#It’s and endless cycle 💔💔💔

[sinningvin]

since its trans day of visibility and i am transgender, i think i should have some fun on this blog as a treat. New f/o dropped, how do we feel

[aleksatia]

Imagine the six days scenario with the boys, but it turns out the mission was supposed to be done in one day, and the reader went through he'll to get out and is met with this reaction? Imagine when she finally tells the reason she was away, would they regret their actions? How would they react? Don't know if if you take requests, if you do, consider this one.

If not, I am glad I got to read this masterpiece, thank you ❤️

Thank you so much for the request — I absolutely do take them, and I really appreciate this one! ❤️

I tried so hard to keep it short, since the “Six Days” theme has already been thoroughly explored... but, well, I failed spectacularly 😅 So here’s another deep-dive into a what-if/imagine scenario — one that can be read as either an alternate branch of the original storyline or... something else entirely. I’ll let you decide 😉

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it — truly means the world to me!

I’ve received so many requests for continuations — especially for Xavier — and yes, his already has a full-length, dramatic follow-up (because how could I not?). This one here is more of a request-based scenario, but it can absolutely be read as its own kind of continuation. Think of it as an alternate path the story could have taken. (One day I’ll write full versions for all the boys… but for now, consider this a little taste.) Hope you enjoy — and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! 💬💔 Here are the links to the previous parts in the series, in case you want to revisit or catch up:

Original Post | Xavier's Story

CW/TW: Psychological trauma, PTSD themes, Forced isolation, Violence / combat injuries, Mentions of starvation, Emotional manipulation, Past emotional abuse, Mental breakdowns, Intense guilt / self-blame, Brief implications of suicidal ideation (in self-sacrificing context), Adult intimacy (emotionally driven, not graphic)

The Truth — What Really Happened

It was supposed to be one day.

A clean, strategic infiltration. In and out. No complications. No room for error.

But no one accounted for the Wanderer.

No one predicted that the target—some nameless, faceless shade masquerading as a rogue—would be more than just dangerous. That he'd found a way to twist Protocore into something ancient and volatile. That he would trigger a fracture in time itself.

In a single blink, the world split. You fell into it. And the loop began.

Six days for them. Six weeks for you.

You lived, died, and bled your way through the same endless day.

Again. And again. And again.

Locked in a cycle of violence, decay, and despair—while everyone else moved on without you.

You clawed your way back—half-starved, half-mad, barely remembering your name. And when you finally escaped the loop, stepped back into their world, broken and still breathing—

They were waiting.

Angry. Unforgiving. And utterly, terrifyingly unaware.

Until now. Until you tell them.

💛 Xavier

It only felt right to write Xavier’s piece after the continuation I posted earlier. The original scene stood strong on its own, but this one—this is what came next. The moment after the storm. The truth laid bare. A quiet, alternate branch of the story, or perhaps a natural consequence of the one that already unfolded. Either way—I’m glad it found its voice.

You don’t ease into it. You sit across from him in the quiet of the morning, sunlight creeping up the walls like it’s unsure of its welcome, and you tell him.

Not six days.

Six weeks.

A loop. A fracture in time. An engineered nightmare that left you bleeding against the same hours, over and over, clawing through shadow just to return to him. Alone. Lost. Dying.

Xavier doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

But something in him breaks.

Not loudly. Not violently. It’s quieter than breath. Slower than thought. His fingers slip from the edge of the cup in his hand, and it falls. Shatters against the floor with a sound so sharp it startles the silence—ceramic shards skittering like teeth across stone.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

He stands, but not with purpose. With instinct. His body moves before his mind can catch it. He turns, walks toward the far wall like he’s searching for air, like the room is suddenly too small to hold what’s happening inside his chest.

You rise—hesitant, aching—but he lifts a hand to stop you. Not cruelly. Gently. Like he’s afraid that if you touch him, he’ll fall apart in a way he can’t recover from.

He presses his palm to the wall. Just one. The other curls into a fist at his side.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he says at last, voice raw in a way you’ve never heard from him. “And I punished you for it.”

He turns back.

And there’s nothing left of the man who told you to ask again in six days. Nothing of the controlled strategist, the ever-collected ghost of war. His jaw is clenched too tight. His eyes are glassed over with fury—but not at you.

At himself.

“I accused you. I mocked you. I dismissed what little strength you had left and threw my pain in your face like it was the only thing that mattered.”

He crosses the room again, slower now. Purposeful. His hands don’t tremble, but his voice does.

“I let you stand there, in front of me, broken... and I thought I was the one who’d suffered.”

He kneels.

Not dramatically. Not for effect.

He lowers himself before you like a man who no longer believes he has the right to stand. His gaze stays down. One hand reaches inside his coat, and when it returns, you see it:

A blade.

Polished. Ritual-cut. Ceremonial. One of the old ones—etched with language you don’t recognize. But you understand that these words mean oath, atonement, belonging.

He offers it to you in silence. Flat in his palm.

“Where I’m from,” he says, quietly, “a wound like this is paid in blood. A betrayal like mine is not survived—it is surrendered to.”

Your hands don’t move. Your breath barely does.

“If you want justice,” he whispers, “take it.”

You stare at him. The weight of the blade between you. The weight of everything.

And then—slowly, gently—you take it from his hand.

Only to let it fall.

The sound is soft this time. Barely a whisper of steel on floorboards.

Then you fall with it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your tears fall freely.

“I don’t want justice,” you breathe into the curve of his neck. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, arms banding around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder like he’s trying to memorize what survival feels like.

When he finally speaks, it’s not confession. It’s surrender.

“After what you endured… after what I made you endure alone… I don’t know what anything means anymore. Not the mission. Not the cause. Not the point.”

You pull back, just enough to see him.

His eyes are hollow with grief. But deeper still—something flickers.

“I thought I understood devotion,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “But I was wrong. What I gave you wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t love. It was pride. Control. Fear, dressed in logic. And I used it to wound you when you were already bleeding.”

His jaw tightens. His gaze falls.

“I was cruel.”

It’s not said for effect. There’s no tremble in his voice, no self-indulgent break.

It’s simply true.

“And I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is soft. Dense. Not empty.

You brush your fingers across his cheek, tilt his face toward yours.

“I forgive you,” you say. Steady. Clear. “Because not everything in this world is black and white. And I understand why you did what you did. I know the shape of your fear.”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye. His breath catches.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt you. Or to punish you. I told you because…” You pause. Your voice thickens with truth. “Because you’re the only one I trust with all of it. The only one who would understand. Who wouldn’t fall apart under the weight of what I’ve lived through.”

You lean forward.

Kiss him. Gently. Not desperate. Not demanding.

Just there. Warm. Real. Home.

Your hands slide up to his temples, fingers massaging slow circles at his hairline, coaxing the tightness from his brow. You feel it—inch by inch—how he softens beneath your touch.

“Let it go,” you whisper. “Don’t carry this weight. Not for me.”

He exhales, shaky. Silent.

You hold him tighter.

“You are my light, Xavier. You illuminate the path. You anchor me when everything else turns to ash. And in that place—those six weeks—do you know what kept me alive?”

Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me. That’s what kept me breathing.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Just rests his forehead against yours. One hand moves to your chest, flattening over your heart like he’s grounding himself with your pulse.

Then—softly, firmly, as if carving the words into stone:

“You will never carry pain alone again. Not while I draw breath.”

No grand vow. No poetry.

Just fact.

And somehow—that’s what makes it a promise.

💗 Rafayel

The morning sun slips in like melted gold, tracing the edge of the sheets, catching the soft arch of your cheekbone. You lie half-curled beneath the covers, his T-shirt clinging to your body like second skin.

And in that sacred hush before the world stirs—you speak.

Not because he demands it. Not because you owe it.

But because somewhere between the echo of his heartbeat and the way his arms wrapped around you like the only anchor you had left—you remembered how to breathe.

You tell him.

About the mission. The Wanderer. The fracture in time.

About the loop.

How six days for him were six weeks for you.

How you woke up every day inside the same nightmare. How you died. How you clawed your way back. Alone. Over and over.

And when you fall silent, your voice scraped raw from remembering—he still doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you.

Like the sun never rose until he saw your face again.

His hand brushes your cheek, feather-light. His voice—when it comes—is almost a whisper.

“Are you ready to share the rest?”

You blink. “The rest?”

“The weight of it,” he says. “Not the facts. Not the fight. The dark. The ache. The part that still won’t let you sleep.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle for a man like him. It trembles with caution, as if even asking is a violation.

You hesitate. The memories flicker like shadows across your mind—distorted, aching, sharp.

“No,” you answer truthfully. “Maybe not ever.”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

He nods once. No protest. No press.

Then his voice, lighter this time—almost a whisper:

“Then I’ll just have to help you forget.”

And he does.

He lifts you carefully, as if your body might shatter beneath his hands. You expect the weight of a blanket, but instead—he wraps you in something else entirely.

A covering like seafoam. It feels like nothing you’ve ever touched—gossamer, weightless, but cool and smooth against your skin. A whisper of silk and tide.

“It's from home,” he murmurs, adjusting it carefully over your shoulders. “Woven from the ocean’s first breath. They say it keeps sorrow out.”

Then—he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the kitchen with quiet reverence, as if this moment is sacred.

He sets you down on the marble countertop and kisses your knee.

Then he starts making coffee.

He hums as he moves—something aimless and tuneless and purely him. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of roasted beans and vanilla settle around you.

And then—

“So,” he says casually, not looking up, “a cat broke into the studio last night.”

You blink. “A cat?”

He nods solemnly. “Orange. Loud. Looked like he owned the place. Knocked over three canvases and nearly drank my turpentine.”

You raise a brow. “And naturally, you assumed this was my doing.”

