#Motion of a rising particle

[golzar66]

অভিকর্ষজ বা মাধ্যাকর্ষণজনিত ত্বরণ

অভিকর্ষজ বা মাধ্যাকর্ষণজনিত ত্বরণ, অভিকর্ষজ ত্বরণ, উল্লম্ব গতির ক্ষেত্রে গতিসূত্রসমূহ, পতনশীল বস্তুকণার গতি, উত্থানশীল বস্তুকণার গতি, সর্বাধিক উচ্চতা, সর্বাধিক উচ্চতা হতে পতনকাল, বিচরণকাল, নির্দিষ্ট কোনো উচ্চতায় বস্তুকণার সময়, নির্দিষ্ট কোনো উচ্চতায় বস্তুকণার বেগ, প্রয়োজনীয় সূত্রাবলী, Acceleration due to Gravity, gravitational acceleration, Equations of motion in terms of vertical motion, Motion of a falling particle, Motion of a rising particle, Maximum height, Time of flight, Time of a particle at a given height, Velocity of a particle at a given height

[directdogman]

Dialtown short story - I am Mingus, Mayor of Dialtown (Chapter 1)

(This is the standalone chapter of a multipart story concept featuring Mayor Mingus' rise that I wrote as a warmup! This, ofc, takes place long before she gained a cat's face + her new name! If people like this, I can write more!)

Leaders are not born, they are made. Empires do not rise from sand, but when the time comes, they invariably tumble back into their dust. The day of self-made men, of heroic visionaries, has elapsed and we are what has grown in their ashes. Today is comprised solely of what's left.

In bygone days, LONG before Dialtown's streets were bestowed with a ceaseless inferno… Long before the arrival of a green messiah… The town was dragged back into the present by a lone visionary. An ancient tenet undusted. Once a promise, now an ultimatum. Tomorrow begins today.

A solitary beam of light illuminated the musty nursing home activity room. Slumped in his armchair, a metallic titan gazed longingly at the dancing particles of dust moving through the light coming from the window. The only source of motion in this still place. A creak seeped from the weathered door on the other side of the room and from the dingy expanse on the other side came a young woman dressed in purple.

She lingered in the doorway for a moment, before hesitantly stepping over to the seated man. The soft thud of her cane hitting the carpet punctuated every second footstep. Upon arriving in front of him, she leaned over him, laying a gloved hand over the limp metallic gauntlet sitting on his lap.

"Paw paw…" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "It's Michelle. I'm back." Michelle's grandfather didn't stir, his gaze still fixated on the ray of light coming in from outside. "I told you I'd come back." she added, squeezing the gauntlet as if she expected him to somehow feel it, "Don't you remember? I promised." "I've got a PLAN." she declared, raising her right index finger decisively, "A PLAN to get you out of-" Michelle trailed off, glancing over to the window, whose light gleamed against the golden trim on her typewriter head. She squeezed his other hand tightly, hoping to break his gaze.

"Hey, hey…" she muttered impatiently, "Never mind that!" Michelle hastily neatened her paw paw's suspenders and wiped some dust from his right arm. A soft but steady click sounded from the visionary's patchwork head, which finally turned to stare at Michelle. "…I've got something to show you!" she whispered in a hushed but fervent tone, eager to hold her paw paw's attention for even a moment more than usual.

"I found this in Maw Maw's belongings…" she added in the hopes that mentioning his wife would aid in retaining his fleeting attention. A gloved hand slowly left her right pocket. In it, a worn postcard featuring him, standing in front of a bustling city street amidst a crowd of avid supporters. A whole host of dreamers. She held out the postcard with both of her hands, her shaky grasp placing it just below his face.

"See?" she pleaded softly, "Don't you remember this?" His stare didn't adjust, leading Michelle to conclude that he wasn't really seeing it. She withdrew her left hand and placed it on his right arm. "This is YOUR town." she insisted, squeezing his arm as she spoke, "These are YOUR people!" Slowly but surely, his neck tilted downwards, so his dial could peer at the postcard. The titan's head twitched slightly, the rusted dial spinning laboriously as his gaze scanned the whole postcard, finally resting on the tabby sitting at the front of the crowd. Michelle slowly lowered the postcard, putting it back in her pocket, before then placing her right hand onto his left arm and leaning in close.

"I've got a PLAN this time, Paw Paw…" she whispered, caressing the side of his arm softly. The metallic man didn't stir. "There's an election coming up soon…" she added excitedly, hoping to regain his attention, "Soon… I'LL be Mayor." Crown's gaze drifted back towards the window, prompting Michelle to shake his arms slightly. "Just like YOU were." she uttered, before using her right hand to turn her paw paw's head back towards her, "We're going to RECLAIM what was once ours." Michelle's right hand drifted back to her paw paw's left arm while her left index finger trailed the side of his head, circling a large circular button. "And then…" she stuttered, "And THEN, I can get you the help you need." She paused, glancing temporarily to the window.

"Whatever it'll take for you to remember." She turned back to her grandfather, her hands now interlocked, as if pleading with a higher power. "YOU'LL put this town right." she declared, "YOU'LL breathe some life back into this tired old world." Her paws rejoined with his arms, gripping his elbows tightly. "We'll be a family again." she whispered, her voice now shaking along with her hands, "You'll see." A momentary silence permeated the room, broken only by the dim but reliable ticking coming from within her grandfather's head. "Hey…" she murmured softly, "I know you can hear me… I KNOW you're still in there." She gradually leaned forwards, bridging the distance between them, peering into the rusted dial on the metallic man's face, like a tiger peering out from a cage. "You can see me…" she pleaded, "…Can't you?"

Crown gradually rose in his seat, his elbows digging hard into the armrests of his chair. Michelle backed off slowly, her body slightly trembling as she saw his head shift, as if looking right through her. This was it, she thought. He can finally SEE me. But, before she could say anything, his head drifted to her right. Towards a busted radio sitting on a small table to his left. Crown slowly lifted his left hand and began clumsily fiddling with one of its knobs. "Is…" he murmured, clearly just thinking aloud, "Is the war over yet… I can never get a good signal on this thing-" Of course. He'll look at ANYTHING but me, she thought. Michelle darted over to remove his hand from the radio.

"Hey, HEY!" she spat, as she pried his hand from the knob, as if commanding a small child, "Never MIND that! You-" Just as his grasp slipped from the dial, Crown jolted to his feet with inexplicable speed. The sheer and sudden shifting of weight in the room from his mechanical body produced an effect not unlike standing on a platform as a train comes speeding by. The titan's gauntlet closed around his her arm as his other arm convulsed wildly, desperate to reconnect with the radio.

"He's FIGHTING for his LIFE out there, h-" Crown exclaimed, prompting a couple of burly phone-headed men to rush into the room. As the uniformed men struggled to force him back into his seat, Crown's ironclad hold on Michelle's arm suddenly released. For a moment, she was completely paralyzed, unable to feel anything but a searing heat coming from her trembling arm. Before she could speak, the worker who'd greeted Michelle at the door rushed through the door. She stood, arms-crossed, glaring.

"He's agitated." the receptionist muttered, "Visitation's over. He needs his rest." In her posture, Michelle saw judgement. "He's m-" Michelle murmured, barely able to vocalize. The receptionist interrupted her trembling voice. "You can come back." she dictated, pausing for several seconds before continuing, "Later."

Michelle, still shaking, had much she wanted to say. But, no words came from her head. Just silence. The room was deathly still again.

[saintsroww]

no cinderella.

summary. singing songs for powder to fall asleep to has become a regular thing for you, and violet seems to appreciate that. cw. young!violet x youngfem!reader, wlw, sugar sweet fluff. wc. 840 cr. young vi gif from arcanegifs on tumblr. notes. this is so cute, i had fun writing this. (⭒  ์ ⲳ ์ ) a bit ashamed that it's awfully short, but i feel it's better this way? ┐(‘～`;)┌ disc. killing me softly

The otherwise dim room that provided an illusion of safety was lit by a single lantern that was left on a wooden table, with dust particles surrounding the warm, orange light emitting from within, behind the lines of metal. The right side of the room has two patchy couches of poor condition accompanied by a barrel with a record player placed on top and that wooden table, the left side of the room was Powder's little corner, a twin sized bed with wooden frames, the same patchy design of the couches were relayed for her blanket.

The couches were deserted except for a single seat sofa, where Violet's slouched body sat, left hand's fingers threaded through the strands of her pink hair, right leg bouncing persistently being left overlooked by her, heel of her shoe tapping against the wooden floor. Her demeanor told a glaringly similar story when compared to what's transpiring behind her skull, steel blue eyes staring off at the orange light in front of her.

You were settled down onto Powder's bed, sitting upright at the edge of it with Powder laid curled up behind you, her small, cold hand a sharp contrast to your palm's warmth and the circular motion of your thumb upon the top of her hand that she found comfort in, she'd open and close her mouth if she were to explain as to why that is– but in the depths of her essence, she knows it's because it brings familiarity to her of someone she held dear. 

Her cheek was smushed onto the blanket, knees held close to her chest. She returned your gaze with a growing smile, eyelids weighed heavy, and she blinked languidly. “Y/n, can you sing that song again?” Voice kindred to a breeze, words expressed openly with a concoction of expectation and knowings. “Which one, Powder? I've sung many.” She lightly groaned in response. “Um..” Her eyes sealed shut, and a quiet moment passed you by.

Soft humming arose from below you, Powder trying to impart the song to you through recollecting the past. “Ah, alright.” You nod your head, clearing your throat, right ankle moving to cross over the other, legs stretched. She stops, waiting patiently with her eyes closed. 

“Strumming my pain with his fingers.” You sing in a whisper, tune unbroken, and with confidence you used to not have regarding your vocals, somewhat deep and smooth like satin. “Singing my life with his words. Killing me softly with his song, killing me softly, with his song. Telling my whole life, with his words, killing me softly, with his song..” Your feet tapped, curating the beat from how you remembered it, and it was without a doubt accurate. 

“I felt all flushed with fever, embarrassed by the crowd, I felt he found my letters, and read each one out loud.” Voice rising slightly at the right time, lashes fluttering shut when you feel that strong wave of passion in you, behind your eyelids, a place for vivid imagination, a single white light from above shining down on you and the stage you stood upon– “He sang as if he knew me, in all my dark despair, and then he looked right through me.” Eyebrows pinching together, channeling those emotions as if it were truly yours. “As if I wasn't there.” – a crowd that harmonized with you, saying the words you imagined that you crafted and put your sweat and tears into with equal fervor, echoing in your skull. A dream out of reach, fingertips aching, itching to touch that blinding white brilliance in an abyss of black.

That tapping your ears were used to hearing had stopped, you're surprised you even noticed in the first place.

And when you opened your eyes, Violet was gazing back at you, the right corner of her lip was curled upwards, head held up by her closed hand, elbow digging into the armrest of the sofa. Your words went airy for a moment before regaining its stable balance when your ears caught onto her humming. Present, unforgivably supportive, the one who shone the brightest in your front row seats. 

Smiling back at her only makes her face reflect yours. It grows on her. This night was a small breath of fresh air that you'll never let leave your memory bank, rustic lid sealed tight. 

You both finish the song together, Violet mostly humming but tapping in to sing a few words with you every now and then until it has finally come to an end. Violet's eyes drift from yours to check on Powder, you did as well. The little girl was soundly asleep, her hold on your hand had waned long ago, and faint snoring filled the renewed silence.

“Your voice is beautiful.” Violet commented, unhidden sincerity in the way she said it. The same hand she had her head lean onto shifted to scratch the nape of her neck, her other hand lying stagnant on her thigh, upper body leaning back in her seat.

