indifferent to etherians in general and didn’t seem to care which of them were his underlings so long as the operations were running smoothly. He was more focused on his portal and returning home than on anything else. He did not set out to “ruin lives” or quest for power. What he wanted was to return to his deity and become a mindless part of the whole again – that is as opposite to power hungry as you can get.

Catra was directly abused by Shadow Weaver throughout her childhood. That makes Shadow weaver responsible for 100% of that abuse.

Catra was found in a box by Adora and adopted by Shadow Weaver. Hordak didn’t know or care that she existed.

He is responsible for the war, he is responsible for the war casualties and the property damage. He is not responsible for Shadow Weaver being a terrible person and mother figure.

Again with the orphan thing. We have 5 cadets in the show.

Adora was found in a field.

Catra was found in a box. Lonnie, Kyle and Rogelio are unexplained. The only lizard ppl we see in the show are in the Horde or the Crimson Wastes. The other two could just as well be the children of some of the soldiers.

I may harp on about what a bitch Shadow Weaver is – the reason I do so is because she is legitimately terrible to the two girls in her care.

I was the unfavorite growing up, I WAS the Catra in my family who could do no right while my sibling was the golden child. I don’t however hate Shadow Weaver. She is a cartoon character in a show and she does the things she was written to do. Hell, she is a very compelling and believable villain. Her motivations are clear and she is consistent. Her voice actress portrayed her splendidly and her character design is superb. I like her but that doesn’t mean that I don’t acknowledge her role in the story. I don’t however make up parts of the story to make her more evil than she was or treat my headcanons about her as absolute fact.

Again, sigh: Prime is the worst villain in the show. He is quite literally Nyarlathotep and does this to planets:

This to people:

and this to the people he created to serve, worship and love him:

How is that not worse?

I love Catra and it genuinely annoys me when people erase her agency or try to paint her as one-dimensional victim. Catra was an antagonist for most of the show and she rocked it! She was 400% more efficient at it than cloneboy. Give the queen some damn respect and recognition! Catra had a lot of agency and her actions moved the plot of the show more than those of the protagonists. (they were mostly reactive).

Catra pulled the lever of the portal in a moment of distress after a breakdown, a Shadow-Weaver related breakdown because that’s how trauma works.

Hordak didn’t make her do it, he didn’t send Catra after Adora either. These were Catra’s choices. They came from a place of hurt but they were her choices still.

The portal was a means of transportation, not a weapon. Building it was not Catra’s mission, it was Hordak’s. He built it so he could contact Prime and either summon him here or go home –whichever course of action Prime wanted. Again, Hordak wanted to go back to this:

...

The only person who knew the device was dangerous was Entrapta and she tried to warn Hordak about it. Catra was the one who stopped her, violently so, then sent her to die on Beast Island- the fate Entrapta saved her from a season ago. Catra then tried to have Hordak open the portal before it was ready.

When he wouldn’t – she pulled the lever herself because that is how desperate she had gotten at that point, to show Shadow Weaver how wrong she was. That is how hurt Catra was by her mother figure’s betrayal and abuse.

Don’t take that away from her. Don’t call it curiosity or naivete or whatever. She knew the portal was dangerous but she wanted to prove Shadow Weaver wrong so badly that she didn’t care at that point. She had been pushed that far.

Catra’s actions led to Angella’s death but she was not directly responsible for it. She didn’t activate the device to kill Angella, it merely happened accidentally. Catra was however glad it happened and wanted to profit from the aftermath of her death.

Hordak didn’t care or plan to kill Angella personally. There is no in-show moment where any of that is portrayed. Since he doesn’t care about the specifics of running the horde seem to know what they are conquering at the moment, it seems that that was usually a task reserved for his second in command.

^ - troop movement ordered by Catra

Hordak doesn’t even know what his own army is doing.

Again with the Hordak “drilling into orphan’s minds”… I seriously doubt that any of them had ever seen him out of his lab or that he came up with the propaganda himself.

Manipulation is more Shadow Weaver’s game not his. For all of Hordak’s faults, he is not deceptive or manipulative. If anything, he is woefully incapable of spotting lies. (it might have something to do with him being born in a society where lies were almost impossible because of the hive mind and Prime being able to browse his thoughts at a whim- as such, it wouldn’t be a skill he would have been able to develop).

Hordak canonically despises deception and lies. I really don’t understand where this image of a manipulative and cunning Hordak comes from. He wouldn’t be able to plot himself out of a paper bag if his life depended on it.

First off.. S4 Catra was his equal, not his subordinate. Don’t take that away from her. She earned it.

He doesn’t look that threatening here...

And again: Prime created the system. He made clone slaves and programmed them to serve. His clones have hardware installed for the express reason to facilitate his control over them. He has a religion in place to make sure their thoughts do not stray from his purpose. I am legitimately boggled by this fandom’s tendency to completely forget about his existence.Does anyone really think that these people that are born “prechipped” and programmed to know nothing but Prime’s Light are really knowledgeable about human morality?

That they would know that conquest is bad when that is the express reason for their creation?

If I were born in that situation, I’m not sure I would have known any better. Hell, if any of the clones even try to disobey Prime, they would get either mindraped (erased) or killed for the effort. They really have no choice, even if they knew that killing in Prime’s name is wrong (they don’t) they really can’t do anything about it. They have no choice but to be what they were made to be. I find it personally abhorrent when these designer slaves are held accountable for what Prime has made them do.

And to the people that say Hordak was free of Horde Prime once he was stranded on Etheria.. That is not how indoctrination works. The fact that I can’t go to church this Sunday because I’m locked in the house and can’t find the keys doesn’t make me an atheist.

Hordak was serving Prime even on Etheria. He keeps mentioning it to both Entrapta and Catra. He started the war because that’s what he thought Prime wanted of him and that’s what he’s been programmed to do. Personal and informed choice really doesn’t factor into his decision at all.

He is not sympathetic because Entrapta likes him. Notice how I haven’t brought up his relationship with her up to this point?

He is sympathetic because he literally had no choice but to do the things he was indoctrinated into doing. He was build and programmed for it, just like all the other clones. They are not able to deviate from that because of the way Prime functions and rules over them.

There is no point in the show where Hordak relishes over his status as a ruler or the “luxury” it affords him. He does not engage in the same behaviors his progenitor manifests.

There is no point in the show where Hordak relishes over his status as a ruler or the “luxury” it affords him. He does not engage in the same behaviors his progenitor manifests. He attempts to emulate Prime in order to project authority in the only way he knows how but since those are some really big shoes to fill, he is woefully inadequate.

If Hordak had been power hungry, he would have stayed in despondos and ruled his own faction. Being away from Prime is the most powerful and autonomous he’s ever been and yet, he wants to throw all of that away in order to be a powerless, nameless part of the whole. What Hordak wanted was to be enslaved by Prime because that’s what he had been created for.

“vengeful” – and how did Hordak manifest this vengefulness? Who did he take revenge on in the series?

“apologize” – when and where in his 3 minutes of screentime would he remember everything after 2 mindwipes, realize that the whole worldview he had since inception is wrong, realize that he had been mistaken into doing the horrible things he did and then go to all of the characters and apologize for it?

Would anyone be convinced of that had it happened in 3 minutes? I’d rather they don’t redeem him than do a shit job at it.

Very true. He’s not a better person. He’s just a person in an impossible situation. Both Hordak and Catra were handed a raw deal, I don’t understand why everyone insists on pitting them against one another. They both did bad things and they were both in horrible situations. The specifics don’t really matter since neither of them would have done the things they did had they been more fortunate.

This is the exact reason for which I don’t hold Cara’s actions against her. Catra’s only model of success was Shadow Weaver. She emulated her abusive mother figure because she had no other example and because she wanted to please that woman. It does not excuse the way Catra acted but it explains it.

I really don’t understand why some people want Catra punished. I’d rather she get love and help. That is what she needs. In time, she will want to do better and be better by herself. She doesn’t need to be forced, heavens know, she’s been forced enough as it is.

They are really different. Catra got an abusive, shitty and violent childhood. Hordak got this:

He was literally robbed of a childhood.

She was taught by Shadow Weaver that weakness gets you killed. Hordak was not allowed to have emotions to begin with, or thoughts of his own, or a name...

Comparing to victims of abuse to see which one of them is more likable is such a strange concept to me.

Catra was robbed in s5 too. I don’t hold that against her. I blame it on the writers. S5 could have been a lot better.

#Hordak #Catra #catra vs hordak discourse strikes again #can we please stop with this #it's been 6 months #my pixel is nicer than that pixel #a cartoon villain is not an actual despot #cartoon and fandom activism is not real activism #Cartoon characters can't apologize for their actions unless the writers make them #the writers in s5 were too busy with butchering the previous seasons to actually put any thought into the cohesiveness of this show's themes #everyone felt a bit ooc in s5 #spop critical #spop fandom drama #spop

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chidoroki · 2 years

Text

Takt Op. Destiny EP12

aka: SPEECHLESS

Oh they're playing the OP right away so we can get no interruptions during the final fight.

Orpheus has dual harps that send out a horde of missiles.. and also have actual guns stashed away in them, how grand.