“Who else would weaponize cuteness to such chaotic effect?”

You laugh—quiet but real. “I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” he agrees, turning to face you with a soft smile. “But I do suspect you’re still hoping I’ll change my mind about cats.”

You sip your coffee. “I might be.”

Later, the bath is warm, the water laced with something lavender and soft. He sits behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his arms a steady weight around your ribs.

His fingers move slowly—massaging your shoulders, your forearms, your palms, like he’s trying to erase every echo of pain from your body with touch alone.

You both talk, but nothing heavy. Just stories. Old memories. Little things. The shape of the moon that night. The smell of burnt sugar in his favorite gallery. How he once mistook a mannequin for a person and apologized to it for five minutes.

You laugh again, softer this time. And it makes something in him melt.

He wraps you in the softest robe he can find. Carries you again—this time to the bedroom. The ocean glows outside, waves catching the last of the sun like pearls tossed across the horizon.

But he doesn’t stop there.

“Come,” he says, offering a hand. “Tea. Sunset. Company far superior to mine.”

You smile. Follow.

And when you step onto the veranda—there it is.

A small white basket. A red ribbon.

And inside—

A snow-colored kitten, curled like a pearl in a nest, blinking up at you with impossibly blue eyes.

You freeze.

Turn to him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, just slightly. Nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for mockery. For rejection.

You blink again. “You—Raf, you hate cats.”

He exhales through his nose. “I fear them. Different thing.”

Your eyes shimmer.

He moves toward you slowly, hands lifted in surrender.

“I wanted to make you smile,” he says simply. “That’s all. Just—smile. Like you used to. Before I—” He swallows.

He crouches down before you. One hand comes up to gently stroke the kitten. The other finds your knee.

His eyes lift to yours—and there’s no performance left in him now. Just Rafayel. Just the man beneath the glitter.

“I was so awful to you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say it wasn’t that bad. I know what I am when I’m scared. I threw wine over grief and laughter over longing because I didn’t know what else to do. I ruined canvases with your name on my tongue and strangers in my house, and the whole time—I just wanted you to walk through that door.”

His fingers tighten on your leg.

“And when you did—when you came back—I was so full of rage at the idea you’d left me, that I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

He breathes. One hand comes up, presses lightly to your ankle.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. Any of it. You. The right to hold your hand. To be the one who touches you when you’re tired. Who makes you laugh. Who paints your name into the ocean.”

You slide your fingers into his curls, threading gently through the soft waves.

And he stills. Like he’s afraid to move.

You whisper, “I never wanted perfect. I wanted you.”

He exhales.

“I swear,” he says, softly now, firmly, “on every color I’ve ever touched—never again. I’ll never put my pride above your heart. I’ll never leave you alone in the dark I made.”

Then—he leans forward. Presses his forehead to your knee.

The kitten meows softly, curling into the basket.

And finally—you smile.

Because this?

This is home.

💙 Zayne

You expected something.

A tremor. A breath. A word. Anything.

Instead, Zayne listened. Like a doctor reviewing a chart. Like a man auditing loss.

He didn’t speak when you finished. He simply nodded—once—and turned away, reaching for the drawer by the bedside as though the moment hadn’t cracked the very floor beneath his feet.

His hands, always precise, always godlike in their stillness, carried a faint tremble now. Just at the edges. So minor you might’ve doubted your own eyes, if you didn’t know how obsessively exact they always were.

“I asked,” he said, adjusting a monitor. His voice was quiet. Neutral. Not for you—for himself. “I asked if you’d caught a cold.”

He finished adjusting the drip, typed something into the tablet. Still no eye contact. Still no softness in his voice. But the line of his shoulders was off. A degree too low. A breath too far from centered.

Then—he turned back to you.

His gaze met yours at last. And though his voice didn’t change, the words did.

“I would like to conduct a full diagnostic. Neurological, cellular, metabolic.” A pause. Then softer, with exquisite restraint: “Please allow me.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted him, but because you recognized the plea underneath the logic. He wasn’t doing this for the data. Not really.

You nodded.

And he breathed again.

He worked in silence. Gentle. Thorough. Every sensor placed with hands that barely touched your skin. Each test executed with a reverence that spoke more than words ever could. He treated you like something sacred—something already broken that could not, must not, fracture further.

When sleep finally came, it swallowed you whole.

And when you opened your eyes again—the world was still. Dim. The sterile light of early morning filtered through the blinds.

Zayne sat in the chair beside your bed. Unmoved.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

The same shirt. The same faint stain near the cuff from yesterday’s blood draw. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curved over his mouth, gaze lost in some calculation too heavy for paper.

When he noticed you stir, his posture didn’t shift. But his eyes warmed—just barely. Just enough.

“I cancelled my procedures for the week,” he said simply. “Transferred patients to colleagues. For now, my only case is you.”

You blinked, silent. Then your gaze drifted down, to the low table by the bedside.

There, lined with the kind of hesitant care that comes from someone unused to gifts, sat a modest row of familiar things. A bouquet of white jasmine, fresh and fragrant. Two of your favorite candies in delicate wrappers. And—absurdly, heartbreakingly—three new plush toys, small and soft and so clearly chosen by someone who’d spent an agonizing amount of time in the gift shop second-guessing every decision.

Your heart folded inward.

“Am I dying?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, when it came, was soft and absolute.

“I won’t allow that.”

A long silence passed.

Then you shifted—carefully, your muscles aching—and reached for him.

“Come here,” you murmured.

For a moment, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because some part of him still didn’t believe he deserved the invitation. But he came. And when he lay beside you on the narrow couch, his body held a tension that didn’t ease until your head rested on his shoulder.

He stayed still. Let you move first. Let you curl against him the way you needed. His hand hovered over your back, uncertain, until you nudged it gently into place.

Only then did he hold you.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

But with the kind of quiet conviction that said he would stay as long as it took.

You felt his breath in your hair before you heard his voice.

“I don’t pray,” he said, low, clinical as ever. “I believe in medicine. In numbers. In protocols.”

A pause. His fingers brushed your spine, feather-light.

“But if you hadn’t come back... I would’ve made an exception.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because some things, even with Zayne, are understood in silence.

And in that silence, held against the rhythm of his heartbeat, you felt it clearly: you were no longer his patient.

You were his entire world.

❤️ Sylus

For a moment after you speak, the room holds its breath. So does he.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t demand proof or press for detail. He simply stands there, stone-still, with your words unraveling him from the inside out. The way you say it—quiet, unshaking, without accusation—is somehow worse than if you’d screamed.

His gaze drifts over you then, and you feel the moment the veil lifts.

It’s in his eyes first—how they widen, flicker, and fixate. He takes in the shadows beneath yours, the pallor of your skin, the hollowness in your cheeks. His breath catches when he sees how your clothes hang looser than before. How your hands tremble faintly, barely perceptible unless one knows you too well.

And Sylus knows you.

His chest rises once, sharp and shallow. Then he moves.

Not fast. Not sudden.

But with purpose.

The next second, he’s in front of you, reaching—his fingers brush your jaw, feather-light, as if afraid that even the weight of his touch might bruise. He doesn’t speak as he leads you gently—gently, from a man whose hands have broken bones—into the nearest chair. One knee hits the ground beside you. He opens your jacket with slow precision, not to expose, but to check. To see. To know.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like gravel sliding beneath steel. His fingers glide down your arm, finding the sharp edges of bone where softness used to be. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, already rising.

He moves through the room like a storm with no wind—silent, but charged. Opens drawers. Pulls out clean clothes, a blanket, a glass of water. Then he’s back at your side, crouching again, one arm draped over your lap like a bridge between his fury and your exhaustion.

His hand wraps gently around your ankle, thumb pressing lightly against the bone there as he stares at it like it personally accuses him.

“I told them to take you.” His voice is lower now. Hoarse. “Told them to scare you. Make a point.”

He looks up at you. And for once, his face is completely unguarded.

“I hit you.”

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t brutal. Not for someone like him.

But it was enough.

His voice falters, only slightly.

“And then I said I wouldn’t look for you.”

He exhales, and it’s not a breath—it’s a confession.

“That was the worst one, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Out of all of it. That’s the one that stayed.”

Your silence says enough.

And something in him breaks again—quietly, like a structure folding inward with no one left to hold it up. His forehead presses lightly to your knee, his arm tightening around your thigh. You feel him breathe you in, like scent alone might bring you back from the half-place you escaped.

“I should’ve known the second I touched you that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it on your face.” His voice cracks, just once. “But I was so angry. So fucking angry I couldn’t feel anything but the space where you weren’t.”

He pulls back. Looks at you again—slowly, steadily. And something inside him hardens, not with rage, but resolution.

“You’re not lifting a hand again. Not for food. Not for water. Not for anything. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to fix this—you—with my own hands, piece by piece.”

And when he stands, it’s not the usual slow menace or calculated power.

It’s reverent.

He lifts you—not like someone injured. Like something sacred. And when he carries you out of the room, wrapped in warmth and silence, there is no doubt in your mind:

Sylus will not let go again.

Not even if time itself tries to take you.

💜 Caleb

You aren’t even halfway through when it hits him.

Not like a punch. Not like a wound.

Like an organ failing.

He blinks once. Twice. And then nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

Then, quietly—almost absently—he mutters, “I’ll resign.”

You look up, startled, and the absurdity punches out of you in a short, cracked laugh.

It’s the wrong moment. Too sharp, too bitter. But it slices through the tension like a scalpel.

And still—he doesn't move.

His hands press against the table, white-knuckled. Not to steady himself—he isn’t swaying. He’s rigid. Locked. Like something in him has calcified to hold him upright.

“I’m not fit to lead,” he says, voice flat, low, scorched. “Not when I see betrayal in the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

Whatever breath of amusement you had left dissolves instantly.