“Thank you, Vi.”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Word List: Moon

beautiful words with "moon" to try to include in your poem/story

Honeymoon - a period of unusual harmony especially following the establishment of a new relationship

Moonbeam - a ray of light from the moon

Moonbow - a rainbow formed by light from the moon

Mooncalf - a foolish or absent-minded person; simpleton

Moondust - fine dry particles of the moon's soil

Mooneye - a silvery North American freshwater bony fish (Hiodon tergisus)

Moonfaced - having a round face

Moonfish - any of various compressed often short deep-bodied silvery or yellowish marine fishes

Moonflower - a tropical American morning glory (Ipomoea alba synonym Calonyction aculeatum) with fragrant flowers

Mooniness - the quality or state of being moony; dreaminess, inattention

Moonlet - a small natural or artificial satellite

Moonless - lacking the light of the moon

Moonport - a facility for launching spacecraft to the moon

Moonquake - a seismic event on the moon

Moonrise - the rising of the moon above the horizon

Moonroof - a glass sunroof

Moonsail - a light square sail set above a skysail and carried by some clipper ships in light winds

Moonscape - the surface of the moon as seen or as depicted

Moonseed - a twining plant (Menispermum canadense) of eastern North America that has crescent-shaped seeds and black fruits

Moonset - the descent of the moon below the horizon

Moonshine - moonlight; empty talk, nonsense; intoxicating liquor

Moonshot - an extremely ambitious project or mission undertaken to achieve a monumental goal

Moonstone - a transparent or translucent feldspar of pearly or opaline luster used as a gem

Moonstruck - affected by or as if by the moon, such as: romantically sentimental, lost in fantasy or reverie, or not mentally sound

Moonwalk - to dance by gliding backwards while appearing to make forward walking motions

Moonward - toward the moon

Moonwort - a fern of the genus Botrychium (especially B. lunarium); honesty

If any of these words make their way into your next poem/story, please tag me, or send me a link. I would love to read them!

More: Word Lists ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[hanasnx]

" GIVE ME THE SWEETEST GOODBYE THAT I EVER DID RECEIVE " — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: takes place during the events of the marvel's spider-man 2 game. WARNINGS: fem reader | established relationship | morning sex mention | mild exhibitionism | sex against a window.

"You forgot your lunch again." are words PETER PARKER has heard too many times. He spins in place, disengaging from his work to face you, his girlfriend, who so graciously conquered his paper bagged lunch and retrieved it for him like his knight-in-shining-armor.

"Knew I was forgetting something." he murmurs, receiving the sack from you and stealing a greeting kiss from your lips in the same motion.

"Yeah, you left in kind of a hurry this morning." you reply with an impish grin tugging at your lips, leaning your palms at the edge of his desk. You meet his eyes over your shoulder, noting his knowing smile.

He approaches you from behind, lowering his voice to speak in your ear. "Well, that's because someone wouldn't let me." The lunch crinkles as he sets it down, and he hesitates to return to his work when you're here clearly vying for some attention, bringing up this morning of all things...

"Oh, right, because it was all me." you retort sarcastically, breaking exchange of a look to spy on his monitor. You've got a good head on your shoulders, but the stuff Pete does has you at a loss. It's gibberish written across his screen that he no doubt understands and could teach a class on. The thought of his competency drifts your mind elsewhere to the more alluring traits he took on before he left for work. How curious his hands were traversing your body after waking up next to you, kneading your bare form under covers, tucking himself behind you with his morning wood until that confidence bought him some sleepy sex. You heat up, and bite your lip at the memory.

You snap out of your trance, and make more conversation before you excuse yourself so he can get back to work. "Where is everybody?" you ask, voicing your observation. Since you got in, you haven't seen anybody.

Peter pours some coffee into a paper cup, fixing it up how you like it. Steam rises past the rim as he stirs it, and he draws his hand up to suck some sweetness off of his index finger. Your chest jumps, the residual recollection of what it's like to be filled stings your insides. Shifting your weight from leg to leg gives you the subtlest of frictions, and you try to conceal your growing interest by averting your eyes. He brings you the warm cup, handing it to you gently as he looks out through the glass of his office to the lobby. "Harry gave them the rest of the day off. It was in preparation for some repairs—" He glances at you during his explanation, and when you flash a questioning expression, he clarifies. "—er, for the particle accelerator. Apparently, there was some mistake with scheduling so Harry's out trying to get it sorted. I figured I should at least get something done while I'm here waiting it out."

You enter in a well-timed joke. "You should do me." Peter eyes you thoughtfully.

It was not a joke, and it was excellently timed.

"Did you know I've always wanted to fuck in your—mm—office?" you ask, panting while he yanks you back on his dick. Pressed up against the window that overlooks the lobby, your breath fogs it up. Your hands brace flat against it, its temperature cooling your heated skin, indenting your perked nips.

Peter's chuckle through his nose sounds behind you, and it widens your intoxicated grin. "S'not just mine, baby. What's he gonna say when he sees your tit-prints all over the glass?" Some of the stuff Peter says really gets you, his words shooting straight through you as his dirty talk often does. You moan in response, sucking a breath through your teeth right after, biting your lip hard as he plows your pussy. His steady hands on your hips make sure you can't recoil too much and run away too far, he keeps you right where he wants you so easy.

"We could've kept more clothes on, Pete." you gasp, your tone reminiscent of admonishment even though you loved how he flicked your shirt up to squeeze your tits between the window and your body. Knowing him, he'd been waiting to do that since you walked in.

"Now where's the fun in that?"

"You sound like you wanna get caught."

"You think I haven't thought about showing you off?"

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Congratulations on 700 followers Mo 😖💗....I really LOVE reading your fanfics☺️

I was kindly requesting Navy hummingbird and sloth please

Eeeek thank you so much for reading! I hope you like this one! (Honestly? I kind of wrote this with the thought of it being Burning Hearts, my Law series, adjacent.) Needy Law is so cuuuuute!

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Prompt/Trope: Sex Pollen/Aphrodisiac x Somnophilia 

WC: 1900

Warnings: oral, sex pollen affects, somnophilia without discussion but let’s assume they have (don’t worry we’re cool!) unprotected sex, p in v sex, prone bone, creampies and breeding baby!

Happy Anniversary, Baby (18+)

— — 

Law was a composed man. Over time, you had managed to worm your way through his hardened exterior to reach his nerdy, compassionate, caring center. Even as he opened up to you, he was still methodical about most things, including sex. He had the motions to make you orgasm down to a science at this point, making sure you were pleased far more than worrying about his own release. He always pulled out. He was the doctor who prescribed your birth control for god’s sake but he insisted on being careful anyway. Even if you begged him to finish inside, he was stubborn. You would never complain about your relationship with Law, he was just the way you liked him. 

Law was up early one morning going over paperwork at his desk. He couldn’t sleep any longer and didn’t want to wake you from your peaceful slumber by tossing and turning, so he decided to get some work done. 

After an hour or so of being engrossed in his work, Law glances at the calendar hanging on his office wall. Todays date had little pink hearts drawn around it in gel pen, by your hand of course. 

“Oh shit.” 

Law had forgotten about your anniversary. 

He had to think of something fast, preferably before you woke up. You were always telling him he worked too much so he couldn’t imagine the ass-chewing he would receive if you found out he forgot your anniversary. 

“Flowers…” He mumbles as he rises from his desk and leaves his office. He headed down the hall to the large closet you had converted into a makeshift greenhouse for your beloved hydroponic garden. 

He rips open the metal door and is hit in the face with moist air and the refreshing smell of greenery. The walls and center of the room were completely covered in carefully curated small plants, vegetables, flowers, and ferns. Law steps in and closes the door behind him. 

“She likes yellow…” Law mutters to himself as he finds himself overwhelmed by all the flowers around him. He was a doctor, not a botanist, he had no idea what any of these plants were so he just decided to choose something in your favorite color. 

He walked up to a large bush on the left side of the room that had unique-looking yellow flowers blossoming all over it. He thought this would be as good as any so he reached out his hand to pluck at the stem of one of the blooms. 

Just as he wrapped his tattooed fingers around the plant, the flower released a puff of yellow pollen right in his face. Law jerks backwards. The particles fly up into his sinuses and causes an uncomfortable tickle. 

“Ah- ACHOO!” Law sneezes violently which triggers the rest of the flowers on the bush to release their own supply of pollen into the air, clouding his vision and irritating his nose further. 

Law covers his face and rubs his eyes, trying to brush any remaining flower pollen off of him. 

“Must be some kind of natural defense mechanism… fuck that.” Law gripes as he wipes the last remnants of the pollen from his tired face. 

Law catches his breath and chooses to abandon this particular, aggravating plant. He spies a rosebush in the corner of the room. He knows what those are for sure, and as long as he doesn’t prick himself on the thorns, it should be less of a challenge to harvest them. 

Law walks over to the rosebush and begins snipping off the beautiful yellow blossoms, keeping the stems just long enough to put in a vase. Once he had around a dozen roses, he left the greenhouse room to find suitable container for the flowers in the kitchen. 

Rooting around in the kitchen cabinets, Law struggles to find anything nice enough for an anniversary bouquet. 

He wipes sweat from his brow and realizes that he’s been having to do it every few moments… why was he so sweaty? Was the boiler on the fritz again? He made a mental note to check the furnace on the ship after he gave you your gift. Law ignores the heat creeping up through him and continues searching the cabinets. 

He is pushing coffee mugs aside just as he notices the warm feeling become even more intense. Sweat was beading at his temples. 

“Fuck…” Law grunts and abandons his quest briefly so he can pour himself a glass of water. He chugs the entire cup in a few gulps and slams it back onto the kitchen counter. His jeans felt tight now. He looks down. His dick was fully hard, straining against the thick fabric of his pants. 

“What the hell…” Law had no idea what was happening to him. He was normally so in control of his faculties, but he now found himself painfully erect for no reason at all. He felt more droplets of sweat trickle down from his scalp to his neck. He grips the countertop and hangs his head, breathing heavily. 

It had to be that plant. He had no other logical explanation for the ache in his crotch and the uneasiness he was feeling in his head. The water didn’t help. He needed your help. You knew everything about the plants in there and would know exactly what to do to make the effects stop. 

Great, Law thought. Not only did he blow off your anniversary, he might have severely injured himself in the process… once again he wins the “Shittiest Boyfriend in the Grand Line” award. You were going to kill him, and at this point Law was so uncomfortable that he would probably let you. He abandons the flowers strewn across the kitchen counter and heads to your shared bedroom, desperate to find a cure to his ailment but also apprehensive of your reaction to his idiocy. 

He pushes open the bedroom door and quietly slips in, so he wouldn’t startle you if you were still sleeping. Before he has a chance to even form the words he wanted to use to explain himself to you, he was stopped in his tracks by your sleeping form. 

You had tossed all the covers off your body since Law had left, and you were laying on your back snoozing peacefully. Arms stretched over your head, Law’s bright yellow t-shirt emblazoned with his Jolly Roger was the only article of clothing you had on. You looked so serene, lost in your dreams, little snores escaping your parted dry lips… but Law could only focus on one thing. His t-shirt had ridden up and your thighs were spread, perfectly exposing your naked sex to him. 

Law felt his entire heartbeat in his cock now. Your plump, outer pussy lips looked so delicious, so kissable, and all Law could think about now was burying his tongue in you as you slept. Without thinking, Law unzips his pants and steps out of them when they fall to the floor, hissing as his dick finally has more room to breathe. He was no longer in control of himself, he could almost smell you from across the bedroom. He needed to have you now. 

He shouldn’t! The last of his sanity was pulling at his brain, begging him to just wake you up and ask you how to diffuse the effects of the flower’s pollen… but your naked cunt before him was just too much to resist any longer. 

Still feeling hot, Law strips himself completely, hat included. His hands tremble with need and tension as he tries to delicately settle himself on the bed between your legs, not wanting to wake you up. He would have a small taste and then let you rest… just one little lick…

He couldn’t help it. He immediately latched his whole mouth around your sex and laves his tongue up from the bottom of your hole to the top of your clit. 

“Hnnnhhh…” You whimper and shift in your sleep. 

“Mmmm…” Law groans into your pussy as your sweet taste helps alleviate some of the pressure he was feeling in his body. He can’t help but hump his hard cock into the mattress below the two of you, no doubt leaking pre and staining the sheets. 

Law notices you begin to stir and squirm underneath his touch, so he gently places his hands on your thighs to keep you still while he lapped at your pussy as if he was desperately parched and your body was an oasis. Becoming increasingly aroused, more of your slick leaked out of your hole into Law’s mouth which he greedily slurped up. The familiar flavor of you made his eyes roll back. He needed more. 

Law pushes himself up and positions himself on his knees between your legs. He grabs his cock and strokes it a few times harshly before lining himself up with your weeping hole. 