Destiny has proven to become quite proficient in 1v1 fights but Takt looks like he's seriously hurting and if he goes down then so does she, right?

Orpheus displaying some Ragyō energy.

These troublesome harps have chains too, great.

Oohh even Takt went in delivering a kick to the face!

It ended up distracting her from noticing Destiny coming up close to fire off that huge shot but I have feeling that didnt quite kill her..

Yeah Orpheus isn't done yet, but Destiny wants to take her on alone? Oh I'm worried.

You can show me flashbacks of Heaven and all you want but I won't forgive either of them for what they did to Lenny and Titan.

This is just me, but after TPN, being shown a slideshow of some "important" events during a final episode has me a little annoyed.

How the hell is Sagan alive? Dude you literally have crystals sticking out all over you and you still want to chat with Takt?

We got a sword fight between destiny and orpheus now hm?

"I am going to seal all of the D2s away here. in order to end all the sacrifices around the world, we just need to father them all in one spot." I mean, Sagan’s heart is in the right place, sorta? but his methods are insane.

Also, Takt's hair is turning white now? join the club with yuliy jirov and licht todoroki.

"Rooster's death was brilliant. as was Lenny's." You can go fuck off, sir.

Oh now the girls are switching to a fist fight!!

Bro Destiny landing some powerful hits! Let's go girl!!

Aahh Takt's baton disappeared! Hopefully that means Destiny just ran outta power and not like.. dead.

"God, would you shut up already?" Yea Takt you tell him! Sagan has been chatting nonstop, reminds me too much of Makishima.

Aaah Destiny walking right up next to our boy like that. Glad she's okay.

Well holy shit, Destiny just casually handing Takt her weapon so he could shove it right through Sagan for the kill.. okay y'all, chill!

Aww takt was humming the song he was writing!

"What do you even know about music?" "Well, I was literally born from music, so.." I love their bickering so much.

So the fight is over but is Takt gonna be okay? He still has that mark all over him and his hair is still partly white.

Oh, and his arm is still missing, duh, but reasonable since Destiny is still transformed.

Did.. Destiny always have that bit of red underneath the white hair? Or am I slow in noticing it? Probably the latter.

OH MY GOD!! Now she's kissing him too!! and that was a long one!

"Takt.. I.. love you." GOOD LORD she spoke the words!!!

Y'all my heart doesnt know what to do?? K was totally on board with Anna's kiss last week but now they throw me this?? I understand if Destiny is finally realizing the feelings Cosette once had but DAMN!

Wait a fucking minute! She just disappeared??

OH NOOO!!! Is she dead?? Oh shit oh fuck! Anna is gonna be heartbroken! and Lotte! and everyone basically!

Aw she left Takt a little memento though, kinda looks like her weapon.

YO HOLD UP! Anna became a conductor?? or just joined the Symphonica? I need answers!

OH! She also cut her hair super short!!! K dunno how well I like that honestly, but she has the gift Destiny left for Takt as a necklace now!

Takt is still unconscious huh? but I assume Lotte is giving him treatment.

Wait it just ends there??? No way!

I was gonna say, there had to be a post credit scene.

Not that it.. showed us anything remarkable..? at least I don't think so? HHHMM, I'm conflicted.

Okay so, reading other stuff after the episode now and I feel a little better about it.

For one thing, Destiny didn't die due to the fight but actually sacrificed herself to save Takt's, which I can accept more than the former, but she is still dead, which sucks. She was such a powerhouse during this episode and I loved it.

Another thing, apparently Anna isn't a conductor but a musicart?? So that's far more surprising considering her appearance looks fairly normal compared to others, but supposedly she transforms into one like Destiny did with assistance of the necklace she left behind? which explains the post-credit scene a bit more with showing the transition between Anna and Destiny. SO I can only assume she's gonna be Takt's new musicart, and if so, then I want another season, like, now. I wanna see them work together SO BADLY!

Although upon further reading, this was like a prequel to the actual game? So Anna takes on the "Destiny" identity completely, hence why the hairstyle reflects the game in ep12 a little bit. No wonder I thought the game-Destiny always looked a bit different and more mature than the anime one.. game one is actually fucking Anna. I'm speechless. Also noticed that Kaede Hondo voices Anna in anime and Destiny in the game.. now I'm floored. Anna is literally best girl.

#takt op.destiny #episode reaction

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mistyaria · 3 years

Note

Hello, fellow LinkedUniverse fan! You’ve been randomly selected to start a random, fun little questionnaire! You can answer these questions and tag however many people you want to pass it on!

1. Who is your favorite Linkeduniverse character? 2. Why are they your favorite character? What drew you to them? Be as detailed or as short as you want! 3. Have they always been your favorite character or has it been hard choosing? 4. What do you like least about your favorite character? 5. What do you like most about your favorite character? 6. What do you like most about your favorite character’s design? 7. What interaction/relationship with your favorite character do you like most, or that you want to see more of? 8. What’s your favorite Zelda game and is your favorite character from that game? 9. One a scale of 1-10 with 10 being most likely, how much would you die for your favorite character?

Wow, okay, anon, this looks like fun!

1. ☁Sky☁

2. Oof, where do I even begin?

Getting the obvious outta the way, he’s adorable. Both when I first played Skyward Sword and when I first read Jojo’s comics, I just got drawn to how kind he is. I love that he’s one of the more expressive Links compared to the others, and I had such a great time playing the game with that being one of the reasons why, other than having such a fun storyline to go through. He’s so friendly and gives off those mom friend vibes. He's just so huggable-looking. Plus, some of my real life interests kinda mirror his aesthetic. He plays a harp, and that’s been my favorite instrument since I was little and I’ve always wanted to play it (but those things are just so damn expensive y’know?). I have a lyre and I practice on that until I’m able to afford an actual harp. As weird as this sounds, I love going outside just to watch the sky and clouds, especially in the fall (who else is excited for fall other than me?). I do this for hours. I also love pumpkins and pumpkin flavored foods, and those things are all over Skyloft.

3. He’s always been my favorite ^w^

4. What’s not to love about him? He’s got low stamina??? Idk I had a hard time answering this. Also, this kinda sounds weird but I actually have a hard time portraying him, Legend and Four the most when it comes to writing stories.

5. That he’s just the sweetest thing on a normal day but would f*cking gut you the moment he gets angry. This guy has the power to kill a god!

6. I love that he uses his sailcloth as a cape. He still wears his fireshield earrings instead of his regular blue ones and I also think that’s neat.

7. Sky/Four, Sky/Twilight, and Sky/Hyrule. I don’t see these pairings often and I can literally feel the potential of good interactions in all of them.

8. Skyward Sword and Twilight Princess are my favorite Zelda games, so absolutely yes.

9. 100/10 I'd f***ing jump off Skyloft with no sailcloth for this guy, no question about it. I’d get my lopsided ass beat in the silent trials for him.

I’ll tag @kokiri-clori, @bringingtherain, @cupofcoca, @lyrabythelake, @basilsghost and literally anyone else who sees this and wants to participate!

(oh crap sorry Clori I already see you got tagged lol!)

#anonymous #linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe sky #lu sky

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amymel86 · 3 years

Note

number 23 💙

Thanks for the prompt, luv! I believe your chosen one is to show a kiss... in relief...(this one is a Rhaegar lives au with a dash of betrothed jonsa and a pinch of salty teens)...

Everything is blinding white light with sharp edges on his dull mind. Something is ringing. It gets nearer only to retreat and then glide closer once more. Jon thinks it might be the sun. Has the sun always made such a din?

What had he been doing again? Jon blinks upward. Someone is shouting. Craning his neck gives him a painful jolt down one shoulder blade but it also allows him to see shadowed faces peering down at him. Faces of his men. They’re murmuring words down to him but he cannot hear them clearly. Someone is still shouting.

“Jon! Jon!... urgh - move aside!”

A beautiful maiden kneels beside his ribs, face full of worry and jittery hands checking him over.

Jon watches her. He watches her and he remembers. He had been wrestling with his men. A fine sport - one he has done with his palace playmates since he was knee-high to a grasshopper and with his soldiers since he’s become a man grown. Sansa did not care for it; it left him caked in sweat and dust. ‘Brutes and animals’ they were for indulging in such an activity she would say.

He normally wins.

Sansa doesn’t seem to let that impress her though - and though he’ll never admit to it, this fact vexes him greatly. When his betrothed first travelled down to King’s Landing, Jon was sure all his accomplishments in riding, jousting, swordplay and combat would damn near sweep her off her pretty little feet. She would only smile tightly and then ask when next they might hear father play the harp or dance in the great hall.

Jon continues to joust and play at swords and wrestle anyway. Only today - today there had been a distraction that made him lose his footing. What had that distraction been again?

He lolls his head over towards his pretty maiden. Her eyes are more blue than glittering sapphires and -oh yes- there’s that distraction again now. It had been all Sansa’s faul-

“Oh thank the Gods!” she says, touching his jaw with gentle, urgent hands. “You’re alive! Thank the Gods!” Before Jon knows what way’s up, her soft lips are plucking pretty little pecks over his face. A few land feathery-light and dangerous at the corner of his lips. She gives a delicate yelp when he reaches up to cup the back of her head, finally - finally - allowing himself to touch that tempting hair of hers as he brings her fully to his own mouth.