“I didn’t just fail as someone who was supposed to protect you,” he adds. “I failed as your—” He stops. Chokes it down. His jaw clenches so hard you can hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “As your Caleb.”

And then—he moves.

Quick, purposeful. Gone in a flash. You hear the kettle filling, the sharp click of a drawer, the dull thud of something fragile hitting the counter too hard. The way he clutches at control would be laughable if it weren’t so violent.

Then the bathwater starts.

Hot. Too hot. He’s not measuring anything. Just pouring. He throws open the cabinet, snatches towels, drops one, curses.

When he returns—his phone is in hand. “I’ll call Dr. Navik. I want a full neurocardiac scan, and we need to rule out—”

He stops. Mid-sentence. Thumb poised over the screen.

You don’t say a word. You just watch as something slows in him. As if time, for once, is merciful.

He lowers the phone. Turns toward you.

His voice—when it comes—isn't clipped or cold or distant. It's frighteningly gentle.

“Pip-squeak.”

He kneels before you, as if he’s afraid standing over you might shatter what little is left between you.

When he reaches out, it’s so slow. So reverent. The back of his fingers graze your cheekbone, barely there. Not because he doubts you—but because he doubts himself.

“How do you actually feel?” he whispers. “Not what I can fix. Not what the scans will say. Just you.”

You breathe. Only once. It shakes.

“Like roadkill,” you murmur. Then softer, almost smiling: “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt. And sleep. Maybe a week of it.”

Your faint attempt at a smile breaks him.

Not loudly. Not outwardly. He doesn’t cry. But something in his face folds in on itself, like it’s suddenly too heavy to wear. He draws a slow, trembling breath.

“I accused you,” he says, and now his voice is wrong. Hoarse. Quiet. Dismantled. “I accused you of being with someone else. After you went through six weeks of hell.”

You try to speak. He doesn’t let you.

“I thought you left me,” he says, and this time his voice cracks—just barely, but it’s there. A faultline in steel. His eyes are on the floor now, unfocused, as if he’s speaking to ghosts.

“I believed you would.”

His breath falters, like the truth is costing him oxygen.

“That it made sense. That I wasn’t enough.”

A pause. His throat works hard around the next words.

“Or worse—too much.”

His hand curls into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white. Not from anger. From restraint. From the effort not to collapse under the weight of everything he’s never said.

“That you’d finally find someone who doesn’t smother you with love that borders on obsession.”

He shifts, like his own skin is too tight. His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before he forces them open again, forces himself to keep looking at you—even if it kills him.

“Someone who wouldn’t try to chain you close,” he whispers, “just because he’s too selfish to breathe without you.”

He looks at you now—really looks—and the devastation in his gaze is endless.

His voice breaks on the last word.

“Someone who wasn’t… me.”

And for a moment, he’s not a soldier. Not a leader. Not even a man.

He’s just Caleb. That boy who loved you before he had language for it. And who never stopped. Even when it ruined him.

His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“I interrogated you. Like a stranger. Like a traitor. And all the while you were trapped—alone, dying, fighting—and I was worried about your silence in my bed.”

A breath. And another. Like he’s drowning in air.

“I loved you before I even knew what that word meant,” he whispers. “I carried it for years, swallowed it, starved it. I told myself it was wrong. Forbidden. And the moment I finally had you—really had you—I destroyed it with my own hands.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not until your fingers find his.

Then he shudders. And looks up.

“You always forgave me,” he says, voice breaking now. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. But this time… if you don’t. If you can’t…”

His hand trembles in yours.

“…I’ll understand.”

You shake your head. Just once.

And in that second—he folds into you, arms curling around your waist, forehead pressed to your stomach like a prayer he doesn’t believe he deserves to say out loud.

When he finally carries you to the bath, it’s not in silence. He keeps murmuring things—small things, promises, broken confessions, names only he calls you. He doesn’t try to be strong. He only tries to be there.

And when you’re finally in bed again, drowsy and warm, you find him already beside you. Fully clothed, facing the ceiling, his hand resting on the sheets between you like a lifeline.

You whisper his name.

He turns his head, eyes dim in the dark.

You reach for him, and he comes to you instantly, without hesitation. He lies down beside you, and when you press your head to his chest, he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in years.

His hand strokes your hair once.

And then, quiet—so quiet it almost isn’t real—

“I’ll never be the same.”

You don’t respond.

Because you both know it’s true.

And because you both know he doesn’t want to be.

[callmeimlost]

Open to requests? Stand ready for my arrival 👹

May I request a Main!Mark x Starfire!reader? Like maybe reader is a kryptonian and Tamaranean mix, just super OP. Like imagine Starfire!reader coming to earth, becomes a famous hero, becomes the symbol of hope, and Mark becomes super nervous to meet her, but turns out she’s really kind and fun

(And maybe a cameo of Cecil, losing his mind trying to find weaknesses for these OP aliens that keep crashing into earth 💀🤚)

Just imagine Starfire!reader teaching Mark about krypton and Tamaran, while he teaches her about earth. And how Starfire!reader would help him after all his battles, and how she’d make him feel better by always just being there for him

(If this is too confusing, or if you’re just not getting the vision then that’s okay. Have a nice day 💕)

✷ PLANET HER:: mark Grayson x Starfire!reader

WARNING:: reader is very OP, cannon gore, mark & reader teach each other about their planets, bubbly! Reader.

SUMMARY:: after crash landing onto earth and being held by GDA to make sure your no true threat, you meet Mark Grayson who is utterly smitten with the idea of introducing you to life on earth !

MEIMEI YAPS:: this was all written on my phone bcs my iPad sucks rn, so sorry if there are any spelling mistakes. Also im so sorry it took me this long to write I was sick and then I went to a concert yesterday and had no time 🫩💔.

The smell of dirt and copper filled your every sense, the distant shouts, the sound of your planet falling apart at your own feet; it felt like a fever dream, truly unreal. Even with the two suns that hung over Tamaran like twins; yet even then a chill wracks through you, unsettling and churning in your stomach.

You felt the bile itching at the back of your throat, how your legs felt like jelly, or even your fingers shakily gripping at your family as you were sent into the endless abyss of space. You had floated through orbit; for how long? You couldn’t remember. The many planets you had passed by, even picking up on languages before setting off once more. Nothing habitable for you, nothing to make you stay longer than short of a day or two.

You had grown used to the impending trash looming around as you fly through, swatting at the debris of asteroids and trash floating from planets that had been long abandoned. Like an endless cycle of floating through nothing, before you had heard word of planet- earth, an odd sounding planet but nonetheless you were willing to try.

It had taken you days to fly to Earth, you had known you’d made it when you had seen the odd shaped metal floating not too far from the blue and green planet. And without hesitation you had set off onto your decent. At the speed you were going you could’ve been sick at just how hard you had pushed your self.

Breaking through the mesosphere the heat on your skin sizzling against your skin bothered you none, bringing a sense of comfort though it pales in comparison to the twin stars that hung in the sky of tamaran. Your skin felt like it was buzzing within the moment you hit the stratosphere, the air thin as you hover slowly.

Taking your time to now get closer, the air or lack there of, makes your head spin and your heart burn. You could feel your body dropping quicker than your brain could respond. Wind whipping past your face as your ears ring. Black splotches cover your vision as you realize there was no possible way of willing your body to catch itself from the whiplash inducing crash it was going to make.

You didn’t hear it; but you definitely felt it. Your body laid out in a crater sized hole in a rural field; the raw dirt and smell of flowers and grass had been the only comfort as you were lured into the darkness of your own sleep. Earth wasn’t off to a great start at all, your first impression on their people was slightly destructive, you didn’t mean to! How would you know that the spikes green stuff would be there?!

It was odd; waking up somewhere you hadn’t fallen asleep, almost panicked at the realization. The sterile walls, the smell of antiseptic. It felt powerful, protected. Your hands twitching at your side as the clatter of cuffs to the handles of the frame to this mysterious bed.

Your palms feel warm and tight balled in fists as you yank at the cuffs, the metal bending at the sheer strength of your incessant tugging before pulling harder out of frustration you break the handle of the bed frame making you yelp softly at your wrist that was not old still in the cuffs but now had a metal bar latched to the other end.

You can only hold it up as you look at it dumbly, before you could even try to further free yourself from the bent out shackle the door to the room slides open with an almost comical sound. A man; no- a handler. A man who looks to not know rest, the distant yet stern look in his eyes, and the crisp look he had told you that he was in charge; and he had done this to you, and it makes you press yourself harder against the pillow behind you.

The chilling blue eyes he held that pinned you to your spot and kept your mouth sealed shut, waiting for him to speak. But he doesn’t- at first. He lets in a heard of doctors who check these odd shaped projectile machines that move and fill up the once quiet room with loud medical noises. You watched with curious eyes and a pinched brow as the man steps forward at the foot of the bed.

He doesn’t ask you any questions, he only looks to the doctors flitting his gaze between them and you as he speaks in a tone you could tell he was talking about you but not to you, and the very few words you do understand stem from him mentioning Tamaran. He speaks quick and with purpose and it confuses you but you, but the small broken sentences you can make don’t seem to help either of you much.

But you improve! Only at the expense of a poor doctor trying to check your vitals when you use the Tamaranian way of exchanging language when you lay one on him. And even more to the dismay of Cecil because the moment you start forming true sentences he learns you are just lollipops and rainbows; well- for someone who grew up on a planet where warriors are practically bred.

And with that you had spent little time under Cecil’s watch from what you understood you had only been under watch for the purpose of making sure you were no real threat to Earth, you were almost harmless had it not been for the fact that you could probably blow half of the building up with only a few beams of that green light glowing around your fists when you train.