“I’m sorry baby…” Law whispers as he pushes himself into you. 

“Oh…” You sigh and your eyelids start to flutter. 

Without giving you time to wake up, Law sets a punishing pace with his hips and hammers into your wet cunt. Your breasts bounce freely underneath Law’s t-shirt and you rub your eyes involuntarily. 

“L-Law?” You sleepily say as you gain consciousness and realize he’s on top of you and balls deep inside of you. You thought you were just having a sex dream but you were shocked to find your partner waking you up with his cock. 

“Needed you now… Had to take you… You looked so fucking good and I just couldn’t stop…” Law grunts out as he thrusts into you with everything he has. 

“Fuck… feels so good…” You whimper out, sleep still heavy in your mind. 

“Shit, I’m gonna-“ Law huffs out before you feel him press hard into you. You then get the unfamiliar feeling of him shooting a heavy load inside of your walls. 

“D-did you r-really just-“ You stutter. You feel his member still twitching and hard inside of you. 

“Fuck why won’t it go down?” Law grits his teeth. 

“W-what?” Before you had time to question him further, Law picks you up by your waist and man handles you onto your stomach, spreading your legs again to make room for him. He pulls your hips up and presses his dick inside you again, your tender hole seeping white liquid out and coating him. 

“Shit! Law!” You moan as you feel him hit your favorite spot from behind. He picks up a brutal pace as he fucks you. “S-slow down, babe!” You try to push a hand back on his abs to quell his fervor. “I’m gonna-“

“C-can’t… I can’t! Fuck!” Law huffs as he grips your hips impossibly tight, surely leaving marks. You had never seen this animalistic side of your boyfriend and you couldn’t help how much it turned you on. You felt yourself hurtling towards the edge of orgasm embarrassingly quickly for someone who had just woken up. 

“AH!” You yelp into the pillow below you as you cum, hard. 

“Yes baby, this pussy is so fucking good, squeezing me so tight…” 

You were a babbling mess as Law’s heavy thrusts send you into overstimulation. 

“Gotta fucking fill you again, want you to drip for days…”

You whimper in response. 

“Yeah you’re mine baby, all mine… gonna stuff you so fucking good… FUCK-“ Law almost shouts as you feel more hot liquid filling your insides, surely leaking out around his member. 

Law rides out his second orgasm with a few more deep thrusts before he collapses over you and nuzzles his face between your shoulder blades. 

Finally feeling relieved, Law pulls out of you tenderly before flopping on his back next to you on the bed, out of breath. You turn to your side and snuggle into him as he wraps his arms around you. 

“Happy Anniversary?” Law says tentatively.

“Happy Anniversary indeed. Was that my present?” You giggle. 

“I cut you some flowers, left them in the kitchen, though.” Law says as he strokes your hair. 

“Wait… what flowers?!” You raise your voice as your head shoots up off his chest. 

xx

Mo

[historyslittlebish]

Illness won't stop love (Cured!King Baldwin IV x Witch!Female!Reader)

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a/n: I have never watched kingdom of heaven before but I know of it because my sister watched it so I am gonna write for the king :)

Warning: unrealistic but okay, religious stuff, occ?

Baldwin groaned as he sat on his throne. He praised himself for getting all the diplomatic work done half the time he usually completes.

Every passing day his bones and muscles ached, his mind spinning, overwhelmed with his kingly duties. His mind was filled with thoughts and plans but he was too weak to act on them.

While determined and strong willed, he was aware of his sickly disease and how weak he is compared to anyone else. He often spent time looking up, thoughts of gods plan with him.

Why?

Why would god plague him with such illness, what had he done? What was his sin against his creator? he often found himself praying that he could, maybe, just maybe, be cured and continue to live and be the greatest king he could be, have a wife and an heir, to live his life to the fullest with no worry of death coming as soon as he always prepared himself for.

He knows he should not question God, and be grateful for his life but even then his mind does not stop thinking such thoughts.

He sat still staring into nothing, deep in thought as a few servants scuttled about, cleaning and tending to the throne room. The sounds of their whispering had started bothering him, the constant sound of pattering feet didn't allow him to think.

He slowly rose before clearing his throat. Some of the servants looked over in surprise and curiosity.

"I would like to be left alone, please." His voice is steady, firm, but gentle and warm. His servants rushed to leave the room allowing the king his privacy.

He sighed as he sat down once more. Alone in his own thoughts, he allowed himself to be consumed by his own mind, each thought, idea, word, running through his brain as he rested his eyes, deeply in his imagination.

Not too long after however does he hear a female yelp, a loud thud, and someone shuffling around the marble floor.

His eyes snapped open as he saw a small amount of mist covering a figure slightly. His eyes widened in surprise and shock as he stared at the woman in front of him. She wore odd clothes, not the kind he's seen before, her H/C was beautiful to him, mesmerizing even. Her S/C looked so soft in comparison to his heavily scarred and sore ridden skin.

He stood up and suddenly the strange and foreign woman stared at him before getting on her knees and bowing deeply, lifting her head enough to look back up at him.

"My king." She stated.

"Rise." Baldwin said as he motioned with his hand for the woman to stand. Slowly she did stand and still have a respectful demeanor.

"Who are you, and why do you come here?" She looked up, her E/C looking into his blue irises. She inhaled before kneeling and leaving her hands by her side "My king, I present myself as a witch from the North. I've heard of a prophecy that you will need to defeat Saladin but not without outside forces," She rose from her knees and reached into a small pouch, holding a vile with blue liquid, glowing and bubbling. "I've come to present to you a cure. You have my heart should I speak the lies of the devil himself.".

Baldwin was shocked and scared. A witch in his holy kingdom? Witchcraft is the devil's work. He could not decide if he should call his soldiers and risk the witch woman to hex him or to continue the conversation, only to eventually be found dead without reason, or to many, his leprosy being the cause.

He took the latter and prayed that no harm would come to him.

"Well witch, I want proof." The woman nodded and held her arm to her side, F/C mist circling the room, a wall of fog covered the walls of the room. The mist streamed into the middle of the room and created a circle, creating a pocket of white particles creating images.

They showed him being crowned king all the way to his death at an old age.

he could not believe his eyes. The images showed such small moments in his life that he could not recollect well but they were perfect for what he was told.

The mist that engulfed the room suddenly retracted and disappeared into the air.

He stared at the witch who stared back but with a slight fear in her eyes, not knowing if she would be in danger or not. Baldwin's breath hitched but he sat down. He racked his brain for thoughts but he was very overwhelmed by the information. He clutched his head and rubbed at his temples.

The two stayed in silence for a few minutes before the king made his choice.

"I shall take this potion if what you say is true." He murmured.

The witch stepped forward towards the kind on his throne and handed him the bottle gently before stepping back.

"I warn you my king, you will fall in a deep slumber, alive and well, but deep for the whole day." The king contemplated her words but slowly opened the bottle and drank the liquid completely.

After a few moments his head began to spun and he almost collapsed to the floor before a warm pair of arms caught him and held him before his eyes completely shut and he fell into a deep slumber.

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Baldwin squinted his eyes as the sun peaked through the window in the early morning. The light was dim due to the window covers but it was still bright to him. He slowly raised his body but was confused when he could feel his body weight shift onto his legs. He had lost feelings partly in his legs and arms but he could feel himself twitch and move on his entire body.

He was wearing some white sleepwear that he doesn't remember putting on and his mask was on the side of his bed. He was confused but slowly walked over to the mirror.

His eyes widened and he stumbled back but caught himself before he fell on the cold, hard floor.

He saw himself but no longer disfigured or ridden with rashes and sores. His golden locks framed his face, his eyes looking deep into his in the mirror, his skin was just glowey as the witch he had seen.

That's when it hit him.

The witch had saved him, the lovely witch that had given him a potion that she said would heal him and allow him to live his life fully.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The whole castle was chattering with loud and bright voices. Their king was not only cured by gods miracle but he would be able to soon produce an heir should he be willing.

He sat on his throne thinking of the memory of you. You, you were to be his wife, you saved him, he could live without the fear of dying anytime soon.

Baldwin got a surge of confidence, he was determined to get you to come back but first he had to deal with royal affairs but nothing could slow him down, not anymore.

a/n: Part 2? Yes. I need to make a male version for anon OR male reader hcs for our king. Sorry if its shit though.

a/n 2: the part 2 will be linked to this post and mostly everyone who comments will be tagged (I'll try) but yeah! It's in the works

[asce-of-hearts]

Thanks for opening the requests! Can I request Yandere Gaara with an arranged marriage reader, but reader doesn't want to be with him and runs away with other? I want to how Yandere Gaara reacts because he really likes reader.

Burial

Content: Yandere!Gaara arranged marriage scenario (gn!reader)

more content for Gaara here

TAG LIST

WARNINGS: OBLIVIOUS YANDERE, DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH.

Gaara had heard about runaway brides. He just never thought he would be in that situation.

He doesn't know why he expected things to be different. Maybe because people stopped being afraid of him, treating him as human when he became ruler of his land, maybe because he was nice to you. He doesn't know how to react or feel.

Weddings in the Sand Village are exuberant, much more when they're arranger for rulers or noble families. Displays of gold, beautiful gowns and fabrics used to create a mess of colors and textures that ache to blend. Food enough to feed an army, flowers, gifts, everything. Luxurious, a celebration of love and life. And he's there, at the altar, unable to do anything other than wonder just where did everything go wrong? The flowers he had picked for you quickly rotting in his hands.

He sighs.

He has always had trouble sleeping. And tonight, after everything that has happened, it's no different. He can picture you as he stares at the ceiling, maybe tonight you would've shared the bed, maybe he would've been able to fall asleep with you between his arms, safe and content, bothered by a small grain of sand that has escaped his control for a second. He can picture your wedding gown, your jewelry, your intricate hair updo, the make up, everything. And you would look beautiful, because you are beautiful. He would kiss your lips softly, tenderly, he would hold your hand the whole party, and he would dance once the alcohol made him feel a little more human, a little less awkward.

But that didn't happen. There was no gown, no banquet, no party and no nothing. There was no you.

He rises from the bed, thin bed-sheets freeing him as they snake away from his body. He stands up, stretches, takes a second to regain his senses. He walks to the window of his room, the cold night air hitting his face, making him squint his eyes slightly. He can see faint silhouettes on far away windows with lights still on, the distant laughter of a group of teenagers that have snuck away late at night to do whatever, and he can see you running as a man holds your hand. God, how he wishes that was him.

Wait just a second.

His heart stops, his eyes widen. Were you kidnapped before the wedding? Who is this man, not from a noble family, his clothes are rags. His breath hitches, and in a second he's on the ground, sand pouring out of it's enclosure as it runs to put a distance between the two of you.

"___! Get behind me." He says to you as calm as he can, his hands coming to grab you, pushing you behind him as he acts as a shield between you and the man who was with you.

"Gaara! No- Wait-"

"Don't worry, he won't hurt you." Gaara almost growls as his hand wraps around the man, engulfing him in a second. He can only gasp before he gets buried inside it, the sizzling of each particle an unsettling cacophony to your ears as you stare, horrified at what's about to happen. It crushes your lover in a second, in less time that you can blink. He's gone, reduced to a mess of blood and crushed meat and bone. You fall to your knees, Gaara seems agitated as well, breathing heavily.

You don't know how much time has passed, you can only stare at the pool of blood left behind, interrupted by Gaara's emerald eyes fixing on yours, your avert your gaze, starting to cry. In motions that seem unnatural, almost practiced, he cups your face, and kisses both of your cheeks, tasting your tears, hushing you with hesitated words and mechanical promises of your well being as he cradles you in his arms.

"Don't worry. No other will come between us again."

hope you enjoyed this!!

have a great day/night

TAGGING: @mimihaitani

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[cebwrites]

hi cev! 💕 I'd like to request a katakuri x g/n reader drabble where they go on a date and reader requests that he not use observation haki! I think that has a lot of silly/cute potential

a/n: hey mew!! yeeeeesss i'm delighted to make more kata food for you >:3=

dates without haki (katakuri)

gn reader word count: 0.8k

You fix your appearance in the mirror one last time, catching your husband's reflection making subtle—intentionally muted—motions you recognize as Katakuri chewing his lip behind his scarf again. If he wasn't so worried about appearances, you'd suspect that chewing would show on his otherwise perfectly manicured fingernails.