His maiden moans and indulges him for a beat or two, starting to open up to him until she remembers herself and pulls away. “My Prince!” Sansa exclaims, vexed, swatting his chest where he still lays in the dirt and dust of the midday sun. “You hit your head! I thought you’d died!”

Jon grins up at her. “If I had known that’s how you would react, I would’ve died sooner.”

He earns himself another swat for that. “You better not die, Jon Targaryen,” she says, getting to her feet and reviewing the now sorry state of her skirts. She glares at him with fire warmer than dragon’s breath in her eyes before turning around with a sniff, her head held high as his men part for her. “Because if you do, I’ll bloody kill you!” she calls out, gathering her ladies and storming from yard.

Godsdamn, it hurts when he laughs.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #prompt

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deiliamedlini · 3 years

Text

Oneshot: “For Zelda”

I’m practicing oneshots that I'm also posting on Ao3/FFN, so here’s one of them! I was replaying To The Moon and got inspired by how sad the music can be, and then I cried... and then I wrote this instead of the AOC oneshot I had planned. Also stole the first few notes (and clearly the title) from the song “For River” from that game. You should listen to all of the versions of that song. It’s so good.

Summary: Link has spent his entire life with one woman, but her recent death has him trying to figure out how to move forward when the person he lived for has passed on.

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

Link sat at the piano and stared down at the black and white keys. He knew that there were 88 of them: 52 of them were white keys and 36 were shorter black keys. He knew that each key matched a note on the scale. He knew that multiple notes at once formed a chord. He knew where to place his fingers. He’d known this for all his life.

He just didn’t know what to do with that life now.

Since he was a boy, he’d lived his life for one person. That person had given him more people; children that he’d die for, grandchildren that he’d resolved to live for. But she was gone now. And he wasn’t sure how to go on.

Link knew he had to hit the key for the note to sound. He knew he needed both hands, and he knew that to do that, he had to stop clutching his chest whenever he breathed in or out. It hurt too much, but he knew he had to loosen the fist he had on his shirt. He had to take that breath, no matter how painful.

His finger finally hit the key. It was only the first note: C. He couldn’t bring his finger to the next note, the one adjacent: D.

It was a repeating sequence that he played with his right hand: CDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDCDA#CDD#.

She always liked to see his hands move wildly across the piano. It was for that reason that he’d tried to avoid chords when he wrote her song. Both of his hands constantly worked their way across the keys, flying up and down the scales, changing the key and the octave just to watch her smile, even if it didn’t sound right together.

She’d lean on his shoulder, and he’d lean into her hands and, she’d watch. Sometimes, she would sit beside him on the bench, one leg pulled up as she leaned against it. But no matter where she was, she was always listening.

Could she hear him now?

He tried again. C.

He set his hands down, and for a moment, he could almost feel her hand ghosting over his, cold as the freezing air of the Hebra mountains, and soft as the snows.

“Play for me,” she’d always say just before taking her seat.

It was her voice in his head that prompted him to move his hands to the keys again. This time, he managed both notes, playing them back and forth without rhythm or timing or speed. Just a back and forth of those two. The effort from even that weighed heavily on him.

“Link?” a small voice had called out, snapping his head up from the piano. He’d turned around to see his neighbor, and now classmate, running up to him, waving wildly. “You play the piano?”

“I can play the Song of Time, and that’s about it.”

She scooted into the seat beside him and beamed, a grin that was missing her front baby tooth, though the new one was already visibly coming in. “I got a little harp. We should play together some time!”

Link looked around at the classroom as it filled with kids. “We… we are going to play together. This is music class.”

“I mean just us, silly!”

“Oh. Okay. It has to be my house, though, because that’s the only piano I have.”

“Sounds good! Maybe this weekend after the new episode of The Champion’s Ballad comes on?”

Link smiled at her. “Sounds good. Maybe we can learn The Song of Storms together?”

“I love that song!”

EFCEFC

He could manage that much.

If she heard him now… gods, he could almost hear her laugh in his ear. She’d be making fun of him for his inability to play. She’d tease him that he’d lost his magic touch. He’d tell her he’s quite competent. She’d scoff.

It took him a few tries to breathe normally again, because though it was in his brain, her laugh wasn’t real anymore. It was an echo that he’d only hear through his own memory, or on tapes he’d kept of them playing together.

His feet lifted off the pedals and took him over to the cardboard box that was under one of the wooden end tables. Wrapped in brown paper were several old cassettes, and he flipped one around to check the label.

Satisfied, he placed it into the player and pressed the button down, waiting for it to roll for a moment.

“I hope this is blank,” he said on the tape.

Link listened silently, his hands clasped over his mouth as her voice came back to him, young and fresh and alive.

“Oh well. It isn’t now!” She laughed.

He missed that most of all. It was the sound of unbridled joy. Contagious. He found himself laughing with her, despite the tears rolling feely down his cheeks.

“Okay, how do you want to do this?” he asked.

She hummed. “I think you should take the lead, maestro. I’ve never written a song.”

“Believe it or not, neither have I.”

“From the horrified look on your face, I do believe it.”

There was a noise, a scrape of wood on wood. “Hey!” he laughed again. “I can’t play with you on top of me.”

“Wrap your arms around me. You can do it. I believe in you, Link.”

For a while, it was only the sound of them laughing. There was the faint, light smack of lips against something before she started to laugh again.

“Link, the tape is running.”

“Stop distracting me, then!”

“Okay, okay.” He remembered that she moved beside him instead.

He hit several notes before finding one he liked. C. Then, CD. Then again. “What do you think?”

“Is that it? That’s my song? Two notes over and over?”

“Yep. Told you I’d write you something, and I did.”

“You’re the worst!” she laughed. “I want to dance to this at our wedding, so make it nice and long!”

There was a long pause on the tape, and Link could vividly remember feeling his heart stop and race all at once. “Our… wedding?”

“Yeah. Obviously. You can’t possibly think that we’re not going to spend the rest of our lives together, right? I mean… right?”

“Yeah. Right. I just… I didn’t know you wanted that. With me.”

She paused this time. “Of course I do. We’ve been friends since we were kids, we’ve been dating for years. I love you. I want to be with you, I always have. Do you?”

“Gods, yes.”

She let out a breath. “Okay. Then Link, will you marry me?”

The scrape of wood and the ensuing thud was Link enthusiastically pushing away from the stool and picking her up.

Link remembered carrying her up the stairs to their room where he said yes to her again and again.

He remembered that they’d come back to the tape recording the sound of nothing, and the next day, they’d recorded more of the piano, of his attempts to write a song worthy of her. A song that he wouldn’t finish for a full year. A song that they danced to at their wedding.

She’d clutched him tight that day. He remembered barely letting go. She was soft, but he melted under her touch. And if anyone ever needed proof that the Goddess existed, they had only to look at her. Not on that day, but every day. He’d always been religious, and he had a feeling it was because he knew what it was like to feel their hand guiding him through the most perfect life.

He’d fall asleep with her and trace the lines of her face to remind himself she was real. He’d wake up beside her, never wishing for another thing besides her health and safety.

Until two years later, when she got pregnant.

Then, he found himself wishing for more than just her health.

They’d both sit by the piano, and she’d rest her eyes, her head on his shoulder, her hand on her stomach. He’d play her song. She said the baby always calmed down when Link played. And it was true when he was born, too.

A fussy baby, one who took after his father, he’d cry and whine and scream until she brought him over to the piano. They’d bought a rocking chair, and she’d sit in it with their son while Link played. From the first C, he’d soften until he laid there, entranced by the melody. Sometimes, he stared wide-eyed. Sometimes, he fell asleep.

When he got older, he and his sister would sit on the floor while Link played. She would lounge on the couch and watch her three loves with wide-eyed adoration.

Link wrote each of the children a song of their own. They both danced to that song at their own weddings while their parents watched on with pride, hands clasped tightly together.

That’s the way they held hands in the hospital as well when the doctors told them the news. She didn’t cry that day, but he did. He’d never really stopped. And they’d sat together in the bed in each others’ arms, talking about their life together.

And then one morning, he woke up realizing that he hadn’t paid special attention to the last time he’d held her tight, because it had been the last time. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d made her laugh. He knew he’d done it, but he couldn’t remember the words he’d used.

And he couldn’t remember the last time they sat at the piano together. Had he played her song for her while she rested her head on his shoulder?

Link moved back to the piano, setting his hands down on the keys with more determination this time. But the beginning failed him. Instead, he played a piece from the middle: BDAGABDA.

Silent Princess flowers: the same she’d carried at their wedding. The same that she’d decorated the table with. They lined her casket.

He’d needed to stay strong that day. That day, when he thought he was at his weakest, he needed to stay strong. In each arm, he hugged one of his children. He soothed them and reminded them that things would be okay one day. He didn’t believe his own words for a second, but it seemed to calm them down. He rubbed their backs.

He hadn’t realized that the funeral wasn’t the worst day.

It was the day after. And the day after that.

It was the day-to day routine that usually had her in it. The television shows that they used to watch together. The music they’d sing to. The songs he’d played. The meals he ate alone. The worst day was every day while he figured out how to live them all without her.