But it was a surprise not only to Cecil but you as well when Mark Grayson stumbles upon you in private training he watches you with curiosity, his skin buzzing with warmth, you were intimidating. How easy everything seemed for you, the way you effortlessly move around and can be efficient. When Cecil catches Mark he felt like a kid being scolded for eating snacks before dinner.

“who was that?” Mark couldn’t keep his eyes off of you even as Cecil was practically guiding Mark out of the vicinity, he didn’t need two stupidly strong aliens consorting around with each other seeing as Mark is a loose cannon and you are emotionally driven. Cecil would only glare at Mark before spatting “Earth’s second biggest gain and potential enemy” and it wouldn’t be long before Mark would see you again, just not necessarily in the presence of Cecil.

When you were trusted under the guise that you were to work for the GDA you were propelled into the hero scene and became popular amongst the younger crowd, he’d see you on the news when he was on patrol, how you had taken the lizard league down on your own, how you mainly worked solo jobs.

He’d see how truly easy you made it look, how you knocked around people way bigger than you, how you could take a punch and not react let alone show any weakness; and when he finally met you face to face he was practically sweating out of his suit.

You were prettier up close, you emanated an aura that could be ignored- well for the purpose of Mark’s job in that moment it wasn’t time to be star struck but do his job. Cecil had sent the two of you with a group of astronauts to Mars where you’d make yourselves stay hidden unless something where to go wrong and god did Mark try to convince himself he was petrified to spend any time alone with you; he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of another really strong alien who could understand at least a fraction of how he feels.

When the two of you are sent of to take the two day flight to mars the two of you sit quietly the first few hours as Mark as unserious as it sounds tried to be as nonchalant and mysterious as he could because in his eyes that’s what you were. It wasn’t until you offered to make food for the two of you had Mark let his guard down. You were a mystery to him; your words polite and tone soft, your stride was strong and though you didn’t speak much, your presence was quiet and slightly refreshing.

The first time you and Mark had truly tried to teach each other about your planets was when you laid out a plate of food that had looked odd and almost inedible. Mark put on the best smile he could as you watched with eager eyes “on my planet it is much like a turkey on your planet” and Mark would have worn a small smile at how cute the excitement on your face was had it not been for the fact that he’s pretty sure he watched the food on the plate move��.

But for the sake of not ruining the small connection he just gained between the two of you he sucks it up and eats the food anyways- even if it was squishy and salty with an off putting color. “Do you have any meals on Earth that your family likes?” You had now seated yourself across from him curling your knees to your chest as you watched eagerly waiting to learn.

The two of you sat for the rest of the ride happily exchanging stories and history of your planets. How Mark knows that Tamaran is 26 light years away and that you’re actually Tamaranean royalty; is beyond him. He wondered if Cecil knew these things, or if it too personal? He didn’t know, so he never told; keeping it between you and him.

Though Mark does catches the looks of bewilderment when he explains that technology had not evolved that far on earth to the point of spacecrafts as advanced as ones on other planets that fly lightyears faster than a helicopter or an airplane. He didn’t know wether to feel pity or almost laugh when he realized that on Tamaran you didn’t have cell phones or internet, and you didn’t speak as fluently accurate; so when you watch him looking at pictures of Debbie and Nolan on his phone it was like he had grown a second head.

Plucking the little device out of his hands between your index and thumb as you tilt your head looking at the boxy metal piece of technology in your hand. “This is your communication?” Though it was more of a statement it came out as a question and it makes a small curious grin grow on Mark’s lips. “Cecil didn’t teach you about the power of a phone?” It sounded outlandish at first but Mark realized exactly who he was talking about; the man who only had time to stress out over everything else going on in the United States.

You only shake your head as you fill grip the phone looking down at the screen. “It is like the projectors we have on my planet….but trapped in a box” you swipe the screen and watch as another photo comes up, a picture of Mark with people who looked around his age all close together smiling happily. “Are these people your companions ?” You look up at Mark who looks at the photo’s with a smile. “On Earth we call them ‘friends’; companion sounds….formal”

Regardless of the fact you continue to let Mark show you many different photos of his friends and family, every time he showed you a picture he could feel your body temperature rising almost as if it were radioactive, yet you watch with curious eyes as he turns to you with a hint of amusement in his eyes “can I teach you how to use it?”

The explanation on how to work a phone was like a battle of with his brain; you were curious what every button does and what certain apps do. To say Mark had to test his wits with answering every question you have to the best of his ability without sounding like a complete fool. The two of you laughed at the others lack of under within certain contexts of conversations neither would have thought you’d have.

The two of you had been so caught up in his phone and how to work it that when it had eventually died, Mark would come to find out the astronauts were gone. The only thing left behind were a track of prints. “Shit!” And that’s when Mark also realized you were impressionable as you float by his side testing the curse word on your tongue and it makes Mark sigh as he realized how much of an influence his bad vocabulary would also have on you…..poor Cecil.

When the two of you eventually land on mars; the two of you work well together, though mark did have to worry a few times… It had never occurred to him before that sometimes the two of you were very emotionally charged, letting your moral compasses guide you rather than logic. And when the two of you learn of their disappearance the two of you go searching when you stumble upon the underground palace that belonged to sequids.

You watched Mark pull open the small hat hatch door that led underground, seeing the many little creatures slimy and sticking to helmet and suit of Mark as he tried to pull off the creature’s with yelps and shouts; watching him squirm makes you giggle as pull the last sequid off of him. “Are you okay?” You ask gently as the dull thump of the parasite on the group makes Mark shiver in disgust before he hums.

The two of you looking at the creatures with completely different looks on your faces, Mark had to do a double take when he saw the way you coo at the pink little membranes that squirmed disgustingly. “You think those things are cute?!” He whisper shouted he was flabbergasted on how you could such a thing to be anything but gross. But the way you nodded and stepped closer made his heart leap out of his ass.

“They are adorable!” You’d chime in quickly but quietly not to trigger any of them to attack “on my planet we keep creatures like these as pets….or we eat them!” Mark’s skin almost turned green at the idea of ever eating one of those things. “Maybe we should keep you at a distance from those” he’d chuckle cautiously as he watches you look at the pink beings with almost heart shaped eyes.

He almost has to tug you away with each carefully placed step you took towards the small creatures. And when the two of you find yourselves with your hands up surrounded by Martians who had clearly been in some kind of distress due to said pink creatures after you had basically shot it down from jumping on you, with that in mind the martians take you into their leader when you finally meet face to face with rage astronauts you and Mark were supposed to be watching and protecting.

After getting the run down on what exactly sequid’s were and what they do, Mark could clock the dark cloud looming over you at the deeply disturbing story. He had watched your once pouty smile slowly fall into a deeply disturbed frown and once he sees the look on your face he immediately feels the frown on his lips weighing down on his lips as well.

The Martian’s had practically disappeared from Mars due to the insurmountable amount of sequids had plagued the planet and had latched onto their kind before completely taking over the mind and body.

“I should have eaten them when we saw them” you mumbled to Mark and had it not been for the serious matter at hand he would’ve burst into laughter; but he had to be serious. “No eating” he says back and it makes you roll your eyes and slightly kick the flooring your very efficient plan being shot down.

“Tell me, how are you able to resist them” the Martian asked as he stands towering over the two of you and it leaves an uncomfortable pit in your stomach that makes you reach for the sleeve of Mark’s suit clutching slightly for some sort of comfort. “I come from the planet Tamaran” you answer quickly as Mark stutters slightly before dumbly answering “I’m part viltrumite; ever heard of us?” An impending and almost embarrassing silent beat passes by before he answers.

“I am the emperor of Mars, of course I’ve heard of you!” And that makes you step back slightly letting go of Mark’s sleeve so unaware that invincible belonged to an empire, to a race of people who didn’t have the greatest track record in space. “Well if you know us then you know; we like to help out wherever we can. Which is why; we were sent to help protect these astronauts” you could tell that even in costume; Invincible was just a boy at heart.

The slightly distressed look on his face as he tries to talk his way out of this. “So if your all good, we can finish our science and head home” he points towards the way you had came step back a few steps before the two men who had captured you blocked your paths. Your brows scrunch as an encroaching feeling of heat along your skin spikes. “Impossible! Human’s are sent to immediate execution!” The emperor shouts taking a step closer flickering between you and Mark.

“We cannot risk them coming into close counter with a sequid!” He urges in frustration you frown looking at your feet, you weren’t all too sure how Mark handled situations like these; but you knew for a fact that you were not a failure, you will not leave these people here to die, you will not die, and neither will invincible. You were sure of it. “I understand” you heard Mark say in an almost disappointed tone that makes your brow twitch.

He was onto something; brute force, maybe. But it was still something! And by the time you make it back to the surface hoards of martians had been chasing you through the thick clouds of dirt cloud your eyes you keep up and almost pass everyone before you yell over your shoulder you can see one of the human’s falling behind with a petrified face. “Flying sounds real efficient right now invincible!” You push yourself of the ground using the leverage to pick the woman up and a man before Mark follows behind you back into the ship.

As you and Mark try holding off the Martian’s as the smoke rises the two of you were practically clearing house until Mark had practically gotten tossed right under the ship. “You try and get that thing off the ground, I’ll hold them off. Can you do that?!” You ask over your shoulders as you feel anger growing in your stomach. Your eyes were glowing green and Mark didn’t know if he should be concerned or do what you say; regardless he would try.

He gets the ship up in the air in no time as he gets hit with the heated beams you could hear the pained grunts he let out making you return the favor, hearing the jets buzzing you take off towards the ship as you make your quickly awaited exit, you see Mark fly back down for a Rock that makes you laugh. “What’s that for?” You ask sitting on one of the wings. “Just thought I’d get something out of this whole ordeal” he shrugged holding the rock out to show you.