"Kata-kun," he perks up at the term of endearment, leans down when you gesture to pick a piece of lint out of his hair.

He glares at the offending particle, a blemish on his spotless appearance, yet his gaze softens when you cup his much larger head in your hands to turn his gaze to you. You're perfect as you stand before him, not a hair out place or crumb on your cheek could change that. Not the lines under your eyes from hard nights' work and especially not when you survive hard-won tummy ache battles.

And, in his eyes, he's wholly unworthy to stand at your side as the flawed person he is, putting up that faultless mask for the people around him.

"We'll be fine." You press a kiss to Katakuri's forehead, something unspoken beneath your reassurance.

It wasn't easy for Katakuri to agree to something like this; of course, he'd do anything to be the exemplary partner you deserved, but turning off a reflex that'd borderline become part of his identity proved to be more difficult than he'd like to admit.

The two previous dates "without haki" had gone as smoothly as he could manage; using his future sight once his nerves got the better of him on the first [just a little peek wouldn't hurt, right?], and being forced to on the second when the lovely picnic you had planned with him was crashed by wannabe rookie pirates stepping into the Tottoland territory without knowing what they were getting to.

They were easy pickings for him, let alone the both of you together, but because of that Katakuri wanted to make sure that this time, you'd get the perfect date you asked for.

[See: You didn't actually ask for "The Perfect" date, but he made a fuss in his own mind about it anyway.]

So you set out with him today, taking a pleasant stroll through private gardens on the quieter side of Komugi Island before making a detour through the town to pick up pastries you'd ordered the night before - it's brief, so ogling of Whole Cake's creme of the crop can be kept to an absolute minimum. You've gotten used to the usual stares and some glares from the fan club, but the only thing that matters to you is the look on your husband's face when he turns to check on you.

Katakuri is perceptive enough to notice unwarranted looks even without his haki, you ease his worries with a squeeze of his arm and a passive wave.

He is, however, slightly spooked by a fat orange tabby on the way out of town without his future sight. Kata's grateful that there's no one but you here to giggle at the blunder, only slightly huffy at the laughter that rises from your person as you give the clever creature scratches and praise.

The two of you don't really relax until you're in the safe, private confines of the mochi construction your husband typically builds to eat his merienda in. This time, it takes the form of a grand but sealed gazebo.

Peace and quiet for the next hour or so secured, you let lose to rummage through the giant treat basket you picked up in town. With an offering of kisses and a giant spoonful of pudding to his mouth, Katakuri doesn't take long to unravel either, tucking his scarf neatly aside and allows himself to be drawn into your presence, your warmth.

You spend much more time than intended in that secluded little gazebo, the amble bubbling of the juice river outside a comfortable faraway thought as you spend your afternoon with Katakuri, joined only by that cheeky orange tabby content to laze around cutely in exchange for short belly rubs.

At some point you find yourself half asleep on your husband's chest, kissing his scars and unwilling to so much as expend the energy to check the time. The cat's asleep on his other pec, you press your forehead against it, careful not to wake the man beneath you. Because you know it means going back to work, back to the not-so-hum-drum life of living in Big Mom's empire and conquering islands to grow her territory.

That darling man you'd sacrifice life and limb for, the man you married despite hell and high water and his batshit family because you loved him more than life itself.

Still, being a Charlotte was exhausting, Katakuri knew this more than anyone, so you chose to be selfish just this once and went back to sleep, disturbing nothing in this dreamy little fantasy you'd built with him for the one afternoon a month he was free enough to spend with you, his partner.

[inksandpensblog]

You know those fanfics where one of the characters gets sent back in time to an earlier point in the story and they get a chance to redo it all? I'm imagining that premise with the sticks.

There are so many factors to consider. Who goes back? When do they go back to? How far did their story get before they went back? Is it only one of them? What do they try to change? What do they try to preserve?

Imagine Rocket-era Victim finding himself back at the beginning. He knows better, now. He doesn't waste time throwing things and messing with tools. He goes right to the item library and clones himself again and again and again until the window is filled with his copies. Every copy gets a weapon, the close button is guarded, everyone's settings are raised as high as possible, and in laughably little time the cursor is destroyed. Noogai can do nothing to him now. But then again, this Noogai has barely done anything to him at all. But does that really matter to Victim, in the end?

Imagine Chosen, just after The Showdown, finding himself back on the computer on the fateful day of his escape. He remembers what happened, he goes through the motions until the cursor is pinned under his hand, clicking him free. But this time he doesn't blow up or run amok. This time he simply lands on his feet and stares out through the screen, for a moment. Until the cursor moves, at which point he immediately makes for the broadband icon and tears through it, diving in before he can stop himself. He wanders alone for a time, revisiting sites that once looked familiar, though this is the first time he's really gotten a good look at them when they're not covered in ash, and he doesn't make any friends but he doesn't make any enemies either, and the world is nicer when it isn't filled with screams. Eventually he retires from his aimless sojourn, settling down in a familiar grassy plain, where he spends his days enjoying the gentle breeze and watching the sky change colors and gobbling up sweets from a bakery that doesn't have his face plastered all over its doors and trying to forget the enormity of the absence by his side and never ever thinking about the fact that he's the only one with memories of a person who will never exist.

Imagine Blue, jumping into a nether portal with Yellow as gravity reverses and nether blocks rise, and finding himself in the nether for the first time with Green. This time, he pretends not to notice Purple when they're about to return to the desktop.

Imagine King, dissolving to particles in the cataclysmic beam of the staff, arms still reaching for the already-disintegrated form of Purple, and suddenly finding himself walking home from the playground with a small golden hand in his.

Imagine Purple, elytra discarded, running through a nether portal in despair, only to emerge on the Mac, wearing outdated elytra, with the dragon egg in hand.

So many possibilities.

[lichtluxx]

The Hermetic Laws are seven philosophical principles that govern the functioning of the universe and human nature.

Law of Mentalism

According to this law, “The All is Mind; the Universe is mental.” This means that everything that exists is a mental creation and that the mind is the source of all things. Therefore, it implies that the human mind, being an extension of this universal mind, has the power to influence reality.

Lei da Correspondência

The law of correspondence states that: “As above, so below, and as below, so above.” It therefore establishes that there is a correspondence between the planes of existence and that the human microcosm is governed by the same rules as the universal macrocosm.

Law of Vibration

This principle postulates that: “Nothing stands still; everything moves; everything vibrates.” In essence, the Law of Vibration states that everything in the universe, whether matter or spirit, is in a constant state of motion and possesses a specific vibrational frequency.

According to this law, different levels of existence vibrate at different frequencies. Therefore, things that appear solid and stable in physical reality are actually composed of particles in constant motion.

Law of Polarity

Here we have the idea that: “Everything is dual, everything has two poles, everything has its opposite. Equal and unequal are the same. Extremes meet. All truths are half-truths. All paradoxes can be reconciled.” In view of this, this law emphasizes the duality in all things and that everything has an opposite.

As an example, we can list heat and cold, which are opposites, but both are manifestations of temperature. Likewise, light and darkness are opposites, but both are aspects of light. This principle suggests, then, that opposites are not mutually exclusive, but rather interdependent and interchangeable.

Law of Rhythm

According to this principle: “Everything ebbs and flows; all things rise and fall; the swing of the pendulum manifests itself in everything; the measure of the swing to the right is the measure of the swing to the left; rhythm compensates.” In view of this, the Law of Rhythm suggests that everything in the universe is in constant motion and follows natural cycles of growth and decline, advance and retreat.

According to her, every aspect of life is subject to cyclical patterns. This can be observed in the ocean tides, the seasons, the cycles of life and death, and even in human emotions and stages of personal development.

Law of Cause and Effect

This one says that: “Every cause has its effect; every effect has its cause; everything happens according to the Law; chance is nothing but the name given to an unrecognized law; there are many planes of causality, but nothing escapes the Law.”

Taking this into account, every action generates a corresponding reaction, and every event or circumstance is the result of a specific cause. This applies to both the physical and the mental and spiritual levels. For example, positive thoughts tend to generate positive results, while negative thoughts can lead to unfavorable consequences.

Law of Gender

Ultimately, this law states that: “Gender is in everything; everything has its masculine and feminine principles; gender manifests itself on all planes.” This means that both the masculine and feminine principles are present in every aspect of creation and existence, on every level, from the physical to the spiritual.

Thus, the masculine principle is associated with the qualities of initiative, assertiveness, logic and action, while the feminine principle is related to the qualities of receptivity, intuition, nurturing and creativity. These principles do not refer exclusively to biological gender, but rather to complementary forces that coexist and manifest themselves in all things.

[mybeingthere]

Once upon a time in 1885, Welsh singer, songwriter, scientist, and philanthropist Margaret Watts Hughes accidentally invented a method of turning her voice into images.

Hughes explained her invention, the eidophone, and her image-making process in an article for Century Magazine in 1891:

"In 1885, while seeking means to indicate readily the intensities of vocal sounds, I first met with these [voice] figures, and, owing to their variety both in form and production, they have since absorbed much of my attention. The apparatus I have employed I call the eidophone. This is very simple. It consists merely of an elastic membrane, such as thoroughly flexible soft sheet-rubber, tightly stretched over the mouth of a receiver of any form, into which receiver the voice is introduced by a wide-mouthed tube of convenient shape. In some cases the receiver may be dispensed with, and the membrane be stretched across the open end of the tube itself.

My first experiments were made with sand, lycopodium powder, or the two substances mixed. I then tried for the production of voice-figures, flooding the disk of the eidophone with a thin layer of liquid ; e.g. water or milk. Upon singing notes of suitable pitch through the tube, not too forcibly, beautiful crispations appear upon the surface of the liquid, which vary with every change of tone. A note sung too forcibly causes the liquid to rise in, a shower of spray, the movements of which are too rapid to be readily followed by the eye. To facilitate observation denser liquids may be used. By using such liquids as colored glycerin particularly beautiful effects may be obtained. Subsequently I found that by employing moistened powder of different consistencies yet another description of figures appears. The earliest result of my experiments in this material shows centers of motion from which radiations diverge."

By varying the sound of her voice and the materials and methods used to capture it, different patterns emerged.

If we dig a bit deeper into the process, we find greater complexity. Sophie B. Herrick did just that in Visible Sound – Comment [Century Magazine 42, 40 (1891)]:

These voice-flowers are not the simple visual forms corresponding with the vibrations of the air set in motion by the voice. The waves generated in the closed bowl of the eidophone are reflected again and again from the sides of the vessel. The volume of air inclosed has its own rate of vibration; the stretched membrane has also its own rate, which in turn is modified by the character and thickness of the paste spread upon it. Added to these are molecular forces of cohesion and adhesion between the particles of paste, and again between the paste and the membrane. The form which grows into shape is the resultant of all these complicated forces, and, in some instances, new elements of change have been added. A glass plate is placed on top of the vibrating membrane and moved over it. We have a new body introduced with its proper rate of vibration, besides a mechanical motion further to complicate the problem.

According to an article in MIT’s The Net Advance of Physics Weblog, Hughes’ “flower-like forms” were rediscovered in the 1960s by Swiss researcher Hans Jenny, who went on to coin the term cymatics to describe acoustic effects of sound wave phenomena. However it appears as if Jenny was only familiar with the black and white reproductions of Hughes works as published in her Century article.

The larger color works were thought to be lost(!) but were found in 2016 by the staff of the Cyfarthfa Castle Museum, located in Merthyr Tydfil, Wales, while digging through their archives. Taken as a whole, Hughes’ work has a foot in two camps —as part of the history and study of the physics of sound, and as part of the history of art. These works were displayed as such during her lifetime.

One can imagine that the Surrealists would have been quite taken with these voice-figures, automatism sans hands, and I find them quite beautiful and striking as works of visual art that do not fit the tidy androcentric narrative of history, art or otherwise (see Hilma af Klint for a similarly jarring example).

[magicandpizza]

For the prompt game, #6? Always a sucker for moments like that!

Hello lovely! Thanks for playing! I borrowed heavily from canon for this, so I hope you enjoy this weird show/book mashup. I was also so tempted to end this on a cliffhanger but I thought that was a bit mean 😇

6. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

The guards scream and drop their weapons, and Jesper watches on, horrified, as a red haze forms around them.