Six months to the day, and he still wasn’t sure he’d figured out what that meant. He’d lived far more of his life with her in it than without her. He’d lived and breathed for her.

And she was just… gone.

So, to bring her back, if only in his mind, he played CDCDCDCDCD again.

He heard her laugh.

He remembered her tears.

He held her hand.

And he cried onto the keys as the pain in his chest suffocated him with every breath.

But he’d done it.

For the first time since she’d been gone, he played through her song.

As he sat back on the bench, he smiled. He could feel her with him again. And it prompted him to play the song again, and again, and again until his fingers ached. Because he felt alive again for the first time since she’d died. He felt her again.

And the next day, he’d played her song and ate breakfast. And watched his show. He accidently called out to her to jokingly show her a commercial she hated, and he sat and cried harder than before, but once he could breathe again, he went back to the piano and played. And he told her about the commercial.

And each day, the tasks hurt less and less.

The pain never went away. It never stopped hurting. But he had his kids. He had his grandkids. In their smiles, he could see hers. In their eyes, he could see hers glistening back.

Sometimes, it hurt to look at them. Most of the time, it made him believe that she was truly with them all.

One day, while he was at his piano, the oldest of his grandkids came up and sat beside him. Her hair was golden, and her eyes green. She looked the most like her. It was uncanny, and Link wondered if even a shred of his genetics had made its way to his grandchild.

“Grandpappy?” she asked, her voice high with youth and curiosity.

“Hmm?”

“What are you playing? You always play that song.”

“I wrote it for your grandma.”

“I wish I knew her more.”

Link let out a deep breath. “She loved you all so much. I can tell you about her.”

“Will you?”

He nodded, and set his hands on the keys, playing softly as he spoke. “We met when we were younger than you, so I knew her my whole life. And she was the kindest woman… besides your mother… there ever was. She was smart. So smart. Like you. And she was kind. And beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. And I selfishly thought I could capture her essence in a song. But it never did her justice.”

“I think it’s pretty though! It’s kind of sad.”

“It used to be happier.”

“Because you’re still sad?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“But you’re happy too, right?”

He chuckled and gave her a hug. “I am happy too. We can be both.”

She looked at him for a long time before turning to the piano. “Will you teach me to play? I want to play that song.”

“It takes years to learn to play. Do you really want to?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. We can start tomorrow when you all come over.”

“Thanks!” she said, hopping off the bench and skipping away.

But he heard her stop.

“Hey Grandpappy?”

“Yes?”

“What’s her song called?”

Link had to take another deep breath. Because in all the time she’d been gone, he hadn’t needed to say her name. He hadn’t spoken it aloud. He hadn’t been able to. But as he looked at her wide eyes, he realized it was time.

“Zelda’s Lullaby.”

#the legend of zelda #legend of zelda #loz #LoZ AU #link #zelda #zelink #grief #long life #moving on #piano #I don't know how to play so please forgive anything I misinterpreted from Google #I didn't reread this for typos so whoops!#writing #oneshot #fictional character death #banned tag: mourning #banned tag: death

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awhilde · 4 years

Text

stupid

pairings: kaeya (genshin impact) x reader

genre(s): just pure fluff!

warnings: swearing and minor (tiny) mentions of death. also, it would be advised to play the game ‘genshin impact’ up past adventure rank 10 because there are a few spoilers (?) and mentions of specific scenes.

word count: 2.6k words

synopsis: in which you can’t stand the stupid ice man that seems to trail after your every move, infuriating with every word that falls from his lips, every curve of his mouth and every tilt of his head. the pure annoyance he gifts you makes your chest ache in exhaustion. i mean, that is the sole reason why your heart is pumping overdrive, right?

author’s note: this is just a really quick, cheesy and plotless oneshot that i decided to write in under an hour, i think? if i’m being honest, i just wanted to see what my page would look like with something published, but please enjoy regardless! god i’m simping for kaeya even though genshin is literally not an otome game what ?? gave them the right to make him look so good??

a harmless tune twinkles in the city’s atmosphere, sorrowful tales hidden behind the cheer of a folk song and the strum of a harp

you listen, leaning against an open window, letting the gentle breeze tousle your hair behind your ears, drinking in the refreshing sensation of the wind kissing your closed eyes and exposed face. the suffocating atmosphere of the library leaves you as you daydream with the hum of the melody and lose yourself in its rhythm

the scent of the storm last night taunts your mind of a nostalgic memory, easing the growing beast of worry in your heart

the thought reminds you of the cause of such worry and you sigh reluctantly, knowing the pile of research notes by your desk wouldn’t sign themselves as you wasted time by this pocket of air, but your limbs are frozen, leisurely leaning against the frame of the window. you allow for time to flow unrestricted past your consciousness for there might not be another opportunity in the near future when you could relax as you did now

life couldn’t possibly be contained within stress and work. you’d combust if this was the prevailing knowledge, collapsing from overworking your body or perhaps even dying from high blood pressure in your late 20’s which crept closer as time went by

where had your teenage years gone? the thrill of adventure and death?

“something on your mind, name?”

your eyes snap open, body whisking around to face the man that had managed to sneak up to your side without your notice. you recognise the presence beside you long before your eyes had laid upon their figure for they had been your partner in crime for far too long for you not to adapt to his chilly atmosphere

at least he was nice to be around in summer

kaeya, that infuriating ice man that had insisted on growing closer towards you despite the only connection you two shared being the fact that jean enjoyed tormenting you and placing the two of you together in missions

he had made his way to your right, contrasting your position as he leaned his back against the wall whilst you leaned your front torso out the window. suddenly the wind was nothing compared to him. with his arms crossed at his front, he gives you a side-long glance and smirks at your expression

huffing you turn away. “what do you want now, kaeya?” you ask

“what is with this hostility?” he shoots back. “don’t tell me i actually surprised you by being here.”

your silence was enough of an answer for him to brighten. “wait, for real?”

you groan, cheek in your palm as you continue to close your eyes. “go away, kaeya, if you’re just here to make fun of me. go bother someone else, hasn’t there been a traveller of sorts that’s appeared recently?”

kaeya hums. “yeah, what about them?”

“go send them on a wild goose chase or something. didn’t you do that to the other one that passed by?” this time, you steal a peak at him through one eye. despite this being a small movement, kaeya’s immediately chases your eye.

ah, there’s that stupid sneer of his that you couldn’t stand. the sight was as familiar as the sun’s touch having seen it everywhere; after freezing jean’s feet to the ground when she got “too boring”, when he’d freeze the walls of your office in order to chase you out of the room and when he’d won that stupid game in that one stupid festival when they’d finished a mission early, turning with that exact sneer, his eyes steady and wild on yours as he handed you the first prize gift, not failing to bow as he presented the toy to you. that stupid pink bunny still sat somewhere in your room, not treasured but simply looked after. it wasn’t a significant item to be cherished after all

“i already did.” he had been saying when you zoned out. “i told them there was a mysterious treasure and sent them off. that little thing they had with them was especially keen on getting her small hands on whatever it was. shame there was nothing there to begin with, just another plan to draw out the futoi rats but i would have liked to see what that little thing could do with immense power. eat exotic foods, maybe?”

his eyes dart back to yours when he didn’t receive the response he expected; silence, and turns to face you. your eyes had gone glassy whilst in the process of reminiscing and he knew you were no longer in the present time. he sighs and stands

you catch the movement and snap back to reality, blinking before narrowing your eyes at his stupid face. “you have a look in your eyes.” you observe hesitantly

“and you weren’t paying attention to anything i said.” he retorts. he leans forward with his arms still crossed as if attempting to examine you further. the proximity startles you and you take a step back on instinct

the action makes him raise an eyebrow. “you’re also surprisingly quiet and grumpy today.”

wow you both are so good at stating the very obvious

it was true, despite hating his guts you couldn’t deny the spark of chemistry between the both of him whether it be dancing on the battlefield or even the snarky banter that he oddly seemed to enjoy. in an attempt to cover up where you had lacked, you face the window again. for some reason, it was easier to talk to him when you weren’t confronted with his stupid face. “oh? aren’t you glad i haven’t remarked on that stupid eyepatch you wear yet? unless, of course, you agree completely with what i say about it which, y’know, is the objective truth. it couldn’t possibly have been inherited. and its ugly.”