You tilt your head with a sad smile, Mark didn’t have to look at you, he could feel a sense of sadness lingering “it reminds me of the color Tamaran” you run a finger over the rock letting the dirt of mars stain your finger a burnt chalky orange. “Do you miss it?” He asks finally looking up at you with sympathy dripping from his words. “Sometimes…but i can’t go back” you swing your feet back and forth enjoying the lack of gravity with each moment.

He doesn’t say anything, at least not about why you can’t go back home; because he wasn’t there yet. He wanted to ask so many questions, but he’s too scared he’d overstep so he took the silent route instead. The two of you enjoyed the ride back home. It was better than awkwardly sitting together for hours.

Though when the two of you got back to Earth and checked in with Cecil it seemed he wanted the two of you to work together more often, keeping an eye on not just the two of you; but Mark’s own father. With the disappearance of the Guardians of the Globe and their unsuspecting deaths everyone searching for answers publicly and privately.

You had only met Omni-man in passing once or twice, not one for help or conversation you seemed to steer clear of him regardless of the fact that he was invincible’s father. When it all came spiraling down; Omni-man had officially lost it. Chicago was in ruins, people were trapped under collapsing buildings, cars and debris filling the streets.

Cecil had sent you out to do damage control as much as you could, the fight had ripped through subways, killed pilots and cracked a fucking mountain. When you had seen how much damage was done you were pissed. Nothing could have prepared Cecil for an angry alien basically standing over of him shouting. “You have to get this under control, he will kill him! You’re just sitting here watching it!” It was an outrage, how could he just stand there and watch like this was peak entertainment?

You had been so caught your own anger you hadn’t realized the woman who watched you with wide eyes on the brink of tears. “You know Mark?” She asks weakly and it makes your heart squeeze in your chest as you nod walking closer gently taking her hand into yours gently “Me and Mark went to Mars together. He was my first…friend on Earth” the word sounded weird falling from your lips but it felt like the right word.

“I’m so sorry this happening; I’ll see if can do anything to help Mark” squeezing her much smaller and weaker hand gently “I’ll do whatever I can” the gleam of hope flickering through her eyes makes you give a firm nod without saying anything else you look to the other workers amongst you watching Omni-man practically brutalized his own kin.

You took off towards the mountains, your body practically buzzing with heat and anger, your eyes and hands glowing and buzzing the closer you get to the fight- more like pummeling; but you had decided you were going to stand a fighting chance, and you were going to help Mark in anyway you can.

You understood that that the Guardians of the Globe was Earth’s protectors, and the track records Viltrumites had back on Tamaran Omni-man had a huge target on his back now. You’ve watched neighboring planets be destroyed and fallen victim to the empire you had so desperately prayed stayed far away from your home.

You were angry, these people, Mark; close to or already being dead- it pissed you off, how could you come to a planet like Earth and want to destroy it? Ruin the little peace it already holds? Every sharp turn, no matter how hard you pushed yourself to fly faster it still didn’t feel fast enough. You had grown to care for Mark since you’ve met, dealing with his small rants about some silly little earth cartoon on paper, or even sprinkles of him talking about school work.

So the moment you see Omni-man looming over the onyx haired boy whose face was practically swollen shut, blood covering his uniform. You could feel your insides churn at the sight, the bile sitting at the back of your throat, how your body tensed and fists tighten. You don’t hesitate to throw yourself into the mix; tackling the man off of his own son.

Thinking back; had you been human you’d had died. The brute force the two of you exchanged wasn’t much; but who could really beat a viltrumite who had been alive for centuries that had conquered planets and killed for strength? He had broken your arm and had finally flown off. Even with the sharp pain running through you in searing waves with every inch you moved, you still found yourself laying beside Mark’s feeble body checking if he was still alive; once you had fully recognized him as breathing and alive you had accepted exhaustion and passed out beside him.

And from then on you had an unwavering loyalty to Mark, going as far as to wheel your own IV around in the hospital to marks room and sit by his side watch trashy TV on mute because remotes still confused you, sometimes apologizing for not doing more, complaining about Cecil, just even eat dinner. Debbie had started to see your face way more often after the fallout of her family.

Even at times you had become very protective over him, going as far as to stand outside of his room and glare at Cecil for the poor job he was doing taking Mark under his wing. And eventually when Mark had woke up you two were glued at the hip. In return for helping him during his fight with his dad he’d help you emerge in Earth culture!

He teaches you about social media, slang, he at one point had to use parental controls in order for you to not accidentally call or text any of the numbers he gave you. You did break the first phone Cecil got you, you were very concerned when you got a call from Mark but couldn’t see him, his voice barely audible from how low your volume was making you shout into the line before ultimately throwing the phone out of stress.

He taught you how to make ‘Earth food’ though it was debatable on if it truly mattered what you ate because truly….you ate anything; and that kind of scared him. Having to explain why eating burnt toast or something that has been in the fridge for clearly too long was not something people on Earth do, he got an odd stare and a shrug before you reluctantly threw it away.

You do teach Mark about your planet, the history, the environment, how you were born into a planet where being warriors was normal; brutality was not frowned upon as much as it is on Earth. Though you have questioned him on why people don’t kill their enemies you had to have a serious discussion on why that isn’t exactly always okay.

Mark takes you to different countries, states and cities to show you how much fun Earth was; Breakfast in Paris and Dinner at Mark’s with Debbie with food from her favorite Mexican restaurant. The field trips were always great, he enjoyed watching the way your hands and eyes glow green when you got excited to experience new things.

Eventually when things start to get sour between Mark and Cecil especially after going through that rough patch with his dad, finding out about Oliver, and most of all Cecil not trusting Mark. Mark had been nothing but good! He could do no wrong in your eyes. The day Mark parted ways with Cecil you dipped in solidarity.

You help him train Oliver, you adore the small boy. Sometimes Mark comes to you for advice when he needs help with how much Oliver starts to pick up the ideologies of their father and how fast he’s even rapidly growing. You try your best to help make his work load less heavy. With the year he was having you don’t know he hasn’t found the time to lose his shit.

Mark appreciates you more than he has probably said it; feeling just slightly less alone because of the random alien that crashed into Earth like a meteor and just stuck around. Although you do have a slight innocence to you now; Mark looks back on his first encounter with you and can’t believe how nervous you made him when really you were in a way….kind of like him.

[aseelallturk]

Don't skip me !

When our dreams shattered and hope was lost, our lives turned to wreckage in endless darkness. Everything we knew as safety vanished in an instant, and now we’re stuck in a never-ending cycle of pain and confusion, desperately trying to find a glimmer of light in a night with no end💔

Be the light of hope in our darkness. Your donation could be the difference between life and de@th for us✊🏻🍉

GFM : https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-aseel-and-family-leave-gaza-before-its-too-late?s=09

@nabulsi @ibtisams-blog @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vakarians-babe @7amaspayrollmanager @fairuzfan @fallahifag @sayruq@humanvoreture @kaapstadgirly

@sar-soor @dimonds456-art @plomegranate @commissions4aid-international @nabulsi @soon-palestine @communitythings @palestinegenocide @vakarian-shepard @ghost-and-a-half @7amaspayrollmanager @kaapstadgirly

@annoyingloudmicrowavecultist @feluka @marnota @toughknit @flower-tea-fairies @the-stray-liger @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @vivisection-gf @communistchameleon @troythecatfish@the-bastard-king @4ft10tvlandfangirl @el-shab-hussein

[o0aj0o]

Shout out to everyone that played My Candy Love in the early 2000s and ended up in an endless cycle of otome games. 💔

[holyblonded]

Why do I think barca and us media media admin love and hate estrella at the same time like she is a meme material and gives a lot of hilarious content but at the same a pr disaster fighting against opposition fans or trolls on twitter or sharing something she shouldn't share or giving away transfers ( her twitter is banned and alexia threatened to change estrella's insta password if she doesn't behave)

— barça and uswnt’s media teams love estrella because she’s a content goldmine. she’s effortlessly hilarious, always up to something, and her antics rack up millions of views. but at the same time, she is their biggest headache.

— she’s for sure pure meme material—whether it’s her trash-talking on the pitch, her chaotic celebrations, or just her unfiltered personality in interviews.

— “estrella, what’s your pre-match ritual?”

— “i look in the mirror and tell myself, ‘you’re the main character, go make everyone suffer.’”

— her post-match interviews are always a nightmare. one time, after beating real madrid, she accidentally let it slip that barça was signing someone before the club announced it.

— cue the entire media team scrambling to delete clips before they went viral.

— but of course, they still went viral. estrella’s mouth is faster than their damage control.

— and don’t even get started on her twitter. she was constantly fighting opposition fans, trolls, and sometimes even journalists.

— when someone called barça overrated, estrella quote-tweeted them with, “ratio + your club could never.”

— another time, a rival fan said she wasn’t that good, and she responded with a video compilation of her cooking their team.

— barça’s media admin saw that tweet, sighed, and just closed their laptop.

— eventually, alexia banned her from twitter after she got into too many arguments.

— while estrella is technically media trained, she don’t exactly listen to her training.

— she has gotten into many arguments in instagram comment sections leading to her not having access to her instagram for periods of time

— fans can always tell when she's gotten her socials taken away cause her captions go from "put a k on them ‼️" with a picture of her and vicky with the fours up to "Another good game in the books! 1 goals and 3 assists! Visca Barça!" and they start a revolt in the comments

— "free our stargirl 🗣️"

— "stargirl's banned again? 💔💔"

— this actually happens so often that she made a second account with the username @estrella2fast4defenders but the username changes a lot so no one can catch on

— she only follows the younger players, olga, and alba on the account but some on die hard fans are on it cause they found it

— barça’s media admin, carla, prays before every press conference, hoping estrella won’t say something wild.