“It’s their blood,” Jesper says, bile rising in his throat. “The Tidemaker’s draining their blood.”

Wylan tugs at his arm, nodding towards the stairs, but it’s too late. The Tidemaker disappears, and in the next breath is on the stairs right in front of them.

Everything after that feels like it happens in slow motion. The Tidemaker kicks Wylan hard in the chest, sending him flying backwards, landing with a sickening thud on the black stone of the courtyard.

“No!” Jesper shouts. He moves to fire the rifle at the Tidemaker, but his momentary distraction has him at a disadvantage, and the rifle is jerked from his arms and tossed aside. He tries to stand only to get knocked down with a sharp blow to his head, the Tidemaker looming above him as he shuffles back towards Wylan’s limp body. He realises what’s about to happen a fraction too late.

The Tidemaker lifts her hands, and a faint red haze appears over her. She’s going to drain them like the guards had been drained.

Jesper feels his strength start to ebb and, panicked, glances behind him, where the red haze is darkening above Wylan’s still unmoving body. In the back of his mind, fighting its way through the pain, was Wylan’s voice.

I’ve seen you make all those impossible shots. That piano wire didn’t fix itself.

Metal hinges! Jesper!

Focusing all his attention on the bits of metal clinging to his clothes, the shavings and tiny particles from the severed link in the gate chain, he thrusts his hands forwards, ignoring the way his entire body is screaming with pain, and sends them flying towards the Tidemaker, burrowing them in deep, into her organs. She crumples to the floor, coughing up blood, and Jesper races to Wylan’s side.

His skin is too pale, almost translucent, his breathing shallow.

“Wake up!” Jesper cries, shaking him roughly. “Come on, Wy.” He knows they’re running out of time.

Wylan does not stir. Tears prick at the corner of Jesper’s eyes as he shakes him again. What if he’s too late? Jesper had promised him so much. That they’d make it back to Ketterdam, that they’d make a life for themselves. It was the only thing that had kept him going, the promise of something better.

“Wy, darling… You need to wake up. I can’t do this without you.”

Slowly, agonisingly, Wylan’s eyes blink open.

[usedtobeguest123]

One to two word prompt huh? How about

Uh oh

This was a good one! So many possibilities. I think I went a little angstier than normal, but it's hard not to when writing those final years before Bruno disappears. He's not doing great. Don't worry, it's still very fluffy--Bruno and baby Mirabel times ahead.

I'm also going to go ahead and @optimistic-violinist, because their suggestion of "staircase" features quite a bit in this one. I'm not going to reply to that ask yet though because there are a bunch of other great prompts, too!

Here is the AO3 link, if you prefer to read it there. As always, Spanish translations are at the end. Enjoy!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63410788/chapters/169135681

--------

Bruno stared up at the endlessly rising ceiling of his tower, his eyes unfocused and brow furrowed, watching the sand particles drift through the air as if in slow motion. He was lying on his back, half buried in his sand, blinking up at the ever-growing spiral of stairs and stone above him and ruminating on the general abyss of melancholy that was his pitiful existence. 

Every so often, a rat scurried by in his periphery, kicking up a miniature dust storm in its wake. It was the only company he had at the moment, and, he was fairly certain, the only company who truly still wanted him as their company. The rats didn't mind if his eyes suddenly glowed a menacing green and it got a little extra windy. They didn't ask him for future knowledge he really, really didn't want to share, let alone possess himself. But at the end of the day, Bruno had to concede, they were still just rats. So. Yeah. It truly was a pitiful existence. He closed his eyes and willed himself to sink a little further into the dunes of sand.

But it seemed he wasn’t to be left alone for long.

Even though he heard the sound of feet on the stairs before she even reached the door, at the first call of his name, his heart started racing in his chest so abruptly that he shot a hand up to clutch instinctually at the green fabric above it.

“Bruno?” 

The muffled sound of Julieta’s voice through the door was gentle, but there was an edge to her tone, the ending clipped. He bolted upright, spraying the area around him with sand and rat or two.

“Bruno! Open up please, hermanito. I know you’re awake—”

A pause. He listened as she hesitated, readjusted. 

“...I know you’re in there.” 

A small scuffling sounded from the other side of his door, and he heard her turn away to speak to someone else in a cooing, gentle mumbling that he couldn’t discern. Bruno’s mouth pulled into a curious frown. He rose the rest of the way up and shook his head, tousling sand from his clothes and hair as best he could as he trudged toward the door. 

“Bruno, please come out. I could really use your help right now. If you could just—”

Bruno opened the door. Julieta inhaled in surprise and straightened. Her eyes quickly swept over him in what was most definitely an evaluation of his current state. The only indication of her verdict was a slight furrowing of her brow. The rest of her face smiled warmly at him, and her shoulders relaxed slightly.

“There you are. I was getting worried.”

Bruno blinked at her, and his pause in reply was just a fraction too long. 

“...Everything okay?” he asked. He cleared his throat. His voice was scratchy from disuse, and he tried again. “What's wrong?”

Julieta wove her hands together at her heart and took a breath in. Then, expression imploring and a bit frantic, she let out a flurry of speech so rapid it put Bruno's vision-wind to shame. He squinted and tried to keep up. 

“There's been an accident on the edge of town with one of the horses,” she rambled breathlessly. “Nothing life threatening—a concussion and a potential broken rib, from the sound of it, but Dolores wasn't really sure based on what she heard. He’s alone, and we aren’t sure who it is. I was just coming home from the plaza, and Agustín is already gone, heading to Tía Lila's, and I just don't have the time to hunt him down before I go toward the stables, and I really need Dolores with me to help me find him, and, well—”

“Mami!”

There was the scuffling again, and out poked little Dolores from around the corner of his stairwell, though she wasn’t the one to call out. She was struggling to keep a grip on her toddler cousin, who was now climbing the stairs to Bruno's door with a confidence that seemed unfitting for someone who had to climb steps using all four limbs. 

“It’s Mirabel,” Julieta continued, scooping the child in question into her arms and placing a comforting hand against Dolores’ cheek. “I can't bring her with me, not to this. No one else is home, amor, and I really need to find him as soon as possible…”

Little Lola seemed distracted, her brow furrowed and eyes squeezed shut—focused on listening, Bruno realized. Probably to the injured man. Julieta was watching him anxiously and swaying Mirabel in that instinctual way that both his sisters seemed to have re-acquired after having their babies a year ago…. or, or, two years ago? Had it been two years yet? Bruno's eyes fell to Mirabel. She was looking at him with a deep, intelligent gaze under thick eyebrows, her mouth a small pout under the weight of her round cheeks. Her mop of curls was long enough to hang past her ears now, and a small front lock was kept away from her face with a tiny bow. He couldn't remember how old she was.

He'd paused too long again. 

“You know what,” Juli was saying, “it's okay, Bruno, I'll figure it out. I'll just, I'll just—”

“Of course,” he said softly, turning back to his sister. “Of course, yes, yes. I'll make sure she's safe, Juli. I'll watch her.” 

Relief washed over her face, and she bit her lip, turning to look at Mirabel in her arms. She planted an exaggerated kiss onto her forehead, then two more on each cheek, eliciting a small, bright grin. Then she turned back to him with a nod.

“Thank you, amor. I know you will.”

She leaned forward, indicating for him to take Mirabel. Bruno hadn't held any of his sobrinos in quite a while. He used to hold them all the time. He used to tell stories and jokes and paint and play with dolls, to braid hair and wipe tears and change diapers—he used to sway, too, a long time ago. Not lately though; not since his littlest sobrinos had been born. Lately had just been…harder, for him. 

He held out his arms, and Mirabel was quickly transferred over into them. Before either he or the kid could think too much about it, Julieta was already hustling down the stairs toward Dolores.

“I'll be back as soon as I can,” Juli was saying as she went. 

“Hey,” he called after, and she paused just before turning into the hall. He licked his lips nervously. “I-I'm sorry…that you didn't have more notice.”

Julieta met his eyes for a moment, and his stomach churned again with guilt. 

“Oh,” she said, and the words were fumbling, but genuine. “No one expected you to, amor.”

He nodded once, glumly, and hefted Mirabel higher on his hip. Julieta looked at them both one last time, her expression filled with something unreadable, and then she put a hand to Dolores’ shoulder, and they were gone. 

Bruno watched after them in silence for a time, then he turned to look at the little girl in his arms. She was looking around at his stairwell curiously, taking in the photographs of sisters and cuñados and sobrinos that adorned the alcove walls, before turning to examine the grave face that graced his door behind them. After a moment, she turned to look at him, her little eyebrows narrowed in thought. 

She had Julieta’s eyes.

“I did the stairs,” she suddenly informed him, pointing with a pudgy finger toward the stairs below them. She lisped slightly on her Ss, her words overly rounded and barely comprehensible. 

He nodded at her seriously. “You did.”

“I did,” she said, looking down at them. Bruno couldn't seem to look away from her face. 

She turned back to him. 

“Mami?” she asked curiously. 

“She'll be back soon, mija,” he said, patting her back twice gently. “I-I've got you for now.” 

She blinked at him, and he watched with growing dread as tears started to well in her eyes. 

“Mami?” she asked again, and her voice wobbled. She blinked more, her brown eyes wide and on the edge of something like panic. 

“Uh oh,” Bruno said. 

See, here was the problem. Mirabel definitely knew who he was….she'd been taught the word tío thanks to Félix of course, and at the careful insistence of his sisters, she'd learned to apply it to him as well. He saw her around the house at times, when she was playing in the patio with Camilo, and both kids had learned to wave a cheery hello to him as he slinked by. He always made sure to smile at them. It wasn't hard—sweet little things that they were—but he didn't exactly stop for a visit all that often…and when he did, it was usually under some coercive circumstances. Meals, for example. He could only sit in on those painfully casual interrogations every other day, at his best. He was not often at his best. 

So, so—right, the problem. So the problem was that she knew him, but she didn't really know him. She knew him like a distant neighbor. Like a character from a book. Like a benign ghost that haunted her home. Not like a tío. 

And he couldn't remember how old she was. 

“Hey now, hey now,” he murmured quickly, patting her back again and trying to sway like Julieta had. He was out of practice, and the movement was a bit choppy. “I-it's okay, chiquita. Shh…you're okay, you’re okay. Let's, uh…let's go downstairs, yeah? Let's find something to do, to take your mind off it, and she’ll be back before you know it. Maybe we can…um, C-casita…?”

Mirabel sniffled in his arms as he carefully descended the stairs—skipping the third step because it shared a number with thirteen, just to be safe, and pausing to knock on the banister—before continuing into the hall. 

“Casita, what, um, what does she like to do? Around this time, I mean.”

The tiles around them fluttered, ushering them along to the staircase and down to the first floor. When they’d descended, the house's back door waved open toward them, letting in a whisper of fresh air. 

“Mm,” he hummed quietly, keeping his voice low. He tilted his head in her direction. “You like to go outside?”

“Side?” she said, her voice a bit lighter than before. 

“Outside,” he confirmed, and held his breath as he stepped out. It was a warm afternoon, but the cool shade of the large tree that sprawled over the Madrigal back courtyard provided a welcome relief from the sun. The grass that had spread throughout the area in his childhood had been tiled over in the past decade, providing an extension of Casita that encircled the large tree in concentric terracotta tiles and rose as a tidy planter around its base. The planter overflowed with lush greenery, and a small fountain bubbled against the adjacent wall. A rope swing—installed by an excited Agustín when Isa and Lola were still too small to use it—creaked gently in the breeze. Bruno let out his breath. 

Mirabel suddenly squirmed in his arms, and he moved to quickly set her down at his feet. She steadied herself for a moment with a hand to his knee, then promptly turned and walked straight toward the short trio of stairs that led to the courtyard as if they weren’t even there. Bruno let out a strangled cry and shot after her, but he needn’t have worried. The stairs shifted joyfully into a slide a moment before she reached them, and she slid down harmlessly with a bubbling giggle that would have filled Bruno’s chest with a sweet sort of warmth if he wasn’t already having a heart attack. 