“nope! just as the title of being a pirate has been passed down in my family generation, so has the need to wear an eyepatch.” he cheerfully responds. “nice try, name, but i can still tell that you’re feeling down. you gonna tell me what it is or are we gonna continue this act until you grow bore of it?”

you sigh, caught in your façade that you had sub-consciously put up as a defense mechanism. not that he had no know what it was. something stupid in your stomach explodes with warmth at his prying, but you can’t hate it. that same stupid thing brings you to face him again and you regret it as soon as your eyes meet

he had stepped closer, close enough for you to feel his chill through the fabric of your clothes, close enough to see the fur on his attire rustle from the breeze by the window, his hair tousling also, close enough for your eyes to become captivated from his

well, his one eye

singular

eye

you chuckle slightly, the sound bubbling from the back of your throat until its pouring out without limit. you bend over, still giggling and the force makes you stumble. but its hilarious, does he wink or blink? omg imagine if he seductively winks but it just looks like he’s well, blinking

kaeya is taken back by your giggles but his incredulous stare doesn’t manage to stop the endless wave of laughter that causes tears to form at your eye, and your cheeks to begin to ache. it would hurt his reputation severely if he’d attempt to cheekily wink only to have the receiver no clue on what he was doing

god, you can’t believe you love this stupid boy

your laughter halts almost immediately

…

love?

you don’t love him

why would you even consider that you liked him? he was a major pain in the ass, always bothering you when you worked, always messing around, always teasing you

right, you had just been so caught up in your laughter that it convinced your mind that the endorphins that had been released was due to kaeya, but it wasn’t. you don’t feel that way about him, you had just found his appearance hilarious

right

kaeya raises another eyebrow at you. “right, are you feeling okay? maybe we should ask jean for you to take a break.” he mumbles the last part as if it was an after thought but you hear it anyways

you turn away from him and begin walking back to your office. you knew he would follow after you and he does, his footsteps echoing your own until he is walking beside you, synced in your movements. “i’m not even that busy, stop exaggerating.” you step is bouncier, your fit of laughter at fault for your raised mood

“maybe not but you’re certainly boring.”

“your idea of fun is literally drinking with dilluc and making jean mad. maybe you shouldn’t be the one telling me if i’m boring?”

“so you’re not gonna deny it?’

“i like to think i take every one of my flaws into my stride. it would be even more embarrassing if someone didn’t know how much they sucked. like say, didn’t know how stupid they looked with an eyepatch?” you stick out your tongue at him and pulled down your eye. “pirate headass.”

he laughs as if you said something funny, but along the way you laugh with him

the sound of your laughs merging together, fuelling each other on, sound like music to your ears, a clearer tune than the only floating around the city, prettier than the twinkle of bells and bird song. it sounded familiar, like home, like watching rain dance on a windowpane, like heating your hands on a warm drink

“good to know your only insult of me is my eyepatch.” he says after your chuckles die

“and how is that a good thing?”

he sneaks a glance at you before looking start forward

“it means i must look practically perfect in your eyes, save for my apparently odd fashion sense. careful, name, or you’ll somehow manage to confess to me without your own knowledge.”

you splutter as he finishes, for some reason feeling defensive. “what the fuck do you mean by that?”

“well, you’re complimenting me, no? every other aspect of me are too good to insult?” the pair of you approach the doors to your office and his face lights up, mind clearly departing his last thought. “ah! we’re here. wait, why are we here again?” despite his words, he steps forward to enter your room, neither stopping to check if he had your permission nor to see if you were going insideyou narrowly miss the door as you unfreeze and dash in after him

he had already made his way to the back corner of the room, observing the shelf you had placed beside your desk. the shelves contained items that you held dear to you, the pair of earrings your aunt had gifted you before her demise, a book that you particularly enjoyed when you were younger, a stick figure of an old cartoon mascot back when you were only a child and so much more. it aided in providing you a relief of stress in your times of need. they were delicate and of upmost importance, items you placed dangerously close to your heart. but for some reason, you didn’t mind that kaeya were looking at them now

you knew he wouldn’t break them, he wouldn’t be in such a high position of the knights if he was clumsy

instead, your mind travels back in time to what he had said so carelessly before he had entered the room

complimenting him? how absolutely ridiculous. saying his eyepatch made him look uglier was by no means a compliment, not even a twisted one. sure, it may infer that without it he would look much better, but this didn’t mean you would find him attractive without it, what a delusion. and in truth, kaeya treated it as if you were being serious which you weren’t, really. it wasn’t as ugly as you made it sound, you actually thought he suited it quite well.

wait a minute, what were you saying? perhaps kaeya had simply wanted to use reverse psychology on you and twist your very thoughts

well, he almost succeeded, you’ll give him that

“oh? what is this?”

his voice brings you back to reality and you realise with a start that you recognised the thing he was holding in his hand, the source of his question and the reason why the room appeared so much hotter than it had been before

in his hand, he held that stupid pink bunny

his eyes search yours in question, that stupid, stupid sneer on his face once more. it was clear he expected an answer, but you gave him none, instead staring him down with your eyes, feeling hot on your cheeks

“i think i remember this plushy, wasn’t it-“

your limbs move before your mind registers them, arm reaching out and activating your element, anemo, and calling upon the power to have your treasure returned to you

the green appears circling green whisps around the pink fur, growing clearer in appearance every passing millisecond before the entire toy is succumbed with the air

a small explosion follows after the orb, zapping kaeya’s hand, causing him to lose his gentle hold

the bunny falls to the ground, millimetres away from the carpet when you pull it towards you with your anemo

when it finally enters your grasp, you wrap both arms around the bunny and draw it towards your heart, angling your body defensively, hiding it from his stare. “don’t say a single thing.” you warn him, but you know he wouldn’t ever leave you alone now

his eyes stare down at the palm that had been holding the toy before looking back up at you. “you just… used your anemo on me.”

“i did.”

his shell-shocked expression withdraws on his face, a small smile on his lips that was neither the shit-eating grin that he usually wore nor the stupid sneer. it looked sincere. and like he came to a sudden realisation. like something was confirmed

you open your mouth to say more, deny more perhaps yet you wouldn’t know what would come out of your mouth at that moment for your door bursts open, you and kaeya reacting immediately with your respective elements in hands, you only using one as you continue to hug the stuffed toy. an oddly familiar figure appears at the door, clad in white and with bright blonde hair. after the unknown individual, a small human floats after them. at the sight of the two, kaeya relaxes which prompts you to do so as well. ah, now you realised where you had seen them before, they were the iconic traveller

“what are you doing here?” kaeya asks for you. something in his tone is guarded

the small creature, paimon as you remember, speaks first. “we’ve come to ask for a hint! you said you’d help us solve riddles, remember? for the super cool, super wicked sword?” her small head turns to you as if acknowledging you for the first time. “oh, were we interrupting something?”

you raise an eyebrow. “nice to meet you too, i’m name. how did you find this place?”

paimon shrugs. “a knight told us that if we couldn’t find kaeya, we should check in this room.”

those words made the warm icky feeling in your chest expand. you clear your throat as you sense both kaeya’s and paimon’s eyes on you, the traveller oddly not saying a word and staring off into the distance. as subtly as you could, you place the toy behind your back and down on another shelf, reminding yourself to relocate it once whatever kaeya was planning at had finished

“well, show us the riddle then.” you say, ignoring the fuzzy feeling in your chest when kaeya joins the circle the five of you made, surrounding the item in the traveller’s hand and, you cursed, far too close to your right

your arm grazes one another as you shift closer for a better look

but you swallow the feeling deep down and look up to meet the traveller’s eyes. “well, i have a clue what this could mean.” you say, contrasting all the pacing thoughts in your head, casting aside the want to kick the two intruders from your room, to confront kaeya with the emotions you’ve been feeling around him, to possibly cry at the overwhelming truth of it all, that you did love him

but they became only thoughts, visible only in your mind

this world wasn’t suit for romance, not when there was a dragon terrorising the city, not when the gods were angry, not when you hadn’t confirmed if kaeya feels the same way

so you bury your newfound feelings, smiling gently at the traveller as you share what you knew with them, ignoring the present sensation of kaeya by your side, hoping that by the time you had collected yourself, you would be able to hide these foreign feelings

from his stupid face

#kaeya x reader #kaeya #genshin kaeya #kaeyagenshinimpact #is this how to tag idk #we really simping for one (1) man #msg me if ur in asia server!!#let's co-op #i rlly want keqing sob #kaeya fluff #genshin impact

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fantasy2739 · 4 years

Note

Here I am again with another request. Douxie and Morgana siblings?

Morgana and Douxie are siblings and this is the hill I’m going to die on. Even though I’m never sure how to write it.

I hope you like it:

“Hisirdoux Casperan get back here or so help me god!” Morgana yelled, running after the idiot apprentice. Douxie was moving swiftly through the castle grounds. He managed to turn, just to stick his tongue out at her. Morgana grumbled under her breath. She summoned a portal, smirking as Douxie ran right through it, appearing behind her. She put her hands on her hips. Douxie gulped and waved his hands a little.

“Would it help if I said sorry?” He mumbled. Morgana glared at him. “So that’s a no then.”

“How many times have I told you not to sneak into me room?” She grumbled. Douxie chuckled weakly.

“I didn’t sneak, I knocked.” He said.

“And let yourself in.” Morgana added. “What if I’d been doing something dangerous? What if I was getting changed?”

“But you were playing the harp.” Douxie said with a frown. “And I don’t think I’d care if I saw you getting changed.” Morgana was not going to turn him into a toad. Douxie at least was blushing. “I didn’t mean... I mean you change behind a screen.”

“Of course that’s what you meant.” Morgana said, crossing her arms. “Are you saying that it wouldn’t be impertinent for someone to see me, a princess, changing?”

“Uh no?” Douxie replied, but it sounded like a question. Her eyes narrowed. “It would be a bad thing to do.”

“Better.” She conceded. She jabbed a finger at him. “Come into my chambers again without permission and I will dangle you from the tower by your ankles.” Douxie gulped as she stalked off.