— but deep down they know she will. it’s an endless cycle for everyone

[mythicalartistx]

Vanitas in the novels is not what I expected....

I saw someone BBS sections online and it was just the Vanitas sections and it was worse than I thought.

I knew everytime you hurt or kill Unversed, Vanitas feels pain. That I knew and was sad. I knew the novels had more added extra details about that, BUT I DIDN'T EXPECT HIM TO BE SO SAD AND JUST WANTED TO STOP FEELING PAIN

That's why he looked so sad when Ventus defeated him. He only wanted to feel whole again so he wouldn't feel hurt or pain.

He was so miserable. He questioned his existence. He felt pain because he was separated. He hated looking at Ven, but when MX brought him to Eraqus he then started to missed him.

All the pain, sadness, nervous, and basically any emotions would create unversed. And he hated the sight of the Unversed as they also made him feel weak. When he destroyed them and it caused him to feel intense and physical pain. But it also made Vanitas feel slightly better because the Unversed being alive made him miserable. However the pain was so intense and it often made him create more Unversed because of it in an endless cycle.

He hated Ventus cause he got to live happily without feeling anything. He also reminded him of how weak he was because when they were one person he used to be weak and timid, but when separated Ven grew stronger due to Eraqus, Aqua, and Terra's influence. When Vanitas saw his other half, after Sora's heart touched both of theirs, he despised him and wanted to hurt him.

Vanitas actually didn't really want anything to do with MX but only helped him so it makes the pain go away. MX often told him the pain and hurting will make him stronger and to use those feelings. Vanitas only really went with him and wanted to forge the χ-blade and connect so he will stop hurting.

He just wanted to feel better and it's like really sad.

And MX often laughed at his pain or just watched , not doing a single thing.

Also sometimes MX would hurt and fight Vanitas to make him stronger and then disappear. And Vanitas would just be in the keyblade graveyard alone and hurt. Because of how alone he was and how much pain and all the sad feelings he got, he turned cold and a bit twisted. He didn't know nice things for himself, he only saw other people having this and it was never him.

It's just all so sad.

The parts that were just about his creation is just so 😔😔🥹💔

Like he still did all those things but it's understandable where he's coming from now. You feel bad for him now and NOW MORE THAN EVER he should get redeemed.

I already thought he should be redeemed because of how he was in his KH3 battle and he can stay as darkness if he wants but still be friends with them and maybe feel better.

GIVE HIM A HUG PLEASE he deserves it even if he bites

He's a silly little chaotic guy that deserves to be loved

[astroa3h]

the shadow side of juno ✨💔

Does your Juno placement have hard aspects? You could be dealing with the shadow side of Juno, where all that glitters isn't gold. For years I wondered why things didn't work out with my astrological soulmate, why things turned so sour? 😪

The further I studied my placement the further I realised I was dealing with the shadow side of Juno. A wolf in sheeps clothing. A faux soulmate so to speak. Look toward your corresponding sign and stay away from anyone that gives off these red flags. They are not your soulmate. ⬇️

Juno in Aries: Impulsive to a fault, your faux soulmate could be a ticking time bomb of anger and aggression. This is a love that can quickly spiral into a cycle of heated fights and reckless decisions. Their fiery nature can lead to dominance and ego battles, where love feels more like a war zone.

Juno in Taurus: Your faux soulmate might be the embodiment of stubbornness and material obsession. They can become so fixated on comfort and possessions that they suffocate the relationship. Their fear of change can lead to a stagnant, lifeless love, where both of you feel trapped in a golden cage.

Juno in Gemini: Charm morphs into manipulation. Your faux soulmate could be a master of words but a novice in honesty, leading you through a labyrinth of half-truths and flirtations. Their fear of depth can leave you feeling alone in a relationship filled with superficial connections and empty conversations.

Juno in Cancer: Overprotective to the point of being smothering, your faux soulmate might have a love that feels more like quicksand. Their emotional turbulence can create a stormy home life, where you feel constantly on edge, trying to navigate their unpredictable moods and possessiveness.

Juno in Leo: Your faux soulmate’s need for attention could eclipse everything, including you. Their pride and demand for admiration can lead to a one-sided relationship where your needs are overshadowed by their endless quest for the spotlight, leaving you in the shadows of their grandeur.

Juno in Virgo: Perfectionism turns into relentless criticism. Your faux soulmate’s desire for order can create an oppressive environment, where you feel constantly judged and never good enough. Their obsession with details can choke the spontaneity and joy out of your relationship.

Juno in Libra: Their need for harmony transforms into a paralyzing indecision and fear of confrontation. Your faux soulmate might avoid important issues, letting problems fester until the relationship is riddled with unspoken resentments and passive-aggressive behavior.

Juno in Scorpio: Here, love borders on obsession. Your faux soulmate’s intensity can manifest as jealousy, manipulation, and a desire for control that can feel suffocating. The relationship might often feel more like a power struggle than a partnership, filled with secrets and silent battles.

Juno in Sagittarius: Restlessness to the extreme. Your faux soulmate’s love for freedom can mean a refusal to commit, leaving you in a perpetual state of uncertainty. Their bluntness can be hurtful, and their constant need for new experiences can make you feel like you’re never enough.

Juno in Capricorn: Cold and authoritarian, your faux soulmate might prioritize status and success over the relationship. Their emotional unavailability and relentless ambition can leave you feeling lonely and undervalued, as if you’re more of a trophy than a partner.

Juno in Aquarius: Your faux soulmate’s unconventional nature can mean emotional detachment and a refusal to engage in the traditional aspects of a relationship. Their rebellious streak might make you feel like you’re living with a constant revolutionary, where intimacy takes a backseat to ideals.

Juno in Pisces: Escape turns to neglect. Your faux soulmate might retreat into a fantasy world, leaving you to deal with the harsh realities of life alone. Their tendency to play the martyr can lead to a relationship where you’re always the villain, no matter how hard you try. Yikes!

xox astro ash

Get your own Juno Soulmate Reading @ astroash.net

TikTok - astroa3h

[palmolli]

oh, and more on my rant about sksw Zelda to make it worse, you're welcome.

In the game, Zelda's mother is nowhere to be found, but Gaepora's there, so it's easy to make the assumption that her mother passed away. From what? Who knows. So I have a point with this.

Impa.

She's a strong woman, which is an example Zelda was deprived of honestly. Her dad found out she fell from the sky and just pat Link on the shoulder like, "I'm just gonna sit here and wait for you to bring her back and not do shiz." Not a very good example of a strong parent, but I'm not hating on Gaepora, I love the guy, actually. Rhoam can perish in a ditch. I know I know he was worried about Zelda and his kingdom, so he pushed her to unlock her powers because he cared, but the way he did it was so DOOKIE. I understand him as a character. Still hate him and hope 50 cartoon pianos fall on him. Not all at once, so he survies and just has to feel the pain over and over again. Now, back to what I was saying.

Impa is a wise, strong, silent type, but she's not heartless. She clearly cares about Zelda, and even in her younger more grrr years, her soft side still saw the light a little. If I were Zelda, I would immediately upgrade her to mother status. Because of that and the fact Zelda didn't have a mother, I headcanon that during her journey, she started seeing Impa as a mother figure. She probably learned things from her that Gaepora was definitely too awkward to talk to her about, or he just refused to believe she was growing up because that seems like something he'd do or maybe I'm just projecting?

Zelda 100% ranted to Impa about Link, which led to Impa acting like a girl dad and just bullying her daughter's man, and she definitely told Zelda he was a distraction. She expected a lot from Link and wasn't gonna allow her daughter around mr. BoyFailure. I NEED MORE CONTENT OF THEM. I NEEEEEEEEDDDD ITTTTTTUUUUHHHHH. Like they're just a neat little pair, and I just love them so much. I'm so normal about skyward sword, shush.

Cough. Impa was EXTREMELY overly harsh on Link, but that was just due to her protectiveness. And at the end she even SMILES at Link!!!!! SHAKDHEKDBEK. But uh... just like with Sonia, Zelda's mother figure got ripped away.

MY HEAAAAARTTTT!!!! I LOVED HERRRRRRR 💔💔💔💔💔

WE BARELY SEE THEIR RELATIONSHIP. WE COULDVE GOTTEN SO MUCH MORE OF THEM IF THAT DLC OR WHATEVR IT WAS GOT MADE. I HATE YOU NINTENDO I HATE YOUUUU!!!! (not the workers they're just doing their job) YOU GAVE ME FALSE HOPE YOU FRICKS. I THOUGHT THEYD BE TOGETHER AGAIN, BUT THEN YOU MADE GRANNIE EXPLODE INTO GLITTER YOU FOPPLING DUNDERHEADS. YOU BROKE MY HEART, PUT IT BACK TOGETHER AND JUST SHATTERED IT AGAIN BECAUSE YOU'RE A BUNCH OF EVIL FRIBBLES. NOBODY TALKS ABOUT HER GREIF ENOUGH POOR ZELDA HAS BEEN PUT IN AN EMOTIONAL BLENDER. LIKE COME ON LET HER BREATHE FOR FIVE SECONDS 😭

I lowkey believe Hylia got the worst fate in the Zelda franchise next to like oot link. She's not really a goddess anymore, just a ghost. So she can't die she can't go to heaven, and she just has to watch her descendants get tortured in an endless cycle for the rest of time. ALL BECAUSE OF THAT STUPID TRIFORCE!

THE TRIFORCE WAS THE REAL ZELDA VILLAIN ALL ALONG.

GREED WAS THE VILLAIN

IT WAS GREEEDDDD

EAT THE RICCCHHHHHH!!!