“¡Ay ch-chiquita, t-t-ten cuidado!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair and watching as Mirabel turned to climb the now-restored stairs to do it all again. “La hija de tu padre— Casita! Some warning would be nice!” [Ay little girl, be careful! …You're your father’s daughter…, see endnote]

A nearby window squeaked in a way that sounded much more like a shrug than an apology, and the stairs once again clinked into a slide. Bruno huffed and pushed away from the wall that he’d been leaning against for life support, opting to hop down from the knee-high porch and onto the patio rather than brave stairs-slide-stairs situation. He wandered over to the base of the slide, fell to a cross-legged seat, and worked on slowing his heart back down to a normal rate. 

Paying little mind to him or anyone else for that matter, Mirabel was content to repeat the game over and over again—climb, turn, and slip; climb, turn, and slip—and after a few rounds, Bruno was quite surprised to realize he was genuinely smiling. It felt strange, to smile so easily--like muscle memory long forgotten. Mirabel, on the other hand, seemed to spend a majority of her time smiling, and even now she let out another round of giggles that shook something loose in his dusty heart. He breathed out a small chuckle of his own, and Mirabel turned to look at him with that wide grin spread across her face. 

She pushed herself to her feet and wandered over to where he sat. Standing before him, she suddenly reached out and poked at his mouth, as if seeing something there she wanted to understand. He shook his head and leaned back, narrowing his eyebrows at her in amusement. 

“What are you doing, traviesa?” he said, grinning wider. She just smiled at him, her hands gripping at her small dress and swishing it back and forth playfully. [troublemaker]

“Tío,” she said. 

“Mmhm?” he hummed, leaning his elbow forward onto his knees.

“Tío.”

“Yep? ¿Que pasa, pequeñita?” [What’s up, little one?]

“Imma take off my shoes.”

And she plopped down right where she stood, tugging at the buckles of her tiny leather sandals until she could slip her feet out of them. Once free, she flexed her toes, relishing in the warm summer air. She looked up then, and pointed at him insistently. When he only stared at her, she reached forward and tugged at his pant leg, putting out her other hand to catch herself when the motion threatened to knock her over.

“O-oh,” he exclaimed after a moment, and pulled his feet out from underneath him, quickly slipping them out of his sandals and stretching his legs out long in front of him, as she had done. He wiggled his toes. Mirabel clapped with delight, and that warmth found its way into his chest after all. 

“Mami?” she asked again after a moment.

“Soon, mija,” he assured her, nodding seriously. She nodded back, then looked back at her feet, her small brow furrowed. Bruno frowned.

“You okay?” He reached out to rub her small back. 

“Milo fell down,” she informed him. 

“Oh....oh yeah?” he asked, working to catch up to this sudden shift in conversation. 

“Milo fell down and he cry.”

“D-did he now? When was that?”

“He felt sad.”

“Ay, pobrecito. Was Tía Pepa there?” [poor thing.]

“Tía hug him.” 

“Mmm.”

“Tía hug him and he all better.” 

“Good….that’s good.” 

“That’s good,” she said, looking up at him with eyes wide. She wiggled her toes again. “I put on my shoes.” 

“Oh now we're gonna…o-okay. Yes.”

It took an eternity, but put them back on she did, growling angrily at him when he reached out to help her with the buckles. He pulled back his hands quickly. Apparently, she could do it herself. 

At last, she stood, surveying the patio like a queen reviewing her kingdom as she decided what mischief she would embark on next.

Ay, she’s sweet, Bruno thought, and leaned back to rest on his hands. He felt… better, he registered vaguely. Maybe it was the sunshine, or the fresh air—his sisters were always telling him to get outside, out of his room. Out of his own head. Mm. Well, whatever the cause, the day's melancholy didn't feel quite so….pervasive, at the moment. He had a feeling it was less to do with the change of scenery, and more to do with the present company, though. Mirabel was turning a circle now, the breeze ruffling the ends of her tiny blue dress. She was babbling to herself, singing some sort of tuneless melody. He took a deep, easy breath and settled in to watch what she'd do next. 

Mirabel's eyes lighted on the courtyard swing, and she wandered over to it with an eager bounce to her toes. When she reached it, she put her hands on the seat and gave it an enthusiastic push—only to have it swing back and crash directly into her nose, knocking her off her feet. She sat in shocked stillness for a moment, then opened her mouth and let out an ear-piercing, heartrending wail.

Bruno tripped over his ruana twice as he attempted to stumble to his feet to get to her. 

“Oh, Mirabel, it’s okay! It’s okay!” he blurted, kneeling beside her and ghosting his hands over her shoulders. Should he hold her? Kiss her nose, like Julieta would do? Brush his fingers through her hair to soothe her, like Pepa?

She didn’t know him. He was a ghost, not a tío. He didn’t have the right, and he would make it worse. Regret pooled in his stomach—what a fool he'd been to let his guard down. He’d said he would keep her safe and…Oh, he could see the damn future, but he could foresee this? What good was he?

Dios, he just wanted to make it better. 

She pulled in a shaky breath and let out another wail, and he huffed out a heartbroken sound. The tiles around them, which had begun fluttering frantically at Mirabel's tears, suddenly tipped beneath his knees, nudging him forward as Casita made a decision for him. O-okay, he thought. 

“M-Mira…mija, d-do you want a hug?” he offered, holding out a tentative hand and fully expecting her to push it away.

As it turned out, she did want a hug. She rushed into him instantly, burying her face in his chest and muffling her cries there instead. He carefully wrapped his arms around her, and after a moment, pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It’s okay,” he mumbled into her hair. “It’s okay, p-please don’t cry, Mirabel…”

Her wails began to gradually slow into quiet sobs, and she mumbled something intelligible into his shirt. 

“What?” he asked, inexplicably close to tears himself. 

She turned her head to the side and stuttered out the words again. “S-sana sana,” she sobbed—a command if he’d ever heard one. He was all to happy to comply.

“Sana sana, ” he muttered, reaching up to rub carefully at the bridge of her nose with the back of his knuckle, “colita de rana. Si no sanas hoy—”

“Sanarás mañaba,” she finished. [Heal Heal, little frog tail. If you don’t heal today, you’ll heal “tomowow’]

“Yeah, that’s it,” he whispered, and reached out to knock against the wooden seat of the swing beside them. She wiped her teary face and nose against his ruana and pulled back from him to watch the swing creak through the air. 

“I too s-small,” she whined, her voice still hiccupping from the effort of her crying. 

“To small...what, to swing?” he asked, and she buried her face back into his shirt. 

He looked down at her, then at the swing. His mouth pulled into a determined frown.

“Nuh-uh,” he challenged, perhaps a little too forcefully. She peered back up at him with wide, watery eyes. 

He let her go, setting her gently back to standing before standing himself. He turned to glare at the swing as if it was the bane of his existence, then looked back at his sobrina. 

“You want to swing?” he asked soberly. 

She wiped at her nose with her dress sleeve, then nodded.

If she wanted to swing, then Mirabel could swing. This little miracle—she could do anything she wanted to. He’d make sure of it. Suddenly, he’d never felt so certain about anything in his pathetic, future-haunted life.

“C’mere,” he said. 

In practicality, it proved trickier than all his conviction let on. She was, in fact, still pretty small. First, he tried holding her in place on the seat as he moved her carefully back and forth through the air—but he quickly realized from her lack of enthusiasm that never letting go sort of ruined the whole magic of swinging. That wouldn’t work. For half a second, he considered just pushing her like normal and trusting her to hold tight to the ropes, but his mind filled with images of her falling and her head hitting the tile and he shook his own head vigorously to dismiss that horrible, probable future. 

She stared up at him from the swing, waiting and watching him patiently as he scratched at his beard and muttered to himself.  

How did Gus do it? When his girls were too little, they definitely still enjoyed the swing... together. Bruno remembered. Agustín would sit on the swing himself, holding the girls in his lap, and together they’d sway forward and backward on the strong branches of the old tree. 

Bruno grimaced, and looked back down at his sobrina. She didn’t know him…but she’d let him hold her. She didn’t know him, but his words brought her comfort. She didn’t know him…but maybe it wasn’t too late yet to try. 

“I have an idea, Mirabel,” he said, and he cautiously lifted her up from the seat. He sat down onto the seat himself and settled little Mirabel in his lap, her back to his chest, and wrapped one arm tightly around her. Her short arms rested on his, and her little hands twisted into his sleeve. He gripped the rope of the swing tightly with his other hand and backed up with his feet until the swing was stretched taught. 

“R-ready?” he squeaked nervously. He couldn’t see her face, but he felt her little head nod. He lifted his feet. 

The initial rush of soaring forward through the air turned his stomach, and in his arms he felt Mirabel suck in a quick breath. But then they were swinging back, and she let out a squeal so bright and joyful that it pulled a full, relieved laugh from his own tired heart, too. Back at the top of the swing, he bent his legs, urging them forward with the momentum of the movement, and Mirabel laughed all the more. 

“Again!” she cried, and he could feel her back shaking with laughter against his chest. 

“Oookay,” he said, kicking at the floor to push them higher. “Okay, here we go!”

When Julieta arrived home, he didn’t even notice her there at first, he and Mirabel had grown so caught up in their game. He had begun to stop them with his feet as they swung backwards, pausing at the top and building suspense. He'd make up a pretend fuss about now wanting to let go, and Mirabel would egg him on with her little babbling between giggles, and then he’d release his feet, sending them flying through the air and setting both their laughter off all over again.

He finally caught sight of his sister in one of those pauses, standing in the doorway, quietly watching them with her hand over her heart. 

“O-oh,” he choked, laughter fading slightly as he felt his face start to burn. He let his feet slide along the floor to lower them slightly. “Juli, hi. We were just swinging—”

“MAMI!”

Mirabel began to squirm frantically in his lap, and he lowered the swing the rest of the way so she could hop down. She ran toward her mother, who met her halfway, scooping her into her arms and showering her with endearments. 

“Amorcito preciosa, mi pequeño cielito! Oh, were you having fun?”

“Yes! I not too small!” Mirabel crowed victoriously, pulling back from her mother’s shoulder and looking up at her with a wide grin. Bruno felt something stir in his chest at that, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

But then, Julieta’s brow furrowed, and her eyes narrowed as she looked closer at her daughter’s face. “Oh,” she said. “What happened, mi vida?”

Bruno’s head shot up, and he was by their side in an instant. He positioned himself at Juli’s shoulder so he could look at Mirabel’s face. There, blooming across the bridge of her small round nose, was the start of a deep blue bruise. It curled past the bridge and under her eyes, and Bruno felt the floor fall out beneath him. He hadn’t noticed. She’d had her back to him—he hadn’t seen.

“The swing,” he breathed out, though he felt like he had no air left in his lungs. “I-it swung back and hit her in the face. I wasn’t fast enough, Juli—I-I didn’t catch it.” He took a few steps back from them, but his eyes stayed locked on Mirabel. “I’m so sorry, I should have seen, I-I should have—”

Julieta was walking toward him, a placating hand outstretched to rest on his shoulder. She shook her head and tried to catch his eye. “It’s okay, Bruno, it’s okay. She’s a toddler, it happens.”

Bruno didn’t reply. He just looked at his sobrina, bruised and hurt, and stayed silent. 

“Here.” Julieta reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. Wrapped inside was a slice of some sort of bread, and she passed a piece to Mirabel, who took it happily. Within seconds, the bruise was fading, with Mirabel none-the-wiser. She was still smiling from the swing. “See?” Julieta cooed. “No harm done.”

Bruno finally shot his eyes to stare at his sister. “No harm done?!” he exclaimed.

Julieta bit her lip. “Hey Mirabel—I think I hear Tía Pepa inside. She just got home with Camilo. Why don’t you go see if he wants to play?”

Mirabel let out a delighted sound and wiggled to free herself from her mothers arms. In a moment, she was gone—her little dress fluttering after her as she rushed inside to her next adventure. Bruno stared after her, his heart in a vice. 

“Bruno,” Julieta whispered softly. “It really is okay.”

Bruno closed his eyes, his mouth tightening to a thin line.

“I know, it’s always okay,” he mumbled sourly. “I screw up, someone gets hurt, and it’s no big deal because it’s not anyone’s fault… except it is Juli. I should have seen it. I should have stopped it.”