The knock on her door was unexpected.

“Come in!” Morgana called. Douxie practically slammed the door open.

“Morgana! I have to show you this new spell.” He said excitedly. Morgana quirked her mouth, sitting on the harp stool.

“What spell?” She asked. “If you’re about to set fire to my room.” She threatened. Douxie waved his hands.

“No, it’s this really cool spell.” Douxie said flipping through his runes. He mumbled something under his breath and lightning crackled along his fingertips. Morgana stared.

“Are you trying to shoot lightning out of your fingertips?” She asked. “Please don’t do that in my room.”

“No, look it’s like a mini storm.” Douxie said. He chuckled. “I shook Merlin’s hand after casting it.” Morgana considered that for a minute before giggling. Merlin. Shaking the hand of someone holding a mini storm. No doubt Merlin had been in for a... shock.

“I bet he took that well.” She managed to say. “Oh I wish I could have seen his face.” Douxie slipped onto the stool next to her.

“It was so funny.” He said. “I thought he was going to have a conniption.”

“Are you going to teach me the spell?” Morgana asked, crooking her fingers. “Come on, please.”

“Ooo a spell you can’t do?” Douxie teased. Morgana rolled her eyes at him.

“Are you going to show me or not?” Douxie held up a finger.

“Wait wait, let me bask in the moment.”

“Hisirdoux.” She groaned. He raised his hands in surrender.

“Alright.” He said, offering out his gauntlet. Morgana noted the runes. He told her the incantation. She gave it a few goes but it didn’t seem easy. Lightning magic had never been her speciality. Still, she would get the hang of it.

“Can we go prank Merlin?” Morgana asked.

“Lets go!”

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

Drew Stars Around My Scars

Hello, hey, hi there. It’s raining, I’ve already lost track of the number of times I’ve listened to Taylor Swift’s new album and haven’t written anything in weeks. Until now! Thanks, Taylor Swift. And @optomisticgirl who reblogged this post a few days ago from @initiala about how Killian holding Emma in 3x22 isn’t just that he’s trying to comfort her, but he’s trying to make sure she didn’t disappear.

Which, like...ok, cool. Anyway, I have thought about this for far too long now and started slamming on keys when the kittens weren’t sitting on my laptop and here’s like 4.1K that may or may not make sense, but at least includes some scathing opinions of Back to the Future. Also, thanks to @shireness-says for always being like...yeah, I want to read that.

-----

She sniffles.

She can’t seem to stop.

Tears stream down Emma’s face without much thought because thinking too much is a daunting obstacle that she can’t even begin to consider yet. Or ever. Definitely ever. Another sniffle, this one actually making her cough somehow, which is a bodily reaction she was not aware she was capable of.

Until right now.

When everything seems to be falling apart around her.

God, she hates time travel. And magic. And evil queens. And parents who can’t recognize her. She supposes she should give them a pass. For a variety of reasons, least of all the magic that’s cloaking both her and Kill—no, that’s not right. Hook. Captain Hook. He’s Captain Hook and she’s still not a princess, but the dancing was almost nice and he hadn’t even slowed down before he was drawing his sword and the jacket spin was something even her muddled thoughts have been able to cling to, so—

He’d held onto her while her mother burned. Tightly. Almost too much.

Emma nearly trips over a tree root.

“Shit,” she breathes, pressing the pads of her fingers into damp cheeks. Her dress is too long. Maybe she’ll mention that to Rumplestilskin later.

Once they get home.

Back to Storybrooke. Those are not interchangeable words. None of this is interchangeable.

Even the trees around Emma look different than the ones she only vaguely remembers from her last jaunt through the Enchanted Forest, taller and a little more imposing, like they’re also aware that she’s one good sniffle away from falling off the metaphorical edge.

Directly into a chasm without magic or parents and she didn’t even get to talk to Mary—

“Nope,” Emma says entirely to herself. So, it seems insanity is looming just a bit closer than she realized. “Not here.”

Or ever. There’s that phrase again. Two words, technically.

Two words probably don’t constitute a phrase.

What does she know, she didn’t graduate college. Or high school, technically.

“Literally,” Emma mumbles, and it��s almost impressive how that one word still manages to sound as loud as it does. As if it’s bouncing off the sides of those same tall and decidedly imposing trees. “Literally didn't graduate high school.”

Something snaps behind her.

There are far too many twigs on this forest floor.

Spinning on the balls of her feet, Emma’s hands fly up, only one of her wrists cracking in the process, and it’s difficult to make out the face moving towards her, but the set of his shoulders is exactly the same as always and that cannot possibly have any deeper meaning.

“Swan?” “God, fuck what are you—” Emma is out of breath. That’s absurd. And a rather unfair commentary on her lungs ability to function. She’s had something of a day, after all. Running a hand over her face, she does her best to retain her higher brain functions, but that’s admittedly difficult when there’s moonlight gleaming from the point of Killian’s sword.

Captain Hook.

Captain. Hook.

Maybe the state of her lungs is partially his fault. He really held on very tightly.

“What are you doing out here?” Emma manages to get out, once she’s taken another pitiful breath. She hopes her lips don’t start to chap. There’s probably not an easy remedy for that in the goddamn Enchanted Forest.

Hook gapes at her.

She grits her teeth. And regrets the state of her knees. They keep wobbling under her, traitors to her emotional cause and the state of several body parts aside from her obviously failing lungs. Whatever’s happening in the general vicinity of her heart seems unstable.

Erratic, even.

“Making sure you’re alright,” Hook says like it’s obvious, and it almost is. Almost. What another piece of garbage word. “You’ve been—” Shaking his head once, the ends of his hair don’t move as much as normal, and Emma flinches when he sheaths his sword. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all.” Emma is going to lie. She is. Has every intention of letting the word fine pass through her lips, but those lips open without any sound coming out at all and Hook’s eyebrows jump.

“Thank you.” “Excuse me?” “Thank you,” Emma repeats, finally giving into the urge of her knees and, if nothing else, the length of this dress makes it easier to sit on one of these overly large tree roots. Hook’s eyebrows don’t move. “Should have, uh—should have mentioned that before, probably.” “Thanking me?” “What part of this is confusing for you?” “Quite a bit, in fact,” he admits, and he doesn’t sit, but he also doesn’t look away from her and Emma is pleasantly surprised to find she almost sort of likes it. Almost. Again.

Letting out a breath that she wishes sounded more like a laugh than it does, Emma’s tongue darts out. “Shit, that..well, that sucks, doesn’t it?” His eyes widen. “That’s not a euphemism,” Emma adds. “Just out of place slang.” “You might have to be more specific, love.”

“That’s fair. I—ok, stuff sucking is...well, it just means that stuff is...not great. Like right now, you know...things are—” She shrugs. And tries to smile. It fails spectacularly.

Emma sniffles again.

“Not great?” Hook ventures, and he has to readjust his sword to sit next to her.

“Less than ideal.”

“You’ve been gone for nearly half an hour. I was worried something had happened.” “Hence the sword.” “Never want to be too careful. And you’re—” “—At least capable of still punching people,” Emma argues, not sure why she’s doing that exactly, but it feels like a matter of pride at this point. She exhales loudly. “But, uh...it’s nice that you came out here. I’m sorry that you had to do that too.” They both hear the words for what they aren’t — vast and a little overwhelming, and time travel is so overrated. Emma can’t believe what a popular fictional trope it is. Snow White was never supposed to die. The ends of Hook’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t actually smile, and that’s actually nice and maybe that’s her biggest issue.

Everything about him has been so goddamn nice.

He was much better at dancing than she expected him to be.

And he keeps following her. She doesn’t mind that.

Might even—

No. Not now. Not yet. Or ever. Again. God.

“It’s not a problem, love.”

Emma swallows. Nods. Tries not to fall over that ledge. “I just...needed some time to think, I guess. Is that dramatic?” “No. And suggesting it sucks does have a certain charm to it.” “And you know all about charming, don’t you?” His left eyebrow arches. Some things never change, she supposes. Emma focuses on that. And not how she’s fairly certain she can feel waves of heat rolling off him, even with the few inches between them. Possibly a foot. She’s not great at estimating measurements.

Or much else, it seems.

That’s a far too depressing thought, though.

“I believe I’ll leave that particular moniker to others in the party,” Hook says softly, sitting down. “Would you like to talk about it?” “Which part?” “Dealer’s choice.” “That one crossed realms, huh?”