...

Got a little off track. Let me just roll my car back onto the road real quick.

Sksw Impa is the best Impa ever argue with the wall idc. Her design is mwa, her character is mwa, love her, all the cookies to her. Also to Zelda, she needs sum cookies, goodness gracious. Am I reading too much into a video game? yes, I am. Cry about it or something. I don't know, do what you want I could not care less. Unless you're like committing an unforgivable crime, then I care.

In conclusion:

Just stop reading. Bye-bye, have a nice day and thank you for coming to my ted talk.

[pumpkinsy0]

even MORE PaperCut hcs bc yknow what we live in a society

•they both gain happy weight while in the relationship, but like,,,more so later down it. its more noticeable w pony cause hes just always ate a lot, but hes also just not eating as heathy as before. w curly bc pony cooks and he will not hesitate to eat it he does gain weight but it is NOT a lot, his metabolism is fast as shit😭😭technically w pony its not by a lot either but look WHATEVVERRRRR WE R MOVING ONNNNNN

•the summers ponys spent w curly vs the summers he didnt, its so obvious he gets more tan w curly bc curly would get him to STAY outside. before pony WOULD go outside im not saying he wouldnt, but hes not the biggest fan of the humidity (especially cause if his asthma/eczema whoops) and just went right tf back inside to avoid it. w curly however he can ignore it for longer, which means more sun if his skin which means tanned skin pony!!!! YES before u ask curlys diggin it

•curly bites ponys lips when they kiss, pony thinks its a lil weird but hey its curly ofc hes weird so he lets him do it, but once two bit busted in to scare them and curly bit REALLY hard out of surprise and pony was bleeding for a bit. the whole gang knows about that one💔💔💔

•when i say they would sing good together, i dont mean it in a graceful way, i mean it in a “theyre yelling lyrics in the middle of the street while basically climbing each other, its not off key but its not the BEST singing either the angels arent coming down for this, and theyre trying to yell over each other, its great bc its them” way

•pony REALLY likes the way the sunset makes curlys skin glow, meanwhile pony doesn’t know it but when ponys looking at the sunset hes squinting HARD and rubbing his lips, curly thinks its the funniest thing ever, hes staring at it like hes in the back of the class staring at the board. pony refuses to get sunglasses he says it ruins the beauty of the sunset

•curly never went over to ponys house when ponys parents were still alive, never had a reason to, so he never met ponys parents, NAMELY, ponys mom. pony says she woulda loved him but in reality??? curly wouldnt have liked mrs curtis!! she would remind him too much of what he wanted his mom to b and curly being a mamas boy wouldve tried to find any reason to hate mrs curtis, wouldnt find any, THAT would piss him off more and its just a endless cycle. the curly we have now though doesnt know he wouldve felt this way either!!! this is an unknown thing to literally everyone, didnt happen so nobody knew this was even a possibility (i hope this made sense omfg)

•i feel like theyve both had a few dreams of a boy and girl version of the other kissing them, papercut is so bi4bi to me, let me have this god damn it

•curly draws pony but his art style is one that like, looks like it could be on early 2000 nickelodeon, just more detailed. 60s pony would totally tease curly for this art style but modern pony would think its cool

•curly sommeeee what lived the country life pony imagines back in haiti, pony would ask questions about it and curly says its rlly not allat, pony just thinks curly didnt like it bc hes curly he wouldnt get the greatness of the country side😒😒

•speaking of haiti curly loves talking about how pony wouldve been if he was born in haiti, its like he has this whole other version of pony in his head, he knows where pony woulda been born, how he would act around others, ALL of it. alternatively pony does the same talking to curly about how he wouldve been different if he was born in the us

[dandysworldhcs]

Idk if anyone's said any of these before but uhm... Transmasc Glisten He/Xem Transmasc Rodger He/They Transfemme Flutter She/her ______________________________ Twisted Glisten has waited by the elevator on multiple occasions hoping for someone to hop out, eventually giving up some and wandering around out of boredom before coming back. It's just an endless cycle of gaining and losing hope until someone arrives.

POOR GLISTEN AGH 💔

[sqvishii]

Kick the blog door

I'M ALREADY BACK WITH MORE IDEAS AFTER THE PREVIOUS QUESTION

Ok following that twisted route where Silver tries to make his loved one forget his most loved person

What happens if the reader puts up too much resistance where simply their love for their most loved person is so strong that this repetitive cycle of dreams and hallucinations. Where this sleep cycle is so abused that the reader ends up in a dream that cannot be exited (a coma perhaps?)

Where in this jailer's limbo is kept afloat by the reader's deep love for his most beloved person. Those threads of sanity tangled and contaminated by Silver's presence. Where dreams and reality begin to come together.

Maybe in a very tragic ending it ends up as true love's kiss but the reader obviously won't wake up if it's Silver who kisses her. 💔

the angst today is NOT HELPING. STOP IT 😔🙏

he loves you so much.

SO WHY CAN'T YOU JUST ACCEPT IT!?

it annoyed him, it really did. why are you still resisting to his love? he doesn't get it.

though, with his heart leading him more than his brain, he didn't realize the consenquences of his actions.

the next morning, silver had to wake up only to recieve the news that you were in a coma.

the despair on his face was evident, clear as day as he stood frozen, standing there at the same spot until he finally broke down.

you were.. still in the dreamscape.

y'know, it's your fault, no? if only you accepted his affection, you would still be awake, in his arms as the both of you skip the entrance ceremony.

silver knew he was part of it too, somewhat the cause of you being in a coma was that endless dream that repeated over and over again.

in the end, with his magic being used albeit too much, and the negative feelings swirling in him,

he overblots.

have a good dream, reader.

(IM SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT I WAS BEING AIRFRIED WHILE MAKING THSI)

[innorality]

;; Break of Dawn — chap. 1

Natsu Dragneel x Oc/Reader Pov

an : this story is abt an oc but!!! it's written in an x reader pov so take that as u will 💔

wc : 2k words (😮‍💨)

Azura, the most notorious and powerful criminal in history, had finally been captured and sentenced to death. His family had a long legacy of crime, and many believed he would be the last of his bloodline—after all, who would ever see him as worthy enough to bear his child?

But the world was wrong.

Somewhere in the shadows of history, Azura had a daughter, Adora, born to a woman whose very existence had been erased. Though he never wanted her entangled in the chaos he had wrought, he still wished for her to be strong. And so, before surrendering himself, Azura gifted his daughter the entirety of his power.

Alone and afraid, Adora wandered the vast kingdom of Fiore, a child with no home, no purpose—until fate led her to a building.

A guild.

A new family.

— August, X777.

That was the last date you had seen, scribbled on a tattered calendar in a run-down bar. The ink was smudged, the paper yellowed with age, but the numbers had seared themselves into your mind. You felt lost. Exhausted. Angry—at the world for taking everything from you, at your father for leaving you behind, at yourself for reasons you couldn't even begin to understand, possibly a survivor's guilt of some sort. Your body ached, every step sending a fresh jolt of pain through your bare feet, the rough, unkind ground tearing into your skin. Hunger gnawed at you, a sharp, relentless ache that had become a constant companion, whispering cruel reminders of how little you had left.

It had been two months since your father, the infamous Azura, was executed before your very eyes. Two months since his agonized screams had echoed through the air, met not with sorrow, but with cheers, with laughter, with celebration. The people had rejoiced in his death, exulting in the pain that had twisted his face in his final moments. Women you had never met before clung to you as if they knew you, whispering empty words of comfort, while men—strangers, faceless and unfamiliar—cried tears of joy. Their relief was palpable, their hatred unyielding, their joy at his suffering absolute.

And you?

You hadn’t reacted.

Not because you didn't care, but because you didn’t know how.

It wasn’t your fault. None of it was.

And yet, the weight of it all clung to you, suffocating, pressing down like an invisible force that never relented. The memories replayed in your mind, an endless cycle of pain and confusion, offering no peace, no escape. You had stopped thinking about where you were going long ago; your feet simply carried you forward, step after step, down an empty, endless path. The world around you blurred together—twisted trees, distant voices, the faint hum of life in the kingdom of Fiore. But none of it mattered. You had nothing. You were no one.

You were so lost in thought that you hadn't noticed the building growing taller and taller before you as you approached it.

Then—cold.

A sudden, unexpected touch on your shoulder.

The world snapped into focus in an instant. The road, the aching in your limbs, the quiet desolation of your thoughts—all of it shattered by that single touch. Your breath hitched. Your muscles tensed.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you stopped walking.

And slowly, hesitantly, you turned around.

An old, small man—barely as tall as you—stood before you, his presence halting you in your tracks. He looked fragile, his hunched frame wrapped in a long, worn-out cloak, his face weathered with age. But his eyes, a warm and knowing shade, held a gentleness that felt almost foreign to you.

“What are you doing here, little one?”

His voice carried a softness that contrasted the weight of his words, making them feel less like a demand and more like an invitation.

You hesitated. You hadn't spoken to anyone in days—perhaps weeks. Your throat felt dry, and the words that formed in your mind felt too heavy to say. Still, you forced them out.

“I… I don’t know," you admitted, your voice weaker than you intended. "I would like a bit of food… if that’s alright.”

It was such a simple request, and yet, a strange guilt settled in your chest as soon as you said it. You had grown used to fending for yourself, to being met with suspicion or disdain rather than kindness. Asking for help felt unnatural.

But the old man didn’t scoff or turn you away. Instead, he smiled, a warm and knowing expression that softened the lines of his face. With a gentle push on your back, he urged you forward.

“Of course, my child,” he said, his tone carrying the weight of something deeper than mere kindness. “Come with me.”

And for the first time in months, you let someone lead the way.