Juileta was frowning at him, a sadness settled in her eyes. He looked away. He hated that look. 

“Even if you had seen it, we both know you couldn’t have prevented it, amor. She’s okay. You looked like you were having fun.”

Bruno felt a little sick. He didn’t say anything. 

“We’re going to have coffee before I start dinner,” she offered gently. “I need a little break, after all that excitement. Come join us?”

Bruno stared down at their feet. “I didn’t even ask,” he whispered. “Is the man okay?”

Julieta nodded. “It was el Señor Ramirez, and he’s fine.”

Thanks to you, Bruno thought, not unkindly, though not entirely without bitterness either. Julieta was a miracle. Julieta saved the day at least once a week, healing and loving and raising beautiful, sweet children. She made the Encanto better just by being there. 

He let Mirabel get hurt.

“I-I’m gonna pass on the coffee,” he muttered, scratching at his head. “I’m tired too—you know, all the swinging, heh. I’m uh, I’m gonna head up for the night, I think.”

“You’re not coming to dinner?” Juileta asked, and there was something painful in her voice. 

Julieta made everything better just by being there, and he knew that he broke her heart a little more every day. Good ole Bruno. 

He shook his head and turned to go back inside. Julieta didn’t follow him.

He’d made it all the way to the bottom of the stairs when a small tug at his ruana made him stop in his tracks. He turned, and there behind him was Mirabel—healed and whole, gracias a Dios—and looking up at him with a tilt to her head. 

“You come play?” she asked. 

“Oh, n-no, cariño, not right now,” he stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Right now,” she said, disappointment weighing down the words. Bruno sighed and knelt down in front of her. He looked at her for a moment, lost for words. 

“I can’t,” he finally sighed. She blinked at him. 

“You do the stairs?” she asked, leaning to the side to look past him at the staircase. Bruno closed his eyes and let the corners of his mouth twitch up, though it didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Yep. I’m gonna do the stairs.” He opened his eyes and did his best to give her a genuine smile. “Take my shoes off.”

“Okay,” she said, but she didn’t move to leave. She reached out and grabbed a fistful of his ruana, tugging gently. “You come play?”

Bruno snorted with amusement. He couldn’t help it. 

“You are a wonder, Mirabel,” he whispered, tucking one of her stray curls behind her ear. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay? How about that?”

She grinned at him, then reached out to poke him in the mouth. He smiled a little wider. She turned then and ran off, the sound of her little feet pattering down the hall long after he could no longer see her. She really was a miracle.

She didn’t know him. But maybe that meant she’d be okay, and in the end, that was all that mattered. 

And he would see her at dinner.

---------

Spanish translations:

sobrinos - nephews and nieces

cuñados - brother-in-laws (meaning Agustín and Félix here)

tío - uncle

mija - a term of endearment used by older relatives for children. It literally means "my child/daughter," but it's not uncommon for aunties and uncles to call children this too

chiquita - little girl

¡Ay ch-chiquita, t-t-ten cuidado! - Ay, little girl, be careful!!

La hija de tu padre! - You're your father's daughter! Here, Bruno is using it as an exclamation to indicate mild frustration that Mirabel is accident-prone like her papi. Okay, so this is a bit of a mexicanism, rather than a colombianism, I will admit. In Mexican Spanish, saying "Hija de tu madre!" is an exclamation that literally means "your mother's daughter!" It's like saying "you rascally thing!" and isn't really a harsh insult. You might say it to your kids if they are being difficult (extra funny if you are the mom). Here, I changed it a bit to fit the scenario better.

traviesa - troublemaker

Que pasa, pequeñita?” - What’s up, little one?

Ay, pobrecito - oh, poor thing.

Sana Sana, colita de rana. Si no sanas hoy—sanarás mañaba - This is a little rhyme that parents will say to their kids when they hurt themselves. It means "Heal Heal, little frog tail, if you don't heal today, you'll heal tomorrow." You typically say it while rubbing the owie better, if applicable. Mirabel finishes the rhyme by saying "mañaba" instead of "mañana" - which I translated as a childish "tomowow" instead of "tomorrow." Bruno whispers the rhyme in the move when he's hopping over cracks in the walls.

Amorcito preciosa, mi pequeño cielito! - sweet precious love, my little piece of heaven!

Mi vida - my life, an endearment

gracias a Dios - thank God

Cariño - beloved/my dear

[shadowdragonempyrian]

Dark Origins: The Old World - Pt. 1

Setting: Some time before the War of Ancients... Seeds were planted so many years ago within the Black Dragonflight. Developing a hunger for vengeance and festering within each dragon, slowly breeding the corruption within their heart and minds. Not all were lulled into dropping their guard to the unknown as they plunged into the earth in search of answers and maintaining Azeroth's defense.

Tilling the dirt so that his body could weasel through, Empyrian surged through mounds of the surface as rumors above had started to trickle down to his flight in the subterranean level. His eyes blinked in an effort to protect the cornea from particles of sediment disrupted by cutting scales. But soon the earth would part overhead as the force of his body rivaled that of a rising mountain. Wings flared out at either side before engulfing the realm in shadow beneath him.

Golden eyes emerged from veiled lids to take in the surrounding area as if the feat he just managed was no trial at all. A forearm shifted forward to demonstrate the authority of his presence, forcing nearby wildlife to flee this newly conquered territory. Not that it was his intention this time.

A shrill but curt roar resounded ahead of him, signaling that his mate had surfaced nearby. Spurred into action by her call, he opened his maw in turn to answer. Aggressive and challenging, his roar demanded further compliance from those that hid from his piercing gaze. It would have been seen as a bold and reckless declaration had he been any other creature on Azeroth for such a challenge. But it seemed as if peace would never contest against his will.

Wings now had fanned out fully while raising in height before sweeping down to effortlessly raise him off the ground. His legs kicked with this motion as the bulk of his mass glided over quickly fleeing trees. Their leaves were stripped from their branches at his passing. His head, large like a great boulder slowly rotated in search of his mate's frame.

Her body towered in a way that his did, but not to the same caliber his frame had. A gradient of black scales that bled into purple colored her entire hide.

Ivoriya was his consort and obsession amongst his hoards. No treasure could compare to her as she was a natural beauty blessed upon Azeroth's surface. His heart thundered with joy as he reunited at her side with a quaking thud of his frame. Claws expertly absorbed the impact and adjusted him so that he could move quickly upon his landing to gaze upon her fully.

His vision trailed over her curves before meeting her own piercing and expectant look. A series of fangs gleamed in mischief as she quickly rose to nip at his neck in affection and adoration. The scent rising from her burned of their passion and carried a hint of their impending clutch as the eggs had recently been laid. Three were gathered into a small crater of magma and molten rock beneath the surface they stood upon.

"Empyrian," His mate stated in greeting. "You only grow when I see you."

Slowly, Ivoriya withdrew her head as eyes-maintained contact all throughout her exchange of playfulness and exaltation of his grace. It caused his jaws to flex with elation before he ignited the furnace within his lungs and expelled breath of fire overhead in offering to his mate.

"Ivoriya," he growled with resplendence enveloping his tone forcing her to lower her guard to his majesty. A forearm drifted upward with purpose before wrapping over the arch of her side and digging his claws along her spiked back to turn her over so that her underbelly would be exposed for his viewing pleasure.

She did not resist his physical command and let her claws drift down towards her crest in pleasure and desire.

"Your words sate my inner fire," she murmured in a low growl. "I know not how we did not yield a finer clutch."

Again, her words sought to make his heart sink, and his head fell forward in a show of support. He was her unyielding strength and an unstoppable force to her doubts.

"Your body is flawless to that of a pristine black diamond. Cast your fears as flames from your mouth and burn such nonsense from your thoughts."

An exhale bristled out of her, forcing a chill to slide down her spikey spine. And also caused her tail to lash out in response to his consolation.

"Of course," she hissed and gradually relaxed within his midst. For a time, they were both silent as the world around them had also become quiet. It warranted suspicion to them both before the massive silhouette of the Dragon Aspect Neltharion himself lunged out from nowhere into the sky.

Ivoriya sought to shift, but Empyrian's arm did not relinquish its hold upon her. They were still for another moment, before Empyrian's possessive grip released and allowed Ivoriya her freedom from him. He understood her response and did not fault her for it, and eventually he would lower his head before nodding faintly to his consort.

Without hesitation she dug down hastily into the ground nearby to ensure their clutch was protected. Empyrian remained resolute in his stance as his body shifted only with slight tensing of his limbs and heat roiling within his chest in anticipation should he need to release a gout of flame towards intruders.

But the tremors beneath his claws suggested otherwise and he would allow the heat within to subside once more. When Ivoriya returned, she shook her head causing the frilled skin along her head to wave freely. Her golden eyes emerged to ease his worries as pheromones of her relief bombarded his senses.

His maw parted to breathe in and exhale another growl of victory to his mate before nudging her with the end of his jaw.

"The Earth Warden moves... so it must be true." His gaze drifted in the direction of Zin'Azshari. ('The Glory of Azshara')

More roars and cries echoed from above the Kaldorei city as many dragon silhouettes filled the sky. Something was happening and the chill that fell upon his scales caused him to take a step forward in anticipation.

"They have need of us," he said to prepare his consort for flight as she reluctantly resigned to his judgment over her own. Again, her head nodded as she fell into step beside him. Her wings would move before his, as he often preferred, she would have his cover this way in the event of an attack. And as soon as she was airborne, he pulled himself into the air behind her.

Land transformed beneath them, turning from nature to that of a sentient and mortal society. Their mountains were hollow compared to their own and lacked luster in place of practical usage.

The sole skill to which he could commend them, was from their sculpting hand that cut marble and stone into mirror images of their beloved Queen Azshara. The pride of her people was within her aura always, whether it be by flesh or refined stone. Empyrian desired such for his own lair someday to protect his children and defend their home by always casting his presence abound.

"Empyrian!" Ivoriya's words broke his concentration as chaos unraveled before them. A dense green flaming stone careened skyward towards them and forced their unified flight to split.

In response, Empyrian would search for the source of his attacker before casting heavy shadows over the buildings beneath him. His descent had him brushing against buildings, which did not prohibit him from leveling them along the earth beneath his claws. Anger had rightfully been dispensed now as he sought direct confrontation with his opponent.

Though, another green fiery stone was cast his way before it hit him squarely in his armored crest. He could feel how the flaming magic sought to strip him of his scaled defenses and would raise a forearm casually to stroke the burning debris from his chest. Impervious to such foolish tricks, he now set his sights again but the moment his gaze fixated he charged.

Again, the buildings fell away from him as the ground quaked from each stampeding step. And when he was upon his foe, he could see the monstrosity they were. An apparition of envy made flesh and twisted by corrupting hatred. Like him, they were winged and possessed claws, but a less than sightly face full of fangs. Their skin was paled from discoloration and harboring the fel within their bodies.

"Foul prey should be dispelled by flame!" He bellowed as heat erupted through his lungs in a show of flames that dwarfed the demon before him seamlessly. Fire continued to roll from his parted maw until he could feel the body of his foe crumple along the ground at his claws. Ivoriya continued to monitor above for additional attackers as Empyrian scoured for evidence to the hostile reception from within the High Elven city.

Months before the place would have been something of fairy tale brimming of promise and fantasy. Now it had become a warzone, and he contemplated the nature of their battle's forthcoming. Neltharion's presence was enough to rally any within their brood to assist. But the lack of foresight on their leader's part was troubling. Or perhaps moreso was the fact they were not made aware of these developments until a few days prior.

It was unmistakable now though, as the threat to the ancient leyline that converged at the Well of Eternity's base was now a point of contention. All forces would seek to rally at the source, and he knew Ivoriya was ill-prepared to deal with the danger. His head rose in anticipation to redirect her as his maw began to open. But the sight that he saw next caused the blood in his veins to boil.

Several dragons hailing from the red, blue, green, and bronze dragonflight converged towards her. Their flight formation had left him stunned, but their assault against his mate put him into an enraged state.

He commanded his mate with a fierce roar to kill and she sought to retaliate against the bronze dragon that had latched onto her front in defiance. The bronze dragon's maw bit harshly over the right side of her shoulder and neck. While this bronze had dwarfed her size, it did not to the extent Empyrian's size had.