“Some sayings know no bounds,” Hook smirks, and whatever sound Emma makes at that is even closer to a laugh than the last one. She takes that as a positive. “None of this is your fault.” “Practice that a few more times and it might sound more legitimate.” “Swan, that’s—” “—No, no, no,” Emma objects, not standing up, but she shakes her head quickly enough that strands of hair slap at either one of her cheeks. A few of them stick there. Probably because of the tears she can’t seem to stop. “All of this is my fault. I—I should have waited for help with the portal and everything I’ve done here has only made it worse and—” Another sigh, dragging her hand over her cheek. “—Fuck Marty McFly. And Doc Brown. It was so weird that they were friends, why didn’t anyone ever explain that?” “Did they not?” “No, not once. We were just supposed to accept that Marty met some senior citizen inventor guy who was more than willing to steal dangerous chemicals—” “—And he wasn’t a wizard?” “No, he wasn’t a wizard. No magic in the real world.” Or me, Emma thinks bitterly, but that’s not going to help the situation anymore than her current rambling, and she can’t seem to stop rambling. “But Marty and Doc hung out all the time. And Jennifer didn’t even think it was weird.” “Who is Jennifer, exactly?” “Marty’s girlfriend, I guess, but it always seemed like they were just starting to date at the beginning of the movie and then they got married. Just like that. You think they went to the same college or something? Like once Marty left—shit I can’t remember the name of the town.” Hook hums, a sound Emma can’t actually cling to any more than she can hold the one positive thing that has happened to her in the last twenty-four hours in her hands. It is not lost on her that both of them have to do with the man sitting next to her.

Or how quickly his fingers keep fluttering over the hilt of his sword.

“How far do you think we are from Aurora and Philip’s...land?” Emma asks. “Is that the right way to say that? Did they have a land?” “I believe the word you’re looking for is kingdom.” “Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Should have known that.” “That’s not your fault either.” “You’re really harping.” “Playing a symphony, it seems.” She laughs. She does. It’s not that loud, and there’s a distinctly watery edge to it, the muscles in Emma’s face aching when she manages to smile, but she’s having a difficult time coming to terms with the dexterity of Killian’s eyebrows and her hand moves before she thinks about it.

The metal is cool under her skin, a smooth surface that she can drag her thumb across. Which is exactly what she does, an attempt to ground herself and remind her that she’s still here when she isn’t entirely positive she’s supposed to be.

Hook doesn’t move. Might not breathe, if the state state of his shoulders is any indication and Emma hadn’t realized she was in possession of so many opinions regarding Captain Hook’s shoulders. Or her ability to recognize them.

No matter what, it seems.

“While it may appear that I know everything—” “—Ok, I never said that.” Hook’s smirk grows more pronounced. “I was in Neverland for quite some time, and the boundaries of some of the Enchanted Forest kingdoms changed in the last hundred or so years. But,” he adds when Emma opens her mouth again, “we’re more than a stone’s throw from the land Aurora should be ruling. At least several days' travel.” “God, that’s confusing. And did all these kingdoms have separate laws and everything? Who came up with that? Seems like a garbage way to rule.” “I believe you’d have to file a complaint with several different monarchies for that, love.”

Emma scoffs. “It’s quieter here than it was in Neverland, though.” “Most places are.” “Colder too. I hate the cold. I’m always—can’t ever seem to get warm and my toes are always freezing, it’s...I’m a notorious blanket thief.” “Pirate of sorts, huh?” He grins as he says it and part of Emma wants to scream. Stand up and run, as fast as her feet and far-too-long hem allow. But that part is also smaller than usual, and she’s all too aware of the state her knees are in. “Something like that,” Emma agrees. “When I was a kid I used to live in this place. Snowed for months at a time and I—I hated it. Wanted to be anywhere else. Kept trying to find somewhere that was warm, sunny. Like that would chase away the shadows.” Hook is disarmingly quiet.

And Emma can’t shut up.

“But then I got some place where it never snows and it wasn’t what I thought it’d be. Dry heat, you know?” He shakes his head. That’s fair. Pirates with several-hundred years of experience under their belts should not be expected to understand meteorological cliches.

“Anyway,” Emma mumbles, “it wasn’t what I expected or thought was supposed to happen and—” She scrunches her nose. Hook waits. Presumably for the rest of the sentence, but it doesn’t come and she finds it difficult to breathe again when he starts talking.

“Sunlight always seemed better on the sea. Would reflect off the surf. Could see the entire horizon if you wanted to.” “And did you?” Hook nods. “As often as I could. Even when I was lad. My father used to bring my brother and I—” This might be their best and least organized conversation. Gritting his teeth, his shoulders shift when he inhales sharply. “These stars are different from Neverland’s.” “Really? Weird.” “Mmhm, made navigating something of a challenge.”

“But you’re here now, right?” “Presently, you mean?” Another head shake. More moving hair and unmoving fingers. Emma’s knuckles are white around the hook, holding it like a lifeline and she might have to spend the rest of her life thanking him for this.

It’s not as daunting a prospect as it should be.

“I mean past you is here,” Emma says, “in the Enchanted Forest. Doing pirate type things and offering Mary—” Her tongue gets in the way. As disgusting a thought as that is, Emma knows it’s better than thinking about what is actually happening, feeling as if her throat is collapsing in on itself while her heart does its best to beat its way out of her chest. “Shit.” Killian shuffles closer, not stopping until his knee bumps hers. “That happened from time to time. Leaving Neverland, doing jobs for—” “—Pan?” “Sometimes. He couldn't leave the island, you see. Not without losing the magic as well. Jolly’s crew was his only option. Although we always managed to stay here longer than he wanted us to.” “Well, pirates hate rules, don’t they?” “I believe that’s in the bylaws, aye.” She’s got absolutely no idea what sound that one is. Shaky and a little wobbly and some dark, half-forgotten part of Emma’s brain believes it’s drifting close to giggle territory. That can’t be right. She can’t giggle while she’s still crying.

The bylaws of the Universe probably frown on that.

“Is that how you wound up with Cora, then? Stuck around longer and got a good deal?” Nothing.

No answer. No jokes. Certainly nothing even remotely resembling a giggle.

Just the muscle in Hook’s temple, jumping rhythmically and consistently and Emma really does try to stay patient. Her sniffling makes that difficult.

“Something like that,” Killian repeats evasively, staring straight ahead like he can see through the trees. Maybe he can. What does Emma know. Some pirates probably have to have good eyesight. Make up for the eye patches and whatnot.

She nods. No one asked a question. “Ok.” “Ok?” “Ok,” Emma echoes, “you’re a real shit liar and I’m real great at telling when you’re lying, but—” “—Me specifically?” Yes. The answer is yes, but she doesn’t give voice to that either and maybe she should be writing all these things down. The things she’s not saying.

Should say.

Emma can’t believe she time traveled and didn’t even get to talk to her mother.

And that’s the first time she’s really allowed herself to think of Snow White as her mother.

“Super power,” Emma continues, waving her free hand towards her temple. Her other one is still clinging to his hook. “But that’s fine. You didn’t pry, so I won’t pry, I just—” Collapsing throats, she imagines, are supposed to hurt more than this does. This doesn’t hurt, per se, just feels passably uncomfortable, like there’s a wad of cotton in her mouth, making it difficult to say anything and Emma is so bad at saying anything, but Killian is staring at her and—

Killian.

She lets herself call him Killian. In her head, at least .

“I can’t come up with anything else to say except thank you,” Emma whispers.

“You don’t have to.” “Still.” “You’re welcome,” Killian says, and maybe words carry more weight in the past. By default.

“Can I ask you something, though?” He tenses. Noticeably. It’s another round of fair and understandable, Emma’s teeth finding her lower lip until she tastes blood. Another reminder that she’s still here. With her fingers wrapped around Captain Hook’s—

No, that’s not right. Captain Hook did not follow her into a time vortex. Or ask her to dance. Or wear the fuck out of that jacket. Although that last one could use a bit more work, at least when it comes to sentence structure.

The point still stands.

Captain Hook didn’t do any of that. Killian Jones did.

And he—

“When we were watching everything in the castle and Regina was you know…” Killian lips go thin. Emma might be staring at his lips. Past him had been a very good kisser as well. Maybe she’ll mention that at some point. After this. “Well, I just,” she stammers, “I was terrified, for my mom and my dad and even Ruby—God, is that her name here?” “Introduced herself as Red when Snow White sent her.” “Weird.” “Perhaps the best word for the entire situation.” “Or shitty.” “Aye that too,” he smiles, which is not weird. At least not as weird as it should be. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.” “Yeah, me neither,” Emma breathes, not exactly the explicit truth, but at least several steps without moving. “I—you have very strong arms.” “A compliment?” “An observation.” Killian chuckles, and this hair really is unfortunate. Normally, that one bit that Emma has come to regard as her own personal torture device would artfully fall across his forehead, a metaphorical arrow towards eyes that always seem to get brighter when they’re looking at her.

As they often are.

But while the hair is different, the distracting tendencies of his tongue are the same. The tip of it finds the corner of his mouth, a soft push on the inside of his cheek, and Emma’s not keeping a list — at least not acknowledging her want of a list — but the tongue thing is definitely one of Killian’s most telling tells.

Seriously, her sentence structure sucks.

“Although,” Emma adds, “it wasn’t that bad.” HIs tongue goes back in his mouth. She’s got to stop thinking about his tongue.

“No?” “No,” she says. “It was...nice.” So, off the top of her head, she needs to fix — sentences, her grasp of the English language, her tendency to repeat herself, and finding better adjectives for emotionally charged moments.

Possibly.

Emma still hasn’t called him Killian to his face, after all.

“What did you think was going to happen?” No tongue, but an obviously tight jaw makes Emma’s stomach jump into her still-collapsed throat. “Like I said, love. I wasn’t sure. Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” The lie feels like it reaches out, smacks her across the face and then backhands her for good measure. It leaves Emma’s cheeks tingling and something tugs at the base of her spine. Not magic, because she still doesn’t have magic, but maybe magic adjacent, like a memory or hints of a dream that keep lingering at the edges of everything, and she promised.