He led you toward the building you had somehow failed to notice before. Now, standing before it, you couldn’t ignore its presence—it was grand yet inviting, its worn wooden walls radiating warmth. At its peak, a strange emblem stood proudly: a joyous fairy with majestic wings, almost dancing in the wind. Something about it felt… different. Alive.

With a push, the old man swung the door open, and suddenly—life.

Laughter filled the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the rhythmic stomp of dancing feet. Shouts of friendly banter and drunken singing reverberated off the walls. You hadn’t seen anything like it in years—perhaps ever. The sheer energy of the place crashed into you like a wave, knocking the breath from your lungs.

Before you could even process it, the old man beside you cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed, “Everyone! I’ve got a new girl here!”

In an instant, the entire room went silent. Every head turned toward you.

You froze.

A lump formed in your throat as dozens of eyes bore into you. For a fleeting moment, you considered bolting—until the silence shattered into chaos.

The room exploded with excitement.

People rushed toward you from all directions, their voices overlapping into an overwhelming cacophony. Questions flew at you faster than you could register: Who are you? Where are you from? How old are you? What’s your magic? Do you like meat? Hands clapped against your shoulders, ruffled your hair, pulled you into half-hugs before you could react. The overwhelming presence of so many people—so much warmth—sent your heart racing.

But in the midst of it all, you noticed one thing.

They all seemed to care.

A deep, commanding voice suddenly cut through the noise.

“Quiet, everybody!” The old man shouted.

The crowd immediately fell back as a tall, tanned man with white hair stepped forward. “She’s obviously tired and hungry—i'll get her some food!” Without hesitation, he turned and rushed toward what you assumed was the kitchen.

Before you could fully register what was happening, the old man guided you to a seat, his small stature belying the strength in his grip. He settled in across from you, his kind eyes studying your face.

“My name is Makarov,” he said, his tone gentle yet firm. “And you are?” you hesitated. You couldn't tell them your last name, as they would immediately recognize its origin.

And so, you opted to say only your name.

“I… I think my name is Adora,” you murmured, the words feeling strange on your tongue. “And I must be… eleven years old—”

“Just like me!”

A loud voice suddenly cut in, startling you. A boy with wild pink hair had plopped himself down right beside you, grinning like you were already old friends. His energy was contagious, his enthusiasm almost suffocating.

“Natsu, give her space,” the tanned, white-haired man scolded, gently shoving the boy away as he placed a steaming plate of food in front of you. The smell alone made your stomach tighten painfully.

You hesitated, glancing at Makarov for reassurance. He simply nodded, his eyes filled with quiet encouragement.

And so, you ate.

The first bite sent warmth flooding through your body. Then the second, then the third. You ate and ate, shoveling food into your mouth with a hunger you hadn’t even realized had taken root in you. Each bite melted on your tongue, rich with flavors you had long forgotten. Your hands trembled as you reached for more.

And before you even realized it—tears were streaming down your face.

Makarov’s voice was gentle but filled with concern. “My child, why are you crying?”

Beside you, Natsu laughed. “Is the food that bad?”

You shook your head quickly, swiping at your tears with the back of your hand. Despite everything, a small, almost foreign smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “No… that’s not it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. “This is the best meal I’ve had in months…”

Makarov’s expression softened, his warm gaze holding yours. And then, with a quiet chuckle, he said,

“Well then, keep eating.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you did.

— 6th of June, X784.

That was the date you had carefully marked on the calendar hanging on the wall of your room. You weren’t sure why, but it felt special—like today would bring something new. Stretching your arms above your head, you stepped toward the window and pushed it open, letting the crisp morning breeze kiss your face. The air smelled of fresh earth and the faint scent of the bakery down the street.

"Another lovely day!" you thought to yourself, inhaling deeply.

Before you could fully enjoy the moment, a blur of blue suddenly appeared in front of your face.

"Rise and shine, Adora!"

A familiar voice chirped, and you found yourself nose-to-nose with a grinning, winged blue cat. You couldn’t help but smile warmly, reaching out to gently pat his head.

“Good morning, Happy!” you greeted, your voice still laced with sleep. But then, your eyes landed on something in his paws. “Oh? What’s that?”

Happy, ever-excitable, held up a slightly crumpled piece of paper—a photograph. You took it from him, studying the image closely. A blonde woman smiled back at you, confident and radiant, proudly showing off her Fairy Tail emblem on the back of her hand.

“Who is this?” you asked, tilting your head curiously.

“A new girl that me and Natsu found!” Happy beamed, flapping his wings excitedly. “She just joined the guild! Get ready and come meet her!”

Excitement sparked in your chest. A new member? You could hardly wait!

Without another word, you bolted from the window, rushing to get dressed. Today was going to be interesting.

You had barely managed to slip your shoes on before rushing outside, excitement buzzing through your veins as you sprinted toward the guild. The streets of Magnolia blurred past you, familiar faces offering quick waves as you dashed by, too eager to slow down.

As you reached the guild's entrance, your eyes immediately landed on the familiar sight of wild pink hair. Natsu stood with his back to you, clearly engaged in a conversation with someone—completely unaware of your arrival. A mischievous grin crept onto your face as you snuck up behind him and gave him a playful knock on the head.

"Ow!" he yelped, whipping around. But the moment his eyes landed on you, his expression lit up with joy. His wide, toothy grin sent warmth straight to your chest, as it always did.

"Adora! Finally, you're here!" he cheered, bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Meet Lucy! Our new teammate!"

He stepped aside, revealing the girl from the picture Happy had shown you earlier.

Lucy stood before you, just as radiant in person as she was in the photo. Her golden blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her warm brown eyes held a mix of curiosity and friendliness. The Fairy Tail emblem was proudly displayed on the back of her hand, as if it had always belonged there.

For a moment, you simply took her in—this newcomer, this stranger who was now a part of your family.

And then, with a bright smile, you extended your hand.

"Welcome to Fairy Tail, Lucy!"

do not plagiarize, repost or translate without my permission. this story has only been posted on Archive of Our Own, Tumblr and Wattpad by me.

[msaqqa1]

Hello friends, supporters, and EveryTumblr,

Today, I have heartbreaking news to share. This morning, my family and I received yet another evacuation order for the area where we sought refuge. This marks the 13th time we’ve had to flee from real danger, and each time becomes more unbearable than the last 💔.

The tents we rely on are now so worn out they can barely be dismantled and set up again in a new location. I feel like I can hardly catch my breath, struggling to face yet another displacement.

I feel suffocated by this endless cycle and am desperately reaching out for your support to help us rebuild our lives in a new place. I appeal to the world to hear our mournful cries from Gaza—to lend a helping hand, wipe away our tears, and help us cross the bridge to safety.

We are truly exhausted. Sharing our story takes so much effort, but your kindness and generosity can make all the difference. Every donation is not just a contribution; it’s a chance for survival for my family.

Please amplify my voice by reblogging and, if possible, donate to support us 🙏🏻.

• Our campaign is vetted by 🇵🇸 @/gazavetters List at #291 • DONATE HERE

[imams-diary]

In 2008, Olmert believed peace was possible. Today, his map feels like a relic of ‘what could have been.’ Can hope survive endless cycles of conflict? 💔

➡️ Keep reading Here

[uhohbestie]

There Are Monsters Nearby [Chapter 22]

🏜 Pairing: Grian/Scar

🧟‍♂️ Tags: zombie AU, zombie apocalypse, lovers to exes, slow burn, eventual reconciliation

📖 Summary: The day after Scar breaks up with Grian, the dead come back to life. Knowing that venturing out alone is a death sentence, the sudden onset of the apocalypse forces them to stick together despite their tensions. In the wreckage of the world, they're forced to survive side-by-side, coming to terms with the fact that—try as they might—there's still no one they trust more than each other.

Chapter 22 - In the ruins of his grief, Scar is forced to continue his journey on his own. By himself and unable to cope with his loss, he makes a wrong turn and finds himself with his back against a wall– literally– running low on ammo and desperately in need of a friend.

📝 Words: 3,311

🔗 Link: Read Chapter 22 on AO3

—

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Grian had said, not wanting him to toss away the bullet. Scar wishes he had now. Wishes he’d managed to shoot them both. It would be better than this, he thinks. Trapped alone behind the flimsiness of a chain link fence with his back against a wall. Hungry and tired, with nothing left in the tank.

He doesn’t know what he believes in. An afterlife or an endless repeating cycle. Maybe something else entirely. Maybe an abrupt end with nothing on the other side.

Maybe a cosmic game he can never hope to win.

Another aim, another shot. Finger on the trigger, hands steady. Exhale, pull, shoot.

He hopes, if he’s lucky enough to get another chance, that he meets Grian sooner next time. He hopes he’s more confident. He hopes he makes the first move.

He hopes they build something good together. He hopes they’re happy.

Another round spent. Pause, reload. His fingers are cold, hands cramped and aching. There are shell casings in his lap and littering the ground. He settles the butt of the rifle back into the crook of his shoulder. He’s so hungry and exhausted that his hands tremble, but he still makes every shot.

There’s something happening, a strange reverb, the sounds of gunfire coming back to him, doubling in on itself. He doesn’t know if it’s an echo. It doesn’t sound like all the shots are his.

There’s no longer a safe distance between him and the horde, no room to breathe. The zombies are piling up against the fence, more of them than he can contend with, fingers prying between the gaps in the chain links, pushing forward, groaning, terrible. Sometimes it sounds like they laugh, sometimes it almost sounds like they’re making words.

He fires again, taking down another.

—

Friday fic update! Chapter 22! A new MCYT-adjacent reference to add to the collection, and a new banner for you all, too! Haha 💔

You can read the whole fic thus-far in the link below!

You may not rest now, There Are Monsters Nearby (on ao3!)