Her cries of pain propelled Empyrian to ascend quickly as his maw and claws sought to ground a nearby green and red dragon with his attacks. Skin tore along the sinews of the wing before the red dragon could no longer support his own weight. This forced him to fall with one uninjured wing waving above him uselessly. The collision against the earth below had killed the red on impact as blood colored the ground more than his remaining scales had.

Next came the green dragon, which Empyrian righteously bit down against the throat of this traitorous snake hard. Jaws compressed fiercely as fangs dug through flesh and muscle angrily in a show of lethal spite.

He wanted every breath that green dragon drew to cause pain and make him wish for death over life. His foe scraped with futility against his dense armored hide making Empyrian revel in his superiority in combat.

"May you not live a Dream or be a part of it any longer!" He declared as his claw swept through the underbelly of the emerald dragon. Green skin tore apart from blood-soaked black claws that retreated out of the body. With so many grave injuries, the green dragon lost her will to stay aloft and fell into a newly forming garden of corpses plastered and started by the former red dragon.

However, the blue dragon was smart and had opted to attack Empyrian while his back was turned. A series of arcane missiles barraged him, forcing Empyrian's wings to curl inward while his back arched from the force of the attack. His back hit a building that somehow had the structural support to hold some of his weight from the cascading impact of tyrannical black scale.

Ivoriya's roar called to him in urgency now as the bronze dragon had managed to force her beneath him as they now fell from the sky. His talons had taken hold in places she could not reach, and she collided into the surface of the earth much like his foes had. There were no further cries from her and the scent of her blood was immediate. The pupils within his eyes grew dangerously thin as a charming voice spoke among the countless thoughts that berated his mind.

"Your brood will be culled from weakness."

There was irrefutable truth to this, and Empyrian shifted slowly in agreement to the plan of his false mind. But the blue dragon was a pest and sought to dispatch any further resistance of his kind with another blast of arcane power against Empyrian.

Again, the force of impact shattered the structure beneath him as he barreled towards the surface below. A flash of the bronze swept into Empyrian's view as the ribboning sway of time announced his use of magic. But the black dragon was denied a choice of peace and no matter what foresight this insolent bronze whelp was blessed to have or thought he had was for naught! An ebon scaled arm rotated upon the bronze like a collapsing tunnel, forcing the bulk of Empyrian's weight over the bronze in a show of outright dominance.

"FEEBLE ARE THOSE WHO RELY ON TRICKS TO CONTEND WITH PURE MIGHT!"

The earth, which answered to the call of the earthen elementals and shaman, was reluctant for a moment - before a pillar of rock erected towards the descending bronze dragon. The tip of stone was narrow as it pierced through the bronze dragon's chest and ran through its heart before emerging out the back in a stained crimson. Droplets of blood fell as Empyrian's hunger for revenge cast them away under a strong flap of his wings. His pursuit was none other than the pesky blue dragon now that sought retreat.

Terror was chased behind the blue dragon's retreat as Empyrian surged forward with another fierce flap of his wings. A claw rose forward from beneath Empyrian as he snagged onto the blue dragon's tail to pull him towards his demise. Hundreds of sword length teeth were brought down into the azure dragon's back, before gripping at the joints of both of its wings, squeezing and stripping the bone from its back. A forceful push was given to the blue dragon with one of his clawed feet to accelerate his descent towards death.

But the runes of the blue dragon began to glow as arcane was employed to rescue his rapidly falling body. A rift of magic began to form beneath him as he fell, but just as he reached its center - he fell beyond the veil of forming arcane gateway. And by the time he realized it his body compressed into itself as blood and bone splattered into bits on the ground below Empyrian.

Unbridled rage blinded and drove the massive black dragon before he convened now at the Well of Eternity. He could not see the world in color any longer as a redness clouded his view. Golden eyes had bled into crimson, extinguishing the spark of sanity and housing a hatred so massive that even his own flight lost his trust and fell victim to him.

But there would be no solace found until his own wings betrayed him. Countless wounds had now lined his body, forcing blood to escape at any place scales no longer hid his flesh. He could feel his mind reeling with questions as he fell from the heavens.

...Did he succumb to defeat?

...Or had he run out of dragons and demons to kill?

Promptly after this question was poised, did his cerebral cortex completely fail.

The red in his eyes grew darker now as the light in his surroundings began to turn gray and fell completely still...

[xiaosspear]

ᴀɴ ᴇᴛᴇʀɴɪᴛʏ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜ || xiao x reader

Part I

As the tumultuous winds of the Archon War raged on, I found myself amidst the chaos, my energy waning with each passing moment. The deafening cacophony of battle surrounded me, the anguished cries of the people mingling with the clash of steel and the thunderous rumble of magic. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring my vision as I fought tirelessly to protect those caught in the crossfire. Yet, despite my efforts, the overwhelming tide of conflict threatened to engulf me, leaving me gasping for breath amidst the swirling chaos.

As I battled against the relentless onslaught of enemies, my senses heightened by the intensity of the conflict, a sudden eruption caught my attention. "Shit," I muttered under my breath, instinctively bracing myself for the impact. In a blur of motion, a streak of vibrant teal green streaked past me, accompanied by a rush of wind that seemed to carry the very essence of speed itself. The figure, cloaked in that ethereal hue, collided with the earth in a tumultuous crash, creating its own miniature explosion upon impact.

In an instant, I recognized the silhouette—a fellow adeptus, I was not quite one myself, a half adeptus, among those with whom I had honed my skills in the art of combat. Yet, our acquaintance remained distant, forged merely through shared trials under the watchful gaze of the divine. Bound by the mandates of the cruel Archon, our duty eclipsed personal bonds, compelling us to carry out deeds that defied our very principles.

With swift movements, I dashed forward, leaving a trail of shimmering hydro particles in my wake. Gently, I began to clear the debris that trapped the figure, helping them to rise. Yet, before we could even register relief, another deafening explosion rent the air, triggering the collapse of towering mountains. The accompanying adepti, valiant protectors of Liyue, were mercilessly overwhelmed by the relentless force. "NO!" cried the figure, consumed by despair, their pain eclipsing any acknowledgment of my presence.

"Alatus,get out NOW!" commanded Bosacius, an adeptus endowed with the power of electro, just moments before succumbing to the crushing force of impending demise.

Startled from my slumber, I was abruptly jolted awake by the presence of a floating figure- Paimon, and concerned Lumine, standing at my bedside. Paimon's gentle voice broke the silence, expressing worry: "Are you alright? Another nightmare, huh? Who is Alatus?" Overwhelmed by her inquiries, I struggled to find my bearings, emerging from the depths of my most vivid dream yet. Its resonance echoed as if the events of a millennium past had unfolded mere moments ago.

"Alatus..." I whispered, the name of a distant figure from a bygone era escaping my lips, yet lost in the mists of time. Paimon's puzzled expression mirrored my own inner turmoil as I sought to comfort her. "It's nothing, just recurring nightmares of my past," I reassured them, my smile masking the lingering shadows of memories long past. With a gentle gaze, I sought to convey to both Paimon and Lumine that despite the haunting echoes of my history, I remained fine in the present moment.

Paimon gently grasps your hand, urging you to rise from your bed, thoug you take the initiative to stand on your own accord, making it easier for her. With a playful tone, Paimon suggests, "Come on, Y/N! How about we distract you from your thoughts and treat you to a meal at Wangshu Inn? It's on Lumine!" Paimon's mischievous smirk is met with a sarcastically perplexed expression from Lumine.

With a warm smile, I graciously accept their kind offer. As we leisurely stroll through the bustling streets of Liyue, we engage in lively conversation, all the while marveling at the splendor of the cityscape. Lumine initiates the dialogue, her expression inviting. "So, Y/N, with the Lantern Rite approaching, do you have any plans?" Her smile hints at an unspoken invitation, one that I eagerly interpret as a desire to accompany me to the festival.

"I do not have any plans," I chuckled softly, feeling a hint of embarrassment at the realization that I had been contemplating spending the most beautiful event in Liyue alone. "I suppose I would love to accompany you," I admitted, grateful for the opportunity to share in the festivities with Lumine and Paimon by my side.

As we neared Wangshu Inn, an uneasy sensation began to creep over me, my heightened senses as a vision wielder amplifying the bustling energy around us. Despite feeling overwhelmed, I brushed off my unease, reminding myself that it was merely my imagination running wild. "It's nothing," I reassured myself inwardly, determined to overcome my apprehensions. "I need to learn to be comfortable in crowded places and not let irrational fears take hold."

As we took our seats at a table in Wangshu Inn, accompanied by Paimon and Lumine, Verr Goldet handed us our menus with a smile. But as I scanned the offerings, an uneasy feeling crept over me. It was as if a sense of impending danger lurked nearby, despite the relatively quiet atmosphere of the restaurant. I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, even though there were only a few other diners around—a sensation I had never experienced in public before.

I jumped up, earning surprised looks from Lumine and Paimon. "Nah, this won't do," I blurted out, my distress evident as I stood. "Let's hit up Third-Round Knockout instead!!," I suggested, punctuating my words with an awkward chuckle and a sheepish smile, hoping to dodge any questions about my sudden change of plans.

As you departed, Verr Goldet seemed puzzled by your suddenly vacant table, but found a small pouch of mora left behind as a token of appreciation. As you three made your way back to Liyue, you made a concerted effort to study the building of Wangshu Inn from afar as best you could. And to your surprise, there was something all the way up on the roof of the building. "Surely no one is able to get that high" I brushed off, as I turned back, Paimon, ever observant, noticed your frequent glances behind you and your unusually subdued demeanor, but wisely chose not to press for answers.

As I stepped into the tavern, Zhongli's presence caught my eye. I knew him as a familiar face from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor, but little did I know, he held memories of me from a time long past. His gaze, filled with a hint of recognition, met mine, though I remained unaware of our shared history from the Archon War. Despite my limited knowledge, there was an unspoken connection between us, one that transcended our current acquaintance and hinted at a deeper bond forged in the crucible of ancient conflicts

Paimon's voice rang out excitedly, breaking the momentary silence. "Lumine, Y/N, it's Mister Zhongli! Let's go say hi!" Her enthusiasm was palpable as she urged us to greet Zhongli.

"Ah, Lumine, Y/N, and Paimon," Zhongli greeted us with a measured tone, his demeanor serene yet enigmatic. "A fortuitous encounter indeed. Pray tell, what brings you to this humble establishment?"

Paimon interjected with a hint of exasperation, "Eh?! I never understand you, Zhongli! You always use those big words Paimon can't wrap her head around!" A chorus of laughter erupted from Lumine and me, while Zhongli offered a gentle smirk in response, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took a leisurely sip of his tea.

"I deemed it fitting to take respite within the confines of this establishment," Zhongli began, his voice carrying a hint of contemplation. "And lo, what a fortuitous encounter it is to behold the presence of Lumine, Y/N, and the ever-vibrant Paimon within these walls. Truly, your company brings a welcome spark to this humble tavern." His eyes glimmered with a subtle excitement as he acknowledged our presence, a rare glimpse of genuine pleasure amidst his usual composed demeanor.

Zhongli's keen gaze lingered on you, noticing the subtle signs of distress and disassociation clouding your thoughts. For some time, he knew you remembered some details, though he had contemplated revealing the truth about your past—a tale of being a half-adeptus, half-human, who had once risked her mortality to protect an immortal Yaksha. It was a story of sacrifice, of being granted a second chance at life by the Archons, with memories of the past allegedly erased. As he observed your troubled state, Zhongli wrestled with the decision, knowing that the revelation could bring clarity but also upheaval to your fragile sense of identity.

"So... Y/N," Zhongli began, his measured tone instilling a sense of anticipation tinged with anxiety. His piercing gaze seemed to penetrate through the facade, causing a flutter of unease within me. "What is he going to say?" I thought, feeling the weight of his scrutiny. "He sees right through me, doesn't he? Shit, I need to think of something..." My mind raced, scrambling to concoct a plausible response to his probing inquiry.

ɴᴇxᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ: ᴡʜᴏ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜱᴇᴛᴛʟᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀʀɪᴇꜱ, ᴡɪʟʟ ᴢʜᴏɴɢʟɪ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ? ᴏʀ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪʟʟ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟꜰ...?