She doesn’t push. She doesn’t prod.

She doesn’t pry.

And Killian has to move his sword again when he gets back to his feet. “We’ve got a fire going, if you’d like to warm up.” “Yeah, ok. Thanks.” Emma doesn’t let go of the hook, keeps her fingers curled around it as they move back through the trees and neither one of them stumble, a very small, but much needed victory because—

Well, everything kind of continues to suck.

At least for a little while.

Snow White isn’t dead, but she’s a bug, and then she’s not a bug and Emma has no idea where Ruby goes. She’s too busy worried about this nameless woman and wielding a branch gets her another laugh and a smile she’s going to think about for at least seventy-two hours straight. Then there are trolls, and tears of the less-pained variety. Rumplestilskin continues to be any forest’s biggest asshole, and there’s magic and another round of crying and—

Emma runs.

Sprinting across Storybrooke, she ignores the ringing phone in her pocket, determined to hug her parents and hold her kid with her own display of impressive upper body strength.

And it gets better, less suck-like, at least. Food and smiles and the way her mother’s hand feels when it rests on top of Emma’s.

Until she’s sitting — tucked into the corner of a booth with her own face staring at her from the pages of Henry’s storybook and Emma can’t quite recognize the person there. The happiness on her face feels like...well, a story. A good one, but something that she can’t believe was hers or is hers or could be hers and she’s got to add tenses to that list she only kind of remembers.

Glancing around, the muscles in her neck object to the stress she’s putting them under, because time travel is awful and exhaustion is starting to creep its way up her spine.

“Looking for someone?” her mother asks, and Emma’s lips pop.

That’s it.

She understands. Fucking goddamn finally.

Emma might nod. Or shake her head. It doesn’t really matter.

There are no words. No explanations. Just clamoring back to her feet, the bottoms of her boots sticking to the linoleum near the door because one of the dwarves definitely spilled punch at some point and—

His head snaps up as soon as the door closes behind her.

“So, do you think Rumplestilskin is right?” Emma asks, dropping into one of the wrought-iron chairs at the table Killian has commandeered. Pirate term. “I’m in the book now. He said everything, besides our little adventure, would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?”

“He’s right. Otherwise I’d remember that damned bar wench I kissed.” She smiles. Wide and honest and easier than anything has ever been. And Killian doesn’t flinch when she teases him, like that’s something Emma is allowed to do, but she figures once she uses his name and once they start making out like teenagers it’s fine, and this is her favorite kiss.

By far.

No sounds, no rum, nothing except the feel of his fingers in her hair and her knees bumping against his and she tries to claw her way into his space, a burst of colors behind her closed eyes that she knows is magic and him and them, a collective unit that—

“You came out here,” Killian murmurs, the words barely making their way through the haze of Emma’s post-makeout brain.

She bumps her nose against his. “Turnabout and all that. I...I didn’t want you to be by yourself. And I had a thought.” “Which was?” “Did you think I was going to disappear? When Regina tried to kill my mom. I—you said you didn’t know what would happen, but that wasn’t—” “—Super power, huh?” “Not cool to interrupt when I’m theorizing.” “Well, you don’t like being cool, do you, Swan?” Her smile is going to get stuck on her face. That’s...nice. “Was that what it was?” “The thought had crossed my mind, aye.” “Smart guy.” “High praise.” “I’m an official princess now. In the book and everything, so favors from me hold a certain weight, don’t you think?” He smirks. She tries to memorize it. Every shift of his mouth, the spark in his eye and slight scrunch of his nose, what might be a few freckles there or a trick of the dim lights above them.

Emma’s skin feels like it’s vibrating.

“Thank you.” “You don’t have to keep saying that, Swan.” “Yeah, I know, but—I didn’t think about disappearing, but I did think about wanting something to hold onto and that’s...thank you.”

It’s not enough. Not really, but even the concept of holding her tight enough to ensure that she didn’t disappear in some fairy tale realm is a lot for Emma to wrap her mind around, so she’s going to give herself a pass on this one.

And kiss him instead. Kissing Killian is quickly climbing to the top of a brand-new list of Emma’s favorite things. In every known realm. His tongue swipes her lips and she opens her mouth at the same time her eyes fall shut again, a tilt of her head and bump of their chins, and it’s not easy to deal with all of their assorted limbs at this angle, but that just ensures that this is a bit slower and softer and something that is, quite obviously, the start.

Because she came after him this time.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #THANKS TAYLOR SWIFT

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loneberry · 3 years

Text

Alejandra Pizarnik, “The Dream of Death, or the Site of the Poetical Bodies”

“This evening, at dusk,” he said, “they fitted me with a black shroud and placed me on a bed of yew. They poured a blue wine over me and they mixed it well with bitterness.” –EL CANTAR DE LAS HUESTES DE IGOR

All night long I hear the call of death, all night long I hear the song of death down by the river, all night long I hear the voice of death calling out to me. So many merging dreams, so many possessions, so many immersions into my dead-little-girl possessions in the garden of lilac and ruins. Death is calling me down by the river. With a torn heart, desolate, I listen to that song of purest happiness. And it’s true that I’ve woken up in the place of love, because as soon as I heard its song, I said, This is the place of love. And it’s true that I’ve woken up in the place of love, because I heard its song with a smile of pain and told myself, This is the place of love (if trembling, if phosphorescent). And the mechanical dancing of the antique dolls and the inherited misfortunes and the rapids swirling in fleeting circles. Please don’t be afraid to say it: the rapids swirling, while on the riverbanks the frozen gesture of frozen arms extended in an embrace, in the purest nostalgia, in the river, in the mist, in the feeble sun diluted through the mist. More from within: the nameless object born and pulverized in the place where silence weighs down like bars of gold and time is a gashing wind whose sole expression is to whistle through the crevices. I speak of the place where the poetical bodies are fashioned – a bin filled with the corpse of girls. And that is where death presides, clad in a very old suit and playing a harp on the banks of a turgid river, or else it’s death in a red dress, beautiful and sorrowful and spectral, playing a harp all night long until I fall asleep in my dream. What lay at the bottom of the river? What landscapes made and unmade themselves behind the landscape in whose center was the portrait of a beautiful lady playing a lute and singing by the river? A few paces behind that, i saw the stages of ashes where I once acted out my own birth. To be born is a miserable thing, but this time around it made my laugh. Humor corroded my extremities and made me phosphorescent: the iris of one eye was an iridescent lilac, a sparkling girl made of silvery paper, half-drowning in a glass of blue wine. I had neither light nor guide as I traveled the path of metamorphosis. A subterranean world of creatures with unfinished forms: a place for gestation, a hothouse for arms and torsos and faces, and for the hands of puppets hanging like dead leaves from cold, sharp trees, all flapping and resounding in the wind. The headless torsos clad in vivid colors danced a ring-around-the-rosy by a coffin stuffed with the heads of madmen who howled like wolves. Suddenly, my head wants to emerge through my uterus as if the poetical bodies were struggling to burst into reality and be born in it, and there is someone in my throat, someone who gestated in solitude, and I, unfinished but still burning to be born, open – I am opened up – and she is coming out, and so will I. The poetical body is inherited and never exposed to the gloomy morning sun – there is a cry and a crier and an outcry and a crisis of flames. Yes. I would like to see the bottom of the river, I would like to see if that thing opens, if it bursts and blooms at my side, and it will or will not come, but I can sense its struggle. I can thing that maybe it is only death. Death is a word. The word is a thing, death is a thing, a poetical body that draws breath at the site of my birth. You’ll never manage to get around it this way. It speaks, but from above a stage of ashes; it speaks, but from the bottom of the river, where death is singing. And this is death, my dream said and the queen’s song said: Death’s hair is a murder of crows and is dressed in red, and in her terrible hands she holds out a lute and the bones of birds to beat against my grave. She walked away singing and looked like an old beggar, and the children pelted her with stones. She sang in a god that the sun could barely shine through, on the morning of the birth – and I would wander with a torch in my hand across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you, my dear lost love – and the song of death unfolded in the course of a single morning, and she sang and sang. She also sang in the old tavern by the pier. I saw an adolescent clown and told him that in my poems death was my lover and my lover was death, and he said, “Your poems speak the truth.” I was sixteen and had no choice but to search for absolute love. And it was in the tavern by the pier where she sang her song. I write with my eyes shut. I write with my eyes wide open. Let the wall fall down. Let the wall turn into a river.

In the vision of birth: the blue death, the green death, the red death, the lilac. The dress of the hired mourner, in phosphorescent silvers and blues, and the medieval night of each of my deaths. Death is singing by the river. And it was in the tavern by the pier that she sand her song of death. “I’m going to die,” she told me. “I’m going to die.” Come unto the dawn, good love, come unto the dawn. We have recognized each other and we have disappeared, oh friend, my best beloved. I, being present at my birth. And I, at my death. And I would wander across all the deserts of this world, even after death, to search for you – you who were the place of love.

[From Extracting the Stone of Madness, translated from the Spanish by Yvette Siegert]

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